set. He�s got a letter in the Evening Post about the
Diamond Lens business. Deny�s it in [unclear word], publicly; not
so in private. Says he believes the idea is his, he may have
talked of it four years ago with North, that Seymour and
Briggs back out of their assertions &c. In fact they would-
n�t care about getting into a row with O�Brien � though they
cordially detest him � on behalf of dead North. Cahill up.
Incidentally he spake of a man who writes, or has written
for the Sunday Mercury, who lives on the prostitution of his
sisters. His name�s Toole. He�s an American, of Irish
descent. His sisters � two of them � plied their trade in Wash-
ington, among the politicians. There�s no doubt of the truth of this.
(I think, in future, I�ll put down all I hear, of the
cursed people of the cursed press of this cursed country. The
Sunday press of this city ought to be printed in blood and
irdure. In turning over its filthy pages you feel like
Gulliver among the Yahoos. No tongue can over-express
it�s vileness.) O�Brien had an article from the �Boston
Transcript� puffing him tremendously as the author of the Dia-
mond Lens, and giving a memoir of him, his literary &
dramatic successes (?) &c. Haney read it aloud. It was writ-
ten by Clapp. There were exaggerations in it amounting to lying.
Talking of Picton, Haney says he�s generally drunk within pre-
cisely fifteen minutes after the bank, wherein he�s employed as
cashier, closes! O�B said he didn�t know Picton had any
feud with him. Last time they met they took sundry drinks
together and Picton confided some grievance of his to O�B.
It�s edifying to see how dearly �literary gents� love one ano-