Horatia K. F. Eden - Juliana Horatia Ewing And Her Books

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TO MISS E. LLOYD.

_Fredericton, N.B._ June 2, 1868.

MY DEAREST ELEANOR--

* * * * *

I can hardly tell you what a pleasure it is to me to have a garden.
The place has never felt so like a home before! I went into my little
flower garden (a separate plat from the other--fenced round, and
simply composed of two round beds, and four wooden-edged borders and
one elm tree) [_sketch_] early this morning, and it seemed so jolly
after the long winter. My jonquils are just coming out, and one or two
other things. In the elm tree two bright yellow birds were cheeping. I
mean to plant scarlet-runners to attract the humming birds. It is
something to see fireflies and humming birds in the flesh, one must
admit!

* * * * *

I cannot echo your severe remarks on the Queen, though I am _quite_
willing to second your praise of the Prince Consort. Her Most Gracious
Majesty is--excuse me--a subject I feel rather strongly about. We are
not--as an age--guilty of much weakness in the way of over loyalty to
anything or any person, and I cannot help at times thinking that it must
be a painful enough reflection to a woman like Queen Victoria, who at
any rate is as well read in the history and constitution of England as
most of us, to know what harvests of love and loyalty have been reaped
by Princes who lived for themselves and not for their people, who were
fortunate in the accidents of more power and less conscience, and of
living in times when you couldn't get your sovereign's portrait for a
penny, or suggest to the loyal and well-behaved Commons that if the
King's health was not equal to all that you thought fit, you would
rather he abdicated. When one thinks of all that noble hearts bled and
suffered and held their peace for--to prop up the throne of Stuart--of
all the vices that have been forgiven, the weaknesses that have been
covered, the injustice that has been endured from Kings--when one
thinks--if _she_ thinks!--of all that has been suffered from successive
mistresses and favourites of royalty a thousand times more easily than
she can be forgiven for (grant it!) a weak and selfish grief for a noble
husband--it is enough to make one wonder if nations are not like
dogs--better for beating. If the Queen could cut off a few more heads,
and subscribed to a few less charities, if she were a little less
virtuous, and a little more tyrannical, if she borrowed her subjects'
plate and repudiated her debts, instead of reducing her household
expenses, and regulating court mournings by the interests of trade, I am
very much afraid we should be a more loyal people! If we had a
slender-limbed Stuart who insisted upon travelling with his temporary
favourite when the lives and livelihoods of the best blood of Britain
were being staked for his throne whilst he amused himself, I suppose we
should wear white favours, and believe in the divine right of Kings. It
must be impossible for her to forget that the Prince, whom death has
proved to be worthy of the praise most people now accord him, was far
from popular in his lifetime, and the pet gibe and sport of _Punch_. I
suppose when she is dead or abdicated we shall discover that England has
had few better sovereigns--and one can only hope that the reflection may
not be additionally stimulated by the recurrence of her successor to
some of the more popular--if not beneficial--peculiarities of former
reigns. It is true that then we might kick royalty overboard altogether,
but, judging by the United States, I don't know that we should benefit
even on the points where one might most expect to do so. In truth, I
believe that the virtue of loyalty is extinct and must be--except under
one or two conditions. Either more royal prerogative than we have--or in
the substitution of a loyal affection that shall in each member of the
commonwealth cover and be silent over the weak points which the
publicity of the present day exposes to vulgar criticism--for the spirit
which used to give the blood and possessions which are not exacted of
us. This is why the Queen's books do not trouble _my_ feelings about
her. She is no great writer certainly, and has perhaps made a mistake in
thinking that they would do good. I think they will do good with a
certain class, perhaps they lower her in the eyes of others. I do think
myself that the virtues she (and even her books incidentally) display
are so great, and her weaknesses comparatively so small, that one's
loyalty must be little indeed if one cannot honour her. "Them's my
sentiments." I am ashamed to have bored you with them at such length.

I wonder whether you thought of us yesterday? But I know you did! We
had planned a Johnny Gilpin out for the day, but it proved impossible.
So we spent it thus--A.M. Full Cathedral Service with the Holy
Communion, which was very nice, though, as it was a Feast Day, the
service was later than usual, so it took all our morning. Rex played
the organ. We spent most of the afternoon in tuning the organ, and
then R. went off to mesmerize a man for neuralgia, and I went up town
to try and get something good for dinner!

I am very happy, though at times one _longs_ to see certain faces. But
GOD is very good, and I have all that I can desire almost.

The Spring flowers are very lovely, some of them. I must go out.
Adieu.

_Best_ love to your Mother and all, to Lucy especially.

