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and he had answered me to finish my visit I felt I ought to go to N.Y. and see what was to be done, which I decided to do. We took a ride in the morning and visited a very quaint old house at Dedham built about 1630 the home of the Fairbanks' of St. Johnsbury. It is a wooden building quaint and picturesque, and remains about as when built. Much of the old furniture is still there, some china and pewter platters very ancient, said to be of the date of the war of the roses. It was the most interesting place of the kind I ever saw in this country. Took the train to Boston, and arranged to dine with Mr. Chickering at 2.30. Went and attended to my baggage and get stateroom by Providence line. Dined with Mr. Chickering, Ordway and   an architect. After dinner called with Ordway on Gaugengigl an artist and Dewing who was out. Went to see Mr. Wigglesworths pictures for a short time and to Williams & Everetts to see if they knew of any of Giffords pictures in Boston and then to the cars. Saw Mr. Chickering again just as I left. Pleasant night at the sound. Rebuked saucy waiter and complained of him to clerk. Landed in N.Y. about 7.

Saturday Sept. 25. 1880. Walked to my studio and had a nice breakfast, then to see Richard Butler 33 Mercer St and talked with him about the Gifford exhibition. Called on Fitch who told me of his worries and troubles. I feel very sorry for him for he is a good generous fellow. We talked of Gifford and both felt very sadly his loss. Went to see Hubbard and together we went to Giffords room to select some of his little pictures and sketches for the exhibition and sent for Menger and Wilmont to come and confer with us about framing and mounting. I came across a little study on the Mountain House path from Scribners on the margin of which was a tiny sketch of Gertrude in her mountain dress which would have to be cut off in mounting and I took the liberty of taking it. There was another in the Close with me sketching under a rock and Gertrude sitting near reading, very small but like. I remember Gifford and I looked at this together each winter. It seemed very strange to be looking over his sketches in this way for every thing in the room was just as he left it and it did not seem possible he was never to return. We took down some sketches from the walls which had been familiar to me there for years and it seemed almost like sacrilege to do it.

As I entered my room this morning an awful sense of sorrow and loneliness came over me. The peculiar smell as of camphor recalled a thousand associations