Every day, now, is an anniversary to my weary Life! This Stormy warmth of July is fraught with many memories!  And do I alone remember?  Whom do I ask?  The winds?  Their sympathy gives as much unto my lonely life as aught else, now!
      I have been very ill for the last five days.  Unable to leave my bed - and alone the most of the time!  It is my wish, however - I could not bear the presence of any one - Save Madame [Mamie] - and not even her, at times!
     I know I am daily growing more and more bitter and cynical - despite my efforts - for I have and do try to think better of all the paste and sham that must pass current for reality in this dear world of ours!  But I am sick unto death of it all!  Sick, even of myself - myself who seems to have lost heart, hope, body and soul - lost all, only an infinite power of being disgusted!
     One year ago I fancied I had found that which would make me count the hours of Life jealously - perhaps I had - but it has slipped from my grasp - or has been thrown away in madness - God only knows which!  Enough for me to feel that existence is a burden borne in a darkness that no hope lightens.
     I  feel as if I shall never go South,  now!  Mamie dreamed that the walls of my room had fallen in!

     I have just written a note to Mrs. Dr. [Carver] to be carried by Herbert to "Raven's Cliff",  where Mrs. C. is now living.  "The Doctor" having go [sic] in to the [North] Platte, H[erbert] is to spend the nights during his absence with Mrs. C.  The lady and her younger son [William Pitt Carver] came out to the Medicine near a week since.  It seems strange to see them all living at the "Cliff" - all unknown, and undreamed of, this time last year!  And much later than this.