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 punishment for misdeeds (of which I've done many)
than grace for good 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
am certainly well paid, but hard schooling 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 poem called "The King'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'm
ill in mind or body: on the contrary, I am well enough in both; nor am
I a pessimist. I merely wanted you to know that the sugar 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 two weeks
longer. Sunday, at four o'clock, I start for Baltimore, arriving
there at ten o'clock....

To-morrow, a meeting of actors, managers, and artists at breakfast, to
discuss and organise, if possible, a theatrical club[1] like the