Ere long, Glenn and his man reached the valley above, and commenced a descent through the timber in a diagonal direction, that would conduct them, after numerous windings, to the edge of the frozen stream, along which a narrow pathway ran northward about a mile. Glenn paused at an abrupt angle in his descent, after having proceeded a few paces through the undergrowth, and stood long in wonderment and admiration, gazing at the scene that suddenly burst in view. His towering position overlooked the whole valley. The ten thousand trees beneath, and their ten million branches and twigs all completely clothed in crystal—while not the slightest breeze was stirring—presented a view of fairyland, such as flits across the vision in dreams, that the memory fain would cling to, but which is lost in the real and conflicting transactions of returning day. The noonday sun was momentarily veiled by a listless cloud, which seemed to be stationary in the heavens, as if designed to enhance the effect of the beauty below, that outvied in brightness even the usual light above. Not a squirrel was seen to leap from bough to bough, nor a bird to flit across the opening between the lofty trees; but all was stillness, silence, and beauty. As Glenn stood entranced, Joe seemed to be more struck with the operation of the enchantment on his companion’s features and attitude, than with any effect from the same source experienced on himself. “Ain’t you going down to the bottom of the valley?” asked Joe. “It is a scene such as is beheld by infants in their slumbers, when they dream of paradise!” said Glenn, paying no attention to Joe, his eyes immovably riveted on the innumerable sprigs of alabaster which pointed out in every direction in profuse clusters, while his pale lips seemed to move mechanically, and his brow expressed a mournful serenity, as if entertaining a regret that he should ever be separated from the pearly labyrinths before him, amid which he would delight to wander forever. “I think you must be dreaming yourself,” said Joe, staring at him. “How composed is every object!” continued Glenn; “such must be the abode of angels and departed spirits, who are not permitted longer to behold the strifes of earth and its contaminations, but rove continually with noiseless tread, or on self-poised wing, through devious and delightful paths, surrounded by sedges of silver embroidery, and shielded above by mazy fretwork spangled with diamonds, or gliding without effort through the pure and buoyant air, from bower to bower of crystal” “Ugh—talking of the icy trees makes me chilly!” said Joe. “With life everlasting and unchangeable!” continued Glenn, after a momentary pause from the interruption of his man, which he only noticed by a significant motion of the hand for him to be silent. “But I wouldn’t like the eternal _frost-work_,” said Joe.