10.45 A.M. W. reading papers. Had just finished breakfast. Looked well, and said that, for him, he was well. Referred to prognostications from the weather department. "I see we are to have a blizzard or something of the sort—at least, that the weather men announce it. It makes me think of the fellow in the play: he says to some other—'I can invoke spirits from the deep'—to which the other says, 'True enough, you can invoke them—but will they come?'—and so with the blizzard: will it come?" I did not stay long. He spoke of his mail as having been "scarce."
Agnes designs a big charcoal reproduction of the Gutekunst picture by my father. W. likes the idea, and proposes to send her a picture from which my father can work.
The day cool. "I doubt if I will get out—not for the coolness alone, but because all the folks are going away—even Warrie." On the floor were several boxes of fruit—one pasteboard—one wood—the latter from New York. Wished me to partake, but I did not. Later in the day he sent proof up to my home. Added to it his Rossetti letter.