Morning at the Office, but rather late. The storm ceased at eight o’clock and we found ourselves in the midst of snow. I have not seen such a spectacle since my Junior year at Cambridge. The depth of it on a level might be a foot and a half. But it lay in some places in drifts of four or five feet. My Office windows were covered so as completely to shut out the light. Wrote a letter to my Mother which occupied all the morning that remained. Afternoon, read over Dr. Channing’s Review of Napoleon’s Life, with a view to discussion in the evening but the meeting1
was so thin, that I took no advantage of it.