“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.

“Pshaw!” replied Glenn, pursuing his way downwards.  When they reached the bottom of the valley, they were yet a hundred paces distant from its junction with the river, which was obscured by the many intervening trees that grew along the frozen rivulet.  Here Glenn again paused to contemplate the scene.  The hills that rose abruptly on either hand, and the thick intertwining branches above, combined to produce a dusky aspect scarce less dim than twilight.  Glenn folded his arms composedly, and looked thoughtfully round, as if indulging the delightful fancies engendered when wandering forth on a summer’s pleasant evening.  “There seems to be a supernatural influence pervading the air to-day,” he said, in a low-tone, “for I sometimes imagine that flitting spirits become partially visible.  On the pendent icicles and jewelled twigs, me thinks I sometimes behold for an instant the prismatic rays of elfins’ eyes—­”

“Don’t believe it,” said Joe; “or if it is so, they are weeping at the cold, and will soon be frozen up.”

“And at each sudden turn,” continued Glenn, “they seem to linger an instant in view, and then vanish sportively, as if amused at the expense of impotent mortals.”

“I can’t hear ’em laugh,” said Joe.

“And then,” continued Glenn, “although beyond human consciousness, there may be heavenly sounds in the air—­the melody of aerial harps and fairy voices—­to which our ears may be sealed, when, perchance, our vicinity to their presence may inspire the peculiar sensation I now experience.”

“I heard a heap of curious sounds one warm sunshiny morning,” said Joe; “but when I asked an old fellow jogging along the same road what they meant, he said the day before had been so cold when the stage-driver went by that his wind froze as it came out of the bugle, and was just then thawing.”

“If such beings do exist,” continued Glenn, paying no attention to Joe, “it would delight me to commune with them face to face.”

“I see a buck’s head!” cried Joe, looking down the dell, where the object he mentioned was distinctly observable amid a cluster of spicewood bushes, whence a slight jingling sound proceeded as the animal plucked the nutritious buds bent down by the innumerable icicles.