[Manchester—Monday, 9 September 1867]
Monday. Wandered about the beach in the morning. It was still cloudy—mist driving in fold over fold; surely the sun appears to have forgotten to shine.
Kate Field came at noon—she has been travelling all summer and has learned to believe in travel. I always thought Vedder would marry Kate if she would have him, but she brought a photograph of the lady to whom he is engaged to show me, and is quietly going back to newspaper work herself. She wears an heroic little spirit about with her in her small woman’s body. She told me that Mrs. Botta had not quitted New York when August came in. She fitted everybody else off and then remained to superintend the fitting up of her house. What a mistake she seems to make to our short-sightedness, sacrificing her health and losing her power of enjoyment in shifting things. Matthew Arnold says,
“Who has no minutes breathing space allowed
To nurse his dwindling faculty of joy,—
Joy and the outward world must die to him.”
so is it with this poor woman I fear—she has forgotten to nurse the spark.
Jamie had a busy day in town. Dolby returned from his tour on the Dickens business. He will sail for England on Wed. & till then we cannot see much of each other in Manchester.
I cannot express the loneliness of nature by this shore while these sad moods are upon her. I believe there is a sympathetic chord in me which the dull clouds and heavy faced earth chimes well with. I have never felt more like trying to write.
