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of hair I cut from her dear head after she was dead, now more than two years ago and I looked at it through a thousand sweet and sacred memories of her and I relieved my sad heart with a flood of tears. How I wished for Sara to talk to about her today. No one spoke of her and while I thought of her I could hardly bring myself to speak of her. My mother and I sat and talked after the rest had gone to bed. Poor woman. She is full of anxieties and has to keep up under many discouragements. She dreads my going away. My father sits and reads all evening and it must be very dull here. Dear Gertrude used to find it so, poor child, but never complained but was glad to have me here. I think if we were flourishing it would be different, but it is so hard to live that the very effort seems to exhaust. When I think how much depends upon me and how powerless I seem to do what I ought to do I am almost driven mad. I have had a few weeks respite from care and worry but now when I go back to New York I feel that it will all return. I feel very despondent tonight. Dear Gertrude is free from all this trouble. Some times I wonder if I would call her back if I could.

Friday Nov. 26. 1880. Spent the forenoon packing my pictures and sketches which I sent to New York by Express today. Calvert and I took a walk out to the Roatina after dinner. It has been a grey misting day very cold, not thawing even in front of the house. I have felt very troubled and depressed thinking over our affairs. I have decided to go to New York on Monday and I always feel badly when I am preparing to leave. Still I must try and earn some money. I would not go yet if it were not for that for I love the winter at home. Sara and Jamie came up from N.Y. this evening. Sara had a letter from Laura saying she and her husband child and nurse were coming for a visit. Sara has had a great deal of criticism and opposition for disposing of a picture, at lottery, which I gave her for the Industrial Home. Some of these busy-bodies cant seem to see that she alone is responsible and not they. We had a pretty warm talk about it this evening, and I got pretty excited which I always regret, but the whole thing seems so very absurd to me.

Saturday 27. Painted, but aimlessly all forenoon on the little portrait and then rubbed it all off. The Literary Club met here in the evening. There was a large attendance and Calverts essay on "Play" caused a good deal of discussion and was very favorably received. A letter from Weir in which he intimates that I write with restraint which I hardly understand.  I am to leave for New York Monday and a thousand sorrowful suggestions take possession of me and I am full of discouraging thoughts. I have a great deal of money to pay soon and I dont feel as though my 

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