Thomas Edison kept a diary while on vacation during the summer of 1885. This webpage presents the complete text of the diary, transcribed from a facsimile of the original (published by Chatham Press under the direction of Kathleen L. McGuirk).
Edison was 38 at the time and the vacation was his first sustained break from work in 26 years. The diary is almost completely unscientific, much of it whimsical or describing the mundane in purposely grandiloquent language. At this time in his life he is a widower with three children, and looking for a wife. He has already invented the phonograph (though not yet developed it commercially) and his light and power distribution system.
The vacation is mostly at Ezra Gilliland’s rented summer seashore retreat called Woodside Villa, near Winthrop, Massachusetts, on Boston Harbor. Ezra Gilliland is a friend of Edison’s from his youthful telegraph operator days, when they were known respectively as Damon and Pythias (as in the Roman legend) because of their close friendship. Damon now, that is, at the time of the Diary, works for the Bell Telephone Company, which had purchased Edison’s patents on improvements to the telephone.
Some months earlier Edison had asked Gilliland’s wife to introduce him to marriageable girls. Mrs. Gilliland, or “Mamma G” as he calls her in the Diary, introduced him to Mina Miller sometime before the vacation. He mentions Mina frequently. He also mentions Louise Igoe, another marriageable option though apparently she is more interested in Mina’s brother.
Editing has been confined to correcting a few misspelled words, separating text into paragraphs when a new subject is introduced and adding punctuation where necessary. Pagination follows the original book, though its pages were unnumbered. An underline or dash in place of letters is Edison’s. Letters in brackets are ours.
Per above the text follows the original. It is superior to the version in The Diary and Sundry Observations of Thomas Edison, edited by Dagobert Runes. For example, where Edison writes “down down to the uttermost depths of oblivion” (clearly the repetition is intentional) Mr. Runes has but one “down.”
Awakened at 5:15 a.m. My eyes were embarrassed by the sunbeams. Turned my back to them and tried to take another dip into oblivion. Succeeded. Awakened at 7 a.m. Thought of Mina, Daisy, and Mamma G. [*] Put all 3 in my mental kaleidoscope to obtain a new combination a la Galton. [**] Took Mina as a basis, tried to improve her beauty by discarding and adding certain features borrowed from Daisy and Mamma G. A sort of Raphaelized beauty, got into it too deep, mind flew away and I went to sleep again.
Awakened at 8:15 a.m. Powerful itching of my head, lots of white dry dandruff. What is this d—mnable material? Perhaps it’s the dust from the dry literary matter I’ve crowded into my noddle lately. It’s nomadic, gets all over my coat, must read about it in the Encyclopedia.
Smoking too much makes me nervous. Must lasso my natural tendency to acquire such habits. Holding heavy cigar constantly in my mouth has deformed my upper lip, it has a sort of Havana curl.
Arose at 9 o’clock, came down stairs expecting twas too late for breakfast. Twasn’t. Couldn’t eat much, nerves of stomach too nicotinny. The roots of tobacco plants must go clear through to hell. Satan’s principal agent Dyspepsia
It has just occurred to me that the brain may digest certain portions of food, say the ethereal part, as well as the stomach. Perhaps dandruff is the excreta of the mind — the quantity of this material being directly proportional to the amount of reading one indulges in. A book on German metaphysics would thus easily ruin a dress suit.
After breakfast start[ed] reading Hawthorne’s English Notebook. [*] Don’t think much of it. Perhaps I’m a literary barbarian and am not yet educated up to the point of appreciating fine writing. 90 per cent of his book is descriptive of old churches and graveyards and coroners. He and Geo Selwyn [**] ought to have been appointed perpetual coroners of London. Two fine things in the book were these. Hawthorne shewing to little Rose Hawthorne a big live lobster told her it was a very ugly thing and would bite everybody, whereupon she asked “if the first one God made bit him.” Again: “Ghostland is beyond the jurisdiction of veracity.”
I think freckles on the skin are due to some salt of Iron, sunlight brings them out by reducing them from high to low state of oxidation. Perhaps with a powerful magnet applied for some time, and then with proper chemicals, these mudholes of beauty might be removed.
