
Heigho! Midwinter again. And snow—ground all covered. Perhaps its the last slap. I pray the gods—so make it be. Seven sparrows are out on the naked limbs of the tree—all huddled up. Yesterday I threw them a crumb, & they all jumped down & had a big fight for it. They seem the quintessence of selfishness—more greedy than pigs. When me thinks of the solemn great creator of the universe making such funny, spiteful little "animated torrid zones" & covering them with feathers—it seems as if our Church deacons were off the track."Mebbe no, & mebby yes," quoth my Italian.
I sent Mrs. Davis the Register with report of my modeling in the church.

I'm working on my cast for the indication of the "spirit and the means" for the next stroke of fortune.
Glad to hear of the completion of the portrait. I am anxious to see it.
I've worked on my story some of late, & have all done but the last 3 chapters. I fear my hero belongs to an impossible age.
Yes, I think New York State good, & Canada, I believe, would be good also. What 'hinders my going over the whole country? I'd like to go South—I believe I could tell Southern people a good deal about the North. I've got, say, ten years before me. When I get an idee I could stop & model it. My health is "boss," & I feel like raging about.
Keep so, so. I shall be along in time, & talk you tired—
Regards to Mrs. D.
Sincerely, Morse
