56 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



written on the fauna of a frozen river. Every winter it 

 happens that the river, sooner or later, becomes, first, 

 dotted with cakes of floating ice. These, in part, be- 

 come stranded along the shore and over the sand-bars. 

 Once fast, they check the progress of other masses, un- 

 til, finally, the open water is reduced to a narrow stream 

 that threads its chilly way through a glittering expanse 

 of tilted, jagged, towering, toppling ice-cakes. 



To wander over such a surface is necessarily too dan- 

 gerous to warrant venturing over deep water; but it 

 sometimes happens that nooks and crannies near shore 

 may be reached, wherefrom, in safety, a broad expanse 

 of the river may be viewed ; and there is little proba- 

 bility that such a ramble will prove profitless. 



I once stood behind a tilted cake of ice to avoid a cut- 

 ting east wind, and into the little pool in front a long 

 line of beautiful "squaw" ducks came with a rush, and 

 rested upon the water so lightly as scarcely to cause a 

 ripple. A slight movement on my part startled them, 

 and, with a grace aud rapidity of movement unequalled 

 by any grebe, they dived. To this day I am puzzled to 

 know what became of them. I waited long for them to 

 reappear, but in vain. An under-ice passage to the 

 nearest open water could scarcely have been found, and 

 yet I am loath to believe they were drowned. 



It is when the river is thus choked with ice that the 

 sharp eyes of some hunter, every winter, finds one or 

 more seals in the river. I have never been so fortunate 

 as to discover the first seal of the season ; but have had 

 to take my chances of a subsequent view, when the creat- 



