Plymouth Grove. | Friday morning@Letter written on black edged mourning paper. Envelope postmarked “E | NO 17 | MANCHESTER | 1865 | 30.” Addressed: “Henry Crompton | 22. Hyde Park Square | W. | London.” On back of envelope: “I went down to them at Alton on receipt of this HC.”

Dear Harry

I cannot possibly say to you what my remembrance of your most tender kindness is, — and will be for ever. I am so glad, too, to think that the kindness was given by one who loved my own Mother so dearly, and of whom she spoke [indecipherable word] in the lost Crewe letter as “my very dear Harry,” if I remember rightly. I want to tell you, though I think you will think it strange for me to tell you of it, what a certainty of instinctive faith I have in heaven, and in Mama’s living on, amongst those whom we call dead, but whom I feel now alone have the true Life. Sometimes when people have died, I have had all sorts of horrible wonders & doubts, about where and how the soul was: but with this utter sorrow comes so clear an instinct of immortality that I want to tell you of it; for if one person knows a thing, it proves it — though a hundred doubt it, and I want to share with you, who have suffered the same grief, this only comfort.

Forgive my having written so to you; and may God bless you for what you have@Written on the first leaf of the letter. been to us this last week.

Your most truly grateful and affectionate

Meta Gaskell