[Boston—Thursday, 13 September 1866]
Thursday—out doing errands nearly all day—we took a delightful walk together—in the evening went to see Hackett in Rip Van Winkle—marvellous piece of acting. Hackett is 69—but I think it as good acting as I have ever seen.
He was at a small new theatre and the people interesting [sic] me—especially a man who looked like Keats and a beautiful woman or one who would have been wholly beautiful if it were not for a certain coarseness of sentiment in her face which led me to think of somebody else. She had a little boy with her whose first night it was and his involuntary shrieks of laughter were more moving oftentimes than the acting although the latter was good.
