C 133 ] 



sparkles in the clear, cool air, — a silvery sparkle 

 as from a stream that would not soil the sky. 



Half the ground is covered with snow. It is a mod- 

 erately cool and pleasant day near the end of winter. 

 We have almost completely forgotten summer. This 

 restless and now swollen stream has burst its icy fet- 

 ters, and as I stand looking up it westward for half a 

 mile, where it winds slightly under a high bank, its 

 surface is lit up here and there with a fine-grained 

 silvery sparkle which makes the river appear some- 

 thing celestial, — more than a terrestrial river, — 

 which might have suggested that which surrounded 

 the shield in Homer. If rivers come out of their icy 

 prison thus bright and immortal, shall not I too re- 

 sume my spring life with joy and hope.'' Have I no 

 hopes to sparkle on the surface of life's current? 



Journal, iii, 322. 



