George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor
George Hillard, Ed.

July 19, 1825.

Sorrow has come close upon gladness with us. God has taken away from our hopes the little daughter he had just given us . . . . It is a great disappointment; much greater than I had thought it could be. I did not think so many hopes could so soon have gathered and rested on one so young and frail. But the imagination is as busy as the memory; and though there may be fewer recollections treasured up for future regrets, there is enough of defeated hope to make much present sorrow. But God's will be done . . . .

Time softened this disappointment, and in 1829 his cup of joy seemed filled, by the birth of a son; while the arrival, four years later, of another daughter, made his home the scene of many deep and simple delights. Sickness came to one and another from time to time, there were periods of anxiety, but the seasons of content, thus far, outnumbered them.

The gay picture sketched in the letter to Mr. Daveis in the beginning of 1834 was, however, soon clouded and shut from sight by the shadow of a great calamity. In the following summer a fatal illness seized his little boy, his only son, then five years old, who had filled his home with such life and gladness, and was the bright centre of so many hopes.

The illness of the child lasted five weeks, and in the course of it we have the following note from Mr. Ticknor to his eldest daughter, then eleven years old, who had been left in the country, which contains a simple expression of his anxiety and trouble:—

my very dear daughter,—Geordie is a good deal more unwell, and so I shall not see you to-night. Perhaps, too, if he should not grow better, I may not go out to-morrow. But you must be a good girl, and keep yourself occupied about something pleasant and useful, until you have somebody to help you in your regular occupations.

Your mother is well, and sends you a great deal of her love; but she is somewhat worn by her want of rest, and will not, I fear, be able much longer to do as much as she has lately. Geordie is very good and gentle, but he suffers a great deal of pain, and is obliged to take many grievous remedies. He is a sweet little fellow, and I pray God to permit him to continue with us; but this morning I was very much afraid, and I am not now without anxiety. In a few years you will