POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 55 



tlie fringe of maples that, in single file, stand guard 

 upon the banks of the stream. How beautifully, be- 

 tween these opposite rows of great maples, Poaetquis- 

 sings at one time glided into the river! how prosa- 

 ically now ! A little more than half a century ago the 

 creek had an ample flow of clear, evenly mpving water, 

 and passed its boundaries with becoming grace. Now, 

 confined to an unsightly wooden trough, and that, too, 

 beneath the bank of a canal, it sobs as it seeks its proper 

 home through this dark passage. 



The necessities of man are innumerable and inexora- 

 ble, but who cannot regret that they ever necessitate the 

 blotting out forever of the choicest bits of scenery. 

 Think of the transition from the maple-guarded banks 

 of a clear stream, a hundred yards in breadth, to a 

 cramped wooden trough sunk in the mud. This eye- 

 sore passed, the canal crossed, and it, with all its un- 

 welcome accessories, behind our backs, and we sight the 

 Delaware, here more than half a mile wide, within the 

 limits of tide-water, and deep enough for craft of con- 

 siderable tonnage. 



Unless cursed or blessed, as one chances to view it, 

 with an open winter, the Delaware, in mid-winter, is an 

 arctic - looking, desolate place, indeed. Often have I 

 seen it, choked with great masses of ice piled up on 

 edge, and so inextricably jammed that the boundaries 

 of no one mass were clearly distinguishable. Here and 

 there, in the wide expanse of ice-masses, shows a blue 

 line that marks a brief space where the water reaches 

 the surface, and in it, it may be, that a seal, with head 

 well up, may be seen swimming. A volume might be 



