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ted to get him to Bleecker St.   Then he wold go into
a tavern and have some brandy, being sick when he got out,
and again into �the Store,� another tavern, under pretense of
looking for �Bob Gun�.   Here he invited the landlord and bar-
man to drink, paying the former for consuming his own li-
quor.      I got him to our boarding-house door, but he would
not enter,   So I kept with him and we went to the Santa
Claus, a place where they have singing and dancing enter-
tainments, where the audience mostly drink �lager,� and
where bare-armed and bold featured women wait on the
guests.   Most of these carry on a more equivocal trade on
their own account, though here, their fascinations don�t pro-
duce more profit than occasional sixpences, given as fees by
those who desire to punch their elbows or call �em endearing(?)
names.     Cahill was at first rather lively and demonstra-
tive.    He shouted �hoor�ay!� at the conclusion of the songs,
told me over and over again what he had paid for his coat,
that he�d got a $50 farce to write for Florence &c, with
more edifying particulars touching his recent nocturnal
absence from Bleecker Street.   �His girl� was descanted
upon.   It appears that both Arnold and Bob Gun are
similarly provided.      By 10 1/2 I got him again to our
street-door, but he wouldn�t enter and so reeled off to
������ where he remained, as subsequently appeared,
during the forenoon of the next day.
  11.  Wednesday.  Down town, hither and thither.  In
the afternoon with Banks (!) to the Jones� Wood festival,
a German, musical, Gymnastic, lager bierish open-air
entertainment, this being the third day of it.   It was