It is unfortunate that it takes so many
words to express what I wanted to say, but I am done at last.
* * * * *
I have got it! Yes, all the ice I want is now white for the harvest in
our "artificial" pond. It is the only thing that reconciles me to this
fierce visit of polar weather. As soon as a trifle milder wave gets
along our way we shall carefully store away sufficient for the year's
use. By the way, where are the poor deluded woodchucks, muskrats, and
Old Settlers, who told us we were to bask in mild etherialness all
winter long? I am disgusted this morning, with the mercury at 30 degrees
below zero, and still going down, at the whole batch of them, and with
Vennor and Hazen, and all professionally weatherwise men and things. I
have heard of little real suffering in my neighborhood from the cold,
among either humans or brutes. Doubtless, when the weather moderates
and people get out to tell each other all about the cold spell, there
will be many true tales of intense suffering and more than the usual
romancing about the terrible week. And then the Oldest Inhabitant will
thaw out, and with all the self-satisfaction that superior age and
experience crown him with, will tell how much colder it was in such and
such a year, until we wish this little spell had sealed his memory and
mouth, for we do all take a great pride in living in a time that excels
all other times, albeit, if it be only in a storm or a freeze.
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