Livy darling, I received a letter from Monsieur Frèchette this morning, in which certain citizens of Montreal tendered me a public dinner next Thursday, & by Osgood’s cogent advice I accepted it. I would have accepted anyway, & very cheerfully but for the delay of two days—for I was purposing to go to Boston Tuesday & home Wednesday; whereas, now I go to Boston Friday & home Saturday. I have to go by Boston on account of business.

We drove about the steep hills & narrow, crooked streets of this old town during three hours, yesterday, in a sleigh, in a driving snow storm. The people here don’t mind snow; they were all out, plodding around on their affairs—especially the children, who were wallowing around everywhere, like snow images, & having a mighty good time. I wish I could describe the winter costume of the young girls, but I can’t. It is grave & simple, but graceful & pretty—the top of it is a brimless fur cap. Maybe it is the costume that makes pretty girls seemsⒶemendation so monotonously plenty here. It was a kind of relief to strike a homely face occasionally.

You descend into some of the streets by long, deep stairwaysⒶemendation; & in the strong moonlightⒶemendation, last night, these were very picturesque. I did wish you were here to see these things. You couldn’t by any possibility sleep in these beds, though, or enjoy the food.

Goodnight, sweetheart, & give my respects to the cubs.