and where open land for many miles in the horizon by the darkness of the former and whiteness of the latter. . . . It looks as if the snow and ice of the arctic world, traveling like a glacier, had crept down southward and overwhelmed New England. See if a man can think his summer thoughts now.—But the evening star is preparing to set, and I will return, floundering through snow, sometimes up to my middle. . . .
The forcible writer stands bodily behind his words with his experience. He does not make books out of books, but he has been there in person. . . .
That is a good mythological incident told of the wounded farmer who, his foot being lacerated and held fast between his plow and a fallen tree in a forest clearing, drew his oxen to him with difficulty, smeared their horns with blood which the mosquitoes had drawn from his bare arms, and cutting the reins, sent them home as an advertisement to his family.
Feb. 3, 1854. . . . Varro speaks of two kinds of pigeons, one of which was wont to alight on the (Columinibus villæ) columns of a villa (a quo appellatæ columbæ), from which they were called "Columbæ." These, on account of their natural timidity (summa loca in tectis captant), delight in the highest places on the roofs (or under cover)?
