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

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[Footnote 16: October 20, 1868.]

Another Beast Friend whom Julie had in New Brunswick was the Bear of
the 22nd Regiment, and she drew a sketch of him "with one of his pet
black dogs, as I saw them, 18th September, 1868, near the Officers'
Quarters, Fredericton, N.B. The Bear is at breakfast, and the dog
occasionally licks his nose when it comes up out of the bucket."

[Illustration: CAN HANG NO WEIGHT UPON MY HEART.]

The pink-nosed bull-dog in "Amelia" bears a strong likeness to a
well-beloved "Hector," whom she took charge of in Fredericton whilst
his master had gone on leave to be married in England. Hector, too,
was "a snow-white bull-dog (who was certainly as well bred and as
amiable as any living creature in the kingdom)," with a pink nose that
"became crimson with increased agitation." He was absolutely gentle
with human beings, but a hopeless adept at fighting with his own kind,
and many of my sister's letters and note-books were adorned with
sketches of Hector as he appeared swollen about the head, and subdued
in spirits, after some desperate encounter; or, with cards spread out
in front of him, playing, as she delighted to make him do, at "having
his fortune told."[17] But, instead of the four Queens standing for
four ladies of different degrees of complexion, they represented his
four favourite dishes of--1. Welsh rabbit. 2. Blueberry pudding. 3.
Pork sausages. 4. Buckwheat pancakes and molasses; and "the Fortune"
decided which of these dainties he was to have for supper.

[Illustration: THE BULLDOGUE's FORTUNE]

[Footnote 17: Letter, November 3, 1868.]

Shortly before the Ewings started from Fredericton they went into the
barracks, whence a battalion of some regiment had departed two days
before, and there discovered a large black retriever who had been left
behind. It is needless to say that this deserted gentleman entirely
overcame their feelings; he was at once adopted, named "Trouve," and
brought home to England, where he spent a very happy life, chiefly in
the South Camp, Aldershot, his one danger there being that he was such
a favourite with the soldiers, they over-fed him terribly. Never did a
more benevolent disposition exist, his broad forehead and kind eyes,
set widely apart, did not belie him; there was a strong strain of
Newfoundland in his breed, and a strong likeness to a bear in the way
his feathered paws half crossed over each other in walking. Trouve
appears as "Nox" in "Benjy," and there is a glimpse of him in "The
Sweep," who ended his days as a "soldier's dog" in "The Story of a
Short Life." Trouve did, in reality, end his days at Ecclesfield,
where he is buried near "Rough," the broken-haired bull-terrier, who
is the real hero in "Benjy," Amongst the various animal friends whom
Julie had either of her own, or belonging to others, none was lovelier
than the golden-haired collie "Rufus," who was at once the delight
and distraction of the last year of her life at Taunton, by the tricks
he taught himself of very gently extracting the pins from her hair,
and letting it down at inconvenient moments; and of extracting, with
equal gentleness from the earth, the labels that she had put to the
various treasured flowers in her "Little Garden," and then tossing
them in mid-air on the grass-plot.

A very amusing domestic story, called "The Snap Dragons," came out in
the Christmas number of the _Monthly Packet_ for 1870.

"Timothy's Shoes" appeared in AUNT JUDY'S volume for 1871.
This was another story of the same type as "Amelia," and it was also
illustrated by Mr. Cruikshank. I think the Marsh Julie had in her
mind's eye, with a "long and steep bank," is one near the canal at
Aldershot, where she herself used to enjoy hunting for kingcups,
bog-asphodel, sundew, and the like. The tale is a charming combination
of humour and pathos, and the last clause, where "the shoes go home,"
is enough to bring tears to the eyes of every one who loves the patter
of childish feet.

The most important work that she did this year (1871) was "A Flat-Iron
for a Farthing," which ran as a serial through the volume of _Aunt
Judy's Magazine_. It was very beautifully illustrated by Helen
Paterson (now Mrs. Allingham), and the design where the "little
ladies," in big beaver bonnets, are seated at a shop-counter buying
flat-irons, was afterwards reproduced in water-colours by Mrs.
Allingham, and exhibited at the Royal Society of Painters in
Water-Colours (1875), where it attracted Mr. Ruskin's attention.[18]
Eventually, a fine steel engraving was done from it by Mr. Stodart.[19]
It is interesting to know that the girl friend who sat as a model for
"Polly" to Mrs. Allingham is now herself a well-known artist, whose
pictures are hung in the Royal Academy.

