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Updated: May 10, 2025
It could not have been the great annual flood, as the higher branches must still have been ice-bound. And here we cannot but pause, to notice the admirable arrangement of nature, by which the annual swellings of the various great rivers which empty themselves into the Mississippi, have been made to precede each other at considerable intervals.
Owing to the comparatively fresh character of this sea its ports are ice-bound for a third of each year, and in the extreme seasons the whole expanse is frozen across from the coast of Denmark to that of Sweden.
The going was laborious and the distances seemed long, for on their return they reported that they had gone a hundred and fifty leagues, though in truth the distance was only a hundred and fifty miles. Then at last they stood on the shores of a vast body of water, ice-bound and forbidding as it lay in the grip of winter. It opened out illimitably westward.
She looked on the weird beauty of the ice-bound marshes which glittered red and green and blue in the sun with unseeing eyes; for her isolation was giving her time to think, and thought was a torment. On the eighth day came a letter from Uncle Chris, a cheerful, even rollicking letter. Things were going well with Uncle Chris, it seemed.
To them he was in their ice-bound home what Father Damien was to the stricken lepers in the South seas, and Dr. Grenfell is to the fishermen of Labrador. Hans Poulsen Egede, the apostle of Greenland, was a Norwegian of Danish descent. He was born in the Northlands, in the parish of Trondenäs, on January 31, 1686.
On this search for the Northwest Passage, Hudson's sailors mutinied, and put their great commander and eight companions ashore in an open boat in the bleak, ice-bound Hudson Bay. For this cruel deed the spirits of the crew of Hudson's vessel were supposed to wander up and down the shores of the Hudson River, unable to find rest even in death.
He spoke lightly, but there was a grave look on his face, and as she watched him following the snow-shoe tracks to the edge of the ice-bound lake, Helen Yardely knew that he was much disturbed by the mysterious visit of the unknown man. It was snowing again, driving across the lake in the hard wind and drifting in a wonderful wreath about the cabin.
He was certainly waiting for somebody, but it could not be that he had waited thirty-five years: thirty-five winters, whitening the ice-bound island; thirty-five summers, bringing all paradise except what he waited for. Just as I glanced at the blue man again his lips began to move, and the peculiar tingle ran down my back, though I felt ashamed of it in his sweet presence.
The effulgent gleam cast from these myriad flames upon polished woods, busts, statues, unique bric-a-brac, gildings, glass and ruby velvet produced the perfection of old-time splendour. And now, as the gallant beaux led in fair maidens, it gave the picture life. The great north window disclosed the ice-bound trees in all their primitive ruggedness.
Overhead a bright, mute, pale-green sky. A hard, cruel frost; firm, sparkling snow; from beneath the snow project grim blocks of ice-bound, wind-worn cliffs. Two huge masses, two giants rise aloft, one on each side of the horizon: the Jungfrau and the Finsteraarhorn. And the Jungfrau says to its neighbour: "What news hast thou to tell? Thou canst see better. What is going on there below?"
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