Sunday, Sept 19, 1886 A cool day until towards evening when it grew warmer with indications of a thunder storm which passed around us. We sat in the parlor most of the day by a fire in the Franklin, Andrews not being very well. My father did not come down stairs. I wrote to Alice. I cut this notice of Mr. Durands death from the Post of last night. He lived an artistic life and died at a ripe old age. He was able to provide a competency at a time when art was less esteemed than now but when life was simpler and less exacting. He represents to me one of the best phases of an artists career. A sincere and simple lover of the quieter aspects of nature his pictures were the reflex of a serene and sincere nature and he must always stand as a healthful exponent of what is best and most true in landscape art. I always honored him and always had great respect for the work he did in his best days and I believe it will always be valued by all who know and love nature. He was one of the last of the older artists whom I early learned to honor and his pictures had a great influence upon my early artistic career.
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