Although I slept an hour or two on the train yesterday morning, & 3 hours in the afternoon, I still wasn’t much refreshed, on account of having gotten up so early; so nothing but my black coffee at 7 pm enabled me to put the evening through creditably. It makes me cheerful, & easy, & confidential & conversational with the audience; & that is all that is necessary to success. But it cannot protect me against those curious & disastrous lapses of memory which come of over-fatigue. I had some of these, last night, but did not mind them—easily covered them up. But not so, the night before. I got lost in the last third of “A Trying Situation”—couldn’t find my place again, & so concluded with a speech explaining the dilemma, & the speech was a rattling, not to say an electrical, success.

At 11 last night I had been without food (barring my cup of black coffee,) for 24 hours)—consequently my health & stomach were in perfect condition again. Maurice Thompson the poet (“Songs of Fair Weather” & the “Nightingale”) came in at 10.30, & of course I was exceedingly glad to see him; but he stayed staid till midnight, & I didn’t like that very well, since we were to rise at 7 this morning.

Mamma, I wrote to Susie the other day to ask if the Toronto people had returned Patrick a bearskin cape. Haven’t received an answer, yet. Therefore, you better write me now, to Toronto, (Rossin House,) or telegraph me the night of the 11th to Russell House, Detroit, concerning the matter.

Just two was weeks more, & I shall see you at home at half past 3 on a Sunday morning Feb. 22! Good-bye sweetheart, I do love you.