Here, finally, are some of the striking child deaths I have come across in memoirs and letters, excluding those I have used in the text, which are, of course, documented in the notes. (A similar list, with which I have avoided overlap, can be found in Linda Pollock's A Lasting Relationship: Parents and Children over Three Centuries [Hanover and London: University Press of New England, 1987], pages 123135.) Such a list obviously makes no claim to completeness, but each has at least a mite of interest, and they all contribute to a sense of what the subject meant to people in the nineteenth century. I give where possible the date, age, and cause of death, a quotation from the comments, and at least one source.
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HENRY GURNEY AGGS (1846: 19: typhus). "This dear youth early evinced a retiring and thoughtful demeanour, with a marked ingenuousness of character. His complaint was considered a feverish cold, that, with attention, would soon pass off until fourth-day evening, the 25th of 11th month, when there was an increase of fever. He spoke to his mother with deep and affectionate feeling, especially mentioning a book which he wished to be destroyed, if he would not recover.'I have never read it through, it is an improper book; I have laid it aside; it was given to me by, but I wish no-one to read it. Do thou burn it, dear mamma.' On First-day morning, the 13th, seeing the light breaking through the curtains, he turned to his Father who was watching by his side, and said sweetly, 'the dawning of the sabbath.' About a quarter before seven in the evening, his redeemed spirit gently passed from the body" (The Annual Monitor for I848, or Obituary of the Members of the Society of Friends for I847). Among the obituaries regularly appearing in The Annual Monitor (York, 1842-) are several of young people (of which this is a representative sample) and occasionally of children.
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MARTIN BENSON (1878: 17: tubercular meningitis). "He closed his eyes as for sleep, and then turned his head a little towards the room, awoke afresh, and gazed with a beautiful expression at a part of the room where nothing visible stood: plainly saw something and exclaimed, 'How lovely.' These words were the last he uttered."E. W. Benson (father). "My dear Arthur, Martin is dead. Martin is
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