He was looking over some books, and found a notebook of Edward's, of some subject they had been reading together.

Edward had tired of the subject, and the last page was occupied with a pen-and-ink sketch of Arthur himself, the discovery of which, done as it had been during working hours, had been the occasion of some affectionate strictures.

He shut the book up quickly, and literally moaned.
Then, after a little, his frosty silence broke up, and he wrote me several letters about his boy, very full and detailed, with numbers of little stories, and ending with a passionate burst of grief at the loss.

They are too private for publication.
One very notable one, some six months after, must be given here.
"People talk and write about instantaneous momentary _conversions_--I never realized what was meant till a week ago.

Day after day, all that time, I had been filled with gloomy, reproachful, or bitter thoughts of God and the providence which took Edward from me.