their sleds drawn by gallant skaters. Altogether, it was a gay, cheerful scene.
The view of the village was very pleasing, the buildings showing against a bright sunset sky. They are cutting, or rather sawing ice, to supply the village next summer; the blocks are about ten inches thick. It is said that from eighteen to twenty inches is the greatest thickness of the ice observed here.
Wednesday, 24th.—Very mild—thawing—the snow going rapidly. The hills are getting brown and bare again, and the coarse stubble of the maize-fields shows plainly through the snow. Saw a winged insect by the road-side, a very rare sight indeed in our winters. I do not know what kind it was.
Met a number of teams drawing pine logs to the saw-mill. The river runs dark and gray; it never freezes near the village; the current, though not very swift, seems sufficient to prevent the ice from covering the stream. Ice often forms along the banks, but it is soon broken and carried away, and we have never seen it stretch across the river. Very pleasant it is, in the midst of a scene so still and wintry, to watch the running, living waters gliding along with a murmur as low and gentle as in June.
Thursday, 25th.—Rainy day. High south wind. The locust pods are scattered about the lawn on the dregs of the snow, yet the number on the trees seems scarcely diminished.
They are cutting ice; the sleds and men moving about in the water which lies above the ice, look oddly enough; and, like the swan of St. Mary's, they move double also—sleds, men, and oxen reflected as clear as life.
Friday, 26th.—Beautiful morning; charming sunrise, warm clouds in a soft sky. The lake rosy with reflections.
