Wednesday, 17th.—Pleasant weather. Good sleighing yet. Troops of boys skating on the lake. The ice is a fine light blue to-day; toward sunset it was colored with green and yellow; those not familiar with it might have fancied it open; but there is a fixed, glassy look about the ice which betrays the deception, and reminds one what a poor simile is that of a mirror, for the mobile, graceful play of countenance of the living waters, in their natural state.
The fresh, clear ice early in the season is often tinged with bright reflections of the sky.
Thursday, 18th.—It is snowing a little. The children are enjoying their favorite amusement of sliding to their hearts' content; boys and girls, mounted on their little sleds, fly swiftly past you at every turn. Wherever there is a slight descent, there you are sure to find the children with their sleds; many of these are very neatly made and painted; some are named, also—the “Gazelle,” the “Pathfinder,” &c., &c. Grown people once in a while take a frolic in this way; and of a bright moonlight night, the young men sometimes drag a large wood-sled to the top of Mount ——, or rather to the highest point which the road crosses, when they come gliding swiftly down the hill to the village bridge, a distance of just one mile—a pretty slide that—a very respectable montague russe.
Friday, 19th.—Cold. The evergreens make less difference than one would suppose in the aspect of the country. Beautiful in summer, when all about them is green, they never strike one as gloomy; those which are natives of this climate, at least, are not of a sombre character. But as winter draws on, and the snow falls, they seem to grow darker; seen in the distance, in
