62 1860-1865 : PEESONAL 



Kew, October 1, 1863. 



DEAR OLD DARWIN, I have just buried my darling 

 little girl and read your kind note. I tried hard to make no 

 difference between her and the other children, but she was 

 my very own, the flower of my flock in every one's eyes, the 

 companion of my walks, the first of my children who has 

 shown any love for music and flowers, and the sweetest 

 tempered; affectionate little thing that ever I knew. It 

 will be long before I cease to hear her voice in my ears, or 

 feel her little hand stealing into mine ; by the fireside and in 

 the Garden, wherever I go she is there. 



The funeral service had no more effect on me than on 

 her : the association with her personally snapped as the 

 ceremonial left my door, and oddly enough, I felt nothing 

 at seeing the little white coffin go into the vault, my mind 

 was wandering amongst sweeter memories elsewhere. 



And now lean calmly think of what sorrows I am spared. 

 Hers was no contagious disease, threatening the whole 

 family for weeks afterwards ; she suffered comparatively 

 little ; and above all do I rejoice that she was yet so young 

 and happy, that death did not enter her little head during 

 her illness, and I was spared the agony of seeing my darling 

 pass through the 'valley of the shadow of death.' Then too, 

 strangely enough, I never knew she was dying till 3 minutes 

 before the breath left her body. For 3 hours I was blind 

 to every one of those symptoms of rapidly approaching 

 dissolution, that every nurse knows and every novelist de- 

 scribes, and I have seen myself so often. The doctor came 

 in just 3 minutes before she died and told me to my horror 

 she was dying. I knew the extreme danger, but assumed 

 she had many hours to live. The retrospect of that last 

 night is thus in some respects comforting, in others hideous, 

 and I can still feel the cold shudder that every misinterpreted 

 symptom still sent through me, during that long night of 

 agony and suspense. 



A month later, October 23 : 



I am very well, but it will be long before I get over this 

 craving for my child, or the bitterness of that last night. 

 To nurse grief I hold is a deadly sin, but I shall never cease 

 to wish my child back in niy arms, as long as I live. 



