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68 Madison Ave:
Decr 16th 1878
Dear Jervy –
You must not think that when you left my ‘loaferie’ tother day that you then passed out of my memory; no, you are there forever. Not a day has since passed but I have said---‘now I must send a word to Jervy,’ but before I could settle down to my “pen and ink-horn” some untoward circumstances would
intervene and stay proceedings. Tonight I am free; no theatre, no callers---so have [illegible] [fun?]
Because I do not answer, or comment on the contents of your last letter---so full of deep religious tenderness; so fraught with what all what all who know you appreciate in you, it must not check the impulse to let your feeling have full vent---in the fear of wearying me. All that you can say when you seek relief in words, spoken or on
paper shall be welcomed as a sacred trust. If I do not respond in such a manner as another might ‘tis not because I care not, but because I cannot. This you know, I know; and I am not afraid that you will misconstrue me if I prate of [wordly?] matters.
I remember how sensitive my wound was, and how I winced at the seeming heartlessness of those who ignored it and talked to me of acting, for though I think I bore my blows bravely---yet there were many, many hours in the
dark days of my life when I would creep into and “eat my heart.” These moments come to you, & will return---frequently for a while, but the light will soon dispel the shadows---at least so soften them that the rich autumnal beauty of your woe will soothe and strengthen, not depress you. I am very awkward in expression---as you well know, but in the overflow of feeling I set all sail---regardless of risk, or whether you can follow me or not. But I am sure, if my meaning is obscure, that you will rightly guess at it.
Stedman passed the evening with us (yesterday) and charmed us all---would I could talk as he does! From what he said of Taylor I fear we shall lose him; private letters are very discouraging; but, perhaps, you know all this; and more than I have heard. Mary heard today that Maria Thompson has also been, recently, very ill. More sad tidings: but no word about [Laurent?].
But let us leave the gloom awhile.
I failed to fulfill a promise I volunteered to have our pictures exhibited; not because I forgot---or did not wish to do so, but from a desire to have them perfect to other eyes than mine before they are published. All who have seen them are delighted---often to enthusiasm with the sentiment, the coloring, the---everything, in fact, except the portraits. And in all of them (except Lear, Richard 2nd, Shylock) there is an objection to
a fullness, or a roundness, or a something (which Mary can explain) in the faces that can easily be remedied. Looking at them while we (!) were at work on them we both looked through one pair of eyes; now when you are in the mood, and have no more important things to do, let us jab at ‘em until the (I think) very easily cured complaint is removed---it is not [chronic?]
Do not let this [bore?]---or disgust you with what may seem my lop-sidedness of judgement.
I cannot judge at all correctly of likenesses---particularly of my own. I see my father in [Brutus?]---so does Joe Jefferson, who knew him well, but neither he nor Mary, nor indeed anyone recognizes me in that picture. (If that sentence is very much ‘off color’ it will have to stay so.)
So, now good-night, my Jervy. I hope you will soon be here for a stay and that we may have many [smokes?] and growls together. I shall be free all winter and shall endeavor to be sociable, and to cultivate friends & be decent. All our loves to you and [yours?]Edwin