Juliana Horatia Ewing And Her Books

Julie did absolutely remain "the same" during the three months of heavy suffering which, in God's mysterious love, preceded her death. Perhaps it is well for us all to know that she found, as others do, the intervals of exhausted relief granted between attacks of pain were not times in which (had it been needed) she could have changed her whole character, and, what is called, "prepare to die." Our days of health and strength are the ones in which this preparation must be made, but for those who live, as she did, with their whole talents dedicated to God's service, death is only the gate of life—the path from joyful work in this world to greater capacities and opportunities for it in the other.

I trust that what I have said about Julie's religious life will not lead children to imagine that she was gloomy, and unable to enjoy her existence on earth, for this was not the case. No one appreciated and rejoiced in the pleasures and beauties of the world more thoroughly than she did: no one could be a wittier and brighter companion than she always was.

Early in February 1885, she was found to be suffering from a species of blood-poisoning, and as no cause for this could then be discovered, it was thought that change of air might do her good, and she was taken from her home at Taunton, to lodgings at Bath. She had been three weeks in bed before she started, and was obliged to return to it two days after she arrived, and there to remain on her back; but this uncomfortable position did not alter her love for flowers and animals.

The first of these tastes was abundantly gratified, as I mentioned before, by the quantities of blossoms which were sent her from friends; as well as by the weekly nosegay which came from her own Little Garden, and made her realize that the year was advancing from winter to spring, when crocuses and daffodils were succeeded by primroses and anemones.

Of living creatures she saw fewer. The only object she could see through her window was a high wall covered with ivy, in which a lot of sparrows and starlings were building their nests. As the sunlight fell on the leaves, and the little birds popped in and out, Julie enjoyed watching them at work, and declared the wall looked like a fine Japanese picture. She made us keep bread-crumbs on the window-sill, together with bits of cotton wool and hair, so that the birds might come and fetch supplies of food, and materials for their nests.

Her appreciation of fun, too, remained keen as ever, and, strange as it may seem, one of the very few books which she liked to have read aloud was Mark Twain's "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn"; the dry humour of it—the natural way in which everything is told from a boy's point of view—and the vivid and beautiful descriptions of river scenery—all charmed her. One of Twain's shorter tales, "Aurelia's unfortunate Young Man," was also read to her, and made her laugh so much, when she was nearly as helpless as the "young man" himself, that we had to desist for fear of doing her harm. Most truly may it be said that between each paroxysm of pain "her little white face and undaunted spirit bobbed up ... as ready and hopeful as ever." She was seldom able, however, to concentrate her attention on solid works, and for her religious exercises chiefly relied on what was stored in her memory.

This faculty was always a strong one. She was catechized in church with the village children when only four years old, and when six, could repeat many poems from an old collection called "The Diadem," such as Mrs. Hemans' "Cross in the Wilderness," and Dale's "Christian Virgin to her Apostate Lover"; but she reminded me one day during her illness of how little she understood what she was saying in the days when she fluently recited such lines to her nursery audience!

She liked to repeat the alternate verses of the Psalms, when the others were read to her; and to the good things laid up in her mind she owed much of the consolation that strengthened her in hours of trial. After one night of great suffering, in which she had been repeating George Herbert's poem, "The Pulley," she said that the last verse had helped her to realize what the hidden good might be which underlaid her pain—

During the earlier part of her illness, when every one expected that she would recover, she found it difficult to submit to the unaccountable sufferings which her highly-strung temperament felt so keenly; but after this special night of physical and mental darkness, it seemed as if light had broken upon her through the clouds, for she said she had, as it were, looked her pain and weariness in the face, and seen they were sent for some purpose—and now that she had done so, we should find that she would be "more patient than before." We were told to take a sheet of paper, and write out a calendar for a week with the text above, "In patience possess ye your souls." Then as each day went by we were to strike it through with a pencil; this we did, hoping that the passing days were leading her nearer to recovery, and not knowing that each was in reality "a day's march nearer home."

