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Juliana Horatia Ewing - Melchior\'s Dream and Other Tales

J >> Juliana Horatia Ewing >> Melchior\'s Dream and Other Tales



MELCHIOR'S DREAM

AND OTHER TALES,




BY

JULIANA HORATIA EWING.





LONDON:
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.
NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.



[Published under the direction of the General Literature
Committee.]




Dedicated

TO

FOUR BROTHERS AND FOUR SISTERS.




CONTENTS.


MELCHIOR'S DREAM

THE BLACKBIRD'S NEST

FRIEDRICH'S BALLAD

A BIT OF GREEN

MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND

THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS

A BAD HABIT

A HAPPY FAMILY




EDITOR'S PREFACE.


It is always a memorable era in a mother's life when she first
introduces a daughter into society. Many things contribute to make it
so; among which is the fact of the personal blessing to herself, in
having been permitted to see the day--to have been spared, that is, to
watch over her child in infancy, and now to see her entering life upon
her own account.

But a more uncommon privilege is the one granted to me on the present
occasion, of introducing a daughter into the literary world; and the
feelings of pride and pleasure it calls forth, are certainly not less
powerful than those created by the commoner occurrence. It is my
comfort also to add that these are not overclouded by any painful
anxiety or misgiving. There may be differences of opinion as to the
precise amount of literary merit in these tales; but viewed as the
first productions of a young author, they are surely full of promise;
while their whole tone and aim is so unmistakably high, that even
those who criticize the style will be apt to respect the writer.

I ought here to express a hope that it will not be thought
presumptuous on my part, to undertake the office of introduction. I
beg it to be understood that I address myself especially to those
readers who have (I speak it with deep gratitude and pleasure)
listened kindly and favourably to me for several years past, and who
will, I trust, be no less well disposed towards my daughter's
writings.

To them also it may be interesting to know, that in the "J.H.G." of
"Melchior's Dream," etc., they will find the original of my own
portrait of "Aunt Judy."

But I have still something more to say: another little bit of
gratification to express. What one sister has written, another has
illustrated by her pencil; a cause of double thankfulness in my heart
to Him from whom all good gifts come.

MARGARET GATTY.


NOTE.--_The foregoing Preface was written for the first
edition of "Melchior's Dream, and other Tales." This was published in
1862 under Mrs. Ewing's maiden initials, "J.H.G." It contained the
first five stories in the present volume, and these were illustrated
by the writer's eldest sister, "M.S.G."_




MELCHIOR'S DREAM.

AN ALLEGORY.

"Thou that hast given so much to me, Give one thing more--a
grateful heart."

GEORGE HERBERT.

"Well, father, I don't believe the Browns are a bit better off than we
are; and yet when I spent the day with young Brown, we cooked all
sorts of messes in the afternoon; and he wasted twice as much rum and
brandy and lemons in his trash, as I should want to make good punch
of. He was quite surprised, too, when I told him that our mince-pies
were kept shut up in the larder, and only brought out at meal-times,
and then just one apiece; he said they had mince-pies always going,
and he got one whenever he liked. Old Brown never blows up about that
sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the holidays,
particularly at Christmas."

The speaker was a boy--if I may be allowed to use the word in speaking
of an individual whose jackets had for some time past been resigned
to a younger member of his family, and who daily, in the privacy of
his own apartment, examined his soft cheeks by the aid of his sisters'
"back-hair glass." He was a handsome boy too; tall, and like
David--"ruddy, and of a fair countenance;" and his face, though
clouded then, bore the expression of general amiability. He was the
eldest son in a large young family, and was being educated at one of
the best public schools. He did not, it must be confessed, think
either small beer or small beans of himself; and as to the beer and
beans that his family thought of him, I think it was pale ale and
kidney-beans at least.

Young Hopeful had, however, his weak points like the rest of us; and
perhaps one of the weakest was the difficulty he found in amusing
himself without _bothering_ other people. He had quite a monomania for
proposing the most troublesome "larks" at the most inconvenient
moments; and if his plans were thwarted, an AEolian harp is cheerful
compared to the tone in which, arguing and lamenting, he

"Fought his battles o'er again,"

to the distraction of every occupied member of the household.

