Of Their Constant And Unwearied Kindness, He Always Spoke With
Most Affectionate Gratitude.
That autumn he took a great dislike to the
English climate; he hankered after sunshine, and formed many plans, eager
though indefinite, for wintering at Cintra, a place whose perfect beauty
had fascinated him in early youth.
But increasing weakness made a journey
to Portugal, or even the South of France, an alternative of which he also
spoke, very inexpedient, if not absolutely impracticable. Moreover, he
would certainly have missed abroad the many friends and multifarious
interests which still surrounded him at home. He continued to take drives,
and occasionally called on friends, up to the end of November, and it was
not until the middle of December that increasing weakness obliged him to
take to his bed. He was still, however, able to enjoy seeing his
friends - some to the very end, and he had a constant stream of visitors,
mostly old friends, but also a few newer ones, who were scarcely less
welcome. He also kept up his correspondence to the last, three attached
brother R.E.'s, General Collinson, General Maclagan, and Major W.
Broadfoot, taking it in turn with the present writer to act as his
amanuensis.
On Friday, 27th December, Yule received a telegram from Paris, announcing
his nomination that day as Corresponding Member of the Institute of France
(Academie des Inscriptions), one of the few distinctions of any kind of
which it can still be said that it has at no time lost any of its exalted
dignity.
An honour of a different kind that came about the same time, and was
scarcely less prized by him, was a very beautiful letter of farewell and
benediction from Miss Florence Nightingale,[75] which he kept under his
pillow and read many times. On the 28th, he dictated to the present writer
his acknowledgment, also by telegraph, of the great honour done him by the
Institute. The message was in the following words: "Reddo gratias,
Illustrissimi Domini, ob honores tanto nimios quanto immeritos! Mihi
robora deficiunt, vita collabitur, accipiatis voluntatem pro facto. Cum
corde pleno et gratissimo moriturus vos, Illustrissimi Domini, saluto.
YULE."
Sunday, 29th December, was a day of the most dense black fog, and he felt
its oppression, but was much cheered by a visit from his ever faithful
friend, Collinson, who, with his usual unselfishness, came to him that day
at very great personal inconvenience.
On Monday, 30th December, the day was clearer, and Henry Yule awoke much
refreshed, and in a peculiarly happy and even cheerful frame of mind. He
said he felt so comfortable. He spoke of his intended book, and bade his
daughter write about the inevitable delay to his publisher: "Go and write
to John Murray," were indeed his last words to her. During the morning he
saw some friends and relations, but as noon approached his strength
flagged, and after a period of unconsciousness, he passed peacefully away
in the presence of his daughter and of an old friend, who had come from
Edinburgh to see him, but arrived too late for recognition. Almost at the
same time that Yule fell asleep, his "stately message,"[76] was being read
under the great Dome in Paris. Some two hours after Yule had passed away,
F.-M. Lord Napier of Magdala, called on an errand of friendship, and at
his desire was admitted to see the last of his early friend. When Lord
Napier came out, he said to the present writer, in his own reflective way:
"He looks as if he had just settled to some great work." With these
suggestive words of the great soldier, who was so soon, alas, to follow
his old friend to the work of another world, this sketch may fitly close.
* * * * *
The following excellent verses (of unknown authorship) on Yule's death,
subsequently appeared in the Academy:[77]
"'Moriturus vos saluto'
Breathes his last the dying scholar -
Tireless student, brilliant writer;
He 'salutes his age' and journeys
To the Undiscovered Country.
There await him with warm welcome
All the heroes of old Story -
The Venetians, the Ca Polo,
Marco, Nicolo, Maffeo,
Odoric of Pordenone,
Ibn Batuta, Marignolli,
Benedict de Goes - 'Seeking
Lost Cathay and finding Heaven.'
Many more whose lives he cherished
With the piety of learning;
Fading records, buried pages,
Failing lights and fires forgotten,
By his energy recovered,
By his eloquence re-kindled.
'Moriturus vos saluto'
Breathes his last the dying scholar,
And the far off ages answer:
Immortales te salutant. D. M."
The same idea had been previously embodied, in very felicitous language,
by the late General Sir William Lockhart, in a letter which that noble
soldier addressed to the present writer a few days after Yule's death. And
Yule himself would have taken pleasure in the idea of those meetings with
his old travellers, which seemed so certain to his surviving friends.[78]
He rests in the old cemetery at Tunbridge Wells, with his second wife, as
he had directed. A great gathering of friends attended the first part of
the burial service which was held in London on 3rd January, 1890. Amongst
those present were witnesses of every stage of his career, from his boyish
days at the High School of Edinburgh downwards. His daughter, of course,
was there, led by the faithful, peerless friend who was so soon to follow
him into the Undiscovered Country.[79] She and his youngest nephew, with
two cousins and a few old friends, followed his remains over the snow to
the graveside. The epitaph subsequently inscribed on the tomb was penned
by Yule himself, but is by no means representative of his powers in a kind
of composition in which he had so often excelled in the service of others.
As a composer of epitaphs and other monumental inscriptions few of our
time have surpassed, if any have equalled him, in his best efforts.
SIR GEORGE UDNY YULE, C.B., K.C.S.I.[80]
George Udny Yule, born at Inveresk in 1813, passed through Haileybury into
the Bengal Civil Service, which he entered at the age of 18 years.
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