Thursday, Jan 29, 1885 Dined with Lockwood DeForest and his wife last night. It was bitterly cold and still is this morning. This would have been my dear Gertrudes birth day. She would have been 51 years old. She can never grow old or change to me and I long for her today after more than six years of absence with an intensity which time does not abate. I think of her every day of my life and speak her beloved name again and again in my constant thoughts of her. I worked most of the day but I always intend to consecrate this day to thoughts of her whom I so tenderly loved. I dined with Julia Dillon to meet Mr & Mrs. Akers. He is a brother of Paul Akers the sculptor who died more than 20 years ago. I found them very agreeable people. He works in crayon, mostly from photographs. They live in the Morell building something as Gertrude and I used to live here. I spent a very pleasant evening, able to get away from my own private discouragements for a time. But they all come back to me when I am alone so that I actually dread to be alone.