7.30 P.M. W. in the parlor. Raining hard. Had his shawl drawn closely about him. Room dark. Gleams from the electric light out at the corner would play on his beard occasionally. Brinton sent me proof but was dubious of matter that had not already gone to the printer. Gave to W.
We read an essay of Edward Carpenter's at the meeting last evening. W. asked about it—then, to my remark that C. had no striking literary gifts, was acquiescent—adding—"The best thing about Edward Carpenter is always his noble demeanor. You will find his spirit always right—that he's in earnest—that he is not playing his life away."
He suddenly asked: "When did you say was the next meeting of the Contemporary Club?" And learning, the second Tuesday in April—"Well—I had been thinking it was. That makes the day the Lincoln anniversary. The thought occurs to me that if you would all like it, I would come over that night and read my Lincoln address—read on that 'My Captain.' That is, if you folks were perfectly in accord about it. This will be in the line of the silvern 25 years—this a silvern-funeral if not a silvern-wedding. You can put that in your pipe—proceed on it as you choose." He expressed his hope that we would feel open to it, "not that I would impose—the point coming rather out of a sentiment that I ought never let that day pass without a word hailing it—this word, if may be.
I promised that I would get in communication with the President at once on the question.