January 29 Friday – At 23 Tedworth Square in London Sam wrote to Patrick A. Collins, “ever so much obliged” for Collin’s evident supplying of a US Consul’s name in Venice. Sam explained the reason he had not called on Collins was that in their bereavement they had hidden away “until such time as we may be enabled to confront life again & resume relations with our species” [MTP].

Sam also wrote to Florence Hayward, who evidently had written (not extant) asking for an interview. I am still a recluse & see none of my species—a condition of things which must continue many months yet. If I would allow myself to be interviewed at all, I would say to you Come! But I am not going to be interviewed so long as I am in retirement in England. In some countries I might find it difficult to escape, but one is safe here [MTP]. Note: Hayward asked again and Sam, though too busy to name a day or time beyond “noon”, relented on July 3. See entry.

Sam’s notebook:

Friday, Jan. 29. Since bad luck struck is it is risky for people to have anything to do with us. Our third cook’s sweetheart was healthy—he is rushing for the grave, now. Emily, one of the maids, has lost the sight of one eye, & the other is in danger. Wallace carried up coal & blacked the boots 2 months—has suddenly gone to the hospital—pleurisy & a bad case. We began to allow ourselves to see a good deal of our friends the Bigelows—straightway their baby sickened & died. Next, Wilson got his skull fractured. Visited him today, at the hospital. Returning my cab ran over a little boy. Apparently the child lay on the ground with the suddenly-arrested horse dancing & prancing all over him with all his feet—but the child escaped without a scratch.

London—the City of a Hundred Villages. It has been call[ed] the Paradise of the Pauper. That is not quite right. It is the Paradise of the Poor— meaning the Straightened, the Reduced, the possessors of but small incomes, moderate means [NB 41 TS 6-7].