secure perfectly congenial employment for his talents,
she knew well that his health and spirits would be seriously affected.
She, therefore, with affectionate solicitude, urged that he should adopt
the course previously followed by his friend Baker, that is, come home on
furlough, and only send in his resignation after he saw clearly what his
prospects of home employment were, and what he himself wished in the
matter.

Lord Canning and Yule left Calcutta late in March, 1862; at Malta they
parted never to meet again in this world. Lord Canning proceeded to
England, and Yule joined his wife and child in Rome. Only a few weeks
later, at Florence, came as a thunderclap the announcement of Lord
Canning's unexpected death in London, on 17th June. Well does the present
writer remember the day that fatal news came, and Yule's deep anguish, not
assuredly for the loss of his prospects, but for the loss of a most noble
and magnanimous friend, a statesman whose true greatness was, both then
and since, most imperfectly realised by the country for which he had worn
himself out.[50] Shortly after Yule went to England,[51] where he was
cordially received by Lord Canning's representatives, who gave him a
touching remembrance of his lost friend, in the shape of the silver
travelling candlesticks, which had habitually stood on Lord Canning's
writing-table.[52] But his offer to write Lord Canning's _Life_ had no
result, as the relatives, following the then recent example of the
Hastings family, in the case of another great Governor-General, refused to
revive discussion by the publication of any Memoir.

Nor did Yule find any suitable opening for employment in England, so after
two or three months spent in visiting old friends, he rejoined his family
in the Black Forest, where he sought occupation in renewing his knowledge
of German. But it must be confessed that his mood both then and for long
after was neither happy nor wholesome. The winter of 1862 was spent
somewhat listlessly, partly in Germany and partly at the Hotel des
Bergues, Geneva, where his old acquaintance Colonel Tronchin was
hospitably ready to open all doors. The picturesque figure of John Ruskin
also flits across the scene at this time. But Yule was unoccupied and
restless, and could neither enjoy Mr. Ruskin's criticism of his sketches
nor the kindly hospitality of his Genevan hosts. Early in 1863 he made
another fruitless visit to London, where he remained four or five m