When the lords of the creation of all ages can find nothing else to
do, they generally take to eating and drinking; and so it came to pass
that our hero had set his mind upon brewing a jorum of punch, and
sipping it with an accompaniment of mince-pies; and Paterfamilias had
not been quietly settled to his writing for half-an-hour, when he was
disturbed by an application for the necessary ingredients. These he
had refused, quietly explaining that he could not afford to waste his
French brandy, etc., in school-boy cookery, and ending with, "You see
the reason, my dear boy?"

To which the dear boy replied as above, and concluded with the
disrespectful (not to say ungrateful) hint, "Old Brown never blows up
about that sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the
holidays."

Whereupon Paterfamilias made answer, in the mildly deprecating tone in
which the elder sometimes do answer the younger in these topsy-turvy
days:--

"That's quite a different case. Don't you see, my boy, that Adolphus
Brown is an only son, and you have nine brothers and sisters? If you
have punch and mince-meat to play with, there is no reason why Tom
should not have it, and James, and Edward, and William, and Benjamin,
and Jack. And then there are your sisters. Twice the amount of the
Browns' mince-meat would not serve you. I like you to enjoy yourself
in the holidays as much as young Brown or anybody; but you must
remember that I send you boys to good schools, and give you all the
substantial comforts and advantages in my power; and the Christmas
bills are very heavy, and I have a great many calls on my purse; and
you must be reasonable. Don't you see?"

"Well, father--" began the boy; but his father interrupted him. He
knew the unvarying beginning of a long grumble, and dreading the
argument, cut it short.

"I have decided. You must amuse yourself some other way. And just
remember that young Brown's is quite another case. He is an only son."

Whereupon Paterfamilias went off to his study and his sermon; and his
son, like the Princess in Andersen's story of the Swineherd, was left
outside to sing,

"O dearest Augustine,
All's clean gone away!"

Not that he did say that--that was the princess' song--what he said
was,

"_I wish I were an only son!_"

This was rather a vain wish, for round the dining-room fire (where he
soon joined them) were gathered his nine brothers and sisters, who, to
say the truth, were not looking much more lively and cheerful than
he. And yet (of all days in the year on which to be doleful and
dissatisfied!) this was Christmas Eve.

Now I know that the idea of dulness or discomfort at Christmas is a
very improper one, particularly in a story. We all know how every
little boy in a story-book spends the Christmas holidays.

First, there is the large hamper of good things sent by grandpapa,
which is as inexhaustible as Fortunatus's purse, and contains
everything, from a Norfolk turkey to grapes from the grandpaternal
vinery.

There is the friend who gives a guinea to each member of the family,
and sees who will spend it best.

There are the godpapas and godmammas, who might almost be fairy
sponsors from the number of expensive gifts that they bring upon the
scene. The uncles and aunts are also liberal.

One night is devoted to a magic-lantern (which has a perfect focus),
another to the pantomime, a third to a celebrated conjuror, a fourth
to a Christmas tree and juvenile ball.

The happy youth makes himself sufficiently ill with plum-pudding, to
testify to the reader how good it was, and how much there was of it;
but recovers in time to fall a victim to the negus and trifle at
supper for the same reason. He is neither fatigued with late hours
nor surfeited with sweets; or if he is, we do not hear of it.

But as this is a strictly candid history, I will at once confess the
truth, on behalf of my hero and his brothers and sisters. They had
spent the morning in decorating the old church, in pricking holly
about the house, and in making a mistletoe bush. Then in the afternoon
they had tasted the Christmas soup and seen it given out; they had put
a finishing touch to the snow man by crowning him with holly, and had
dragged the yule-logs home from the carpenter's. And now, the early
tea being over, Paterfamilias had gone to finish his sermon for
to-morrow; his friend was shut up in his room; and Materfamilias was
in hers, with one of those painful headaches which even Christmas will
not always keep away. So the ten children were left to amuse
themselves, and they found it rather a difficult matter.

"Here's a nice Christmas!" said our hero. He had turned his youngest
brother out of the arm-chair, and was now lying in it with his legs
over the side. "Here's a nice Christmas! A fellow might just as well
be at school. I wonder what Adolphus Brown would think of being cooped
up with a lot of children like this! It's his party to-night, and he's
to have champagne and ices. I wish I were an only son."

"Thank you," said a chorus of voices from the floor. They were all
sprawling about on the hearth-rug, pushing and struggling like so many
kittens in a sack, and every now and then with a grumbled
remonstrance:--

"Don't, Jack! you're treading on me."

"You needn't take all the fire, Tom."

"Keep your legs to yourself, Benjamin."

