260 
ICES. 
A similar bulk of lamp oil, denuded of the staves, stood 
like a yellow sandstone roller for a gravel walk. 
“ Tees for the dessert come of course unbidden, in 
all imaginable and unimaginable variety. I have tried 
my inventive powers on some of them. A Roman 
punch, a good deal stronger than the noblest Roman 
ever tasted, forms readily at —20°. Some sugared 
cranberries, with a little butter and scalding water, 
and you have an impromptu strawberry ice. Many a 
time at those funny little jams, that we call in Phila- 
delphia ‘ parties,’ where the lady-hostess glides with 
such nicely-regulated indifference through the complex 
machinery she has brought together, I have thought 
I noticed her stolen glance of anxiety at the cooing 
doves, whose icy bosoms were melting into one upon 
the supper-table before their time. We order these 
things better in the Arctic. Such is the ‘ composition 
and fierce quality’ of our ices, that they are brought 
in served on the shaft of a hickory broom ; a transfix- 
imr rod. which we use as a stirrer first and a fork aft- 
erward. So hard is this terminating cylinder of ice, 
that it might serve as a truncheon to knock down an 
ox. The only difficulty is in the processes that fol- 
low. It is the work of time and energy to impress it 
with the carving-knife, and you must handle your 
spoon deftly, or it fastens to your tongue. One of our 
mess was tempted the other day by the crystal trans- 
parency of an icicle to break it in his mouth ; one 
piece froze to his tongue, and two others to his lips, 
and each carried off the skin : the thermometer was 
at —28°. 
“Thus much for our Arctic grub. I need not say 
that our preserved meats would make very fair can- 
non-balls, canister-shot!! 