For the text of another week she had "Be strong and of a good courage," as the words had been said by a kind friend to cheer her just before undergoing the trial of an operation. Later still, when nights of suffering were added to days of pain, she chose—"The day is Thine, the night also is Thine."

Of what may be termed external spiritual privileges she did not have many, but she derived much comfort from an unexpected visitor. During nine years previously she had known the Rev. Edward Thring as a correspondent, but they had not met face to face, though they had tried on several occasions to do so. Now, when their chances of meeting were nearly gone, he came and gave great consolation by his unravelling of the mystery of suffering, and its sanctifying power; as also by his interpretation that the life which we are meant to lead under the dispensation of the Spirit who has been given for our guidance into Truth, is one which does not take us out of the world, but keeps us from its evil, enabling us to lead a heavenly existence on earth, and so to span over the chasm which divides us from heaven.

Perhaps some of us may wonder that Julie should need lessons of encouragement and comfort who was so apt a teacher herself; but however ready she may always have been to hope for others, she was thoroughly humble-minded about herself. On one day near the end, when she had received some letter of warm praise about her writings, a friend said in joke, "I wonder your head is not turned by such things"; and Julie replied: "I don't think praise really hurts me, because, when I read my own writings over again they often seem to me such 'bosh'; and then, too, you know I lead such a useless life, and there is so little I can do, it is a great pleasure to know I may have done some good."

It pleased her to get a letter from Sir Evelyn Wood, written from the Soudan, telling how he had cried over Lætus; and she was almost more gratified to get an anonymous expression from "One of the Oldest Natives of the Town of Aldershot" of his "warm and grateful sense of the charm of her delightful references to a district much loved of its children, and the emotion he felt in recognizing his birthplace so tenderly alluded to." Julie certainly set no value on her own actual MSS., for she almost invariably used them up when they were returned from the printers, by writing on the empty sides, and destroying them after they had thus done double duty. She was quite amused by a relation who begged for the sheets of "Jackanapes," and so rescued them from the flames!

On the 11th of May an increase of suffering made it necessary that my sister should undergo another operation, as the one chance of prolonging her life. This ordeal she faced with undaunted courage, thanking God that she was able to take chloroform easily, and only praying He would end her sufferings speedily, as He thought best, since she feared her physical ability to bear them patiently was nearly worn out.

Her prayer was answered, when two days later, free from pain, she entered into rest. On the 16th of May she was buried in her parish churchyard of Trull, near Taunton, in a grave literally lined with moss and flowers;—so many floral wreaths and crosses were sent from all parts of England, that when the grave was filled up they entirely covered it, not a speck of soil could be seen; her first sleep in mother earth was beneath a coverlet of fragrant white blossoms. No resting-place than this could be more fitting for her. The church is deeply interesting from its antiquity, and its fine oak-screen and seats, said to be carved by monks of Glastonbury, whilst the churchyard is an idyllically peaceful one, containing several yew-trees; under one of these, which over-shadows Julie's grave, the remains of the parish stocks are to be seen—a quaint mixture of objects, that recalls some of her own close blendings of humour and pathos into one scene. Here, "for a space, the tired body lies with feet towards the dawn," but I must hope and believe that the active soul, now it is delivered from the burden of the flesh, has realized that Gordon's anticipations were right when he wrote: "The future world must be much more amusing, more enticing, more to be desired, than this world,—putting aside its absence of sorrow and sin. The future world has been somehow painted to our minds as a place of continuous praise, and, though we may not say it, yet we cannot help feeling that, if thus, it would prove monotonous. It cannot be thus. It must be a life of activity, for happiness is dependent on activity: death is cessation of movement; life is all movement."

If Archbishop Trench, too, was right in saying;

have we not cause to trust that Julie still ministers to the good and happiness of the young and old whom she served so well whilst she was seen amongst them? Let her, at any rate, be to us one of those who shine as the stars to lead us unto God:

"If we still love those we lose, can we altogether lose those we love?"

"The Newcomes," Chap. vii.

