[Boston—Saturday, 1 December 1866]
Saturday. W. Reade at breakfast—housekeeping—visit from mother and Miss Palfrey afterwards. The latter described their late fire which burned the barn, the house being saved by the exertions of the young divinity students and a garden engine, the other town engines being out of working order—“but the second fire” she said “that was the fire to be recorded—the lamps were out and all had retired save a police man who had been set to watch and myself—presently I found the fire was kindling up again emitting first sparks and then flame. I went to find the police man but he could not be discovered. So I crept into my sister’s room and we went together and waked up the poor chamber maid, a young thing tall as a giant and strong as a lion and we went out together to extinguish the fire, she, throwing on the water (I had no idea before how far a pail of water could be thrown) I holding a small shade lamp from my study-table!!!” A queer sight it must have been if we take all the parties into consideration. The fire was put out at length much by these strange means.
Reade is a pale, thin, I am sorry to say rather a dissipated looking man of 28 years. He is decided in opinions—a man of some thought and good society, when he wishes it, with a small patrimony and large spirit of adventure. He intends to remain in America for the present. He has one more year of medical study, this he intends to complete in New York under Dr. Baker. He is fond of his Uncle Charles but has quarrelled with his own family. Jamie went with him to Agassiz who was in his museum, his hands in oily alcohol and fishes. “How sad for a naturalist to grow old” he said. “I see so much to be done which I can never complete.” R. carried him specimens or drawings from Huxley and A. asked him to lunch with him tomorrow. He leaves for N.Y. Monday. Poor Aldrich is accused of plagiarism again. He came in directly after breakfast having sent a sweet poem called “Alain” before him last night.
