Llanover, 31 Jan., 1850.... [L]ast night between six and seven I walked down to the other house with Lady Hall, for the purpose of hearing some of the men who will belong to the funeral sing the Welsh dirges, which they are in the habit of performing when they follow a funeral procession among themselves. The night was as dark as possible—the sky closed in by clouds, threatening the rain which has since fallen: the moon had not yet risen, only the usual planet loomed through the mist, so as to show its place rather than its lustre…. From the house gleamed those same lights, that used to be ready for you and me. Noiselessly the door opened and we found the enchanted palace as it used to be, fire and lights prepared by unseen hands. We sat down, and presently voices sounded from the gallery above. One of the dirges was that which your dear Grandmamma desired Frances to write out plain for her. This, the first music I have heard, since she has been taken away, whose delight in music I never failed to remember every time I heard any, with the desire that she should hear it, indescribably overset me: and yet what folly!—for she is conscious now of the everlasting harmonies! She needs no longer so poor an echo of them. I hailed with satisfaction Lady Hall’s proposal to let the people sing upon the way, as they are accustomed to do at funerals amongst themselves. It will yet more confirm the impression so gratifying to them, that my dearest Mother preferred being buried like the poor!—and you will remember how much we felt when following the remains of Lina to their resting-place, what a dead weight falls upon the spirit, in that unbroken silence,. and how one craves a chant, to give one’s sad thoughts a prop to dwell upon. << less