6.10 P.M. W. reading. Had "had an outing today"—"Lezinsky's carriage appears on the scene again!" Had written Lezinsky at Butte City, Montana—sending him also a copy of the Post.
Bertha Johnson and Ingram in to see W. today. W. wrote postal to Bucke. Is to select for me the lines for the card. Day very warm—in the eighties. W. would not "confess judgment," he said, on his health!—"and yet it's not what it might be cracked up to be." As we sat there he suddenly lifted his hand, as if to catch its first indication—"Ah! I feel the just palpable sign of our early evening breeze—that sweet afterbalm of our hotted days." Adding that "it is very sweet to me—I enjoy it here, out of the tops of the trees"—pointing at the trees out of doors.
"The run of things these days," he said again, "is to monotony—don't you find it so?" Gave me a little bundle of mail matter to take up to the Post Office. Will let me get out the card my own way.