28 December 1863 – 31 December 1863

The last of eighteen sixty-three is passing away as I write.... Every New Year since I was in my teens, I have sought a quiet spot where I could whisper to myself Tennyson's "Death of the Old Year," and even this bitter cold night I steal into my freezing, fireless little room, en robe de nuit, to keep up my old habit while the others sleep.... "Old year, you shall not die; We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you must die." No! Go and welcome! Bring Peace and brighter days, O dawning New Year. Die, faster and faster, Old One; I count your remaining moments with almost savage glee.