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Tuesday, August 19, 1890

     4:45 P.M. W. eating his dinner. Weather warm. Was fanning himself as he ate. Enjoyed the peaches.

      "A letter is just here from Bucke," he said. "But there's no news. Ingram is there yet."

     He was still anxious for Johnston, no word having come.

     I spoke of certain Catholic objections to my article on O'Reilly and he laughingly said, "They see only the other fellows' kinks—they have to exist: you must not mind them."

     Had written some today on the "Annex."

     Asked after the news, etc. I had no time to stay. Found copy of the Open Court, containing a paper by Conway on Carlyle's religion, sent last year by Kennedy and marked to be "returned without fail." I called W.'s attention to it and he smiled and joked about "the hide-and-seek" of his room. "It is not too late even now to return it," he remarked.

     The wind had blown one of the pictures from the mantel and shattered the glass. I picked it up. W. said he had heard it fall, he did not know when, but one night while he was in bed.


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