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  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.)