shortening
days, until needles of ice began with slow and silent progress to shoot
across and solidify the waters of the bay.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

EFFECT OF SNOW ON THE FEELINGS, NOT TO MENTION THE LANDSCAPE--A
WONDERFUL DOME OF ICE.

There are times and seasons, in this peculiar world of ours, when the
heart of man rejoices. The rejoicing to which we refer is not of the
ordinary kind. It is peculiar; and, whether its duration be long or
short, its effect powerful or slight, it is quite distinct and emphatic.
We do not intend to enter into a detail of the occasions that call
forth this feeling of exultation. Far be it from us to venture into
such perilous depths of philosophy. Our sole reason for making these
preliminary observations is, that we may, with proper emphasis,
introduce the statement, that one of these occasions of rejoicing is,
when man arises from his couch, on a brilliant, sunny, sparkling
morning, gazes forth from his window, and beholds the landscape--which
yesterday was green, and red, and brown, and blue--clad in a soft mantle
of whitest snow!

What! you don't agree with us? You shudder at the preposterous idea of
such a sight being fitted to rejoice the heart of man in any degree
whatever? Well, well; do not sneer at our weakness. If we cannot
sympathise with each other on this subject, perchance there are other
things in which we can. But whatever be _our_ opinion in regard to
this, the point that we have to deal with at present is, the opinion of
Edith Stanley, who, on rising hastily one morning, and looking forth
from her little window, evinced the rejoicing of her heart most
emphatically, by her loud exclamation of delight and the sparkling of
her bright blue eyes.

Independently of the cheerful lightness and the virgin purity of the
mantle, which in itself tended to awaken emotions of gladness in Edith's
heart, there was something in its sudden appearance that carried her
back violently and vividly to bygone days. The winter garb had no
associations, yet, with Ungava; but it had with Moose Fort, and the dear
companions she used to play with there. It recalled the time when she
and her little friends sallied forth, each with her small wooden sledge
drawn after her by a line, to slide thereon down the banks of the frozen
river with headlong speed, and upset at the bottom amid shouts of
laughter. It recalled the time when she made the first attempt to walk
in snow-shoes, up