[London—Saturday, 2 July 1859]

Saturday July 2d Started at 12 o’clk to see Gerald Massey. We knew him at once as he stood whip in hand looking into the car windows before we stopped. I do not think the recognition was mutual however nor do I think he has a close intuitive grasp of character. We jumped into his tiny pony chaise hardly large enough for us all and the two diminutive carpet-bags and drove slowly on through the pretty village of Hoddesden while Gerald talked. It was all fine too that he had to say showing a keen retentive memory and sincere love of letters. He is deeply interested in Scotch literature at present. They have been living in Scotland nearly 4 years indeed their two children died and were buried there and it seems to the poor things as if a large portion of their life were left behind them. The babe Christabel now grown to be a girl of eight years was in Edinburgh with a friend. Ah! he said, were Christy to die I should die too. I think I could not live without her. There is more pathos than was ever invented in the home of Massey. The bard sits there singing still but the house of love is vacant. His wife is mad and the worst is I think he does not yet believe it. Such things fall gradually upon us. It is not easy to see that the light of Heaven is shut out from one we have loved. Gerald suffers intensely but bears on for the most part as a hero should.


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