The tale
drew near its close.
The moon was bright on high; the blue firmament appeared to glow with an
inherent brightness; the greater stars were burning in their spheres; the
northern lights threw their mysterious glare far over the horizon; the
few small clouds aloft were burdened with radiance; but the sky, with all
its variety of light, was scarcely so brilliant as the earth. The rain
of the preceding night had frozen as it fell, and, by that simple magic,
had wrought wonders. The trees were hung with diamonds and many-colored
gems; the houses were overlaid with silver, and the streets paved with
slippery brightness; a frigid glory was flung over all familiar things,
from the cottage chimney to the steeple of the meeting-house, that
gleamed upward to the sky. This living world, where we sit by our
firesides, or go forth to meet beings like ourselves, seemed rather the
creation of wizard power, with so much of resemblance to known objects
that a man might shudder at the ghostly shape of his old beloved
dwelling, and the shadow of a ghostly tree before his door. One looked
to behold inhabitants suited to such a town, glittering in icy garments,
with motionless features, cold, sparkling eyes, and just sensation enough
in their frozen hearts to shiver at each other's presence.
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