8:10 P.M. W. very much better. Had been out, with good result. Was happy over it. Reading papers as I entered. Had received "loving letters" from Johnston and Wallace today. Mead sends me advance sheets (printed only on one side) of New England Magazine piece. I gave to W. after we had talked some time. He was immediately wrapt in it—I could hardly get a word from him. Yet he said of Mead, "So he has cut and changed? Of course! Of course! And he's a whelp—no doubt of it—a dirty whelp—at least for our purposes." Yet the pictures seemed to come up well. He was "pleased with that aspect."
Gave W. revises of last four pages of book. We spoke somewhat of portrait-frontispiece. He asked, "Is it necessary to have one? I have been coming to the conclusion that it is not." And then, "It could be issued quite plain—perhaps the better for it"—still—"It is an open matter. Do you think it over further, so will I."
I wrote Wallace today rather gloomily of W.'s condition. Letter at home from Wallace.
W. returned to me Magazine of Art and Uber Land und Meer, "They are inexpressibly beautiful. What a grand fellow Meissonier must have been!" Pulled them out from under the bed, where of late he has been tucking papers till it is now nearly choked.
Not a word from Talcott Williams. W. of opinion, "There's more to it than he wants to tell us."