
Snow storm two days—all white out—of course I am imprison'd—sent off four big books to Melbourne, Australia, paid, by express, $7.50—sitting here dull, heavy-headed, congested—good fire—no mail for me to-day—Warren has gone out sleighing—I hear the boys playing snow-balling &c: am rather afraid George Stafford is lingering-stricken, by acct's—Harry keeps well—some six old fellows (80 and over) died hereabout the last fortnight
–Happy New Year to you & all Walt Whitman