Tuesday, July 29, 1884 It has rained all day, a part of the time very hard. Joe started for home by the 11 oclock train. I drove him down to the ferry. He seemed restless and to wish to get back although he had enjoyed his visit here. I feel sorry for him and can understand how lost he is without Gussie. We have had a fire in the parlor and sat there all day. I burned out the sitting room chimney this forenoon. When I was sweeping up the ashes I found two little chimney swallows. One was burned to a crisp and quite dead, the other had its feathers all burned but was still alive. I felt very badly about it and wished I had deferred the burning for in a few days they would have flown from the nest. I have been reading in the lives of the British Artists which dear Gertrude gave me on my birth-day ten years ago. What a charming gift it was and in the front of the first volume is the sweet, and wifely note with which she presented this rare gift, which no one but she would have thought of. The beautiful edition has been owned by some one who has written in a delicate hand many notes on the margins. It is an edition of 1829.
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