"It wasn't I," etc., with occasionally the feebler cry of a small
sister--

"Oh! you boys are so rough."

"And what are you girls, I wonder?" inquired the proprietor of the
arm-chair with cutting irony. "Whiney piney, whiney piney. I wish
there were no such things as brothers and sisters!"

"_You wish_ WHAT?" said a voice from the shadow by the door, as deep
and impressive as that of the ghost in Hamlet.

The ten sprang up; but when the figure came into the fire-light, they
saw that it was no ghost, but Paterfamilias's old college friend, who
spent most of his time abroad, and who, having no home or relatives of
his own, had come to spend Christmas at his friend's vicarage. "You
wish _what_?" he repeated.

"Well, brothers and sisters are a bore," was the reply. "One or two
would be all very well; but just look, here are ten of us; and it just
spoils everything. If a fellow wants to go anywhere, it's somebody
else's _turn_. If old Brown sends a basket of grapes, it's share and
share alike; all the ten must taste, and then there's about a grape
and a half for each. If anybody calls or comes to luncheon, there are
a whole lot of brats swarming about, looking as if we kept a school.
Whatever one does, the rest must do; whatever there is, the rest must
share; whereas, if a fellow was an only son, he would have the
whole--and by all the rules of arithmetic, one is better than a
tenth."

"And by the same rules ten is better than one," said the friend.

"Sold again," sang out Master Jack from the floor, and went head over
heels against the fender.

His brother boxed his ears with great promptitude, and went on, "Well,
I don't care; confess, sir, isn't it rather a nuisance?"

Paterfamilias's friend looked very grave, and said, quietly, "I don't
think I am able to judge. I never had brother or sister but one, and
he was drowned at sea. Whatever I have had, I have had the whole of,
and would have given it away willingly for some one to give it to. If
any one sent me grapes, I ate them alone. If I made anything, there
was no one to show it to. If I wanted to act, I must act all the
characters, and be my own audience. I remember that I got a lot of
sticks at last, and cut heads and faces to all of them, and carved
names on their sides, and called them my brothers and sisters. If you
want to know what I thought a nice number for a fellow to have, I can
only say that I remember carving twenty-five. I used to stick them in
the ground and talk to them. I have been only, and lonely, and alone,
all my life, and have never felt the nuisance you speak of."

This was a funny account; but the speaker looked so far from funny
that one of the sisters, who was very tender-hearted, crept up to him,
and said, gently--

"Richard is only joking; he doesn't really want to get rid of us. The
other day the curate said he wished he had a sister, and Richard
offered to sell us all for ninepence; but he is only in fun. Only it
is rather slow just now, and the boys get rather cross; at least, we
all of us do."

"It's a dreadful state of things," said the friend, smiling through
his black beard and moustachios. "What is to be done?"

"I know what would be very nice," insinuated the young lady.

"What?"

"If you wouldn't mind telling us a very short story till supper-time.
The boys like stories."

"That's a good idea," said Benjamin. "As if the girls didn't!"

But the friend proclaimed order, and seated himself with the girl in
question on his knee. "Well, what sort of a story is it to be?"

"Any sort," said Richard; "only not too true, if you please. I don't
like stories like tracts. There was an usher at a school I was at, and
he used to read tracts about good boys and bad boys to the fellows on
Sunday afternoon. He always took out the real names, and put in the
names of the fellows instead. Those who had done well in the week he
put in as good ones, and those who hadn't as the bad. He didn't like
me, and I was always put in as a bad boy, and I came to so many
untimely ends I got sick of it. I was hanged twice, and transported
once for sheep-stealing; I committed suicide one week, and broke into
the bank the next; I ruined three families, became a hopeless
drunkard, and broke the hearts of my twelve distinct parents. I used
to beg him to let me be reformed next week; but he said he never would
till I did my Caesar better. So, if you please, we'll have a story that
can't be true."

"Very well," said the friend, laughing; "but if it isn't true, may I
put you in? All the best writers, you know, draw their characters from
their friends now-a-days. May I put you in?"

"Oh, certainly!" said Richard, placing himself in front of the fire,
putting his feet on the hob, and stroking his curls with an air which
seemed to imply that whatever he was put into would be highly
favoured.

The rest struggled, and pushed, and squeezed themselves into more
modest but equally comfortable quarters; and after a few moments of
thought, Paterfamilias's friend commenced the story of


MELCHIOR'S DREAM.