(The last entry in J.H.E.'s Commonplace Book.)

LIST OF MRS. EWING'S WORKS.

LETTERS

Tell them to bring their Prayer-books with them on the "Liturgy Day."

If any of them say they have none—let nothing induce you to supply them.

Say "Well, you must look over your neighbour, but you ought to have one for yourself—I can let you have one for 2d., so when you go home, 'ask Papa,' and bring me the 2d. next time."

Never give the Prayer-book "in advance"—! (I never pressed the Prayer-books on them, or insisted on their having them. But gradually they all wanted to have them, and I used to take them with me, and they brought up their 2d.'s if they wanted any. The class is chiefly composed of Dissenters, but they never have raised any objection, and buy Prayer-books for children who never come to Church. The first prize last time was very deservedly won by the daughter of the Methodist Minister.)

If you know any that cannot afford them, give them in private.

Deal round the School Bibles to the Class for reference.

One's chief temptation is to attempt too much. The great art is to make a good skeleton lesson of the leading points, and fill in afterwards.

Wait a long time for your answers.

Repeat the question as simply as possible, and keep saying—Now think—think. One generally gets it in time.

Lead up to your answer: thus—

Eleanor. "S. Augustine was a missionary Priest from—now answer all together?"

The whole Class. Rome.

Eleanor. "Now who was S. Augustine?—All together."

The result probably will be that one or perhaps two will give the whole answer—and then you can say—

"That's right. But I want you all to say it. Now all together. Who was S. Augustine?"

Then you will get it from all.

If you don't mind it, the black board is often of great use. In this way—

[Sketch.] X represents the black board.

Suppose you have undertaken for the day's lesson (a long one!) to begin at the question of whether we know the exact date of the first introduction of Christianity into England and to go on to S. Augustine's Consecration. When you first arrive take your chalk and write—

S. Paul
and draw a line;
——————————————
then
Arles .  .  .  .  .  314
Nicæa .  .  .  .  .  323
——————————————
Augustine
Rome
Archbishop of Canterbury
597
——————————————

Make them read everything as you write it, telling them the words till they are familiar. Then "lead up to" the written words in your questions and point with the stick, so that they will finish the answer by reading it all together. Thus—"The Council of —— (stick to Aries) in the year —— (stick to 314)."

When you are teaching a thing, make them answer all together. When you are examining what you have taught before, let those answer who can.

Of course my notes give no idea of the way one teaches, I mean of course one has perpetually to use familiar examples, and go back and back—and into things.

Put the more backward children behind the others, and never let any of the front row answer till the back row have tried.

If they are very young or backward, perhaps before you attempt anything like Church History, you might familiarize them with the Prayer-book services—by making them find the places in their proper rotation—turn quickly to the Psalms for the Day. Make them find the Lessons for the Day, for Holy-days—Collect for the week—Baptism Service. In fact I should advise you to begin so. Say for the first Lesson you take a Christmas Day Service—make them look out everything in succession. Ask them what a Collect is—where the Lessons come from—who wrote the Psalms, etc. Make them understand how the Holy Communion is administered—suppose a Baptism—and make them explain—the two Sacraments in the words of the Catechism. (Never mind whether they understand it—one can't explain everything at once!)

Indeed I strongly advise you to go on this tack for some time.

Say that for the first lesson or two (the above is too advanced) you take the Psalms. Ask them what Book they were taken from, etc.—make them find them for the day, and show them where and how to find the Proper Psalms. In succeeding lessons, if you like, you can explain that the Psalms are translations—and why the Bible and Prayer-book versions are different—show which are the seven Penitential—(the three Morning and three Evening for Ash Wednesday and the 51st). Point out the latter as used as a general confession in the Commination Service—having been written on the occasion of David's fall. Also the Psalms of Degrees (the most exquisite of all I think!), which were used to be sung as the Jews came up from all parts of the land to Jerusalem—"I was glad when they said unto me," etc.

