I Take A Piece Of Granite Made Very Hot
To Bed, Draw The Blankets Over My Head And Sleep Eight Hours,
Though The Snow Often Covers Me.
One day of snow, mist, and
darkness was rather depressing, and yesterday a hurricane began
about five in the morning, and the whole park was one swirl of
drifting snow, like stinging wood smoke.
My bed and room were
white, and the frost was so intense that water brought in a
kettle hot from the fire froze as I poured it into the basin.
Then the snow ceased, and a fierce wind blew most of it out of
the park, lifting it from the mountains in such clouds as to make
Long's Peak look like a smoking volcano. To-day the sky has
resumed its delicious blue, and the park its unrivalled beauty.
I have cleaned all the windows, which, ever since I have been
here, I supposed were of discolored glass, so opaque and dirty
they were; and when the men came home from fishing they found a
cheerful new world. We had a great deal of sacred music and
singing on Sunday. Mr. Buchan asked me if I knew a tune called
"America," and began the grand roll of our National Anthem to the
words:
My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty, etc.
December 1.
I was to have started for Canyon to-day, but was awoke by snow as
stinging as pinpoints beating on my hand. We all got up early,
but it did not improve until nearly noon.
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