Dot [***] is
This is by far the nicest day of this season, neither too hot [n]or too cold. It blooms on the apex of perfection — an Edenday. Good day for an angels’ picnic. They could lunch on the smell of flowers and new mown hay, drink the moisture of the air, and dance to the hum of bees. Fancy the soul of Plato astride of a butterfly, riding around Menlo Park with a lunch basket.
Nature is bound to smile somehow. Holzer [*] has a little dog which just came on the veranda. The face of this dog was as dismal as a bust of Dante, but the dog wagged its tail continuously. This is evidently the way a dog laughs. I wonder if dogs ever go up to flowers and smell them. I think not. Flowers were never intended for dogs and perhaps only incidentally for man, evidently Darwin has it right. They make themselves pretty to attract the insect world who are the transportation agents of their pollen, pollen freight via Bee line.
There is a bumblebees nest somewhere near this veranda, several times one came near me. Some little information (acquired experimentally) I obtained when a
Had dinner at 3 p.m. Ruins of a chicken, rice pudding. I eat too quick.
At 4 o’clock Dot came around with her horse “Colonel” and took me out riding. Beautiful roads. Saw 10 acre lot full [of] cultivated red raspberries. “A burying ground” so to speak. Got this execrable pun off on Dot. Dot says she is going to write a novel, already started on. She has the judgement of a girl of 16 although only 12. We passed through the town of Metuchen. This town was named after an Indian chief, they called him Metuchen the chief of the rolling lands, the country being undulating. Dot laughed heartily when I told her about a church being a heavenly fire-escape.
Returned from drive at 5 p.m. Commenced [to] read short sketches of life’s Macauley, Sidney Smith, Dickens, and Charlotte Bronte. [*] Macauley when only 4 years old [was an] omnivorous reader, used book language in his childish conversations. When 5 years old, [a] lady spilled some hot coffee on his legs. After a while she asked him if he was better. He replied “Madam the agony has abated.” Macauley’s mother must have built his mind several years before his body.
Sidney Smith’s flashes of wit are perfect, to call them chestnuts would be literary blasphemy.
Played a little on the piano. It’s badly out of tune. Two keys have lost their voice.
Dot just read to me outlines of her proposed novel, the basis seems to be a marriage under duress. I told her that in case of a marriage to put in bucketfuls of misery. This would make it realistic. Speaking of realism in painting etc Steele Macaye at a dinner given to H H Porter, Wm Winter [**] and myself told us of a definition of modern realism given by some frenchman whose name I have forgotten, “Realism, a dirty long haired painter sitting on the head of a bust of Shakespeare painting a pair of old boots covered with dung.” The bell rings for supper. I go.
Sardines the principal attraction. On seeing them was attacked by a stroke of vivid memory of some sardines I ate last winter that caused a rebellion in the labyrinth of my stomach. Could scarcely swallow them today.
After supper Dot pitched a ball to me several dozen times, first I ever tried to catch. It was as hard as Nero’s heart — nearly broke my baby-finger. Gave it up. Learned Dot and Maggie how to play “Duck on the rock.” They both thought it great fun, and this is Sunday. My conscience seems to be oblivious of Sunday — it must be incrusted with a sort of irreligious tartar. If I was not so deaf I might go to church and get it taken off or at least loosened — [p]eccavi, I will read the new version of the bible.
Holzer is going to use the old laboratory for the purpose of hatching chickens artificially by an electric incubator. He is very enthusiastic. Gave me full details. He is a very patient and careful experimenter. Think he will succeed. Everything succeeded in that old laboratory. Just think, electricity employed to cheat a poor hen out of the pleasures of maternity — Machine born chickens — What is home without a mother. [*]
I suggested to H that he vaccinate his hens with chicken pox virus, then the eggs would have their embryo hereditarily inoculated and none of the chickens would have the disease. For economy’s sake he could start with one hen and rooster. He being
The sun has left us on time, am going to read from the Encyclopedia Britannica to steady my nerves and go to bed early. I will shut my eyes and imagine a terraced abyss, each terrace occupied by a beautiful maiden. To the first I will deliver my mind and they will pass it down down to the uttermost depths of silence and oblivion. Went to bed worked my imagination for a supply of maidens, only saw Mina, Daisy and Mamma [G]. Scheme busted. Sleep.