[Footnote 18: The drawing, with whatever temporary purpose executed, is
for ever lovely; a thing which I believe Gainsborough would have given
one of his own pictures for--old-fashioned as red-tipped daisies are,
and more precious than rubies.--Ruskin, "Notes on some of the Pictures
at the Royal Academy." 1875.]

[Footnote 19: Published by the Fine Art Society, Bond-street.]

The scene of the little girls in beaver bonnets was really taken from
an incident of Julie's childhood, when she and her "duplicate" (my
eldest sister) being the nearest in age, size, and appearance of any
of the family, used to be dressed exactly alike, and were inseparable
companions: _their_ flat-irons, I think, were bought in Matlock.
Shadowy glimpses of this same "duplicate" are also to be caught in
Mrs. Overtheway's "Fatima," and Madam Liberality's "Darling." When "A
Flat-Iron" came out in its book form it was dedicated "To my dear
Father, and to his sister, my dear Aunt Mary, in memory of their good
friend and nurse, E.B., obiit 3 March, 1872, aet. 83;" the loyal
devotion and high integrity of Nurse Bundle having been somewhat drawn
from the "E.B." alluded to. Such characters are not common, and they
grow rarer year by year. We do well to hold them in everlasting
remembrance.

PART II.

The meadows gleam with hoar-frost white,
The day breaks on the hill,
The widgeon takes its early flight
Beside the frozen rill.
From village steeples far away
The sound of bells is borne,
As one by one, each crimson ray
Brings in the Christmas morn.
Peace to all! the church bells say,
For Christ was born on Christmas day.
Peace to all.

Here, some will those again embrace
They hold on earth most dear,
There, some will mourn an absent face
They lost within the year.
Yet peace to all who smile or weep
Is rung from earth to sky;
But most to those to-day who keep
The feast with Christ on high.
Peace to all! the church bells say,
For Christ was born on Christmas day.
Peace to all.

R.A. GATTY, 1873.

During 1871, my sister published the first of her Verses for Children,
"The Little Master to his Big Dog"; she did not put her name to it in
_Aunt Judy's Magazine_, but afterwards included it in one of her Verse
Books. Two Series of these books were published during her life, and a
third Series was in the press when she died, called "Poems of Child
Life and Country Life"; though Julie had some difficulty in making up
her mind to use the term "poem," because she did not think her
irregular verses were worthy to bear the title.

She saw Mr. Andre's original sketches for five of the last six
volumes, and liked the illustrations to "The Poet and the Brook,"
"Convalescence," and "The Mill Stream" best.

To the volume of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ for 1872 she gave her first
"soldier" story, "The Peace Egg," and in this she began to sing those
praises of military life and courtesies which she afterwards more
fully showed forth in "Jackanapes," "The Story of a Short Life," and
the opening chapters of "Six to Sixteen." The chief incident of the
story, however, consisted in the Captain's children unconsciously
bringing peace and goodwill into the family by performing the old
Christmas play or Mystery of "The Peace Egg." This play we had been
accustomed to see acted in Yorkshire, and to act ourselves when we
were young. I recollect how proud we were on one occasion, when our
disguises were so complete, that a neighbouring farmer's wife, at
whose door we went to act, drove us as ignominiously away, as the
House-keeper did the children in the story. "Darkie," who "slipped in
last like a black shadow," and "Pax," who jumped on to Mamma's lap,
"where, sitting facing the company, he opened his black mouth and
yawned, with ludicrous inappropriateness," are life-like portraits of
two favourite dogs.

The tale was a very popular one, and many children wrote to ask where
they could buy copies of the Play in order to act it themselves. These
inquiries led Julie to compile a fresh arrangement of it, for she knew
that in its original form it was rather too roughly worded to be fit
for nursery use; so in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ (January 1884) she
published an adaptation of "The Peace Egg, a Christmas Mumming Play,"
together with some interesting information about the various versions
of it which exist in different parts of England.

