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160_Page 158New York. Monday. 29th November. 1841.

A deep Snow, every thing buried alive. The snow has fallen all day without cessation. A regular old fashioned snow storm met our eyes this morning, giveing a chill to the air, by no agreeable. Garret would not get up when the bell rung, he generally naps it a few moments if I will let him. We all kept quietly within doors. Julie, complained of a bad cold in her head. I attempted to make her a comfortable. but found it too great an undertakeing, put away in despair, the whole concern. Ripped the sleeves from my “lilac poplein [sic]”, and mended all Garrets old shirts. Put long sleeves , and pockets in Julie’s [every] day dresses.

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