Sunday, Aug 23, 1885 A brooding, half melancholy day. Sad memories have visited me of those who have gone from our household and I have longed for my dear Gertrude. Taking down the hammock today from the trees near the parlor I saw the irons Maurice put there to swing it to and this work of his hands gave me a sharp pang of remembrance of his better nature. My father has seemed very feeble and Mary and I both think he gradually fails. Still it may be owing to the day which seems to me a depressing effect on all of us. I wrote to Alice and to [?]. It rained towards evening.