She contributed "Six to Sixteen" as a serial to the Magazine in 1872,
and it was illustrated by Mrs. Allingham. When it was published as a
book, the dedication to Miss Eleanor Lloyd told that many of the
theories on the up-bringing of girls, which the story contained, were
the result of the somewhat desultory, if intellectual, home education
which we had received from our Mother. This education Miss Lloyd had,
to a great extent, shared during the happy visits she paid us; when
she entered into our interests with the zest of a sister, and in more
than one point outstripped us in following the pursuits for which
Mother gave us a taste. Julie never really either went to school or
had a governess, though for a brief period she was under the kind care
of some ladies at Brighton, but they were relations, and she went to
them more for the benefit of sea breezes than lessons. She certainly
chiefly educated herself by the "thorough" way in which she pursued
the various tastes she had inherited, and into which she was guided by
our Mother. Then she never thought she had learned _enough_, but
throughout her whole life was constantly improving and adding to her
knowledge. She owed to Mother's teaching the first principles of
drawing, and I have often seen her refer for rules on perspective to
"My Childhood in Art,"[20] a story in which these rules were fully laid
down; but Mother had no eye for colour, and not much for figure
drawing. Her own best works were etchings on copper of trees and
landscapes, whereas Julie's artistic talent lay more in colours and
human forms. The only real lessons in sketching she ever had were a
few from Mr. Paul Naftel, years after she was married.

[Footnote 20: Included in "The Human Face Divine, and other Tales." By
Margaret Gatty. Bell and Sons.]

One of her favourite methods for practising drawing was to devote
herself to thoroughly studying the sketches of some one master, in
order to try and unravel the special principles on which he had
worked, and then to copy his drawings. She pursued this plan with some
of Chinnery's curious and effective water-colour sketches, which were
lent to her by friends, and she found it a very useful one. She made
copies from De Wint, Turner, and others, in the same way, and
certainly the labour she threw into her work enabled her to produce
almost facsimiles of the originals. She was greatly interested one day
by hearing a lady, who ranks as one of the best living English writers
of her sex, say that when she was young she had practised the art of
writing in just the same way that Julie pursued that of drawing,
namely, by devoting herself to reading the works of one writer at a
time, until her brain was so saturated with his style that she could
write exactly like him, and then passing on to an equally careful
study of some other author.

The life-like details of the "cholera season," in the second chapter
of "Six to Sixteen," were drawn from facts that Major Ewing told his
wife of a similar season which he had passed through in China, and
during which he had lost several friends; but the touching episode of
Margery's birthday present, and Mr. Abercrombie's efforts to console
her, were purely imaginary.

Several of the "Old-fashioned Fairy Tales" which Julie wrote during
this (1872) and previous years in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, were on
Scotch topics, and she owed the striking accuracy of her local
colouring and dialect, as well as her keen intuition of Scotch
character, to visits that she paid to Major Ewing's relatives in the
North, and also to reading such typical books as _Mansie Wauch, the
Tailor of Dalkeith_, a story which she greatly admired. She liked to
study national types of character, and when she wrote "We and the
World," one of its chief features was meant to be the contrast drawn
between the English, Scotch, and Irish heroes; thanks to her wide
sympathy she was as keenly able to appreciate the rugged virtues of
the dour Scotch race, as the more quick and graceful beauties of the
Irish mind.

[Illustration: AMESBURY]

The Autumn Military Manoeuvres in 1872 were held near Salisbury
Plain, and Major Ewing was so much fascinated by the quaint old town
of Amesbury, where he was quartered, that he took my sister afterwards
to visit the place. The result of this was that her "Miller's
Thumb"[21] came out as a serial in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ during 1873.
All the scenery is drawn from the neighbourhood of Amesbury, and the
Wiltshire dialect she acquired by the aid of a friend, who procured
copies for her of _Wiltshire Tales_ and _A Glossary of Wiltshire Words
and Phrases_, both by J.Y. Akerman, F.S.A. She gleaned her practical
knowledge of life in a windmill, and a "Miller's Thumb," from an old
man who used to visit her hut in the South Camp, Aldershot, having
fallen from being a Miller with a genuine Thumb, to the less exalted
position of hawking muffins in winter and "Sally Lunns" in summer!
Mrs. Allingham illustrated the story; two of her best designs were Jan
and his Nurse Boy sitting on the plain watching the crows fly, and
Jan's first effort at drawing on his slate. It was published as a book
in 1876, and dedicated to our eldest sister, and the title was then
altered to "Jan of the Windmill, a Story of the Plains."

[Footnote 21: Letter, August 25, 1872.]

Three poems of Julie's came out in the volume of _Aunt Judy's
Magazine_ for 1873, "The Willow Man," "Ran away to Sea," and "A Friend
in the Garden"; her name was not given to the last, but it is a
pleasant little rhyme about a toad. She also wrote during this year
"Among the Merrows," a fantastic account of a visit she paid to the
Aquarium at the Crystal Palace.

