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21 (Notation at top left-hand corner of page 1)
March 1st '81
St. James's Hotel,
Piccadilly.
Dear Jervy --
I haven't written many letters lately -- only such as demanded immediate attention: I think I have several of yours unanswered -- certainly two of them. Excefsive fatigue -- an accumulation of bile -- but above all great anxiety are the causes of my inability to write to my friends. Only very lately have I been convinced of the fatal nature of Mary's disease -- although the doctor knew it from the first. 'Twas kept from me to prevent this very anxiety -- because of my engagement, and following the doctors' advice we have to deceive her in order not to hasten the end and to make the little remnant of her life as pleasant as pofsible. Sir Wm. Jenner was called in by our doctor, who is, himself, considered to be the best throat doctor in England, and they both agree that only a few months are left for her. She has so often said that she does not want to know it until a week at most before she dies that we all think it best to keep her ignorant of the fact -- so long as she is able to be about.
When I say that she eats nothing -- I do not greatly exaggerate her condition, the result is emaciation, of course, extreme weaknefs of body -- which only her indomitable will-power sustains, and a feeblenefs of mind -- which daily grows worse. A lofs of memory & inability to write the simplest note. When you consider how completely she has been the brain and guiding spirit of my family, how entirely dependent both Edwina & I have become on her superior judjement, you can imagine what utter confusion her helplefsnefs occafsions. Having to act heavy parts every night with the constant dread in my mind that she will be doing some outrageous thing, for her conduct & talk has been so queer of late that everybody notices it, & knowing that she is suffering with a cough that is terrible to hear, I have a strain upon me that is very hard to bear. Add to this my lofs of sleep on her account & you can understand my disinclination to write -- or do anything but die. For twelve years (nearly) I have nursed her like a sick baby, but despite the
care of this, and the evil that has been wrought by her semi-lunatic brain of late years, I feel for her that strong affection that the mother feels for the "black-sheep" of her family -- that love the prisoner has been known to have for his dungeon after years of hard confinement. I think of the moral slavery that both Edwina & I endure -- for the sake of quiet & for pity's sake, and regard death as our liberation, as well as a relief to the poor soul who suffers so; and then again I think of the desolation her absence will cause. If you knew how utterly helplefs both Edwina & I are you'd be amazed! All these years that Mary has controlled my domestic affairs she has not permitted the slightest interference on Edwina's part & my indolent nature has yeilded everything, only too glad to escape trouble. In one of your late letters you exprefs a confidence in Edwina's ability when the occafsion calls for the exercise of her powers that are now supprefsed, it may be you are right; I hope so -- but I greatly fear that she is in every sense her father's child; except her resemblance and her affectionate disposition I can see nothing of the Mother in her. Her mother had just the same executive faculty and much of the energy that Mary has -- that I have not, and which I greive
restricted. -- We dined with Leyester Sunday and would have had a pleasant time but for the fact that Mary was taken ill & the effects of Morphia which the doctor applied to her throat made her so queer that I was obliged to explain matters to Mrs Leyuster. The doctor has written to McVicker about Mary's condition & it may bring him or his wife over -- I hope not for they are very hateful to me & Mary, herself, has declared that she does not want her folks to know that she is ill -- nor does she wish ever to go back to America. The doctors say London, in spite of its fogs, is the best place for her & she likes the city & the people we have met better than others. -- Millois saw my Lear & was very enthusiastic; he exprefsed great admiration for those clever little pictures of me. Clever means a great deal in English, much more than in American phraseology. Lear has been the greatest succefs of my plays I've yet given & it will doubtlefs run out the rest of my term -- 4 weeks. Always give my love to all of your folks. I must hurry to an end with this -- for I would only be repeating myself should I write longer. God blefs you, old boy. Have not seen [Boylton ?] for a great while. Adieu! Yours ever Booth
St. James's Hotel,
Piccadilly.