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George Dyer Snowed In Transcript
“Hail” Columbia, Monday, Dec. 8
I promised to write you fully on Sunday from Machias. I didn’t wouldn’t and couldn’t. The horse characters at Machias told me that a rainstorm was coming, “take a wagon.” I took a wagon and came over here Friday afternoon. Saturday morning, such a one’r of a snowstorm, I put in for 24 hours. Snow said to be from one to six feet, ‘according to.’ No track, no mail, no passer by since Friday. Can’t hear of anything or anybody moving anywhere. “All quiet on the lines” here. Am the only lodger in the tavern and eat alone. The landlord don’t talk, but he spits at the fire. That’s something exciting, not much, for his aim is good. Landlady affects the kitchen, and I bless her morning, noon and night. Whether liquor is out, can’t say, but no loafers about, with their refreshing horse talk. Tobacco about gone, Newspapers all read. By the way, there is a deal of leading in the newspapers if you read the advertisements ponderingly. Also the life of Gen’l Scott. Also the Arabian nights. Also an old copy of Lady’s book, for a year, full of delicious love stories, all alike. There remains an almanac and a school geography. These I reserve for the long evenings. Haven’t been out of the house for three days nor seen a passerby for that time. Therefore I am turned to thinking. If I could get anybody to talk to, I think I could bore them to death in about half a day. My landlord is now afraid to stay in the same room with me.
There are no temptations here. What a blessing. Neither the attractive wine glass, the bewildering chance, or the bedeviling petticoats. Yes, there is one temptation. The river flows with a rush under the window and tumbles over convenient falls. When I get out I will let you know. Ora pro nobis. Hail Columby.
Geo. US. Dyer
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