"Melchior is my hero. He was--well, he considered himself a young man,
so we will consider him so too. He was not perfect; but in these days
the taste in heroes is for a good deal of imperfection, not to say
wickedness. He was not an only son. On the contrary, he had a great
many brothers and sisters, and found them quite as objectionable as my
friend Richard does."

"I smell a moral," murmured the said Richard.

"Your scent must be keen," said the story-teller, "for it is a long
way off. Well, he had never felt them so objectionable as on one
particular night, when, the house being full of company, it was
decided that the boys should sleep in 'barracks,' as they called it;
that is, all in one large room."

"Thank goodness, we have not come to that!" said the incorrigible
Richard; but he was reduced to order by threats of being turned out,
and contented himself with burning the soles of his boots against the
bars of the grate in silence: and the friend continued:--

"But this was not the worst. Not only was he, Melchior, to sleep in
the same room with his brothers, but his bed being the longest and
largest, his youngest brother was to sleep at the other end of
it--foot to foot. True, by this means he got another pillow, for, of
course, that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb could do without one, and so he
took his; but, in spite of this, he determined that, sooner than
submit to such an indignity, he would sit up all night. Accordingly,
when all the rest were fast asleep, Melchior, with his boots off and
his waistcoat easily unbuttoned, sat over the fire in the long
lumber-room which served that night as 'barracks'. He had refused to
eat any supper downstairs to mark his displeasure, and now repaid
himself by a stolen meal according to his own taste. He had got a
pork-pie, a little bread and cheese, some large onions to roast, a
couple of raw apples, an orange, and papers of soda and tartaric acid
to compound effervescing draughts. When these dainties were finished,
he proceeded to warm some beer in a pan, with ginger, spice, and
sugar, and then lay back in his chair and sipped it slowly, gazing
before him, and thinking over his misfortunes.

"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower, and still Melchior
sat, with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print that had hung above the
mantelpiece for years, sipping his 'brew', which was fast getting
cold. The print represented an old man in a light costume, with a
scythe in one hand and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath the
picture in flourishing capitals was the word TIME.

"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look like
an old hay-maker who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, and
forgotten the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to the
tailor's, I think.'

"This was very irreverent; but Melchior was not in a respectful mood;
and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher.

"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last went
out altogether.

"'How stupid of me not to have mended it!' said Melchior; but he had
not mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; and
to bed he went accordingly.

"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, and
to-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.'

"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at the
old print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle,
which he had left alight on the mantelpiece to keep him awake. The
flame waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and as the lights
and shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fancied
that it nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired him
he shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, there
was no longer any doubt--the old man's head was moving; and not only
his head, but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feet
out of the frame, and prepared to step right over the mantelpiece,
candle, and all.

"'Take care,' Melchior tried to say, 'you'll set fire to your shirt.'
But he could not utter a sound; and the old man arrived safely on the
floor, where he seemed to grow larger and larger, till he was fully
the size of a man, but still with the same scythe and hour-glass, and
the same airy costume. Then he came across the room, and sat down by
Melchior's bedside.

"'Who are you?' said Melchior, feeling rather creepy.

"'TIME,' said his visitor in a deep voice, which sounded as
if it came from a distance.

"'Oh, to be sure, yes! In copper-plate capitals.'

"'What's in copper-plate capitals?' inquired Time.

"'Your name, under the print.'

"'Very likely,' said Time.

"Melchior felt more and more uneasy. 'You must be very cold,' he said.
'Perhaps you would feel warmer if you went back into the picture.'

"'Not at all,' said Time; 'I have come on purpose to see you.'

"'I have not the pleasure of knowing you,' said Melchior, trying to
keep his teeth from chattering.

"'There are not many people who have a personal acquaintance with me,'
said his visitor. 'You have an advantage--I am your godfather.'

"'Indeed,' said Melchior; 'I never heard of it.'

"'Yes,' said his visitor; 'and you will find it a great advantage.'

"'Would you like to put on my coat?' said Melchior, trying to be
civil.

"'No, thank you,' was the answer. 'You will want it yourself. We must
be driving soon.'

"'Driving!' said Melchior.

"'Yes,' was the answer; 'all the world is driving; and you must drive;
and here come your brothers and sisters.'

"Melchior sat up; and there they were, sure enough, all dressed, and
climbing one after the other on to the bed--_his_ bed!

