I feel better today and have been at work putting away my summer clothes. Dear Gertrude is so constantly in my thoughts. Sara and I talked of her yesterday and cried over her blessed memory. Every thing reminds me of her here. Every where are the marks of her loving hands and the very autumn landscape beyond the windows is eloquent of her. The weather is cold and there is a little snow here and there. I am getting my studio ready for cold weather putting up Mames Franklin. John Weirs' brother is buried today at West Point. If I had been well I think I would have gone down. He was killed by Indians while hunting and John went out after his body the night before I arrived in New York from Boston. I wrote to Mrs. Weir from N.Y. [newspaper clipping attached, "Arrival of Lieutenant Weir's Remains"] Sara told me today that Mrs. Forsyth was dead, and she had a letter from Cornelia Ellis in a very critical condition. Maurice after having abstained from drinking for more than two years, fell back into his old ways before I returned but recovered himself partially. Now he is going the old way, not home at supper and no one knows what time at night he comes in. I have not the heart to think of the future in connection with him. Yesterday was election day. The Republican Governor elected but the state ticket in doubt. Not as sweeping a vote as I would like to have seen. Wrote to Eastman and received a letter from Lucy.
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