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Saturday July 6, 1872. We have just emerged from a heated term which has been most disastrous to human life. July 3rd was the hottest day and the Tribune of Today says that over a thousand people have died from heat in the city in a week. We had a house full on the 4th. Calvert, Mr and Mrs. Swan Girard and a friend all came on Thursday. Joe Tomkins came Friday. His mill at Hillsboro burned last week and he has come to see whether it is to be rebuilt or not. I received a letter from Mr. Fairbanks yesterday in which he declined to take my "Venice" which I offered him for $900. I got my painting materials together today and want to work in our room. I made a little study for the picture I want to paint for Mr. Damian. It is inconvenient painting her as the sun comes in in the afternoon. I had intended to have my little studio completed if Mr. Fairbanks had taken my pictures and perhaps I may have it done still later in the season, but I cannot bear to go in debt for it. The fact is I am very unhappy and disinclined to do anything. Everything looks like a great undertaking even the most trivial affair and I find the summer going away without accomplishing much. Whether it is owing to the fact that I have not entirely regained my health or whether I am gradually losing my energy and hopefulness I can hardly tell, but I am afraid this constant worry about money affairs is having its effect to discourage me. Every summer it is the same. I am tied fast to the want of a little money. I think I must begin now to lay my plans for another year and if possible go somewhere I can be at work all the time. There is no way to be happy except to keep