In October 1873, our Mother died, and my sister contributed a short
memoir of her[22] to the November number of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_. To
the December number she gave "Madam Liberality."

[Footnote 22: Included in "Parables from Nature." By Mrs. Alfred Gatty.
Complete edition. Bell and Sons.]

For two years after Mother's death, Julie shared the work of editing
the Magazine with me, and then she gave it up, as we were not living
together, and so found the plan rather inconvenient; also the task of
reading MSS. and writing business letters wasted time which she could
spend better on her own stories.

At the end of the year 1873, she brought out a book, "Lob
Lie-by-the-Fire, and other Tales," consisting of five stories, three
of which--"Timothy's Shoes," "Benjy in Beastland," and "The Peace
Egg,"--had already been published in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, whilst
"Old Father Christmas" had appeared in _Little Folks_; but the first
tale of "Lob" was specially written for the volume.[23]

[Footnote 23: Letter, August 10, 1873.]

The character of McAlister in this story is a Scotchman of the Scotch,
and, chiefly in consequence of this fact, the book was dedicated to
James Boyn McCombie, an uncle of Major Ewing, who always showed a most
kind and helpful interest in my sister's literary work.

He died a few weeks before she did, much to her sorrow, but the
Dedication remained when the story came out in a separate form,
illustrated by Mr. Caldecott. The incident which makes the tale
specially appropriate to be dedicated to so true and unobtrusive a
philanthropist as Mr. McCombie was known to be, is the Highlander's
burning anxiety to rescue John Broom from his vagrant career.

"Lob" contains some of Julie's brightest flashes of humour, and ends
happily, but in it, as in many of her tales, "the dusky strand of
death" appears, inwoven with, and thereby heightening, the joys of
love and life. It is a curious fact that, though her power of
describing death-bed scenes was so vivid, I believe she never saw any
one die; and I will venture to say that her description of McAlister's
last hours surpasses in truth and power the end of Leonard's "Short
Life"; the extinction of the line of "Old Standards" in Daddy Darwin;
the unseen call that led Jan's Schoolmaster away; and will even bear
comparison with Jackanapes' departure through the Grave to that "other
side" where "the Trumpets sounded for him."

In order to appreciate the end, it is almost necessary, perhaps, to
have followed John Broom, the ne'er-do-weel lad, and McAlister, the
finest man in his regiment, through the scenes which drew them
together, and to read how the soldier, who might and ought to have
been a "sairgent," tried to turn the boy back from pursuing the
downward path along which he himself had taken too many steps; and
then learn how the vagrant's grateful love and agility enabled him to
awaken the sleeping sentinel at his post, and save "the old soldier's
honour."

John Broom remained by his friend, whose painful fits of coughing,
and of gasping for breath, were varied by intervals of seeming
stupor. When a candle had been brought in and placed near the bed,
the Highlander roused himself and asked:

"Is there a Bible on yon table? Could ye read a bit to me, laddie?"

There is little need to dwell on the bitterness of heart with which
John Broom confessed:

"I can't read big words, McAlister!"

"Did ye never go to school?" said the Scotchman.

"I didn't learn," said the poor boy; "I played."

"Aye, aye. Weel ye'll learn when ye gang hame," said the
Highlander, in gentle tones.

"I'll never get home," said John Broom, passionately. "I'll never
forgive myself. I'll never get over it, that I couldn't read to ye
when ye wanted me, McAlister."

"Gently, gently," said the Scotchman. "Dinna daunt yoursel' ower
much wi' the past, laddie. And for me--I'm not that presoomtious to
think I can square up a misspent life as a man might compound wi's
creditors. 'Gin He forgi'es me, He'll forgi'e; but it's not a
prayer up or a chapter down that'll stan' between me and the
Almighty. So dinna fret yoursel', but let me think while I may."

And so, far into the night, the Highlander lay silent, and John
Broom watched by him.

It was just midnight when he partly raised himself, and cried:

"Whist, laddie! do ye hear the pipes?"

The dying ears must have been quick, for John Broom heard nothing;
but in a few minutes he heard the bagpipes from the officers' mess,
where they were keeping Hogmenay. They were playing the old year
out with "Auld Lang Syne," and the Highlander beat the time out
with his hand, and his eyes gleamed out of his rugged face in the
dim light, as cairngorms glitter in dark tartan.

