(08/11/39)[Went to bed early with a cold] My brother died at age of 50. (?small pox) Though dead he was still with us, walking back and forth in a melancholy manner. He seemed to be brooding over the injustice of being taken while I, unrighteous and undeserving, lived. My conscience smote me as I remembered some discreditable exploits (chiefly stealing) of my youth.