[Boston—Sunday, 23 September 1866]

Sunday clear and cool. Heard a rather long but most Christian service performed by brother Bartol in which he had the questionable taste to speak of our happy season in Manchester—the harmony of the family etc. I am afraid this was too much gratulation of “our folk” unwittingly of course.

Louisa and the children came from Nahant yesterday; we went to see them after church.

Edwin Booth and the Aldrich’s came to tea. Also Tom Beal & Prof. Sterry Hunt of Montreal, the latter late. Booth came in the twilight while a magnificent red and purple and gold sunset was staining the bay. The schooners anchored just off shore had already lighted their lanterns and swung them in the rigging and the full moon cast a silver sheen over the scene. I hear he passes every Sunday morning while here at the grave of his wife in Mt. Auburn. He seems entirely temperate now but deeply saddened, he was very pleasant however and ready to talk and gave amusing imitations—in particular of his black boy Jem who possesses he says the one accomplishment of forgetting everything he ought to remember. One day a man with a deep tragic voice “Forestian” he said, came to him with letters of introduction asking Mr Booth to assist him as he was about to go to England. Mr B. told him he knew no one in England and could do nothing for him, he was sorry, if he ever found it possible to do him a service he would with pleasure. With that Mr B. turned, they were in the vestibule of the theatre and entered the box office to speak to some one there, immediately he heard the deep voice addressing Jem with “You are with Mr Booth” “Yas,” responded Jem with real negro accent, “I’m wid Mr Booth.” “In what capacity are you studying” “Yas” returned Jem unblushingly “I’se studyin’.” “What are you upon now,” “Oh Richelieu, Hamlet, an’ a few of dese yer.” “Ah, I should be pleased to enter in correspondence with you while I am abroad would you have any objections.” “Oh no, no objection, no objection at all.” “Thank you sir, good day sir.” With that they parted and Jem came with his mouth stretched wide with laughter. “Massa, what is “correspond.” I told him I’d correspond, what’d he mean, correspond.” Then Jem convulsed with his joke roared and roared again. They are surely a merry race, but provoking enough sometimes. They are capable of real attachments; however, this man has been several times dismissed but will not go.

Booth told everything very dramatically but I was especially struck with his description of a man travelling with two shaggy terrier pups in the cars. He had them in a basket and hung them up over his head and then composed himself to sleep. Waking up half an hour later he observed a man on the opposite side of the cars, his eyes starting from his head and the very picture of dismay as if a demon were looking at him. The owner of the pups following the direction of the man’s eyes looked up and saw the two pups had their heads out of the basket he quietly made a sign for them to go back and they disappeared, the man’s gaze did not apparently slacken however but in a moment became still more horrified when the pups again looked out. “What’s the matter” said the owner. “What are those” said the man pointing with trembling finger, “pray excuse me but I have been on a spree and I thought they were demons.”

He introduced the subject of the stage and talked of points in Hamlet which he had made for the first time but occasionally through accident had omitted. The next day he will be sure to be asked by letter or newspaper why he omits certain points which would be so excellent to make the writer thinks. He has had a life of strange vicissitudes as almost all actors. He referred last night to his frequent travels during childhood over the Alleghanys with his father, of long nights spent in this kind of travel and once in Nevada he walked 50 miles chiefly through snow. “Why” said Lilian—“because I was hard up, Lily” he continued, I walked it too in stage boots which were too tight,—it was misery.

Mr Sterry Hunt had had no vacation since he was here last. He is working like a man of purpose and ambition, is staying with Prof. Whelpley at East Boston examining the metallurgical works there. He is studying the geology of Canada. He is deeply interested too in botany. Miss Putnam’s flowers give him real pleasure; he gave us many learned names for them.

They had all gone by ½ past ten but we lay long awake thinking over poor Booth and his strange sad fortune. Hamlet indeed! Although Forceythe Willson says “I have been to see Mr Hamlet play Booth.” Yes, perhaps when he is playing it for the 400th time with a bad cold it may seem so; indeed I found it dullish myself or his part I mean t’other night but he did play it once—the night of his re-appearance in New York.


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