Still in London at daybreak. Last day. To office with Bucke early, where we talked of various matters—Lippincott's piece, our book, Bucke's trip to Europe, the exigency of W.'s death. More papers from W. Letter from Bush. Beemer asks for a new portrait of W., which I promised to get and send. All the messages for W. loving—even from several of the patients (I found that a number of them remember W.'s trip). Left London at 11:30—day splendidly clear—all well with all. Percy Bucke at station, too, and Mrs. Bucke and Miss Gurd. Ride to Niagara fine, but easier in the States (cleaner cars, etc.)—sight of Genesee Falls grand in the extreme. The Niagara rapids, as we looked down from the bridge, seemed an eternity of boisterous impatience and angry haste—could see but the mists from the falls. Took supper at Howellsville. The mountain ride exquisite—the light passing over into the evening hours and seeming to hang there to give us opportunity. I examined Lippincott's article somewhat, read to Anne, she keenly criticizing it at several points.