7.50 P.M. W. again in the parlor. Says he likes the change of getting downstairs. Speaks of not feeling well—attributes the disturbance of the last 3 or 4 days to the weather. Was in good voice, however. My father was down to sketch the chair today for Mrs. Fels' picture. W. "glad" he had come.
Said he had examined Brinton's proof. "There was nothing to change but, perhaps, a comma—and for that I wouldn't send him word now, at this late hour." W. then laughing at "printerial dogmatism"—he having had much of it to contend with in his time. "They do not proceed by general rule—rather, a professional caprice—and they make the most sudden reversals—some of them too funny to credit."
He had "sent a bundle of papers to Nellie O'Connor today." Some reference to the "gloom" of her last letter and "letters in general." W. thinking: "How different William was!—the prince of company! Jovial after the very highest sense! A man of superb emotionality—of great mind—or stupendous character-significances. There was no company like William—I never met another, man or woman. When we were all in Washington together, it was always 'Walt' and 'John' and 'William'—the choice of the easiest, freest, comradiest way!" He was amused that some objected to his friends' calling him Walt—thought that in me, for instance "nothing but 'Walt' could be excused" despite our different ages—for "our relations are such as to enjoin the nearest appellation."
As we talked, a noisy drum and fife corps came along the street, trailing a mob of boys and girls after it—playing vociferously—and stopping directly across the way, seemingly to serenade somebody. I looked to see if the noise disturbed W. but he only laughed with great heartiness and said—"I wonder if they are traveling about with the notion that that is music?— tub-pounding as I call it." He thought "very much of the virtue of charitable organizations" was lost "by the blind partizanship that reigns in all—in their management. It nullifies a thousand things. And I do not know but this poison runs all through our public life."
Promised me a motto for The Conservator "if so be one hits me."