Your ever affectionate, J.H.E.

TO MRS. GATTY.

_Fredericton._ June 8, 1868.

MY DEAREST MOTHER,

Does the above sketch give you the faintest idea of what it is to
paddle up and down these lovely rivers with their smaller tributaries
and winding creeks, on a still sunny afternoon? It really is the most
fascinating amusement we have tried yet. Mr. Bliss took us out the
other day, it being the first time either of us was in a canoe, and
Rex took one of the paddles, and got on so well that we intend to have
a canoe of our own. Peter Poultice is building it, and I hope soon to
send you a sketch of Rex paddling his own canoe! Of us, I may say, for
I tried a paddle to-day, and mean to have a little one of my own to
give _my_ valuable assistance in helping the canoe along. Next month
when Rex can get away we think of going up the river to "Grand Falls"
(the next thing to Niagara, they say) by steamer, taking our canoe
with us, and then paddling ourselves home with the stream. About
eighty miles. Of course we should do it bit by bit, sleeping at
stopping-places. One art Rex has not yet acquired, and it _looks_
awful! A sort of juggler's trick, that of _carrying_ his canoe.
Imagine taking hold of the side of a canoe that would hold six people,
throwing it up and overturning it neatly on your head, without
injuring either your own skull or the canoe's bottom.... This canoeing
is really a source of great pleasure to us, and will more thaw double
the enjoyment of summer to me. With a canoe Rex can "pull" me to a
hundred places where a short walk from the shore will give me
sketching, botanizing, and all I want! Moreover, the summer heat at
times oppresses my head, and then to get on the water gives a cool
breeze, and _freshens one up_ in a way that made me think of what it
must be to people in India to get to "the hills." I have never wished
for some of you more than on this lovely river, gliding about close to
the water (you sit on the very bottom of the canoe), all the trees
just bursting into green, and the water reflecting everything
exquisitely. Kingfishers and all kinds of birds flitting about and
singing unfamiliar songs; bob-o-links going "twit-twit," little yellow
birds, kingbirds, crows, and the robin-thrushes everywhere. I landed
to-day at one place, and went into a wood to try and get flowers. I
only got one good one, but it was very lovely! Two crows were making
wild cries for the loss of one of their young ones which some boys had
taken, and as I went on I heard the queer chirrup (like a bird's note)
of Adjidaumo the squirrel! and he ran across my path and into a hollow
tree. It is a much smaller squirrel than ours, about the size of a
water rat, and beautifully striped.

The only drawback to the paddling is that the beloved Hector cannot go
with us. He would endanger the safety of the canoe. One has to sit
very still....

June 16, 1868.

MY DEAREST MOTHER,

We sent off the first part of "Kerguelen's Land" yesterday.... Rex is
so much pleased with the story that _I_ am quite in spirits about it,
and hope you may think as favourably. He thinks if you read the end
bit before you get the rest you will never like it, and yet I am very
anxious to take the chance of the first part's having gone, as I want
a proof--so if you do not get the first part, please put this by till
you do, and don't read it.

Would it be possible for Wolf to illustrate it? If he knows the
breeding islands of the Albatross he would make a lovely thing of it.
This is the last _story_. There will only be a _conclusion_ now. I
have got my "information" from Rex, and "Homes without Hands."--The
only point I am in doubt about is whether the parent birds would have
remained on the island so _long_--I mean for _months_. Do you know any
naturalist who would tell you this? When they are not breeding they
seem to have no home, as they follow ships for weeks.

How we miss Dr. Harvey, and his _fidus Achates_--poor old Dr.
Fisher!--I so often want things "looked up"--and we do lack books
here!...

_Fredericton_. November 3, 1868.

... I _must_ tell you what Mrs. Medley said to me this evening as we
came out of church. She said, "It is an odd place to begin in about
it, but I must thank you for the end of Mrs. Overtheway. The pathos of
those old Albatrosses! The Bishop and I cried over them. I suppose
it's the highest compliment we can pay you to say it is equal to
anything of your Mother's, and that you are a worthy daughter of your
Mother." Wasn't that a splendid bit of praise to hear all these miles
away from one's dear old wonderful old Mother?...

To H.K.F.G.

_Fredericton N.B._
Tuesday, December 8, 1868.

