Imagine, if you can, the rapids of the Upper Niagara congealed even to their lowest depths; imagine the falls, and the broad river, and the great Lake Erie all frozen into solid ice; with bergs above the cataract towering as high as the lower banks: suppose that you, the spectator, having taken your stand upon the rapids, with the Erie so near that you can see its crystallized surface, and you will have a picture, on a reduced scale, of the sea of ice now spreading far before us. The rapids will represent the glacier; the Great Fall the cliff which it projects into the sea (only that the celebrated “horse-shoe” is here turned outwards); the river which broadens into the Ontario will be the fiord; and the Ontario, that dark grim ocean into which the gigantic bergs detached from the mighty ice-cascade are slowly making their way! * * * * * We must indicate, however, one remarkable dissimilarity, for which our previous observations on the nature of glaciers will have prepared the reader. From one bank to the other, the surface of a river is always _horizontal_, but that of a glacier is slightly _convex_. Through the narrow glen, or ravine, formed by this curvature of the glacier, a kind of lateral trough or gully, bounded by the escarpment of the soil, we reach the sea. The descent is not without its dangers, for at every point crevasses open, separated by slippery projections. These deep gashes, at some points, are only a few yards apart; and they incessantly cross each other, and run into one another, so as to form a perfect labyrinth, in the windings of which the adventurous traveller is apt to feel bewildered. The border of the glacier once crossed, the way becomes less difficult; for a mile and a half the level is almost perfect, and the ice but little broken up. The frozen desert, however, impresses us with an almost solemn feeling, and there is something terrible in the desolation of such a Sahara of snow! Moreover, the traveller is irresistibly affected by the continual roar or growling of the enormous mass, which seems to stir and shake under our very feet. He would not be surprised if a vast chasm suddenly yawned before him! These harsh deep voices of the glacier, however, are not the only sounds we hear. On every side rises the murmur of brooks which trace their furrows across the crystalline plain. Some of these gradually converge, and, uniting, form a considerable torrent, which leaps with a clang from icy crag to icy ledge, until it is lost in a crevasse, or precipitated over the frozen cliff into the waters of the fiord. The _solitude_ of the scene is complete, but not the _silence_. The air is as full of “noises” as ever was Prospero’s isle. Such are the principal features of the glacier of Sermiatsialik. * * * * *