Woke (is there such a word) at 6 o’clock. Slipped down the declivity of unconsciousness again until 7. Arose and tried to shave with a razor so dull that every time I scraped my face it looked as if I was in the throes of cholera morbus. By shaving often I to a certain extent circumvent the diabolical malignity of these razors. If I could get my mind down to details perhaps could learn to sharpen it, but on the other hand I might cut myself.
As I had to catch the 7:30 a.m. train for New York I hurried breakfast, crowded meat, potatoes, eggs, coffee, tandem down into the chemical room of my body. I’ve now got dyspepsia in that diabolical thing that Carlyle calls the stomach. [*] Rushed and caught train.
Bought a New York World at Elizabeth [NJ station] for my mental breakfast. Among the million of perfected mortals on Manhattan island two of them took it into their heads to cut their navel chord from mother earth and be born into a new world, while two other less developed citizens stopped two of the neighbors from living. The details of these two little
Went to New York via Desbrosses Street ferry. Took [horse-drawn street] cars across town. Saw a woman get into car that [who] was so tall and frightfully thin as well as dried up that my mechanical mind at once conceived the idea that it would be the proper thing to run a lancet into her arm and knee joints and insert automatic self feeding oil cups to diminish the creaking when she walked. Got off at Broadway. Tried experiment of walking two miles to our office [at] 65 5th Ave with idea it would alleviate my dyspeptic pains. It didn’t. Went into Scribner & Sons on way up, saw about a thousand books I wanted right off. Mind No 1 said why not buy a box full and send to Boston now. Mind No 2 (acquired and worldly mind) gave a most withering mental glance at mind No 1 and said You fool, buy only two books, these you can carry without trouble and will last until you get to Boston. Buying books in NYork to send to Boston is like “carrying coals to Newcastle.” Of course I took the advice of this
Waited one hour for the appearance of a lawyer who is to cross-examine me on events that occurred 11 years ago. Went on stand at 11:30. He handed me a piece of paper with some figures on it, not another mark, asked in a childlike voice if these were my figures, what they were about and what day 11 years ago I made them. This implied compliment to the splendor of my memory was at first so pleasing to my vanity that I tried every means to trap my memory into stating just what he wanted. But then I thought what good is a compliment from a 10 cent lawyer and I waived back my recollection. A lawsuit is the suicide of time.
Got through at 3:30 p.m. Waded through a lot of accumulated correspondence mostly relating to other peoples business. Insull [**] saw Wiman [***] about getting car
Dot is reading a novel — rather trashy. Love hash. I completed reading Aldrich’s Bad Boy and advanced 50 pages in Goethe then retired to a “Sound” Sleep.
Dot introduced me to a new day at 5:30 a.m. Arose — toiletted quickly — breakfasted. Then went from boat to street car. Asked colored gentleman, how long before car left. [He] worked his articulating apparatus so weakly I didn’t hear [a] word he said. It’s nice to be a little deaf when travelling, you can ask everybody directions then pump your imagination for the answer, it strengthens this faculty.
Took train leaving at 7 from Providence for the metropolis of culture. [*] Arrived there 9 am. “Coupaid” it to Damon’s [**] office. Waited 3/4 hour for his arrival. Then left for the Chateau-sur-le-mer. [***] If I stay there much longer Mrs G___ will think me a bore. Perhaps she thinks I make only two visits each year in one place each of 6 months.
Noticed there was no stewardess on the ferryboat, strange omission considering the length of the voyage and the swell made by the tri-monthly boat to Nantucket. Man with a dusty railroad Co expression let down a sort of portcullis
A fresh invoice of innocence and beauty had arrived in my absence in the persons of Miss Louise Igoe [**] and her aunt Miss Igoe like Miss Daisy is from Indianapolis, that producer of Hoosier Venus’s. Miss Igoe is a pronounced blonde, blue eyes, with a complexion as clear as the conscience of a baby angel, with hair like Andromache. [***]
Miss Igoe’s aunt is a bright elderly lady who beat me so bad at checkers that my bump of “Stragetic combination” [****] has sunk in about two
Chewed some Tulu gum presented me by Mrs G. Conceived the idea that the mastication of this chunk of illimitable plasticity — a dentiferous tread-mill so to speak — would act on the salivial glands to produce an excess of this necessary ingredient of the digestive fluid and thus a self acting home made remedy for dyspepsia would be obtained. Believe there is something in this as my dyspeptic pains are receding from recognition.
