A cold brought on brain fever, the nature and1
gravity of the case were not realized, domestic medication was attempted, and in a defective steam-bath the unfortunate child was fatally scalded.
The stroke to the parents was the more tremendous not only because of these circumstances, but because no one of their flock was so robust, blooming, and charged with vitality, or had so endeared himself to their affections.
He bore a certain facial resemblance to Dr. Follen
, and, in his father's words,2
gave ‘promise of future usefulness and excellence in some degree commensurate with the worth and fame of the truly great and good man after whom he was named admiringly, gratefully, reverently.’
His mother never fully recovered from the blow.
“Every hour, indeed every moment,” Memorial of H. E. Garrison, p. 29.
she wrote to a friend at the time, ‘he is before me in all his beauty and freshness; and I long to clasp him to my heart, and hear once more those joyous notes which would be music to my soul.
I try to be resigned, I endeavor to be cheerful, but it is all forced; my heart is ready to break.’
Her husband's grief was hardly less poignant or lasting:
W. L. Garrison to Elizabeth Pease.