... Tell the dear Mother, please, that I got dissatisfied with my
story, and _recast it_ and began again--and got on awfully well, and
was very well satisfied with it. But Rex read what was done and
doesn't care for it a bit--in fact quite the reverse, which has rather
upset my hopes. However, he says he cannot properly judge till it is
finished, so I am going to finish it off, and if he likes it better
then, I shall send it next mail. It is a regular child's story--about
Toys--not at all sentimental--in fact meant to be amusing; but as Rex
read it with a face for a funeral, I don't know how it will be. I
don't somehow think the idea is bad. It is (roughly) this: A pickle of
a boy with a very long-suffering sister (I hope you won't object to
her being called Dot. You know it's a very common pet name, and it
"shooted" so well) gets all her toys and his own and makes an
"earthquake of Lisbon" in which they are all smashed. From which a
friend tells them the story of a dream she is supposed to have had
(but I flattered myself the dream was rather neatly done up) of
getting into fairyland to the Land of Lost Toys--where she meets all
her old toys that she destroyed in her youth. Here she is shown in a
kind of vision Dutch and German people making these toys with much
pains and industry, and is given a lot of material and set to do the
like. Failing this she is condemned to suffer what she inflicted on
the toys, each one passing its verdict upon her. Eventually a doll
(MY Rosa!!!!) that she had treated very well rescues her, and
the story reverts to the sister and brother, who takes to amusing
himself by establishing himself as toy-mender to the establishment,
instead of cultivating his bump of destructiveness. I sketch the idea
because (if the present story fails) if you think the _idea_ good I
would try to recast it again. If I send it as it is, it is pretty sure
to come by the Halifax mail next week.... I do miss poor dear old Dr.
Fisher, so! I very much wanted some statistics about toy-making. You
never read anything about the making of common Dutch toys did you?...

_Fredericton_, December 8, 1868.

* * * * *

Tell Mother I think she ought to get _Henry_ Kingsley to write for
_Aunt Judy's Magazine_. The _children_ and the _dogs_ in his novels
are the best part of them. They are utterly first rate! I am sure he
would make a hit with a child and dog story.

I told you that Bishop Ewing had written me such a charming letter,
and sent me a sermon of his? This mail he sent us a number of the
_Scottish Witness_ with "Jerusalem the Golden" in Gaelic in it....

To MRS. GATTY.

_Fredericton, N.B._

Easter Monday, 1869,

* * * * *

You are very dear and good about our ups and downs, and it makes me
doubly regret that I cannot reward you by conveying a perfectly
truthful _impression_ of our life, etc. here to your mind, I trace in
your very dearness and goodness about it, in your worrying more about
discomfort for me in our moves than about your own hopes of our
meeting at Home, how little able one is to do so by mere letters, I
wish it did not lead you to the unwarrantable conclusion that it is
because you are "weak and old" that you do not appreciate the
uncertainties of our military housekeeping, and can only "admire" the
coolness with which I look forward to breaking up our cosy little
establishment, just when we were fairly settled down. You can hardly
believe how well I understand your feelings for me, _because I have so
fully gone through them for myself_. I never had D.'s "spirit" for a
wandering life, and it is out of the fulness of my experience that I
_know_ and wish unspeakably that I could convey to you, how very much
of one's shrinking dread has all the _unreality_ of fear of an
_unknown_ evil. When I look back to all I looked forward to with fear
and trembling in reference to all the strangenesses of my new life, I
understand your feelings better than you think. I am too much your
daughter not to be strongly tempted to "beat my future brow," much
more so than to be over-hopeful. Rex is given that way too in his own
line; and we often are brought to say together how inexcusable it is
when everything turns out so much better than we expected, and when
"God" not only "chains the dog till night," but often never lets him
loose at all! Still the natural terrors of an untravelled and not
herculean woman about the ups and downs of a wandering, homeless sort
of life like ours are not so comprehensible by him, he having
travelled so much, never felt a qualm of sea-sickness, and less than
the average of home-sickness, from circumstances. It is one among my
many reasons for wishing to come Home soon, that one chat would put
you in possession of more idea of our passing home, the nest we have
built for a season, and the wood it is built in, and the birds (of
many feathers) amongst whom we live, than any _letters_ can do.... You
can imagine the state of (far from blissful) ignorance of military
life, tropical heat, Canadian inns, etc., etc., in which I landed at
Halifax after such a sudden wrench from the old Home, and such a very
far from cheerful voyage, and all the anecdotes of the summer heat,
the winter cold, the spring floods, the houses and the want of houses,
the servants and the want of servants, the impossibility of getting
anything, and the ruinous expense of it when got! which people pour
into the ears of a new-comer just because it is a more sensational and
entertaining (and _quite_ as stereotyped) a subject of conversation as
the weather and the crops. The points may be (isolatedly) true; but
the whole impression one receives is alarmingly false! And I can only
say that my experience is so totally different from my fears, and from
the cook-stories of the "profession," that I don't mean to request Rex
to leave Our Department at present!...

