Rain storm and lightning.
19. Thursday. Writing story to take to Harper�s till
20. Friday. Took omnibus to go down town, designing
to start for Staten Island by 5 1/2 P. M. Too late. Called
at Pounden�s store. Off by 7. A breezy time on the water.
At Factoryville, Corbyn met me, by 8. Home with him.
He has a neat wooden-house, with his dentist�s sign in front
of it, it�s rear looking towards the river and Jersey shore.
Sat talking for an hour or two, then he was called out.
Returning we took a walk through the quiet village, into
New Brighton, which is a continuation of it. Saw the
house where Aaron Burr died. Curtis (the Howadji) lives
hereabouts and the folks know him pretty well. They
say he aspired to be ambassador to England under Fre-
mont, and spent $1200 to aid him in the last presiden-
tial campaign. Also there�s a general impression that
he�s a snob. I�m inclined to think it�s a correct one.
There�s a quiet affectation of manner about him which
one can�t help suspecting is the quintessence of literary
conceit. He speaks with deliberation which might in a
good, English, heavy-swell atmosphere easy ripen into
a drawl. He gets himself up English fashion too, in
costume and whiskers. He affects a fastidious correct-
ness of speech and will commence a sentence with �If �
he � be � a Mormon: &c� when an unaffected mortal
would be ungrammatically natural with �is.� In lec-
turing his imitation of Thackeray is amusingly palpa-
ble. I suppose him to have been, naturally, a very