Tell them of any Psalms authentically connected with History—and any anecdotes or traditions that you can meet with connected with them. How S. Augustine and his band of missionaries first encountered the King with his choristers carrying the Cross and chanting Psalms to those Gregorians that Gregory (birch in hand!) had taught him in Rome, etc., etc.

I find they like stray anecdotes—and they are pegs to hang things on. (Trevor says that our Blessed Lord is supposed to have repeated the whole of the twenty-second Psalm on the Cross.) The "Hymn" sung before they went out after the Last Supper was a Psalm. (See marginal Bible notes.) You can do no greater kindness than give them an appreciation and interest in that inexhaustible store of "Prayer and Penitence and Praise"—that has put words into the mouth of the whole Church of God from the days of David to the present time, which is used by every Church (however else divided) in common—and rejected by no sect however captious!

Point out what Psalms are used in the course of the services—(like the Venite, etc.)

Don't be alarmed if the Psalms last you for months! you can't do better—and you must go over and over unless your bairns are Solomons! Make them understand that they were intended, and are adapted for singing.

Get up your lessons beforehand—but teach as familiarly and as much with no book but the Prayer-book and Bible as you can.

Then you might take the Lessons in a similar fashion, and the Collects, etc.

Excuse all this ramble. I have no doubt I have bored you with a great deal of chaff—but I hardly know quite what you want to know. As to the subject—it is a Hobby with me—so excuse rhapsodies!

I don't believe you can confer a greater kindness than to make them well acquainted with their Prayer-books. I believe you may teach every scrap of necessary theology from it—the Life of Jesus in the Collects, and special services from Advent to Trinity—Practical duties and the morale of the Gospel in the twenty-five Sundays of Trinity. Apostles—Martyrs—the Communion of Saints—and the Ministry of Angels in the rest. As to the History of Liturgies—it is simply the History of the Church. I believe the Prayer-book contains Prayer, Praise, Confession, Intercession and Ejaculation fitted to every need and occasion of all conditions of men!—with very rare if any exceptions. I believe in ignorance of the Prayer-book the poor lose the greatest fund of instruction and consolation next to the Bible (and it is our best Commentary on that!) that is to be got at. And people's ignorance of it is wonderful! You hear complaints of the shifting of the services—the arrangement of the Lessons—and a precious muddle it must seem to any one who does not know—that Isaiah is skipped in the reading of the Old Testament—that as the Evangelical Prophet he may be read at the Advent and Nativity of Christ—that we dip promiscuously into the Apocrypha on Saints' Days—because those books are read "for example of life and instruction of manners"—and not to establish doctrine, etc., etc. Somebody has compiled a straight ahead Prayer-book, and I fancy it will be found very useful—about the same time that we get a royal road to learning—or that services compiled on the most comprehensive and comprehensible system by men of the highest and devoutest intellect for every age, class, sex, and succeeding generations of the Church of a whole country, can be made at the same time to fit the case of every ignoramus who won't take the trouble to do more than lick his thumb and turn over a page!!! If people would but understand that the shortest way to anything is to get at the first principles!! When one humbles oneself to learn those, the arrangement of the Liturgy becomes as beautiful and lovable a piece of machinery as that of Nature or God's Providence almost! and is just as provocative of ignorant complaint and sarcasm if one doesn't.

Oh! Eleanora! What will you say to this sermon!!—My "lastly" is—teach your bairns the "why" their great-great-great-(very great!) Grandfathers put all these glorious Prayers together in their present order—and "when they are old they will not" ... need any modern wiseacres to help them to get blindfold from the Venite to the Proper Psalms.

Adieu, beloved. Post time almost—and another letter to write. I have had a sort of double quinsy—but am better, thank God.

Your devoted and prosy,

Juliana Horatia Gatty.

The Books I have used are Wheatley on the Common Prayer, Hook's Lives of the Archbishops, and Church Dictionary, and anything I could get hold of. Get any decent book on the Psalms—compare the two versions—read the prefaces, rubrics, etc.—above all. Have you the Parker Society edition of Edward VI. Prayer-book?

To H.K.F.G.

