damnably hen-pecked.� There�s corroborative evidence of
this in the reports of Cahill. Allie was averse to Sol�s journey-
ing out pic-nic at Hoboken, which accounts for his bringing
nothing in the shape of provant, and intending to leave early. This
he didn�t effect, and so get blown-up on his return to Brooklyn,
at night. In doors all day scribbling. Writing to Hannah at night.
Her last letter tells me that Sam has sold his business and is doing
nothing special. A miserable folly I fancy, and hope that misery
wont come of it. There was, also, a bit of deliberate flirtation with
little Sarah Ann Bolton and the Bennett�s elderly cousin, Amos Sears.
27. Sunday. A glad, cheery morning, snow under foot. To Frank
Leslie�s office, to correct proofs of �Charity Ball� article. Found him,
Watson and the printers there. Back, overtaking Welden and walking
to Bleecker Street with him. He says he�s got a verdict of heavy dama-
ges � something above $2000 � for the injury he sustained at Mail-
lards, two years ago. It may be true, but Welden has a reputation
for lying and double faced-ness. He�s a drunkard, I know. He
now boards in Bleecker St, with his second wife. The first � he
says � died in England, after writing him a penitent letter.
Went to Chapin�s at night, and from thence to Arnold�s lod-
gings, in Houston St, where Cahill had been all day. Book and
promiscuous talk, and to �the Store� for sandwich and ale.
28. Monday. In doors, Jerrolding, till sunset. At night with
Clapp, O�Brien and Cahill in Haney�s room. Clapp is an exceed-
ingly ugly little man, with nothing particular in the way of a nose,
and a beard. He is a �Come-Outer� of the most extreme description,
having progressed from a starting point of Anti-Slavery propaganda
ism, to the advocacy of �Free-love� and Fourierism, of the most