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have my hair cut. Received a letter from Julia Wilkinson with news from Gifford up to Saturday afternoon. They were hopeful but I seem to feel that he is in a very critical state. This afternoon I made a new case for my sketching umprella &c and covered our writing desk with some fresh, new velvet. It gave me a pang to tear off the old worn and faded velvet on which dear Gertrude had written so many sweet and loving letters to me. I can't bear to disturb or change any thing in any way connected with her memory. I need to see the mason about setting the stone at her grave as soon as it comes. This evening I have written to Julia and to Mary Gifford who is with Sanford in N.Y. This has been a pretty warm day but entirely comfortable here on the hill. The yellow birds fly about in flocks and utter their plaintive chant and I saw a robin towards evening. But all the sounds are of the late summer and the weeds are going to seed in the waste places.

Tuesday Aug. 10" 1880. Another very warm day. My father went up to Sulphur Spring at High Falls and had a difficult time getting the water. I went over to the cemetery this morning and saw Victor Quillian about the grade of our lot. Painted a little sketch of the twilight last night. A letter from Julia Vaux and one from Alice in which she says she cannot come to Rondout. A nice long letter from Eastman Johnson. Wrote to Julia Vaux. Maurice stays at home and seems to be getting over his bout. Have been trying to doctor "Billy" the horse. He has distemper but do not make much of a success.

Wednesday 11. Maggie came back yesterday and went away again to Connecticut. Ma and Mrs. Davis went on a pic nic by invitation of Mrs. Cornell out on the rail road as far as Deans Corners. I have painted most of the day in my studio and I hope to advance my picture. But I do not work with any spirit. A feeling of depression weighs me down and I am full of forebodings for the future. Maurice is a great trouble to me. I can not bear to be with him. His whole life is so utterly antagonistic to my own. He is a black shadow upon our house hold. I have been reading some of Stoddards and Mrs Stoddards letters to us in 1862 shortly after we became acquainted. How hopeful we all were then and how our lives have changed since. I wish I could be content in the present. It is wise to try to be, but there are so many possibilities in the future that I cannot keep from thinking of it. If I had cheerful companionship I am sure I would be spared much of this but I have to confess that the days go wearily by and this is a sad confession. Since dear Gertrude died all things are changed and they will never be the same again to me.