Hotel de l'Europe, Anvers.
September 22, 1865.

My Dearest D——,

"Here we are again!" at the Hotel Dr. Harvey recommended. The Captain of our boat said it was cheaper and better than S. Antoine. You must excuse a not very lively letter, for I am still so ill from the voyage. I can't get over it somehow at present, but shall be all right to-morrow. We enjoyed our day in Hull immensely! you will be amused to hear. At night we went to the Harvest Thanksgiving service at S. Mary's. Nice service, capital sermon, and crammed congregation. The decorations were scarlet geraniums, corn, evergreen, and grapes. The Alster wasn't to time, but they said she would sail at four, so we slept on board. We "turned over" an awful night. R. and I wandered over the ship, and finally settled on the saloon benches. Then, however, the Captain came, and said he couldn't allow us to sleep there, so we sat up, for I couldn't breathe in the berth, and at last I think the Captain saw I really couldn't stand it, and told me to lie down again. At six we went on deck, and it was awfully jolly going up the Humber. At eight we got into the sea, and I didn't get my "shore legs" again till we got into the Scheldt this morning. At about three this morning I went on deck, and R. and I enjoyed it immensely, splendidly starlight, and we were just off Flushing, and the lights looked wonderful with the flat shore and a black windmill. Then the Captain gave me tea and packed me up in the saloon, and I slept till six, when T. came out and woke me, and we went "aloft." We were going down the Scheldt, and R. was in fits of delight because every tree you see is exactly like the trees in boxes of toys. Not a bit like English trees. The flat green banks and odd little villages (of which you can only see the tops of the houses) were charming.

To M.S.G.

Hotel de l'Europe, Antwerp.
Sunday, September 24, 1865.

My Dearest M.,

We are getting on capitally, and enjoying it immensely. I hope T. got home pretty well. I miss him dreadfully, tell him—especially to-day—for both Churches and pictures bore R. However, I have only taken him into one Church to-day, that of S. Jacques, where he really was pleased to see the tomb of Rubens. I have found the whereabouts of two other celebrated ones, and shall try to slip off without him. He is utterly happy when he has got a cigar, "tooling" up and down the streets, turning in at a café, or buying a peach, and doing "schneeze" with the "Flams." He does a little French now and then with people in the streets. I got into the Cathedral just in time to see the glorious Descent from the Cross, and (which I admire less) the Elevation ditto by Rubens. I must tell you this morning I went to high mass in the Cathedral. In fact I heard two masses and a sermon in Flemish. It was wonderful. A very intelligent-looking old priest in surplice and stole, in the huge carved pulpit, preached with the most admirable dramatic force, in a language that one can all but understand. It is so like English and German. Every now and then I could catch a word. If you want to have an idea of the congregation, imagine the nave of York Minster (the side aisles rather filled up by altars, etc.)—covered like a swarm of bees, with a congregation with really rare exceptions of Flemish poor. Flam women, men, and children, and a great many common soldiers. The women are dressed in white caps, and all have scarves (just like funeral scarves) of fine ribbed black silk; and, Flemish prayer-books in hand, they sit listening to the sermon. Then it comes to an end with some invocation of something, at which there is a scraping of chairs and everybody goes round to the Altar. Then organ, fiddles, all sorts of instruments, and a splendid "company" of singers—the musical Mass began.

It is all wonderful, and I feel laying up a store of happiness in going over it at home. How I wish some of you were here! I know my letters are very dull, and I am so sorry. But though I have a famous appetite, and can walk and "sight-see" like anything, I have not got back my nerve. Somehow I can't describe it, but you must excuse my stupidity. I hope R. is happy. He says he is, and dreads it coming to an end!!! I am very glad, for I feel a heavy weight on him and he feels like reposing on a floating soap-bubble! We are as jolly as possible really, and nothing is left in me, but a rather strained nervous feeling, which will soon be gone. You would have laughed to see R. buying snuff to-day, and cigars. He goes in, lays his finger on the cigars, and says—"Poor wun frank?" To which the woman replies—"trieze," and he buys six and sneezes violently, on which she produces snuff, fills his box, and charges a trifle, and he abuses her roundly in English, with a polite face, to his own great enjoyment. We mean to make the cash hold out if possible to come home in the Alster. If it runs short, we shall give up Ghent and Bruges—this place alone is worth coming for.

