direct me to those works which contained the more . . . popular account or biography of particular flowers from which the botanies I had met with appeared to draw sparingly, for I trusted that each flower had had many lovers and faithful describers in past times. But he informed me that I had read all, that no one was acquainted with them, they were only catalogued like his books. . . .
Who will not confess that the necessity to get money has helped to ripen some of his schemes?
Feb. 6, 1853. Observed some buds on a young apple-tree partially unfolded at the extremity and apparently swollen. Probably blossom buds.
Feb. 6, 1855. The coldest morning this winter. Our thermometer stands at —14° at 9 a. m. Others, we hear, at 6 a. m. stood at —18°. There are no loiterers in the street, and the wheels of wagons squeak as they have not for a long time, actually shriek. Frostwork keeps its place on the window within three feet of the stove all day in my chamber. At 4 p. m., the thermometer is at —10°. At six it is at —14°. I was walking at five, and found it stinging cold. . . . When I look out at the chimneys, I see that the cold and hungry air snaps up the smoke at once. The smoke is clear and light colored, and does not get far into the air before it is dissipated(?), condensed. The setting sun no