TO MRS. GATTY,

_Fredericton._ Septuagesima, 1869.

... I am sending you two fairy stories for your editorial
consideration. They are not intended to form part of "The Brownies"
book--they are an experiment on my part, and _I do not mean to put my
name to them_.

You know how fond I have always been of fairy tales of the Grimm type.
Modern fairy tales always seem to me such _very_ poor things by
comparison, and I have two or three theories about the reason of this.
In old days when I used to tell stories to the others, I used to have
to produce them in considerable numbers and without much preparation,
and as that argues a _certain_ amount of imagination, I have
determined to try if I can write a few fairy tales of the genuine
"uninstructive" type by following out my theories in reference to the
old traditional ones. Please _don't_ let out who writes them (if you
put them in, and if any one cares to inquire!), for I am very anxious
to hear if they elicit any comments from your correspondents to
confirm me in my views. In one sense you must not expect them to be
original. _My aim is_ to imitate the "old originals," and I mean to
stick close to orthodox traditions in reference to the proceedings of
elves, dwarfs, nixes, pixies, etc., and if I want them to use such
"common properties of the fairy stage"--as unscrupulous foxes, stupid
giants, successful younger sons, and the traditional "fool"--with much
wisdom under his folly (such as Hans in Luck)--who suggests the court
fools with their odd mixture of folly and shrewdness. _One_ of my
theories is that all real fairy tales (of course I do not allude to
stories of a totally different character in which fairy machinery is
used, as your Fairy Godmothers, my "Brownies," etc., etc.), that all
real "fairy tales" should be written as if they were oral traditions
taken down from the lips of a "story teller." This is where modern
ones (and modern editions of Grimm, _vide_ "Grimm's Goblins,"
otherwise a delicious book) fail, and the extent to which I have had
to cut out reflections, abandon epithets, and shorten sentences, since
I began, very much confirms my ideas. I think the Spanish ones in
_Aunt Judy's Magazine_ must have been so obtained, and the contrast
between them and the "Lost Legends" in this respect is marked. There
are plenty of children who can appreciate "The Rose and the Ring,"
"The Water Babies," your books, and the most poetical and suggestive
dreams of Andersen. But (if it can be done) I think there is also a
strong demand for new combinations of the Step-mother, the Fox, the
Luck Child, and the Kings, Princesses, Giants, Witches, etc. of the
old traditions. I say combinations advisedly, for I suppose _not_ half
of Grimm's Household Stories have "original" plots. They are palpable
"_rechauffees_" of each other, and the few original germs might, I
suspect, be counted on one's fingers, even in fairy-lore, and then
traced back to a very different origin. Of course the market is
abundantly stocked with modern versions, but I don't think they are
done the right way. This is, however, for the Editorial ear, and to
gain your unbiased criticism. But, above all, don't tell any friends
that they are mine for the present. Of course if they DID
succeed, I would republish and add my name. But I want to be incognito
for the present--1st, to get free criticism; 2nd, to give them fair
play; 3rd, not to do any damage to my reputation in another "walk" of
story-writing. I do not in the least mean to give up my own style and
take to fairy tale-telling, but I would like to try this
experiment....

Monday, April 19, 1869.

... I have two or three _schemes_ in my head.

"Mrs. Overtheway" (_2nd series_), "Fatima's Flowers," etc.

"The Brownies (and other Tales)."

"Land of Lost Toys," "Three Christmas Trees," "Idyll," etc.

"Boneless," "Second Childhood," etc., etc.

"The Other Side of the World," etc., etc.

"Goods and Chattels" (quite vague as yet).

"A Sack of Fairy Tales" (in abeyance).

"A Book of _weird queer_ Stories" (none written yet).

"Bottles in the Sea," "Witches in Eggshells," "Elephants in
Abyssinia," etc.

And (a dear project) a book of stories, chiefly about Flowers and
Natural History associations (_not scientific, pure fiction_),

"The Floating Gardens of Ancient Mexico," the "Dutch Story,"
"Immortelles," "Mummy Peas," etc., etc. (none even planned yet!)...

To H.K.F.G.

[Undated, _Fredericton_.]

... How well I know what you say about the truth of Mother's sayings
of the soothing effects of Nature! I used to feel it about gardening
also so much. Visions of three yellow, three white, and three purple
crocuses blooming in one pot beguile the mind from less happy
fancies--perhaps too the _largeness_ and _universality_ of Nature
disperse the selfishness of personal cares and worries. Then I think
the smell of _earth_ and _plants_ has a physical anodyne about it
somehow! One cannot explain it....

TO MRS. GATTY.

