m Theatre, which she rented from
Henry Irving, I was in America, and another time when I might have seen
her act, I was very ill and ordered abroad. I have, however, had the
great pleasure of meeting her and she has done me many little
kindnesses. Hearing her praises sung on all sides, and her beauties
spoken of everywhere, I was particularly struck by her modest evasion of
publicity _off_ the stage. I personally only knew her as a most
beautiful woman--as kind as beautiful--constantly working for her
religion--_always_ kind, a good daughter, a good wife, a good woman.

She cheered me before I sailed for America by saying that her people
would like me.

"Since seeing you in Portia and Letitia," she wrote, "I am convinced you
will take America by storm." Certainly _she_ took _England_ by storm!
But she abandoned her triumphs almost as soon as they were gained. They
never made her happy, she once told me, and I could understand her
better than most, since I had had success too, and knew that it did not
mean happiness.

Henry and I were so fortunate as to gain the friendship and approval of
Dr. Horace Howard Furness, perhaps the finest Shakespearean scholar in
America, and editor of the Variorum Shakespeare, which Henry considered
the best of all editions--"the one which counts." It was in Boston, I
think, that I disgraced myself at one of Dr. Furness' lectures. He was
discussing "As You Like It" and Rosalind, and proving with much
elaboration that English in Shakespeare's time was pronounced like a
broad country dialect, and that Rosalind spoke Warwickshire! A little
girl who was sitting in the front of me had lent me her copy of the play
a moment before, and now, absorbed in Dr. Furness' argument, I forgot
the book wasn't mine and began scrawling controversial notes in it with
my very thick and blotty fountain pen.

"Give me back my book! Give me my book!" cried the little girl. "How
dare you write in my book!" she cried with rage.

Her mother tried to hush her up: "It's Miss Ellen Terry."

"I don't care! She's spoilt my nice book!"

I am glad to say that when the little girl understood, she forgave me.
Still, it was dreadful of me and I did feel ashamed at the time.

_Joseph Jefferson_

In November, 1901, I wrote in my diary: "Philadelphia. Supper at
Henry's. Jefferson there, sweeter and more interesting than ever--and
younger."

Dear Joe Jefferson--actor, painter, courteous gentleman, _profound_
student