[Boston—Tuesday, 18 March 1873]
Tuesday March 18. Left Boston for a short trip to New York. Jefferson the actor, famous throughout the world for his impersonation of “Rip Van Winkle” was on the train and finding us out per “J.” him [sic] came to our compartment car to pass the day. He talked without cessation and without effort. He described his sudden disease of the eyes quite bravely and simply on the use of too much whiskey. He said the newspapers had said it was the gas and many other reasons had been assigned first and last, but he firmly believed there was no other reason than too much whiskey. He had taken the habit, when he was somewhat below his ordinary physical & mental condition in the evening and wished to rise to the proper point and “carry the audience,” of taking a small glass of whiskey. This glass was after a time made two and even three or four. Finally he was stricken down by a trouble of the eyes which threatened the entire extinction of sight. His physician at once suggested that unnatural use of stimulants was the cause of which he himself is now entirely convinced and no longer touches anything stronger than claret. He has played to a larger variety of audiences probably than almost any other great actor. The immense applause he received in England where he played 170 consecutive nights at the Adelphi in London, always as “Rip” has only served to make him more modest, it would seem, more desirous to uphold himself artistically. He gave us a hint of his taste for fishing and described his trout-raising establishment in Jersey—very curious and wonderful it was. Nature preserves only one in a hundred of the eggs of trout to come to maturity, Mr. Jefferson in his pond is able to raise 85 out of 100. There seems no delight to him so great as that of sitting beside a stream on a summer day, line in hand.
Talking of the everlasting repetition of “Rip” he says he should be thankful to rest himself with another play, but this has been a growth and it would be a daring thing for him to attempt anything new with a public who would always compare him with himself in this play wh. is the result of years of his best thought and strength. I think myself, if he were quite well he would be almost sure to attempt something else.
He told us several stories very dramatically. He is an odd, carelessly dress[ed] little mortal, a cross between Charles Lamb and Grimaldi, but we have seldom passed a more delightful day of talk than with him. The hours absolutely fled away.
He had just left us at Hartford when Mr. Cheney, the father of Arthur Cheney took his place, the man who has built up the manufacture of American silks. His story of the rise of this manufacture, their troubles, failures and ultimate success was most interesting. 1200 persons are now at work at Manchester—a village of 2500 persons has grown up around the old homestead—and schools, church, amusements have all been organized and supported by the Cheney Brothers for the colony they have brought together. We arrived at New York almost before we thought of it and found a comfortable room at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. No sign of any great fire is apparent, nor perhaps was ever apparent to the larger number of guests, but I fancied I saw in the faces of the women servants and heard now and then discontented voices, indications of suffering and restlessness which must be consequent for a long time one would think upon the death of several of their number in such a shocking manner.
