Thursday, July 8:
R. dreamed of Lord Byron, that they had been together and R. had spoken about Schopenhauer.
In the morning we walk together in the garden; he shows me the splendid flowering holly tree, whose trunk hangs over and along the cliff, as if to greet someone - him - on the path below. He is not feeling very well, and that overshadows our day; he frequently spits up blood, and he complains to the doctor that he always has some irritation, like a heat rash, etc.
When I return from visiting a boarding school, I find him much occupied with thoughts of America; his earnings, reported on by friend Gross, have not been very good, and at the same time there arrive greetings from America and news from Dr. Jenkins which he finds very affecting. His favorite simile now for the indestructibility of the mob is an anthill, which after rain always regains its old form.
In the evening chat about all sorts of things, including Constantinople, of which Dr. Jenkins has given us a frightening description.