My next trip up the Hudson was in winter, when the surface of the river was in the state of "glacial," solid at 50° for two or three feet down, but the temperature was considerably lower, frequently 15° and 20° below zero--and that was nipping cold "and no mistake," making the very breath "glacial," plugging up the nostrils with "chunks" of ice, and binding the beard and moustache together, making a glacier on your face, which you had to break through every now and then to make a breathing hole. On this arctic trip the whole aspect of the river and its boundaries is marvellously changed, without losing any of its picturesque attractions. Instead of the clear, deep river having its glassy surface broken by the splash of paddle-wheels, it is converted into a solid highway. Instead of the sound of the "pilot's gong," and the cries of "a sail on the port bow," there is nothing to be heard but the jingling sound of the sleigh bells, and the merry laugh and prattle of the fair occupants of the sleighs, as they skim past on the smooth surface of the ice, wrapped cosily up in their gay buffalo robes. The great excitement of winter in Canada or the States is to take a sleigh ride; and I think there is nothing more delightful, when the wind is still, than to skim along the ice in the bright, winter sunshine, behind a pair of spanking "trotters." The horses seem to enjoy it as much as the people, arching their necks a little more proudly than usual, and stepping lightly to the merry sound of the sleigh bells. At this time of the year large sleighs, holding fifteen to twenty people, and drawn by four horses, take the place of steamers, omnibuses, and ferry boats. The steam ferries are housed, except at New York, and there they keep grinding their way through the ice "all winter," as if they would not let winter reign over their destinies if they could help it. Large sleighs cross and recross on the ice higher up the Hudson, and thus keep up the connection between the various points and opposite shores. As the mercury falls the spirits of the people seem to rise, and they shout and halloo at each other as they pass or race on the ice. These are animated scenes for the skill of a Blanchard or any other artist equally good in the production of instantaneous photographs. Another of the scenes on the Hudson worthy of the camera is "ploughing the ice." It is a singular sight to an Englishman to see a man driving a team of horses on the ice, and see the white powder rising before the ice-plough like spray from the prow of a vessel as she rushes through the water, cutting the ice into blocks or squares, to stow away in "chunks," and afterwards, when the hot sultry weather of July and August is prostrating you, have them brought out to make those wonderful mixtures called "ice-creams," "sherry-cobblers," and "brandy-cocktails."