Saturday, Jan 29, 1887 Dear Gertrude, had she lived would have been fifty three years old today. Strangely enough I did not think of it until I wrote the date here. I thought of it on my Mothers birth day on the 24th. I should have regretted to have the day pass by unremembered. She always remembered by birth day and always celebrated it by some gift to me. I have been very busy getting ready to go to N. Y. on Monday. It has been a rainy, foggy day clearing at sunset when there was a most strange and beautiful effect of brilliant sky, mist and snow. I went down to the mail and received a note from Mr. Wells saying Butler was moving out of the studio and I could take possession. The rent is to be $460 pr. year nearly twice as much as I now pay, but I am sure it will be more than that advantage to me. The frame for my "Funeral of a Veteran" came yesterday and with it nine of the little frames for the small sketches. I have been getting my colors & materials together over at my studio and packing my pictures. Towards evening I sat down to read the Tribune when I saw this notice of the death of dear Phil Johnson. I had not even heard of his illness and the announcement of his death was a great shock to me. Only yesterday as Sara and I drove past Mr. Kellys place I told her how Eastman, Phil and I walked down there from the ferry one hot day, while we were living in my little house, to call on White who was a friend of Phils, and how he allowed us to start back on foot, but Mrs. Kelly sent after us and had us taken back to the ferry in a carriage. I wrote a brief note to Eastman this evening and told him to let me know when he could see me, as I was going down on Monday and presumed he would be in Portsmouth.