Wednesday, July 14, 1880 My fifty second birth day. Each one comes now with a renewed sense of the shortness of the flying years, as well as the unsatisfying results in happiness or achievement of the purposes that once animated me. It seems to me that I am poorer in every way, except in sorrow and discontent than I was a year ago. My mother had a letter from Sara, happy and enjoying herself very much. I have written a part of the day and a part was devoted to the setting up the new range in the kitchen. Wrote to Alice and to Fred Sawyer.
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