"It was at Rotterdam," wrote her brother, "that I left her with her
camp-stool and water-colours for a moment in the street, to find
her, on my return, with a huge crowd round her, and before--a baker's
man holding back a blue veil that would blow before her eyes--and she
sketching down an avenue of spectators, to whom she kept motioning
with her brush to stand aside. Perfectly unconscious she was of _how_
she looked, and I had great difficulty in getting her to pack up and
move on. Every quaint Dutch boat, every queer street, every peasant in
gold ornaments, was a treasure to her note-book. We were very happy!"

I doubt, indeed, whether her companion has experienced greater
enjoyment during any of his later and more luxurious visits to the
same spots; the _first_ sight of a foreign country must remain a
unique sensation.

It was not the intrinsic value of Julie's gifts to us that made them
so precious, but the wide-hearted spirit which always prompted them.
Out of a moderate income she could only afford to be generous from her
constant habit of thinking first for others, and denying herself. It
made little difference whether the gift was elevenpence
three-farthings' worth of modern Japanese pottery, which she seized
upon as just the right shape and colour to fit some niche on one of
our shelves, or a copy of the _edition de luxe_ of "Evangeline," with
Frank Dicksee's magnificent illustrations, which she ordered one day
to be included in the parcel of a sister, who had been judiciously
laying out a small sum on the purchase of cheap editions of standard
works, not daring to look into the tempting volume for fear of
coveting it. When the carrier brought home the unexpectedly large
parcel that night, it was difficult to say whether the receiver or the
giver was the happier.

My turn came once to be taken by Julie to the sea for rest (June
1874), and then one of the chief enjoyments lay in the unwonted luxury
of being allowed to choose my own route. Freedom of choice to a
wearied mind is quite as refreshing as ozone to an exhausted body.
Julie had none of the petty tyranny about her which often mars the
generosity of otherwise liberal souls, who insist on giving what they
wish rather than what the receiver wants.

I was told to take out Bradshaw's map, and go exactly where I desired,
and, oh! how we pored over the various railway lines, but finally
chose Dartmouth for a destination, as being old in itself, and new to
us, and really a "long way off." We were neither of us disappointed;
we lived on the quay, and watched the natives living in boats on the
harbour, as is their wont; and we drove about the Devon lanes, all
nodding with foxgloves, to see the churches with finely-carved screens
that abound in the neighbourhood, our driver being a more than
middle-aged woman, with shoes down at heel, and a hat on her head.
She was always attended by a black retriever, whom she called "Naro,"
and whom Julie sketched. I am afraid, as years went on, I became
unscrupulous about accepting her presents, on the score that she
"liked" to give them!--and I only tried to be, at any rate, a gracious
receiver.

[Illustration: "THE LADY WILL DRIVE!"]

There was one person, however, whom Julie found less easy to deal
with, and that was an Aunt, whose liberality even exceeded her own.
When Greek met Greek over Christmas presents, then came the tug of war
indeed! The Aunt's ingenuity in contriving to give away whatever plums
were given to her was quite amazing, and she generally managed to
baffle the most careful restrictions which were laid upon her; but
Julie conquered at last, by yielding--as often happens in this life!

"It's no use," Julie said to me, as she got out her bit of cardboard
(not for a needle-book this time!)--"I must make her happy in her own
way. She wants me to make her a sketch for somebody else, and I've
promised to do it."

The sketch was made,--the last Julie ever drew,--but it remained
amongst the receiver's own treasures. She was so much delighted with
it, she could not make up her mind to give it away, and Julie laughed
many times with pleasure as she reflected on the unexpected success
that had crowned her final effort.

I spoke of "Melchior's Dream" and must revert to it again, for though
it was written when my sister was only nineteen, I do not think she
has surpassed it in any of her later _domestic_ tales. Some of the
writing in the introduction may be rougher and less finished than she
was capable of in after-years, but the originality, power, and pathos
of the Dream itself are beyond doubt. In it, too, she showed the
talent which gives the highest value to all her work--that of teaching
deep religious lessons without disgusting her readers by any approach
to cant or goody-goodyism.

