Saturday, Aug 23, 1884 Cooler today but the same smoky atmosphere. I have staid quietly at home a part of the time trying to unravel the tangle of the notes which Turck produces and I think I have the theory of it now accounting for all but the last note of $200. Calvert and I sat on the front porch during the forenoon and talked and smoked. This afternoon I read Mrs. Carlyles letters and worked over the Turck affair getting myself into a more settled state of mind regarding it. My father is unable to transact any business as all such matters fatigue him. When I look ahead I feel anxious and alarmed and so, as far as possible [endeavor?] not to look ahead. How much of the troubles of life comes from our anxieties about the mean and sordid details of our material existence, how to be fed, clothed and to pay our taxes. For the great disasters of death and the sadness of growing old there seem to be no remedy but it does seem as though we might so order our lives as not to have the added trouble which comes from unwise plans of living. I had a letter from Bowyer today enclosing one from Booth to him in which he seems to have arranged to secure him for his loan. He too begins his life with this same unnecessary drag of putting himself under obligation to someone.