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as the years of her absence go by with an ever increasing love and tenderness. She lives in my memory as the dearest blessing of my blessed life, the loveliest woman I ever saw or ever expect to see and I never lose the hope that we shall meet again. I have painted most of the day o er at my studio and sitting there in that silent place once blessed with her presence I have thought of our early married life there and pictured here as she seemed in her sunny and happy youth the embodiment of love and tenderness and womanly sweetness. 

368

Saturday January 1" 1887.

It rained in the night and most of the forenoon and again snowed a little until towards evening it cleared. I went down to the mail at noon walking through the wet snow. My father had two calls from his old friends Henry Dindney and Mr. Ellsworth, the wagon maker of Kingston. We had no other calls, the custom having apparently utterly died out. I have been looking over some of my papers, reading a little and writing to Mary and to Mr. Sawyer. This evening I went over to Girards and went with him, Mary and Jimmy over to the Toboggan slide which was to have been inaugurated today but was not on account of the rain. It was expected they would use it tonight but they found it in an unfit condition. There were a good many people there attracted by curiosity. We soon returned. It is freezing a little tonight and there is every prospect of good sleighing now. 

[[newspaper clipping]]
THEY SAY IF OUR BELOVED DEAD-
From The Troy Times.

They say if our beloved dead
Should seek the old familiar place,
Some stranger would be there instead,
And they would find no welcome face.

I cannot tell how it might be 
In other homes-but this I know:
Could my lost darling come to me,
That she would never find it so.

Oft-times the flowers have come and gone.
Oft-times the winter winds have blown,
The while her peaceful rest went on,
And I have learned to live alone.

Have slowly learned from day to day
In all life's tasks to bear my part;
But whether grave, or whether gay,
I hide her memory in my heart.

Fond, faithful love has blest my way,
And friends are round me true and tried;
They have their place-but hers to-day 
Is empty as the day she died.

How would I spring with bated breath,
And joy too deep for word or sign,
To take my darling home from death,
And once again to call her mine!

I dare not dream-the blissful dream,
It fills my hear with wild unrest;
Where yonder cold white marbles gleam,
She still must slumber-God knows best.

But this I know, that those who say
Our best beloved would find no place,
Have never hungered every day-
Through years and years-for one sweet face.
[[/newspaper clipping]]

Sunday 2"

It grew cold in the night and has been cold and bright all day. This evening the wind is blowing from N.W. and it is very cold. I have read most of the day. Girard brought his toboggan over for me to paint the name on it which I did. 

Monday 3" The Mercury marked 8° below zero this morning at 8 o'clock and was 13° below down town. I walked down to the mail and met poor old Robinson with no gloves on this cold morning. I bought some lemons of him which he was to take up here. While I was in Deye's store a little boy came in to buy half a pound of 6 lb sugar. He had no mittens and was thinly clad. I took him into a store and bought him a pair of warm mittens and told him to come up on the hill and I would give him some stockings. When I got back home Robinson was here warming himself by the hall stove. I gave him a pair of my fathers buckskin mittens lined with flannel. I told him I knew him when he owned the High Falls mill. He said he ran it 15 years for his mother and 15 more for himself. He said "I used to" have Tommy Cornell in those days. he was poor as a rat" I asked him if Cornell ever [[hand?]] him now. He said "yes. He gave me two dollars the other day and I am going to him again today." I asked him where he slept. He answered "wherever night overtakes me" Where do you feed" I inquired " 'Oh' he said "I have plenty to eat. My friends look out for me." He showed me a pair of pantaloons John McEntee gave him and a coat some one else gave him. Poor old fellow. He keeps up courage. I dont see how. He is one of the tough kind, Stoical Dutchmen. It has been too cold to work in my studio. I have read and done some tinkering. My taxes are done $350 in the 12" and I dont quite see where they are coming from. No inquiries yet from the advertisement and I could hardly expect any yet. No word from Bowyer. But there will be some way out I am sure. The Tobogganers are out in full force today and tonight. My badge for the Club was sent  

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