7.25 P. M. W. reading by gaslight: not looking over-joyful. Yet serene. Voice, vigor, not so marked as yesterday. Talked freely while I stayed. How was he? "I find little—in fact no—change: I am so-so: no more: am passing days now, one like another, little varying, all monotonous. I don't seem to be getting worse—or better, either, for that matter: indeed, may be getting a little weaker—slowly, slowly." Then he laughed quietly: "But the Doctor does not come—has not been here in days: and that may be a good sign—at least we will interpret it that way." Spoke of having "dipped into" Holmes' Emerson, saying: "I think it will interest me." And again: "I find I am like to be moved, at least a little, by it." I referred to Holmes as "chirpy"—and W. after a slight pleasant laugh said: "Yes, he is that?" Had he ever met H.? "I have seen him: I met him once in the Old Corner Book Store." "In Boston?" "Yes—in Boston." When?

     I quoted Parker who spoke of God's duties to man as well as man's duty to God. W. said he had not heard that before: "They must have regarded it as rank blasphemy." Bryant up. I asked W. some questions. "Did Bryan appreciate your position—your work?" I asked the same question the other day. Now W. said unhesitatingly: "I hardly think so: Bryant was built up of the Pope and Dryden school." I interrupted: "But you think he was greater than either?" W.: "I did not mean that he was just like them, but that he was trained in that school: he was in fact greater than either—ever so much more human and moving: but Bryant never could have appreciated the facts we have stood for." Reading Frank Leslie's to-day

     No visitors to-day. Saw a photo on the table. I picked it up—said warm things about it: unmounted: four by six or eight inches: showing W. about fifty-five. Waited for me to get through. Then: "So you like it? I don't know but it is good: I came upon it to-day." He has been looking up old portraits—the Doyle one of them. "If I strike another you shall have it. O'Connor has a copy—at least, he had one—I suppose has it still. He liked it—if I am not much mistaken liked it much." Who took it? He could not remember. "It was one of the great New York fellows." Tried to hit on the name. No, it would not come. "I think it must have been taken fully twenty years ago: I cannot recite all the details: it was while I was working—was in Washington—on one of my trips up—my flying trips." I said he seemed to lend himself to the camera—that he seemed to come naturally by good photos. He accounted for "the occasional success" by other reasons. In the first place, he thought "many of the photos failures anyhow—some indifferently good, some radically bad." "It is, I am convinced, in the main from other circumstances—rather in this, that I don't fix up when I go to have the picture taken: they tell me nearly everybody does: that is a great item." But I persisted: "Anyhow, even if you did fix yourself up, you would make an impression." He laughed heartily. "I see you will have it so: but there are difficulties, too—my red, florid, blooded, complexion—my gray dull eyes—don't consort well together: they require different trimmings: it is very hard

     I suggested that we might some day have a W. gallery—a book giving W.'s portraits—lots—all—of them. In the midst of this W. suddenly exclaimed: "I have it: Brady! Brady!" I knew at once this was the name he had lost: so I said: "Your memory generally brings you out right in the end." But he objected: "No—it 's not that: but what you have just said brought into my mind certain hours, talks of the old times—with them Brady's name." Afterwards he explained: "Brady had galleries in Washington: his headquarters were in New York. We had many a talk together: the point was, how much better it would often be, rather than having a lot of contradictory records by witnesses or historians—say of Cæsar, Socrates, Epictetus, others—if we could have three or four or half a dozen portraits—very accurate—of the men: that would be history—the best history—a history from which there could be no appeal." I asked: "Was that Brady's notion?" W. said: "No: mine, I suppose: I suppose I spun that out—reeled it off: but I know that we discussed it—that it was occasioned by conversations we had together." "Brady made many fine pictures," W. thought: "he had the notion to produce the heads of celebrés: he had quite a collection: he must have had not a few dozen merely but hundreds and hundreds. I remember some of them: there was one of Cooper: I liked it very much: oh! it was very