There was much more that I cannot relate. Barnard told it to us for an hour or more, and we stood and listened and watched, silently enthralled. Every now and then Childe Hassam, putting aside his own artist’s soul, would draw out his watch and look at the time threateningly and suggestively. I pushed his watch aside and whispered to him that time for this once did not exist, nor appointments, nor meals----Could one interrupt a man’s vision by observing the time? Lastly, he unveiled for us the marble head of Lincoln. It stood on a pedestal facing a window of which the blind was drawn. As we stood before it, the master slowly, very slowly, released the light, and as he did so the shadow from beneath Lincoln’s brow was dispelled, and his eyes seemed to have life, and to look up with all the pity and the tenderness and the human sympathy of a superman. It was not Lincoln the man of sorrows, it was not Lincoln the thinker, it was Lincoln the great understanding idealist, and there was so much of love and sadness in the marble face that I, a normal woman, had tears streaming down my face, and I was ashamed. Mr. Galatly has brought this Lincoln head to present to the Luxembourg Gallery. As for the soul of Barnard, and the vision, and the imagination, and the energy, and the selflessness of him--it is immense. SUNDAY, MARCH 6, 1921. I lunched with Griffen Barry and Kenneth Durant at the Brevoort. Jo Davidson came in with a party; he came and talked to us. Whenever I am with Kenneth I meet Jo Davidson! He attacked me about it--he said I was always with Bolsheviks! He knows I like them, and I know he likes them too! It is a great joke. After lunch I went up to the Numesmatic Society; as it was a beautiful afternoon, five hundred people appeared! I’d like a picture of rather stout middle-aged ladies, in high ostrich plumed hats, scrutinizing closely and carefully through lorgnettes the unflinching bronzes of the Soviet leaders. One man came who looked exactly like Trotzky, though with a shaven chin, but he had the same profile, the keen eye, the clear skin, and the stand-up hair. I introduced myself to him and said, “Do you know who you look like?” He smiled, “Yes, I have seen myself in the glass--I know.” He told me he was Russian, and I saw he was a Jew. He said he hoped to go back to his country some day and help. The man was a dormant Trotzky, the sort of man who if roused, or in similar conditions, might evolve into anything. I dined with the Ralph Pulitzers,--they have some nice things, including one or two good Rodins. He was a real appreciator of good things. Laurette Taylor and her husband were there, and the Swopes. Laurette Taylor has great charm, talks well, and seems to have more vision and to be less self-centred than the usual people of the stage--and I like her husky voice.