Thursday, Jan 22, 1885 A feeling of depression still haunts me but not to the extent it did a day or two ago. The days go by and no one comes to my room. I realize how little the American Artists are esteemed. If I should die I should hardly be missed. I feel very discouraged but paint away solely to keep employed. How many times in the day I think of my dear Gertrude and sadly as I miss her there is some compensation in the reflection that she is untouched by the sorrows of life and the disappointments and anxieties of advancing age. When I think how little recognition and encouragement I would be satisfied with I cannot help a feeling of injustice that after the labor of a life time I hold so small a place in the public esteem. I wrote a short note to Sara this morning before breakfast telling her I would go home Saturday. Spent most of the evening at Marys. Went up to see Julia Dillon. She has a lady pupil from London, Canada. Went around to the club and had a talk with Champney. He teaches constantly. Says he would starve if he did not. I told him of my plan. Thought I would find it exhausting to have pupils constantly with me but seemed to think I would have no difficulty in getting them.