Your ever loving sister, J.H.G.

To H.K.F.G.

Hotel de Vieux, Doellen, The Hague.
September 27, 1865.

Dearest D——,

This morning we had a great treat! We took an open carriage and drove from the Hague to Scheveningen on the coast. All the way you go through an avenue of elms, which is lovely. It is called "the Wood," and to the left is Sorgoliet, where the Queen mother lives, and which was planted, the man says, by Jacob Cats. He lived there. Scheveningen is a bare-looking shore, all sand, and bordered with sandbanks, or Dunes. It was fiercely hot, scorching, and not an atom of shade to be had; but in spite of sun, slipping sandbank-seat, sand-fleas, and a hornet circling round, I did make a sketch, which I hope to finish at home. Both Regie and I bathed, and it was delicious—an utterly calm sea, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. The bathing machines seem to be a Government affair. They and the towels are marked with a stork, and you take a ticket and get your gown and towels from a man at a "bureau" on the sands. I must tell you, this morning when we came down, we found breakfasting in the salle-à-manger our Dutch friend, the bulb merchant. We had our breakfast put at his table, and had a jolly chat. It was so pleasant! Like meeting an old friend. He has gone, I am sorry to say, but I have made great friends with Stephanie's father; he cannot speak a word of English, so we can only talk in such French as I can muster; but he is very pleasant, and his children are so nice! eight—four boys and four girls. The wife is Dutch, and I do not think can speak French, so I do not talk to her. After dinner the maître d'hôtel asked us if we would not go to "the Wood" (on the road to Scheveningen), and hear the military band—so we went. I can't describe it. It was like nothing but scenes in a theatre. Pitch dark in all the avenues, except for little lamps like tiny tumblers fixed on to the trees, and so [Sketch] on to the Pavilion, which was lighted up by chains of similar lamps like an illumination—[Sketch]—and round which—seated round little green tables—were gathered, I suppose, about two thousand people. Their politeness to each other—the perfect good-behaviour, the quiet and silence during the music, and the buzz and movement when it was over, were wonderful. The music was very good. R. and I had each a tiny cup of coffee, and a little brandy and water, for it was very cold!! Now I have come in, and he has gone back, I think. Stephanie was there, and lots of children. As I lay awake last night I heard the old watchman go round. He beats two pieces of wood together and calls the hours of the night. I saw a funeral too, this morning, and the coachman wears a hat like this—[Sketch]. In the streets we have met men in black with cocked hats. They are "Ansprekers," who go to announce a man's death to his friends. The jewellery of the common women is marvellous; Mr. Krelage (our Dutch friend) says they have sometimes £400 of gold and jewels upon them!!! A common market woman I saw to-day wore a plate of gold under her cap of this shape—[Sketch]. Then a white [Sketch] lace cap. Then a bonnet highly-trimmed with flowers, and a white feather and green ribbons; and on her temples filagree gold and pearl, pins, brooches and earrings; round her neck three gold chains—one of many little ones together clasped by a gorgeous clasp—the next supporting a highly-elaborate gold cross—a longer one still supporting a heart and some other device. She had rings also, and a short common purple stuff dress which she took up when she sat down for fear of crushing it; no shawl and a black silk apron!!

