sooner leaves our west windows than a solid, but beautiful crystallization coats them, except, it may be, a triangularish bare spot at one corner which, perhaps, the sun has warmed and dried. . . . A solid, sparkling field in the midst of each pane, with broad, flowing sheaves surrounding it. It has been a very mild as well as open winter up to this. At 9 o'clock p. m., thermometer at —16°. They say it did not rise above —6° to-day.
Feb. 7, 1853. The coldest night for a long, long time. Sheets froze stiff about the face. . . . People dreaded to go to bed. The ground cracked in the night as if a powder-mill had blown up, and the timbers of the house also. My pail of water was frozen in the morning so that I could not break it. . . . Iron was like fire in the hands. [Mercury?] at about 7.30 a. m. gone into the bulb of the thermometer —19° at least. . . . Bread, meat, milk, cheese, etc., all frozen. . . . The inside of your cellar door all covered and sparkling with frost like Golconda. The latches are white with frost, and every nail-head in entries, etc., has a white head. . . . Neighbor Smith's thermometer stood at —26° early this morning. But the day is at length more moderate than yesterday. . . . This will be remembered as the cold Tuesday. The old folks still refer to the cold Friday, when they
