Thursday, July 26, 1888 I went down town directly after breakfast and on our return put on some old clothes, and Tom and I went down on the side hill and repaired the gate. The fence is very old and constantly getting out of order. Some malicious person pulled off four or five boards directly along side the gate yesterday. It is very difficult for me to do any work like this, on account of my lame side and I am in a constant state of apprehension from the marauding boys for fear that in this dry weather they will set the woods on fire on the side hill. The days go by uneventfully and rather sadly. I feel my life slipping away and that perhaps I am not making the best use of my time. I am making my preparations to go out sketching in the mountains next week but I feel little enthusiasm over it. I hope I may become interested for it is only in con[?] work that any of us can ever hope for anything like happiness.
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