There was a pause after the first verse, and he grew restless, and
turning doubtfully to where John Broom sat, as if his sight were
failing, he said: "Ye'll mind your promise, ye'll gang hame?" And
after a while he repeated the last word "Hame!"

But as he spoke there spread over his face a smile so tender and so
full of happiness, that John Broom held his breath as he watched
him.

As the light of sunrise creeps over the face of some rugged rock,
it crept from chin to brow, and the pale blue eyes shone tranquil,
like water that reflects heaven.

And when it had passed it left them still open, but gems that had
lost their ray.

Death-beds are not the only things which Julie had the power of
picturing out of her inner consciousness apart from actual experience.
She was much amused by the pertinacity with which unknown
correspondents occasionally inquired after her "little ones," unable
to give her the credit of describing and understanding children unless
she possessed some of her own. There is a graceful touch at the end of
"Lob," which seems to me one of the most delicate evidences of her
universal sympathy with all sorts and conditions of men,--and women!
It is similar in character to the passage I alluded to in "Timothy's
Shoes," where they clatter away for the last time, into silence.

Even after the sobering influences of middle age had touched him,
and a wife and children bound him with the quiet ties of home, he
had (at long intervals) his "restless times," when his good
"missis" would bring out a little store laid by in one of the
children's socks, and would bid him "Be off, and get a breath of
the sea air," but on condition that the sock went with, him as his
purse. John Broom always looked ashamed to go, but he came back the
better, and his wife was quite easy in his absence with that
confidence in her knowledge of "the master," which is so mysterious
to the unmarried.

* * * * *

"The sock 'll bring him home," said Mrs. Broom, and home he came,
and never could say what he had been doing.

In 1874 Julie wrote "A Great Emergency" as a serial for the Magazine,
and took great pains to corroborate the accuracy of her descriptions
of barge life for it.[24] I remember our inspecting a barge on the
canal at Aldershot, with a friend who understood all its details, and
we arranged to go on an expedition in it to gain further experience,
but were somehow prevented. The allusions to Dartmouth arose from our
visit there, of which I have already spoken, and which took place
whilst she was writing the tale; and her knowledge of the intricacies
of the Great Eastern Railway between Fenchurch Street Station and
North Woolwich came from the experience she gained when we went on
expeditions to Victoria Docks, where one of our brothers was doing
parochial work under Canon Boyd.

[Footnote 24: Letter, July 22, 1874.]

During 1874 five of her "Verses for Children" came out in the
Magazine, two of which, "Our Garden," and "Three Little Nest-Birds,"
were written to fit old German woodcuts. The others were "The Dolls'
Wash," "The Blue Bells on the Lea," and "The Doll's Lullaby." She
wrote an article on "May-Day, Old Style and New Style," in 1874, and
also contributed fifty-two brief "Tales of the Khoja,"[25] which she
adapted from the Turkish by the aid of a literal translation of them
given in Barker's _Reading-Book of the Turkish Language_, and by the
help of Major Ewing, who possessed some knowledge of the Turkish
language and customs, and assisted her in polishing the stories. They
are thoroughly Eastern in character, and full of dry wit.

[Footnote 25: "Miscellanea," vol. xvii.]

I must here digress to speak of some other work that my sister did
during the time she lived in Aldershot. Both she and Major Ewing took
great interest in the amateur concerts and private musical
performances that took place in the camp, and the V.C. in "The Story
of a Short Life," with a fine tenor voice, and a "fastidious choice in
the words of the songs he sang," is a shadow of these past days. The
want that many composers felt of good words for setting to music, led
Julie to try to write some, and eventually, in 1874, a book of "Songs
for Music, by Four Friends,"[26] was published; the contents were
written by my sister and two of her brothers, and the Rev. G.J.
Chester. This book became a standing joke amongst them, because one of
the reviewers said it contained "songs by four writers, _one_ of whom
was a poet," and he did not specify the one by name.

[Footnote 26: H. King and Co.]

During 1875 Julie was again aided by her husband in the work that she
did for _Aunt Judy's Magazine_. "Cousin Peregrine's three Wonder
Stories "--1. "The Chinese Jugglers and the Englishman's Hand"; 2.
"The Waves of the Great South Sea"; and 3. "Jack of Pera"[27]--were a
combination of his facts and her wording. She added only one more to
her Old-fashioned Fairy Tales, "Good Luck is Better than Gold," but it
is one of her most finished bits of art, and she placed it first, when
the tales came out in a volume.

[Footnote 27: "Miscellanea," vol. xvii.]

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