Tuesday, Dec 25, 1883 Christmas. This morning the trees were covered with hoar frost which has remained all day. It has been grey and quiet, a perfect winter day, not too cold, and a serene and peaceful feeling has rested over our home. After breakfast we carried our presents into the drawing room, filling the table, where we distributed them, I think to the great pleasure of all. Girard and Mary came over to dinner. This evening it is snowing again quietly. The snow is too deep for walking and I have been at home all day. I wrote to Mr. Dod of Hoboken whose wife died last week. Sara had a letter from Edith Cook telling her of her death which I saw in the Tribune on Wednesday last. Poor Maurice was here last Christmas but giving us the greatest anxiety. Poor boy, he troubles us no more. My mother has gone and our home circle gradually grows smaller. I can not help a feeling of sadness when I think of these changes but I am thankful that they do not so utterly depress me as such trials once would. It is a gain to grow stronger in this direction and I believe as we grow older and meet oftener with sorrow we are strengthened to bear it better.