Dot is learning to play Lange’s “Blumenlied” [*] on the piano.
Miss Igoe I learn from a desultory conversation is involved in a correspondence with a brother of Miss Mina who resides at Canton Ohio being connected with the Mower and reaper firm of Aultman & Miller. The letter received today being about as long as the bills at the Grand Hotel at Paris are, I surmise [is] of rather a serious character, cupid-ly speaking.
In evening went out on sea wall. Noticed a strange phosphorescent light in the west, probably caused by a baby moon just going down Chinaward, thought at first the Aurora Borealis had moved out west. Went to bed early dreamed of a demon with eyes four hundred feet apart.
Slept well. Breakfasted clear up to my adams apple. Took shawl strap and went to Boston with Damon with following memorandum of things to get. Lavater on the human face – Miss Cleveland’s book – Heloise by Rousseau – short neckties – Wilhelm Meister – basket [of] fruit – Sorrows of Werther – Madame Recamier’s works – diary books – pencils – telephone documents – Mark Twain’s gummed Potentiality of Literature ie. scrap book – also book called “How Success is Won” containing life of Dr Vincent and something in about Mina’s father and your humble servitor. [*]
Found that only copy of Lavater which I saw the other day had been sold to some one who was on the same lay as myself. Bought Disreali’s Curriosities of Literature instead. [**] Got Miss Cs book — Twain’s scrap book —diary books — How Success is Won. Also fruit among which are some peaches which the vendor said came from California. Think
Started back to office with fruit, apparently by the same route I came, brought up in a strange street, saw landmark and got on right course again. Boston ought to be buoyed and charts furnished strangers. Damon suggests American District Messenger buoys with uniform. Saw a lady who looked like Mina. Got thinking about Mina and came near being run over by a street car. If Mina interferes much more will have to take out an accident policy.
Went to dinner at a sort of No-bread-with-one-fishball restaurant then came up towards Damon’s office, met Damon, Madden and Ex Gov Howard of Rhode Island. The Governor whom I know and who is very deaf greeted me with a boiler yard voice. He has to raise his voice so he can hear himself to enable him to check off the accuracy of his pronunciation. The Governor never has much time, always in a hurry — full of business, inebriated with industry. If he should be on his death bed I believe he would
Went to Damon’s office. He was telling me about a man who had a genius for stupidity when Vail came in dressed like Beau Brummel. [*] Both went into another room to try some experiments on Damon’s Phonometer.
Saw Hovey, a very very bright newspaper man. Told me a story related to him by a man who I never would have imagined could or would have told such stories. I refer to a gentleman in the employment of the Telephone Co who Tomlinson nicknamed “Prepositum” because he got off that word in a business conversation. His eminent respectability so impressed Tomlinson that when he came out of his office [he] asked me to take him quickly somewhere disreputable so he could recover. This story would have embarassed Satan. I shall not relate it, but I have called it “Prepositum’s Turkish Compromise.” Hovey told me a lot about a 6th sense, mind reading etc
Just before supper Mrs Roberts and another lady came in to visit Mrs G. Mrs R is a charming woman. Condensed sunshine — beautiful. Plays piano like a long haired professor — played several of Lange’s pieces first time seeing them. This seems as incomprehensible to me as a man reciting the Lord’s prayer in four languages simultaneously. Mrs R promised to come tomorrow evening and bring with her a lady who sings beautifully and a boy dripping with music.
Everyone after supper started their Diary, Mrs G, Igoe, Daisy and Dot. Went to bed at 11:30. Forgot two nights running to ask Damon for night shirt. That part of my memory which has charge of the night shirt department is evidently out of order.
