An Ice-Bound Brook. 25 



Through the long watches of one starry night, 

 when not a twig of the tall, sentinel trees 

 trembled, so gentle was the passing breeze, the 

 current was stayed in its haste, and before the 

 sun rose there was no rippled surface of flowing 

 water, but in its place a path of crystal. Firm 

 ice, blue-black and clear as glass, from bank to 

 bank, but not down to the very bed of the 

 shallow stream ; a covering that made the chan- 

 nel accessible and possible to observe beyond 

 any means that I could have devised. And 

 so I have been spending ideal hours in an ideal 

 spot. 



Not all the green growths that, when summer 

 was most active, almost stopped the current of 

 the brook are wilted and wasted by the touch 

 of frost. There is a green and growing mat of 

 ribbon-like and hair-like plant life in the bed of 

 the stream that forever waves and trembles, but 

 not wholly because the water is in constant mo- 

 tion. Look long and steadily through the clear 

 ice, and at times you will be rewarded by seeing 

 sudden movements of dark objects, a sudden 

 darting here and there of living creatures, that, 

 if thought of at all, you supposed were taking 



