9:50 A.M. W. had just finished breakfast. Did not look extra well—spoke hoarsely—admitting, "I have caught a bad cold somehow." But was in very good humor, nevertheless.
Bucke wrote me in letter I received today—written the 29th—about Scovel:
W. said when he read this (I gave him note)— "Scovel? Yes, damn him! But I don't see that there's anything to do, Horace. I remember how Mrs. Gilchrist regarded all such quips. She would say—do not say a word—do not even try to set yourself right—take no part in these contests over your personality—do not deny even the lies: they are but dust-storms, stirred by the winds—soon and always to settle back into their places. And I more and more see how cute that was—the wise woman! For to me, after all, the final security is, if anywhere, in my atmosphere, in the ridiculous impossibility of things reputed of me, in my work, in authorized pronouncements. It gives me peace to think this, when I might otherwise be disturbed."
I left with him 20 further copies Unity. He expressed his liking for the piece, and said he would keep a list of those he would send to— "then if there are others, and you write, you can extend the list."
He genially offered me some of "Kennedy's calamus sugar-plums"—and took a few himself. "They are an offering," he remarked, looking at me.
Looked over a Christian Register I had with me in which was copied in full my O'Reilly-Newman article. Thought the article and re-publication "equally good strokes."
Anent Holmes criticism, said, "In spite of it, 'Walt' grows: I am 'Old Man,' 'Kris Krinkle,' now even 'Walt' to the boys in the street. I think of one boy in particular—he always calls me 'Walt'—'How are you, Walt?'—always with feeling and respect, I am not deceived—and he is a handsome boy—one of the handsomest I ever did see!"—quaintly ending so— "He is a boy for Dr. Johnston to see."