15th.  The state of the weather, during this month, has exhibited some striking changes.  The first three or four days were quite severe.  On the fifth it became mild, and continued so for eight or nine days.  During this time, nearly all the snow which had previously fallen was carried off by rains, or the heat of the sun.  The weather was so mild that I sat in my office, on the 13th, without fire, for about two hours.  Two evenings previous, the snow fell from the roofs of buildings at nine o’clock, and it continued thawing through the night.  To day, the wind has veered round to a northerly point, and the weather has resumed its wintry temperature.

22d.  The River St. Mary’s froze over during the night of this day.  The stream had been closed below, for about a week previous.

24th.  The Tartars cannot pronounce the letter b.  Those of Bulgaria pronounce the word blacks as if written Iliacs.  The Chippewas in this quarter usually transpose the b and p in English words.  They substitute n for l, pronouncing Louis as if written Nouis.  The letter r is dropped, or sounded au. P is often substituted for f, b for v, and ch for j.  In words of their own language, the letters f, l, r, v, and x, do not occur.  The following are their names for the seasons.

Pe-boan,           Winter. 
Se-gwun,           Spring. 
Ne-bin,            Summer. 
Ta-gwa-ge,         Autumn.

Years are counted by winters, months by moons, and days by nights.  There are terms for morning, mid-day, and evening.  The year consists of thirteen moons, each moon being designated by a descriptive name, as the moon of flowers (May), the moon of strawberries (June), the moon of berries (July), &c.  Canoe and tomahawk are not terms belonging to the Chippewa language.  From inquiries I think the former is of Carib origin, and the latter Mohegan.  The Chippewa equivalents are in the order stated, Cheman and Agakwut.

26th.  In going out to dinner at 3 o’clock, a sheet of paper containing conjugations of verbs, which had cost me much time and questioning, had fallen from my table.  On returning in the evening, I found my dog, Ponty, a young pet, had torn my care-bought conjugations into small pieces.  What was to be done?  It was useless to whip the dog, and I scarcely had the courage to commence the labor anew.  I consequently did neither; but gathering up the fragments, carefully soaked the gnawed and mutilated parts in warm water, and re-arranged and sealed them together.  And before bedtime I had restored the manuscript so as to be intelligibly read.  I imposed this task upon myself, but, had it been imposed by another, I would have been ready to pronounce him a madman.