Sunday, Jan 30, 1881 The weather continues cold. Just a little above zero this morning. I read some of dear Gertrudes loving letters last night just before I went to bed and hoped I might dream of her my soul had been so entirely filled with thoughts of her and an unutterable longing for her but I could not. We talked together of Maurices condition this morning and reading an editorial in the Tribune upon a paper by some distinguished authority on this habit we all agreed that there was no other way to meet it but as a disease. Sara went in to see him and has begun to prescribe for him and we hope he has reached the lowest point. Every four or five weeks he has to go through all this misery. I took a walk with Park over toward the cemetery but the snow was so deep there and the walking so difficult I did not go in. John McEntee & Nannie and Girard and May took tea with us yesterday and spent the evening.
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