[Boston—Monday, 4 December 1871]

Monday Dec. 4. The cold is past for the present—a delicious warm rain has set in. Last night we went to Mrs Putnam’s for the last time, after our tea at L.’s. Georgie is looking very serious about their departure. Mrs Putnam has been looking over old letters and trying to leave everything as if she were prepared for death. Pray heaven they may return. Jamie lectures in the South End Course tonight. He makes additions continuously, yesterday he wrote a bit about Edward Lear which will go in tonight.

Today Miss Potter’s Coffee House papers were signed. This makes three out of the five names I am to have under my sign of Holly Tree this winter. The other two will soon be ready I trust.

Jamie went to hear Horace Greeley last week, “On Wit.” It was a singular conglomeration of matter, old Miller jokes combined with quotations from the old dramatists—Holmes, and many other of our best wits he can see nothing in. Greeley’s sole gesture was paddling the fingers of one hand as if he were thrumming a piano but he was only dabbling his finger tips in water he had spilled from the tumbler upon the table in order to turn over the leaves easily.


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