Edited by Charlotte Mitchell, Ellen Jordan and Helen Schinske

15. To Anne Yonge

It is impossible not to write another scrap to you, but I hope it does not worry you to read my notes.¹ We have had Mr Keble at Church today his text was ‘For the Lord hath pleasure in his saints,’ and he went on with the 149th Psalm, ‘Let them rejoice in their beds’ speaking of the especial privilege of those who have chosen to keep the things of this world out of their thoughts in their health and busy days, to have holy thoughts and glad meditation sounding in their ears in the time of quiet whether at night or in sickness. You can tell where our thoughts were. All Saints day is one to which it is easy to link all our thoughts of you now, and always will bring them back again in freshness. Fourteen years of such preparation as this morning’s lesson spoke of, and so sudden unsuffering an end seem to unite all that could be wished for. And as Mamma was saying, except for the loss of your two brothers² it seems to have been as happy a life as could have been spent, with no real sorrowful anxiety. Indeed that calm pale face must dwell upon us as a more real picture of perfect peace than anything one could imagine Do not you feel it so?

CMY

16. To Anne Yonge

Novr 6^th 44

I scarcely expected you would be so kind as to write to me so soon, and I hope it was no great exertion of spirits to you. Such a morning as this is just what one would figure to oneself as the right day for you, and I think I can see both Puslinch and Newton³ this morning. At the moment I am writing I suppose you are just beginning to return home. Surely in a case like this death has lost its sting not only to her but to her mourners, sorrow there must be but no bitterness, I quite see and feel with you that no one can long for themselves or others whom they best love to shake off such a sorrow, it will be the repose rather than the burthen of your life, though I suppose that until more years have passed over our heads, we shall not feel the full consciousness of the blessing of having such treasures in Heaven, and so many as are already especially your own. I do not think you have the Lyra Apostolica, therefore I have written out the verses in it which Mr Keble wrote for Sir William when Lady Heathcote⁴ was buried, there are so many lines that seem as if they were meant to express what you all must be feeling mamma’s health does not seem to be suffering as I was very much afraid it would, but she could not eat any breakfast this morning. She is now painting the Commandments which is the best thing she can do, and was a great comfort to her before. Do you know one among the Plain Sermons,⁵ in the 5th volume I think on the Sacredness of Suffering, it is by Dr Pusey and I think you will like to read it, we read it last Sunday evening. You must not write to me till you feel quite inclined to do so, and then pray tell me how you are going on, and what you are doing. I hope we can feel ourselves autumn friends as well as spring and summer, though I who never yet have felt the real heart breaking kind of sorrow which makes it hard to say ‘Thy will be done,’ cannot really pretend to try to comfort you, or if I did could say anything which could do you half as much good as one look at Uncle Yonge, I can still tell you again and again how very much I love you. This is very far from such a letter as should be written but you will know how to understand me. Miss Garstin wrote today and Lady Tucker,¹ they say they will not write to you now, but wish to have everything kind said for them.

your most affectionate cousin

CMY

17. To Anne Yonge

MS West Devon Record Office Acc No 308: 19/11/44

Novr 19^th [1844]

It is very nearly post time and I am afraid I have not time to write a long letter and indeed I do not know how I should for writing to you is a very different thing now from what it was not a month ago does it not seem to you as if it was a year ago that uncle Yonge and Alethea went to Ottery and as if you were quite in another state of existence. I am glad you have told us all about your day but I cannot fancy you at all, and I do not think I shall till I have seen some of you again. How strange it seems now and how glad I am of it that we all went on it seemed almost revelling in the pleasure of our last visit to Puslinch, with a feeling all the time that it was to be our last to it in its own most happy condition, that it is not only now that we feel that that joy was ‘sweetest in decay’, as we should expect would be the case but that we did so at the time. There are things in the course of those five weeks which are to be remembered through all my life I hope. I am longing to have Julian to talk them over with. How is Mary, I suppose she finds employment in watching uncle Yonge, and you watch her. Mamma says she knows exactly the feeling of the occupation being gone, and that there is nothing left in the world that is worth doing, and going on with the pannels [sic] for the Church was her great comfort then² and now as it seemed to be something for a real purpose, and she wants to know whether you think it would be doing what you would like to copy any of the illuminations in your Bible for her, to serve as patterns, do not do it if you feel you had rather not only to oblige her, but she wishes to propose it to you as one of the things which gave her employment. She is very well, how thankful I ought to be that this shock did not come at a time when she would have been so much less fit to bear it than now, and oh! if it had been when it was first threatened when we were with you. Julian has not been quite well lately It is time to leave off, Papa is sealing, I had more to say if I could. How glad I am you are writing out more of the precious memoranda

CMY