Howard Pyle,
The Price of Blood: An Extravaganza of New York Life in 1807
“ And so slow was their transit and so doubtful their course that the night was pretty far advanced before they reached New York.The town lay perfectly silent, smothered in a blanket of soundless white, upon which the ceaseless clouds of snow fell noiselessly out of the inky sky above. Indeed, the drifts were become so deep that Griscombe entertained very considerable doubts as to how he should convey Miss Desmond and the now tragic contents of the portmanteau to their final destination. ”