I find on waking up this morning that I went to bed last night with the curtains up in my room. Glad the family next door retire early — I blushed retroactively to think of it. Slept well — weather clear — warm. Thermometer prolongatively progressive — day so fine that barometer anaesthetized. Breakfasted. Diaried a lot of nonsense. Read some of Longfellow’s Hyperion, [*] read to where he tells about a statue of a saint that was attacked with somnambulism and went around nights with a lantern repairing roofs, especially that of a widow woman who neglected her family to pray all day in the church.
Read account of two murders in morning Herald to keep up my interest in human affairs. Built an air castle or two. Took my new shoes out on a trial trip. Read some of Miss Cleveland’s book [**] where she goes for George Eliot for not having a heavenly streak of imaginative twaddle in her poetry.
The girls assisted by myself trimmed the Elizabeth collars on twelve daisies, inked eyes nose and mouth on the yellow part which gave them a quaint human look, paper dresses were put on them
Girls went in bathing. Me and Damon went out in the steam yacht, sailed around over the lobster nursery for an hour or so. In the evening Damon started a diary — very witty. Miss Igoe told Damon she couldn’t express her admiration whereupon he told her to send it by freight.
Lunched our souls on a Strauss waltz played by Miss Daisy, then we all set around the table to write up our diaries. I learned the girls how to make shadow pictures by use of crumpled paper. We tried some experiments in mind reading which were not very successful. Think mind reading contrary to common sense, wise provision of the Bon Dieu that we cannot read each others minds, twould stop civilization and everybody would take to the woods. In fifty or hundred thousand centuries when mankind have become perfect by evolution then perhaps this sense could be developed with safety to the state.
Mrs Roberts hurt her soprano arm and could not come over and play for us as promised and thus we lost her perfumed conversation, lovely music and serephic smile — La Femme qui-rit. [**] Since Miss Igoe has been reading Miss Cleveland’s book her language has become disyllabic, ponderous, stiff and formal, each observation seems laundried.
If this weather gets much hotter, Hell will get up a reputation as a summer resort. Dot asked how books went in the mail, Damon said as second class mail matter. I said me and Damon would go at this rating — suggested that Mina would have to pay full postage. Damon thought she should be registered. This reminds me that I read the other day of a man who applied for a situation as sexton in the Dead letter office.
Ladies went to bed, this removed the articulating upholstery, then we went to bed.
Slept so sound that even Mina didn’t bother me. It would stagger the mind of Raphael in a dream to imagine a being comparable to the Maid of Chataqua [*] so I must have slept very sound. As usual I was the last one up. This is because I’m so deaf.
Found everybody smiling and happy. Read more of Miss Cleveland’s book, think she is a smart woman — relatively. Damon’s diary progressing finely. Patrick went to city [to] get tickets for Opera of Polly, [**] we can comparrot with Sullivan’s. We are going out with the ladies in yacht to sail perchance to fish. The lines will be bated at both ends.
Constantly talking about Mina who me and Damon use as a sort of yardstick for measuring perfection makes Dot jealous, she threatens to become an incipient Lucretia Borgia.
Hottest day of season — Hell must have sprung a leak. At two o’clock went out on yacht — cooler on the water. Sailed out to the Rock-buoy. This is the point where Damon goes to change his mind. He circles
Fish seem to be rather conservative around this bay, one seldom catches enough to form the fundamental basis for a lie. Dante left out one of the torments of Hades — I could imagine a doomed mortal made to untangle wet fish lines forever.
Everybody lost patience at the stupidity of the fish in not coming forward promptly to be murdered. We hauled up anchor, and Damon steering by the compass (he being by it) made for the vicinity of Apple island. While approaching it we saw a race between two little model vessels full rigged and about 2 feet long. Two yawl boats filled apparently with US naval officers and men
Dot saw a jelly fish and vehemently called our attention to this translucent chestnut. Barge called to take us to theatre via Winthrop Junction and Railroad. When we arrived at junction found we should have to wait some time, so we took an open street car for city. While passing along saw man on Bicycle, asked Damon if he ever rode one. He said he did, once practiced riding in large freight shed where floor was even with door of cars and three feet from ground. One day from reason he never could explain he went right through one of the doors to the ground. I remarked that I supposed he kept right on riding. No said Damon I jumped back.
