Monday, Apr 6, 1885 I discovered yesterday that the cellar had water in it which did not run out and also that the haulyards on the flag staff were broken just above the main mast. Yesterday was rather a mild day and in the morning I heard the robin, the blue bird, the song sparrow and a melancholy little Phebe. Today the wind has blown a gale from the N. W. I went down town and bought new haulyards and got a telegraph man to come up and climb the mast with his climbers and catch the broken haulyards. Then he rose the new ones and all is right again. After that Tom dug down to the drain from the cellar and we discovered that there was no obstruction but that the drain is not low enough to carry off the water and as soon as I am able I must have that made lower. All these things in my present state of anxiety trouble me. I see so much to be done and have so little to do it with that I am in despair. If I could only sell some pictures, but that seems almost impossible. I concluded not to come back to New York until tomorrow. Sara went to a meeting of the Home and I spent most of the time with my father. Sara and I sat together in the evening and talked as we always do of the dear ones who are gone yet who are ever present in our hearts. Her isolation there is a source of anxiety to me. She does her arduous duties with a cheerfulness which amazes me, but the place is very sad to us and I either wish we could sell it or do something to make it more cheerful.