16. Sunday. A walk with Gun in the morning, Haney
joining us in Union Square. To the �church of the Holy Zebra�
as it�s popularly nicknamed from it�s appearance, alternate
layers of red and white stone, tremendously pork-choppy in
aspect � in the evening, with Mrs Church to hear Bellows.
A noble sermon. The man�s a scholar, a gentleman, a Christian
and a Unitarian. To Edwards subsequently. Sally�s birthday.
17. Monday. Out to tailor�s. Writing all day. Finished story
I�m going to take to �Golden Prize� as a breadwinner. Haney came
home to dinner with news of Herbert�s suicide. At night went
round to Arnold�s, found nobody there but a little London Jew
who called himself an Englishman, had boarded at Holt�s eight
years ago and knew me. He had just returned from Costa
Rica, having been employed there as engineer on a river boat, and
was social and chatty. Arnold didn�t come, so I went to Honey�s
thinking he might be there. Found Banks boring a man over
a mug of ale. In twenty minutes he � Banks � only produced
three of his productions for me to read, two in type, one M S.
The latter was an idiotic doggrel called the �Song of the Church
Ladle,� full of stupid slang � (there is clever, justifiable slang)
� and brutal, vulgar sentiment. Banksian grammar � which
is to say none at all, too. Talking of Herbert Banks said
he had avoided being introduced to him! This I think � of
course not crediting it � the severest thing that will be said about
the wretched suicide � God forgie him! There�s a moral in this
tavern anecdote. Bellew and Gun came in. Stood at the
bar for at least an hour, Banks talking ceaselessly to Bellew.
(He went up and effected a reconciliation a week or so ago.
As Bellew had licked him of course he hadn�t much to forgive.)