5.30 P.M. To W.'s again on my way home. He sitting up, looking out northward—rather weak in appearance—"still discomposed—banged and badgered"—in his own words.
Spoke of "a short letter from Dr. Bucke: probably 7 or 8 lines: and he likes the book—says he sat right down and read it." I delivered the big book to Brinton last evening. W. "pleased that the Doctor is pleased."
I told him of MacAlister's announcement of the dubiosity of W.'s appearance next Tuesday, and said for myself—"I am now doubtful of it myself."—He thereupon—"and so am I—though I still hold up some hope." Still coughs violently, but throat is clearer. Advised that Bucke come down—stay at Cape May. "I know a place there—the Aldine Cottage: several of my nieces stayed there a season: it is good—I know from them—and sufficiently democratic to suit the Doctor."
A letter from Rhys. W. thought the Times matter of Sunday "undoubtedly Jim Scovel's."