Thursday. We have been to the Museum. Below is the "Royal Cabinet" of curiosities, and above are the pictures. Some of the former were very interesting. The hat, doublet, etc. in which William the Silent was murdered—the pistol, two bullets, etc., and a copy of Balthazar Geraardt's condemnation, and his watch, on which were some beautiful little paintings. Admiral Ruiter's sabre, armour, chain and medal; Admiral Tromp's armour; Jacqueline of Bavaria's chair, and locks of her hair. Also a very curious model—a large baby-house imitating a Dutch ménage, intended by Peter the Great as a present to his wife. A wonderful toy!! R. was quite at home among the "relics." Besides historical relics, the cabinet contains the most marvellous collection of Japanese things. It is a most choice collection. There were some such funny things—a fiancé and fiancée of Japan in costume were killing! and made-up monsters like life-sized mummies of the most hideous demons! Besides indescribably exquisite workmanship of all sorts. The pictures are not so charming a collection as those at Antwerp, but there are some grand ones. Tell Mother—Paul Potter's Bull is too indescribable! His nose, his hair, and a frog at his feet are wonderful! There is a portrait by Rubens of his second wife that would have charmed T.; she is lovely, and the picture has that sunshiny beauty he will remember in "S. Anne teaching the B.V.M." I suspect she was the model for his most lovable faces. There is a large and wonderful Rembrandt—a splendid collection of Wouvermans—the most charming Ruisdael I ever saw. Some beautiful Vandykes—a Van de Velde of Scheveningen, Teniers, Weenix, Snyders, etc. I do so wish M. could see the pictures, she would enjoy them so, and get more out of them than I can. The collection is free to the public, and the utmost good behaviour prevails. After that R. went into the town, and I sat down to a hurried sketch on the "Vyfeiberg," a quiet sort of promenade. But gradually the populace collected, till I was nearly smothered. My veil blew over my face, and I suddenly felt it seized from behind, and looking round, found that a young baker in white had laid hold of it, but only to fasten it out of my way, as he began volubly to explain in Dutch! I couldn't speak, so remonstrance was impossible, and I let them alone. Soldiers, boys, women, etc.! I could hear them recognizing the various places. They were very polite, kept out of my line of sight, and decided that it was "Photogeraphee" like the people in Rotterdam! When we parted, I bowed to them and they to me!!! To-morrow we go back to Rotterdam for one night, the next day to Antwerp.

Friday night. Michaelmas Day. Hotel Pay Bas, Rotterdam.—Back again! and to-morrow at 8.15 a.m. we go back to dear old Antwerp. For the solemn fact has made itself apparent, that the money will not hold out till to-morrow week, as we intended. So we must give up our dear Captain, and come home in the Tiger!! We shall be with you D.V. on Saturday week, starting on Wednesday from Antwerp. We have been to the Poste Restante, and got dear Mother's letter, to my infinite delight. I am so glad Miss Yonge likes "the Brownies."

Your ever loving, Judy

To Mrs. Gatty.

Sevenoaks. January 12, 1866.

My Dear, Dear Mother,

I do humbly beg your pardon for having written such scrappish, snappish, selfish letters! The tide of comfort has begun to set in from Ecclesfield to my infinite delight. So far from being vexed at your being so careful—I earnestly hope you will never be less so. If you had been, I should have been dead long ago. I have no more doubt than of my present well-being. And as it is—taking care is so little in my line—that if you took to ignoring one's delicacy, or fancying it was fancy—I know I should merely (by instinct) hold out to the last gasp of existence, and do what I could, while I could!!...

I am cheered beyond anything with these critiques on "The Brownies." I must tell you I have read Aunt Mary the beginning of my new story, and she likes it very much. It will be longer than "The Brownies." ... I am writing most conscientiously—it will not be a bit longer than it should be, but naturally of itself will spread into a good deal. In fact, it is several stories together—a Russian one among them ("Mrs. Overtheway's Remembrances").

To A.E.

Ecclesfield. May 28, 1866.

I send you a song,[33] "which is not very long"—and that is about its only merit. I am utterly disgusted with it myself for producing nothing better.... However, here it is, and now I must explain it.

I have endeavoured to bear in mind three things—simplicity of idea, few verses, and a musical swing. I have constructed it so that one child's voice may sing for the Child, another child's voice for the Bird, and as many children as you please in the Chorus.

The "Hush! hush! hush!" I thought ought to have a piano effectiveness, and it is a word children enjoy.