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of those happy days. But I find my chief satisfaction now looking over all these things which belonged to her. She is hardly out of my mind a moment. I wonder if I shall always think so constantly of her. I went over the to the Cemetery this morning to see the man about cutting some of the trees on our lot and digging up the soil and I came back by her grave. A little snow lingered in the shaded walks but the sun was shining warm and bright there. It did not affect me as I somehow thought it might for I do not think of her there. I did not see her laid there and that I do not think of or realize. Today came the announcement that A.T. Stewarts body had been stolen from his vault in St. Marks Place. What a dreadful thing. How easy it would be for such persons to take bodies from our cemetery and it is a thought that has more than once presented itself to me. I had a letter from Platt. I know it was hard for him to write, for he was one of our dearest friends. 

Friday Nov 8. 1878. Today has been cold and windy with snow squalls along the mountains. I employed myself fixing fastenings to the garret window, fastened the lightning rod on my house which had blown down, put up the stove in the servants room and the front hall in which my father built a fire this evening. Last night before I went to bed I read two of Gertrudes letters written to me from Clinton while she was there attending to her grandmother and her father during their illness. They were written just after her grandmother died. Such filial devotion as they breathe such love and duty came to me across those sixteen years as almost to overwhelm me. How hard she worked and what anxiety she suffered and how faithfully she took up the burdens which she felt she was called to bear. Dear Gertrude! How I lived over those sad days with you and how near me you were in my holy memories of you. Sara came to my room late and consoled me with her loving sympathy and tenderness. I think Sara mourns for Gertrude almost as much as I do. Today I wrote to Charlie Sykes and to Mr. Boardman. The November wind is blowing outside. We used together to defy its melancholy but how sad it is now to me here alone. 

Saturday 9. It has been cold and windy today but bright and clear. I have been in my room most of the writing and arranging many things. I have not