_Friday_. DEAR MRS. HOWE,—To-morrow and Sunday night I am engaged—but think I shall remain at home on account of ill-health; to-morrow night I start for New York. I am sorry I have been unable to see you, but hope to have that pleasure before I leave the city. Baby Booth is not with me—I feared the climate and at the last moment concluded not to bring her here. I hear from her every day. She has grown to be a most splendid child and worships her papa. I miss her very much. My long winter’s work has completely unnerved me and it is as much as I can do to drag through my performances. Pray present my compliments to the young ladies and to Dr. Howe and accept my thanks for your polite invitation. Hoping soon to have an opportunity to call upon you, believe me, Very truly, Your servant, EDWIN BOOTH. Among my early memories of “Green Peace” is a large daguerreotype of Charlotte Cushman. It was probably lost in one of the many movings of the Howe family. When Miss Cushman’s furniture and personal effects were sold at Newport, many years after her death, a portrait of my mother and one of Elizabeth Barrett Browning were still hanging in her bedroom! A photograph of the great actress, taken about the time of the Civil War, I still possess. My parents were early interested in Charlotte Cushman’s acting, as they were in that of Edwin Booth, at the beginning of his career. They invited guests to meet her at “Green Peace,” and asked their friends in other cities to extend to her social recognition. In the summer of 1850 they were her fellow-passengers on the voyage to England. Sister Laura was then an infant. Seeing her gnaw her little fist, the actress exclaimed that babies were funny things, at the same time mimicking exactly the child’s action. Like Sally Battle, Charlotte Cushman believed in the rigor of the game. She and my mother were engaged one day in a game of whist when a gentleman was rash enough to talk to the latter and to keep on talking. Charlotte Cushman bore it as long as she could, then turned to the offender and said, in her great, deep voice, “Remember, this is whist.” The hint was sufficient. Another story we had from my mother was of a certain holiday performance when the theater was crowded. Miss Cushman was acting with her sister, the play being, as I think, “Romeo and Juliet.” In the midst of the tender love-making a small boy called out from the gallery, “Oh, my stummick!” The sister was nearly convulsed with laughter, when Charlotte gave her a shake and brought her to herself with the words, “_Remember where you are_.” On another occasion, when Miss Cushman came bounding upon the stage as Meg Merrilies, she trod upon a needle, dropped there by some careless actress, and had to be helped from the stage in an agony of pain.