FUNERAL OF BARBER — DEATH OF BROWN. 165 
took a nap on the lounge. I tried to write a letter, sitting on 
a cricket, close to the stove, with lamp upon a music-stool; but it 
required so much time to change positions, to keep some part of 
me from freezing, that I concluded to lay it by for a warmer day 
The next suggestion was, as it would be late before they would 
return from the convention, to try to go to sleep. There was a 
crispy sound of new-fallen snow, the moment one’s foot was on the 
stairway, and all through the chambers, over trunks, bureaus, 
beds, and everywhere, was spread this wdiite mantle. The roof 
was impervious to rain, but the fine snow sifted in everywhere. 
So, gently shaking the pillows, I lay down, and the fleecy covering 
was still falling. Twice I went down to replenish the fire, lest 
when they came they would be almost frozen, and th$ clock struck 
three, ere, through the wildness of the night, I heard cheerful 
voices approaching the house. Some of the gentlemen had frozen 
their ears, and were free to declare that the night was awful. 
We New Englanders consoled ourselves by thinking that in her 
borders it was even colder than here, while our guests, who had 
been used to the mild climate of southern Illinois and Kentucky, 
could hardly believe that this was the “ very mild climate ” which 
travellers have termed it, or that “ cattle could graze ” and “ flow¬ 
ers bloom the whole year.” Before the gentlemen retired, I made 
an effort to remove the snow from their bed ; but it was continu¬ 
ally falling, and the attempt was nearly useless. 
23 d. — T. and S. have returned from Lecompton. They were 
committed for trial, but Jones let them out on parole, until the 
time they are to go to Leavenworth to be imprisoned. 
24 th. — Still snowing, and the weather terribly severe. The 
thermometer seventeen degrees below zero, wind is blowing, and the 
snow drifting into all imaginable shapes. To travel in it seems 
impossible, and many times to-day I am querying what will be¬ 
come of the party who left here last evening. To face a Missouri 
mob is nothing to facing these winds which sweep over the prairies. 
Four young men — two from New England, one from England, 
and our Scotch friend — are stopping here. They try to write, 
but the ink can only be kept in a fluid state by keeping it on the 
stove, while it freezes in their pens. Were it not for their good 
