Saturday, Aug 7, 1886 A week of August has gone. I find myself secretly glad the summer is passing, having a vague sense that there is to be satisfaction in the future or perhaps that the Autumn is coming when I will work with some result and some pleasure in my work. How I wish I were in some quiet place now with nothing to think of but my Art and studying from nature. I worked a while over at my studio but without much aim. I spent most of the afternoon in my room looking over some of dear Gertrudes things in her bureau drawers. It is sad work to see these things so intimately connected with her. I came across a little memorandum book which Sara found among my mothers things after her death, which Gertrude had evidently given to her. It ran back to 1866 and there were memoranda in her hand writing of many little events. I go back into the past when I look over these trifles which are precious and most sad to me because they belonged to her. Oh! I wonder often if she is conscious how I miss her and long for her.
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