Thursday, Oct 14, 1880 It is two years tonight since dear Gertrude died. I cannot realise that it was so long ago for to me it has all the freshness of an event of a few weeks ago. I went to the garden this morning and gathered some of the last morning glories, poor things that had felt the Autumn chills and put them in her blue vase and set them upon the breakfast table as she used to. After breakfast Sara and I took some of the few flowers which are still left and went over to the cemetery and put them on her grave. It has been a perfectly golden Autumn day with a mellow Indian summer atmosphere, such a day as she particularly loved, but with a feeling of the later Autumn in the air. It seems to me her gentle spirit has been about me today for I have felt calmer and more restful than for a long time before. I have been at work all day painting in my studio and thinking of her and of our happy married life over there in our dear little house. Once I thought I would go through the house and into our empty room but I thought it might make me sad and so I did not. This evening my mother and I have sat in the parlor and talked of dear Gertrude and I read her some of Bryants poems. "The future life" "Blessed are they that mourn" " Thanatopsis" "The old mans funeral" and the "Waterfowl" Today as looking in one of the drawers of Gertrudes bureau I opened her pocket-book and found a part of "The future life" which she had copied. Dear, darling Gertrude, I miss her tonight more than ever. Time does not soften her loss nor teach me to cease grieving for her. Sara and Mrs. Davis went to New York by the boat this evening. I had a letter from Mr. Chickering and a note from Beard enclosing a call for me to sign for a memorial evening to Gifford at the Century which as he requested I sent to Whittredge.