I'm in no mood for letter-writing to-day. The shock (of Mr. Lawrence
Barrett's death) so sudden and so distressing, and the gloomy,
depressing 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 ...
General Sherman's son, "Father Tom," as he is affectionately called by
all the family and the friends of the dear old General, will attend.
He was summoned from Europe recently to his father's deathbed, and he
happens to be in time to perform services for his father's friend,
poor Lawrence. After the services to-morrow, the remains and a few
friends will go direct to Cohasset for the burial--Tuesday--where
Barrett had only two weeks ago placed his mother, removed from her New
York grave to a family lot which he had recently purchased at
Cohasset. He had also enlarged his house there, where he intended to
pass his old age in privacy. Doctor Smith was correct in his
assertion that the glandular disease was incurable, and the surgical
operation would prolong life only a year or so; the severe cold
produced pneumonia; which Barrett's physicians say might have been
overcome but for the glandular disease still in the blood. Mrs.
Barrett knew from the first operation that he had at most a year or so
to live, and yet by the doctor's advice kept it secret, and did
everything to cheer and humour him. She's a remarkable woman. She
has been expecting to be suddenly called to him for more than a year
past, yet the blow came with terrible force. Milly, Mr. Barrett's
youngest daughter, and her husband, came last night.... When I saw
Lawrence on Thursday he was in a burning fever and asked me to keep
away for fear his breath might affect me, and it pained him to talk.
He pulled through three acts of "De Mauprat" the night before, and
sent for his wife that night. His death was very peaceful, with no
sign of pain. A couple of weeks ago he and I were to meet General
Sherman at dinner: death came instead. To-night Barrett had invited
about twenty distinguished men to meet me at Delmonico's, and again
the grim guest attends....
My room is like an office of some state official; letters, telegrams,
and callers come every moment, some on business, many in sympathy.
Three hours have elapsed since I finished the last sentence, and I
expect a call from Bromley before I retire. A world of business
matters have been disturbed by this sudden break of contracts with
actors and managers, and everything pertaining to next season, as well
as much concerning the balance of the present one, must be rearranged
or cancelled. I, of course, am free; but for the sake of the company
I shall fulfil my time, to pay their salaries, this week here; and
next week in Brooklyn, as they were engaged by Barrett for my
engagement. After which they will be out of employment for the
balance of the season...