"There was that little minx of a sister with her curls (he always
called them carrot shavings), who was so conceited (girls always are!)
and always trying to attract notice, in spite of Melchior's incessant
snubbings. There was that clever brother, with his untidy hair and
bent shoulders, who was just as bad the other way; who always ran out
of the back door when visitors called, and was for ever moping and
reading: and this, in spite of Melchior's hiding his books, and
continually telling him that he was a disgrace to the family, a
perfect bear, not fit to be seen, etc.--all with the laudable desire
of his improvement. There was that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb, as lively
as any of them, a young monkey, the worst of all; who was always in
mischief, and consorting with the low boys in the village; though
Melchior did not fail to tell him that he was not fit company for
gentlemen's sons, that he was certain to be cut when he went to
school, and that he would probably end his days by being transported,
if not hanged. There was the second brother, who was Melchior's chief
companion, and against whom he had no particular quarrel. And there
was the little pale lame sister, whom he dearly loved; but whom, odd
to say, he never tried to improve at all; his remedy for her failings
was generally, 'Let her do as she likes, will you?' There were others
who were all tiresome in their respective ways; and one after the
other they climbed up.

"'What are you doing, getting on to my bed!' inquired the indignant
brother, as soon as he could speak.

"'Don't you know the difference between a bed and a coach, godson?'
said Time, sharply.

"Melchior was about to retort, but on looking round, he saw that they
were really in a large sort of coach with very wide windows. 'I
thought I was in bed,' he muttered. 'What can I have been dreaming
of?'

"'What, indeed!' said the godfather. 'But, be quick, and sit close,
for you have all to get in; you are all brothers and sisters.'

"'Must families be together?' inquired Melchior, dolefully.

"'Yes, at first,' was the answer; 'they get separated in time. In
fact, everyone has to cease driving sooner or later. I drop them on
the road at different stages, according to my orders,' and he showed a
bundle of papers in his hands; 'but, as I favour you, I will tell you
in confidence that I have to drop all your brothers and sisters before
you. There, you four oldest sit on this side, you five others there,
and the little one must stand or be nursed.'

"'Ugh!' said Melchior, 'the coach would be well enough if one was
alone; but what a squeeze with all these brats! I say, go pretty
quick, will you?'

"'I will,' said Time, 'if you wish it. But, beware that you cannot
change your mind. If I go quicker for your sake, I shall never go slow
again; if slower, I shall not again go quick; and I only favour you so
far, because you are my godson. Here, take the check-string; when you
want me, pull it, and speak through the tube. Now we're off.'

"Whereupon the old man mounted the box, and took the reins. He had no
whip; but when he wanted to start, he shook the hour-glass, and off
they went. Then Melchior saw that the road where they were driving was
very broad, and so filled with vehicles of all kinds that he could not
see the hedges. The noise and crowd and dust were very great; and to
Melchior all seemed delightfully exciting. There was every sort of
conveyance, from the grandest coach to the humblest donkey-cart; and
they seemed to have enough to do to escape being run over. Among all
the gay people there were many whom he knew; and a very nice thing it
seemed to be to drive among all the grandees, and to show his
handsome face at the window, and bow and smile to his acquaintance.
Then it appeared to be the fashion to wrap oneself in a tiger-skin
rug, and to look at life through an opera-glass, and old Time had
kindly put one of each into the coach.

"But here again Melchior was much troubled by his brothers and
sisters. Just at the moment when he was wishing to look most
fashionable and elegant, one or other of them would pull away the rug,
or drop the glass, or quarrel, or romp, or do something that spoilt
the effect. In fact, one and all, they 'just spoilt everything;' and
the more he scolded, the worse they became. The 'minx' shook her
curls, and flirted through the window with a handsome but ill-tempered
looking man on a fine horse, who praised her 'golden locks,' as he
called them; and, oddly enough, when Melchior said the man was a lout,
and that the locks in question were corkscrewy carrot shavings, she
only seemed to like the man and his compliments the more. Meanwhile,
the untidy brother pored over his book, or if he came to the window,
it was only to ridicule the fine ladies and gentlemen, so Melchior
sent him to Coventry. Then Hop-o'-my-Thumb had taken to make signs and
exchange jokes with some disreputable-looking youths in a dog-cart;
and when his brother would have put him to 'sit still like a
gentleman' at the bottom of the coach, he seemed positively to prefer
his low companions; and the rest were little better.

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