I thought one of them might be a grandson of the renowned Italian patriot. How interesting it would be to be told of his shipwreck in life!
Now three o’clock.
There’s one more hour before their frolic music will gush.
I must wrap some money in paper for them.
God bless them—simple creatures who work hard!
18th—Mr. Consul—an old man who sips the grayness of celibacy—never strays out from his official duty. He calls society and novels two recent pieces of foolery.
The family of Uncle’s intimate is off in Europe.
The possibility of a nice time for me is verily illegible. Tsumaranai!
Last night I sketched an adventure of enlisting in the band of domestics.
“Capital idea to examine a New York household!” I said, when I left my breakfast table.