Monday, June 18, 1883 I went over to the cemetery after breakfast and transplanted a number of morning glories on Maurices grave. Victor Quilliard who seemed to be superintending the putting up the great monument on Capt. Andersons lot, came over and talked with me. He told me the cemetery association had bought 17 acres adjoining on the Port farm for $1700. The morning was grey and promised rain. I drove down to Rondout to do some errands and before I got back it began to rain and has rained gently nearly all day. Sara has been arranging poor Maurices room for Downing taking Maurices things out and putting away his clothes. I helped her look over his trunk. It is very trying to go over the belongings of the departed; to see the little trifles that remain is but to bring afresh before one the dead. Maurice maintained a Spartan simplicity in his room and his surroundings and never collected much. His room seemed his castle and so vividly suggested his presence in the order in which he kept everything. I cant help think of him constantly. After dinner I took a photograph of him which was made several years ago and went over to my studio and painted in a little sketch of him which I think looks like him. I wish I could make a picture of him as he looked at his best and as he ought to look. I thought today in the loneliness that seems to haunt me here what companions we could have been had he been different and what a comfort we might have been to each other; but brothers seldom are companionable. Sara had a letter this evening from Uncle Patricks daughter Gertrude Perrin telling her how shocked she was to see a notice of Maurices death in a Buffalo paper. She was going to write to him that day of the death of Aunt Mary, Uncle Patricks widow, who died very quietly on Sunday June 10th. It has been so cool today that we have found a fire very comfortable.