Arriving at Ferry boat I asked Damon if it was further across River at high tide, said he thought it was as he noticed the piles in the slip were at a slight angle. Arriving on the other side, took street Gondola, arrived near top of Hanover Street. When horses were unable to pull cars to the
Last night room was very close, single sheet over me seemed inch thick. Bug proof windows seems to repel obtrusiveness on the part of any prowling Zephyr that might want to come in and lunch on perspiration. Rolled like a ship in a typhoon, if this weather keeps on I’ll wear holes in the bed clothes. Arose early. Weather blasphemingly hot. Went out in sun, came back dripping with water, tried to get into the umbrella rack to drain off, took off two courses of clothes. This would be good day to adopt Sidney Smith’s plan of taking off your flesh and sitting own in your bones. Mem — go to a print cloth mill and have yourself run through the calico printing machine. This would be the ultima thule of thin clothing.
Read some in Lavater, Mm Recamier, [*] Rousseau’s Emile. Laid down on sofa, fell asleep. Dreamed that Damon had the sunstroke and was laid on the floor of his office, where he swelled up so that he broke the floor above and two editors of a baseball journal fell through and were killed. Thought the chief of the
Found the heat had reached the apex of its malignity. Went out yachting. All the ladies in attendance. Twas delightfully unhot. Ladies played game called memory-scheme. No 1 calls out name of prominent author, No 2 repeats his name and adds another and so on. Soon one has to remember a dozen names all of which must be repeated in the order given. Result, Miss Daisy had the best and I the poorest memory. We played another game called “pon honor,” resultant of which is that if you are caught you must truthfully answer a question put by each player. These questions generally relate to the amours of the players. Arrived home at 7:30.
Slept as sound as a bug in a barrel of morphine. Donned a boiled and starched emblem of respectability. Eat food for breakfast. Weather delightful. Canary seed orchestra started up with same old tune, ancestor of this bird sang the self same tune 6000 years ago to Adam down on the Euphrates, way back when Abel got a situation as the first angel.
Read Sunday Herald, learned of John Roach’s [*] failure — am sorry — he has been pursued with great malignity by newspapers and others, from ignorance I think. Americans ought to be proud of Roach, who started in life as a day laborer and became [a] giant of industry and the greatest shipbuilder in the United States, employing thousands of men and feeding innumerable families. What has he now for this 40 years of incessant work and worry. People who hound such men as these I would invent a special Hades, I would stricken them with the chronic sciatic neuralgia and cause them to wander forever stark naked within the arctic circle. Saw in same paper account of base ball match. This struck me as something unusual.
Read more about that immeasurable immensity of tact and beauty Madame
In afternoon went out in yacht. On first trip all our folks, and [a] lot of smaller people, sailed around for an hour. Returned and landed the abbreviated people. Started for Cottage Park where we took on board the charming Mrs Roberts brevet Recamier, and a large lady friend whose name has twice got up and jumped out of my mind. Then sailed away for Rock buoy, and for some occult reason Damon didn’t stop and change his mind but headed for Liverpool. Went out two miles in ocean, undulations threatened to disturb the stability of the dinner of divers persons, returned at 7 p.m. Then Damon took out a boat load of slaves of the kitchen.
Damon and I after his return study plans for our Floridian bower in the lowlands of the peninsular Eden, [*] within that charmed zone of beauty, where wafted from the table lands of the Oronoco and the dark Carib sea, perfumed zephyrs forever
Dot came in and gave us a lot of girlish philosophy which amused us greatly.
Oh dear, this celestial mud ball has made another revolution and no photograph yet received from the Chataquain Paragon of Perfection. How much longer will Hope dance on my intellect?
Miss Igoe told me of a picture she had taken on a rock at Panama NY. There were several others in the group, interpolated so as to dilute the effect of Mina’s beauty. As she stated the picture was taken on a rock I immediately brought my scientific imagination to work to ascertain how the artist could have flowed collodion over a rock and put so many people inside his camera. Miss Igoe kindly corrected her explanation by stating that a picture was taken by a camera of a group on a rock. Thus my mind was brought back from a suspicion of her verbal integrity to a belief in the honesty of her narrative.
