The next morning, when I jumped out of bed, the sun was shining brightly, the cloudless heavens wore the tender azure of June, and the whole earth lay muffled up to the eyes, as it were, in a thick mantle of milk-white down.
It was a very deep snow.

The Oldest Inhabitant (what would become of a New England town or village without its oldest Inhabitant ?) overhauled his almanacs, and pronounced it the deepest snow we had had for twenty years.

It couldn't have been much deeper without smothering us all.
Our street was a sight to be seen, or, rather, it was a sight not to be seen; for very little street was visible.

One huge drift completely banked up our front door and half covered my bedroom window.
There was no school that day, for all the thoroughfares were impassable.
By twelve o'clock, however, the great snowploughs, each drawn by four yokes of oxen, broke a wagon-path through the principal streets; but the foot-passengers had a hard time of it floundering in the arctic drifts.
The Captain and I cut a tunnel, three feet wide and six feet high, from our front door to the sidewalk opposite.

It was a beautiful cavern, with its walls and roof inlaid with mother-of-pearl and diamonds.