When Mr. Ticknor made, on his seventy-sixth birthday, the list of his early friends,—from whom only death was to part him, 1—he had already endured the pain of separation from nearly all those who were not destined to survive him. The death of Mr. Everett in January, 1865, was a shock from its extreme suddenness, and it broke up an intercourse which, for the previous fourteen or fifteen years, had been extremely close and confidential. Their meetings, when both were in Boston, were almost daily, and the number of notes which passed between them was so great as to cause amused comments in the family, on this lady-like or lover-like frequency of billets-doux.2 On the day of Mr. Everett's death Mr. Ticknor wrote to Mr. G. T. Curtis:—
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1 See Vol. I. p. 316.
2 Mr. Everett was in the habit of preserving everything of this kind, and Mr. Ticknor received back more than five hundred notes and letters which he had written. Almost all were short; a large quantity he destroyed, and of the remainder only a few were of so general a character that they could be used in these volumes.
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