_Fredericton, N.B._
5th Sunday after Trinity, 1869.

... We have another "dogue."... _Trouve_ is the name of Hector's
successor. 'Cos for why, we found him locked up in one of the barrack
rooms, when I was with Rex on one of his inspections. He is a "left
behind" either of the 1st Battalion 22nd, or the 4th Battalion 60th
Rifles, we do not know which. He has utterly taken to us, and is
especially fond of me I think. He is a big, black fellow, between a
Newfoundland and a retriever. In the "Sweep" line, but not so big. He
is wonderfully graceful and well-mannered (barring a trifling incident
yesterday, when he got into my little cupboard, ate about two pounds
of cheese and all the rolls, and _snuffed_ the butter). And another
trifling occurrence to-day. We chained him to the sofa, which, during
our absence, he _dragged_ (exactly as the dogs dragged _Mons. Jabot's
bed_) across the room, upset the ink on to the carpet, threw my
photo-book down by it, and established himself in Rex's arm-chair. It
was most ludicrous, for the other day he slipped his collar, and
_chose the sofa_ to lie on, but because he was tied to the sofa, with
full permission to use it, he chose the chair! and must nearly have
lugged his own head off. He does wonderfully little damage with his
pranks; there were wine-glasses, bottles, pickles, &c., in the
cupboard when he got the cheese; but he extracted his supper as
daintily as a cat, and not a thing was upset! Oddly enough, when we
are with him, he never thinks of getting into cushions and chairs like
that blessed old sybarite the Bull-dogue. But if we leave him tied up,
he plays old gooseberry with the furniture. I had been fearing it
would be rather a practical difficulty in the way of his adoption, the
question of where he should sleep; but he solved it for himself. He
walks up-stairs after us, flops on to the floor, gives two or three
sighs, and goes gracefully to sleep.... I wish you could have seen him
lying in perverse dignity in the arm-chair, with the sofa attached to
the end of his chain like a locket!!!

To H.K.F.G.

12th Sunday after Trinity.
_Fredericton, N.B._ August 16, 1869.

... We had a great scene with Peter yesterday. Rex has two guns, you
must know--a rifle, and an old fowling-piece--good enough in its way,
but awfully _old-fashioned_ (not a breech-loader), and he determined
to make old Peter a present of this, for he is a good old fellow, and
does not _cheat_ one, and we had resolved to give him something, and
we knew this would delight him. I wish you _could_ have seen him. He
burst out laughing, and laughed at intervals from pure pleasure, and
went away with it laughing. But with the childlike _enjoyment_ (which
negroes have also), the Indians have a power and grace in "expressing
their sentiments" on such an occasion which far exceeds the attempts
of our "poor people," and is most dignified. His first _speech_ was
an emphatic (and _always slow_) "_Too_ good! Too much!" and when Rex
assured him it was very old, not worth anything, etc., etc., he
hastily interrupted him with a _thoroughly_ gentlemanlike air, almost
Grandisonian, "Oh! oh! as good as new to me. Quite as good as new."
They were like two Easterns! For not to be outdone in courtesy, Rex
warned him not to put too large charges of powder for fear the barrel
should burst--being so old. A caution which I believe to be totally
unnecessary, and a mere hyperbole of depreciation--as Peter seemed
perfectly to understand! He told me it was "The first present I ever
receive from a gentleman. Well--well--I never forget it, the longest
day I live." The graceful candour with which he said, "I am very
thankful to you," was quite pretty.

TO MRS. GATTY.

[_Aldershot._] February 23, 1870.

MY DARLING MOTHER,

I was by no means sensible of your iniquities in not acknowledging my
poor Neck,[35] for I had entirely forgotten his very existence! Only I
was thinking it was a long time since I heard from you--and hoping you
were not ill. I am _very_ glad you like the Legend--I was doubtful, and
rather anxious to hear till I forgot all about it. The "Necks" are
Scandinavian in locality, and that desire for immortal life which is
their distinguishing characteristic is very touching. There is one
lovely little (real) Legend in Keightley. The bairns of a Pastor play
with a Neck one day, and falling into disputes they taunt him that he
will never be saved--on which he flings away his harp and weeps
bitterly. When the boys tell their father he reproves them for their
want of charity, and sends them back to unsay what they had said. So
they run back and say, "Dear Neck, do not grieve so; for our father says
that your Redeemer liveth also," on which the Neck was filled with joy,
and sat on a wave and played till the sun went down. He appeared like a
boy with long fair hair and a red cap. They also appear in the form of a
little old man wringing out his beard into the water. I ventured to give
my Neck both shapes according to his age. All the rest is _de
moi-meme_....

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