lying on the wood-pile leaning over the sunny sparkling water, again and
again I had absurd suggestions rising in my mind, to leap in.  Now this was
one of those mild forms of Morbid Impulse we are all, I think at times sub-
ject to.    In some perilously grave assembly, a church, a dining room or the
like, who hasn�t at times felt an almost irresistable inclination to say something
horribly stupid, or vulgar, or to yell aloud like an exultant fiend; or,
in short to do something he knows to be wrong and incongruous.  I have
at times when, at home, my father was engaged in family prayer, felt this
sort of thing so strongly that nothing by pressing hand on mouth, owed a violent
wrenching as it were, of my mind from the subject could check me.  Byron
says, and it is acknowledged by all, that when standing on the brink of a precipice
				�You can�t gaze a minute
				Without an awful wish to plunge within it.�
and that is a strong instance. (He, himself, it is said stood over a sleeping
man, knife in hand, saying �I�d like to know what a murderer�s feelings must
be!� /  These metaphysical mysteries in our nature are marvellously anxious.
  12. Tuesday.  To Duane Street. Out, with Mr Hart, he quitting me at
Wall Street, Posted letter for the mag-nanni-mouse Keating.     At Holmes� all
day.           Afternoon had a letter and a kindly one from Alf Waud.    Evening,
called at Duane Street, a stroll on the pier with Mr Hart, sat awhile on our
return; then left, called at the Deutsche bootmaker Weber�s in Canal Street,
and then to my solitary room.  /              Mr Johns called this afternoon at
Duane Street.   He�s established in Williamsburgh, as builder & architect &c!
		�With hey! ho! The wind and the rain!�
  13. Wednesday.  At Wall Street till 11, then Mr Hart & Dillon came
for me.  Two unsuccessful attempts to see Stewart, the Marble-palace-dry
goods-man, apropos of the Broadway Directory.     Holmes again. Anticipated
meet Mr Hart at 6, at Stewarts, but he came not. Met Mr Greatbatch &