On our return I carried the terrealbian gum drops. Moon was
Miss Igoe told us about her love of ancient literature, how she loved to read Latin, but couldn’t. I told her I was so fond of Greek that I always rushed for the comedies of Aristophanes to read whenever I had the jumping toothache. Bed — Mina, morning.
Arose before anybody else. Came down and went out to look at Mamma Earth and her green clothes. Breakfasted. Read aloud from Madame Recamier’s memoirs for the ladies. Kept this up for an hour, got as hoarse as a fog horn. Think the ladies got jealous of Madame Recamier.
It’s so hot, I put everything off. Hot weather is the mother of procrastination. My energy is at ebb tide. I’m getting Caloricly stupid. Tried to read some of the involved sentences in Miss Cleveland’s book, mind stumbled on a ponderous peroration and fell in between two paragraphs and lay unconscious for ten minutes. Smoked a cigar under the alias of Reina Victoria. Think it must have been seasoned in a sewer.
Miss Clark told me a story about Louise’s mother singing in a company a song called “I have no home, I have no home.” Somebody halloed out that he would provide her with a good home if she would stop. I understood Mrs Clark to say that this gentleman was a
Mrs G has placed fly paper all over the house. These cunning engines of insectiverous destruction are doing a big business. One of the first things I[’ll] do when I reach heaven is to ascertain what flies are made for — this done I’ll be ready for business. Perhaps I am too sanguine and may bring up at the other terminal and one of my punishments will be a general ukase from Satan to keep mum when Edison tries to get any entomological information. Satan is the scarecrow in the religious cornfield.
Towards sundown went with the ladies on yacht. Talked about love, cupid, Apollo, Adonis, ideal persons. One of the ladies said she had never come across her ideal. I suggested she wait until the second Advent. Damon steered the galleon. Damon’s heart is so big it inclines him to embonpoint.
On shore it was hot enough to test safes but on the water twas cool as a cucumber in an arctic cache. Mrs G has promised for three consecutive days to have some clams a la Taft. She has perspired her memory all away.
For the first time in my life I have bought a pair of premeditatively tight shoes. These shoes are small and look nice. My No 2 mind (acquired mind) has succeeded in convincing my No 1 mind (primal mind or heart) that it is pure vanity, conceit and folly to suffer bodily pains that ones person may have graces the outcome of secret agony.
Read the funny column in The Traveler and went to bed.
After breakfast laid down on sofa, fell into light draught sleep. Dreamed that in the depth of space, on a bleak and gigantic planet, the solitary soul of the great Napoleon was the sole inhabitant. I saw him as in the pictures, in
The weather being cool went out on Veranda to exercise my appreciation of nature. Saw bugs, butterflies as varied as Prang’s chromos, [*] birds innumerable, flowers with as great a variety of color as calico for the African market. Then to spoil the whole two poor miserable mortals came, who probably carry the idea that this world was created for them exclusively and that a large portion of the Creator’s time was specially devoted to hearing requests, criticisms and complaints about the imperfection of the natural laws which regulate this mud ball. What a wonderfully small idea mankind has of the Almighty. My impression is that he has made unchangeable laws to govern this and billions of other worlds and that he has forgotten even theexistence of this little mote of ours ages ago. Why can’t
Came into the house at the request of the ladies and read aloud for two hours from the Memoirs Recamier. Then talked on the subject of the tender passion. The ladies never seem to tire of this subject. Then supper.
Some Trovotores du Pave [*] made their appearance and commenced to play. I requested the distinguished honor of their presence on the veranda. After supper weather being cool but rather windy, took our trovotores on the yacht and all hands sailed out on the bay. Had to go around an arm of the bay to get coal. Water splashed so I got dashed wet. Three several times the water broke loose from the iron grasp of gravitation and jumped on my 65 dollar coat. But when one of the ladies got a small fragment of a drop on her dress orders were issued to make for port. Landed and