speak and professes to �love a deep, deep, tra-
gedy.� King a down-looking, grave-spoken, out-
wardly self-respecting man came out the other night
to Mrs Pot, denouncing Mama Bradbury. All the
women in the house are �down on� her, not unjustly.
I find Gladdy swears, not in older persons presence.
Rawson takes his meals in the house, sleeps out else-
where. His mother seems to have forgotten her sick-
ness; took all her family to the theatre to-night.
Miss Pierson went with them. Did I put
down that a week ago or so I met Scoville, once
of the �Pick� &c. Said he had written a novel on New
York life and came to the city from North Carolina
to get it published. Looked much the same, haggard
16. Saturday. Phonography: down town, to Omni-
bus and Pic Offices. A morning wasted, as I couldn�t
catch the men I wanted. Met Hosmer, the man
I became acquainted with at the Catskills some five
years ago. He peddles books for a living. An �ismy�
man � extreme type. Met Bob Gun, too. Writing
&c. Jack Edwards up in the evening, doing
carpentering anent Aquarium of his making in
Haney�s room. (I hear his saw now. A good
sensible, kindly fellow, worthy of his stock.)
I saw Fanny in Broadway yesterday, with her
youngest. Nelly observed me, not so her mother.
Saw Nelly again to-day, with a smaller girl.