Thursday, Aug 7, 1884 After yesterdays perfect weather we have had a grey day with an appearance of rain which however has not come. I went to the cemetery this afternoon and cleaned out the weeds from all the flowers. The man had cut the grass on the lot as I directed him to yesterday. While I was at work an old man came there, a German. He asked me if that was Maurices grave, pointing to it. I asked him if he knew him and he said he did and that he had lived in Rondout more than thirty years, but his speech was so broken that I had great difficulty in understanding him. He told me his name but I could not understand it. There was a box standing by a newly dug grave not far from our lot. He said it was for young Wil[?] who was drowned two or three days ago. Presently the funeral cortege came in. The coffin was a small one as that of a mere child. Six little boys acted as bearers and when it was put in the rough box, the poor widowed mother (as I judged) sobbed and cried aloud in her bitter grief. I imagine perhaps he was her stay and comfort. He was at work on the companys dock, somewhere about the screens, was missed, and found in the bottom of the creek. I could not help reflecting how universally sorrow is distributed and how little we know of the trials of others. I was troubling myself about a business matter and here was this poor desolate woman with a grief that knew no solace. Sara showed me two letters from Joe which are a new trouble. Laura is not well and he wants her to come here. She was expecting to come in the fall. Girard has gone to Utica on business connected with the firemans convention. I wish he were out of this as I frankly told him today. Altogether it has been a sober day to me but I shall try not to be cast down.