7.30 P.M. Not at W.'s more than ten minutes. He was taking his evening bath—I loafing in the bed-room meanwhile. Left with him Herbert Aldrich's book on Alaska, copy of Scribner's with Mrs. Fields' article, Cleveland's Boston speech. He took all—"a feast for tomorrow"—thought—"this book will interest me: it starts well—the print itself is a temptation." I had a note from Morse this evening, but no time to stop and read it. W. smiled—"It will do tomorrow!" Has been reading Oliver Twist. Day inclement—no outing.
Giving me a copy of The Transcript for the 14th, he said: "Something further about Browning—and it may appeal to you—as it did to me." Adding—"But the marks are Kennedy's—not mine." Afterwards I found why he was particular to say the last—that Kennedy had noted an item headed "A wife-beater thrashed by the Justice instead of being sent to prison"—exclaiming with red pencil inserts by—"Good! Ha! Ha!"