Part 2 (1/2)
April 23, 1876
MY DARLING DAUGHTER,
When I was at Eton (I don't refer now to the dinner-table) my Greek and Latin were of such a superior quality that had it not been for an unforeseen accident I would have carried off all the honours
The accident lay in this: I never went to school there except in dreahts of a collegiate education! What a world of never-ending interest lies open to the es!
The best translations cannot convey to us the strength and exquisite delicacy of thought in its native garb, and he to whom such books are shut flounders about in outer darkness I have suffered so iven me in youth, and which he himself possessed, that I am all the more anxious you shall escape my punishment in that respect; that you es which others enjoy through any lack of opportunity or neglect of mine Therefore, learn to love your Latin, your French, and your English gra firmly and securely on them, you have a solid foothold in the field of literature
Think how interesting it will be hereafter to refer to your journal, and see the rapid developrowth; only do not fail to record all your shortcos in the tortuous river of your life, to be avoided in succeeding trips farther down the strearave, and if we can only see theh bu!
PAPA
TO HIS DAUGHTER
CHICAGO, October 9, 1886
I aun to crawl; don't put her on her feet too soon; consider her legs a _la bow_ I closed my first week here with two enorreatly tired me Jefferson called and left with me theSo far as he has written it, it is intensely interesting and a, and ritten in a free and chatty style; it will be the best autobiography of any actor yet published if he continues it in its present form I sent you sos for ently touched up on the point of the ”old school”; , but the old stock theatre as a school--where a beginner had the advantage of a great variety of experience in farces, as well as tragedies and coramme There is no ”school” now; there is a , perhaps, but the novice can learn nothing frole play
TO HIS DAUGHTER
NEW YORK, January 5, 1888,
As for God's reward for what I have done, I can hardly appreciate it; it is more like punishood ones (if I've done any) Homelessness is the actor's fate; physical incapacity to attain what is most required and desired by such a spirit as I am a slave to If there be rewards, I a in life's thankless lessons has made we somewhat of a philosopher, and I've learned to take the buffets and rewards of fortune with equal thanks, and in suffering all to suffer--I won't say nothing, but comparatively little dick Stoddard wrote a poe's Bell,” which fits my case exactly (you may have read it)He dedicated it to Lorimer Graham, who never knew an unhappy day in his brief life, instead of to me, who never knew a really happy one You mustn't suppose from this that I'h in both; nor aar of my life is bitter-sweet; perhaps not more so than every man's whose experience has been above and below the surface Business has continued large, and increases a little every night; the play will run teeks longer Sunday, at four o'clock, I start for Balti there at ten o'clock
To-ers, and artists at breakfast, to discuss and organise, if possible, a theatrical club[1] like the Garrick of London
TO HIS DAUGHTER
DETROIT, April 04, 1890
Yes; it is indeed e has not rendered my work stale and tiresoedians) at my time Your dear mother's fear was that I would cul so rapidly Somehow I can't rid myself of the belief that both she andof fa that one possessing such qualities has to endure To pass life in a sort of drea is but what is not”--a loneliness in the very midst of a constant crowd, as it were--is not a desirable condition of existence, especially when the body also has to share the ”penalty of greatness,” as it is termed Bosh!+ I'd sooner be an obscure farmer, a hayseed from Wayback, or a cabinetuished man on earth But Nature cast me for the part she found me best fitted for, and I have had to play it, and must play it till the curtain falls But you must not think me sad about it
No; I am used to it, and aour which sometimes surprises myself, and all the colad the babes had a jolly birthday Bless 'em! Love for all
PAPA
TO HIS DAUGHTER
THE PLAYERS, NEW YORK, March 22, 1891
DEAR DAUGHTER:
I' to-day The shock (of Mr Lawrence Barrett's death) so sudden and so distressing, and the gloo weather, entirely unfit me for the least exertion--even to think Hosts of friends, all eager to assist poor Mrs Barrett, seem helpless in confusion, and all the details of the sad business seem to be huddled on her