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234 about my paper on Gifford. Wrote to him to Weir and to Bertha. Tuesday Nov. 23. 1880. The weather is very cold, canals frozen and the creek full of ice. Started my stove in my studio but it does not work well and it was so cold in there that I had to burn wood in it. Wednesday 24. Still very cold and snowing a little since night fall. made a box in which to take my pictures to N.Y. and then built a fire in my studio and tried to paint on the little picture of Gertrude for Mrs Sawyer but to no purpose. I cant make any thing of it. Sara went to N.Y this morning and was to meet Janice on the train. Calvert came this evening to stay until Monday. I went over to the cemetary just before evening. I have had such a longing for dear Gertrude and have thought so much about her all day. The little things in one room bring her before me. If I open one of her drawers as I did today a tide of tender memories of her sweeps over me and it still seems a strange thing that I am never to see her again. I have been reading a spiritualist paper which Janette sent me. Very strange things are recounted and much that is elevating and encouraging. In connection with what Weir told me it all seems very wonderful. I wonder if my dear Gertrude I loved so tenderly and who loved me so devotedly can and does come to me. Certainly if it is so I have no intimation of it. It seems to me that if she could come to me she would. I am going to New York next week for the winter and I dread going away from home and the loneliness I shall inevitably feel there. Hence I wonder what my fate is to be, my near future which does not seem hopeful as it once did. Thanksgiving day. Thursday 25. It snowed a very little in the night and has been cold but not so cold as yesterday. Calvert and I went over to the cemetary after breakfast as he had not seen the stone at Gertrudes grave. I went to my [[strikethrough]] room [[/strikethrough]] studio after we returned and after a walk on the common and built a fire and Calvert came over after a little time and I showed him my pictures. I never knew whether he liked any thing or not, he seems so afraid to like things. We had our Thanksgiving dinner about 2 o'clock. Girard and Mary and the children were the only ones here except our family and Calvert. Sara was in New York. I thought of dear Gertrude and of the empty seat which can never be filled. I have thought of her all day and after dinner I came to my room and opened the drawer and took out the lock
