| | already worn with sorrow and crushing anxiety. In the letter which I asked Margaret to send on to youCarrie makes no mention of Josephine being ill except for whooping coughbut from the moment I knew the poor child had pneumonia I have been afraid. The dear-bright-pretty childsix little happy yearsand now a memory only!
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Georgie wrote an affectionate, emotional letter to Carrie:
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| | There is not a heart untouched with sympathy for you I am sure. Here where she has lived, the news has sent a chill through everyone. Many refused to believe it, and some came almost trembling to ask if it could be true. Oh my poor darlings, this great distance makes it feel as if I was talking to the stars.
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What is striking in all this material, especially if we compare it to the Tait or Butler deaths, is the disappearance of God. There is as much tenderness, as much grief and as much need for consolation, but there are no reassurances that she has joined her heavenly Father or that those who mourn for her will later be reunited with her, and there is no hint that she is better dead. There is, to be sure, one letter from a clergyman which refers to "the profound faith of Mr Kipling," but even this is almost withdrawn again: "I know too well the profound faith of Mr Kipling and his unfaltering courage to doubt as to his power to accept this bereavement." If the faith is profound, we might comment, then there is no need for courage. The letter continues: "A new wonder will arise in his soul, and new sweetness and depth in his poetry. He will reveal some new, clear, indubitable vision upon which many mourners for children will look and be comforted.'' This seems carefully balanced on the edge of making credal statements: "wonder," "sweetness," "depth," "vision" are all terms that could, but need not, imply Christian belief and, perhaps, rather carefully avoid doing so. I know nothing about that clergyman, Charles Orris Day, but without questioning the genuineness of his belief we can see his letter as illustrating the tendency of Christian consolation to become secularized. When he writes, "Alas! that this sweet flower is transplanted; though growing eternally more lovely somewhere, I must believe," we can wonder if there is an element of skepticism in the last three wordswhich could mean, "As a clergyman I am not allowed to say otherwise." 16
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Almost forty years earlier, T H. Huxley's eldest son Noel died of scarlet fever, shortly before he turned four. Huxley took consolation for his grief in the memory of the life:
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