During the years 1862 to 1868, we kept up a MS. magazine, and, of
course, Julie was our principal contributor. Many of her poems on
local events were genuinely witty, and her serial tales the backbone
of the periodical. The best of these was called "The Two Abbots: a
Tale of Second Sight," and in the course of it she introduced a hymn,
which was afterwards set to music by Major Ewing and published in
Boosey's Royal Edition of "Sacred Songs," under the title "From
Fleeting Pleasures."

The words of this hymn, and of two others which she wrote for the use
of our Sunday school children at Whitsuntide in the respective years
1864 and 1866 have all been published in vol. ix. of the present
Edition of her works.

Some years after she married, my sister again tried her hand at
hymn-writing. On July 22, 1879, she wrote to her husband:

"I think I will finish my hymn of 'Church of the Quick and Dead,' and
get thee to write a processional tune. The metre is (last verse)--

'Church of the Quick and Dead,
Lift up, lift up thy head,
Behold the Judge is standing at the door!
Bride of the Lamb, arise!
From whose woe-wearied eyes
My God shall wipe all tears for evermore.'"

My sister published very few of the things which she wrote to amuse us
in our MS. "Gunpowder Plot Magazine," for they chiefly referred to
local and family events; but "The Blue Bells on the Lea" was an
exception. The scene of this is a hill-side near our old home, and Mr.
Andre's fantastic and graceful illustrations to the verses when they
came out as a book, gave her full satisfaction and delight.

In June 1865 she contributed a short parochial tale, "The Yew Lane
Ghosts," to the _Monthly Packet_, and during the same year she gave a
somewhat sensational story, called "The Mystery of the Bloody
Hand,"[8] to _London Society_. Julie found no real satisfaction in
writing this kind of literature, and she soon discarded it; but her
first attempt showed some promise of the prolific power of her
imagination, for Mr. Shirley Brooks, who read the tale impartially,
not knowing who had written it, wrote the following criticism: "If the
author has leisure and inclination to make a picture instead of a
sketch, the material, judiciously treated, would make a novel, and I
especially see in the character and sufferings of the Quaker,
previous to his crime, matter for effective psychological treatment.
The contrast between the semi-insane nature and that of the hypocrite
might be powerfully worked up; but these are mere suggestions from an
old craftsman, who never expects younger ones to see things as
veterans do."

[Footnote 8: Vol. xvii. "Miscellanea."]

In May 1866 my Mother started _Aunt Judy's Magazine for Children_, and
she called it by this title because "Aunt Judy" was the nickname we
had given to Julie whilst she was yet our nursery story-teller, and it
had been previously used in the titles of two of my Mother's most
popular books, "Aunt Judy's Tales" and "Aunt Judy's Letters."

After my sister grew up, and began to publish stories of her own, many
mistakes occurred as to the authorship of these books. It was supposed
that the Tales and Letters were really written by Julie, and the
introductory portions that strung them together by my Mother. This was
a complete mistake; the only bits that Julie wrote in either of the
books were three brief tales, in imitation of Andersen, called [9]"The
Smut," "The Crick," and "The Brothers," which were included in "The
Black Bag" in "Aunt Judy's Letters."

[Footnote 9: These have now been reprinted in vol. xvii.
"Miscellanea."]

Julie's first contribution to _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ was "Mrs.
Overtheway's Remembrances," and between May 1866 and May 1867 the
three first portions of "Ida," "Mrs. Moss," and "The Snoring Ghosts,"
came out. In these stories I can trace many of the influences which
surrounded my sister whilst she was still the "always cayling Miss
Julie," suffering from constant attacks of quinsy, and in the
intervals, reviving from them with the vivacity of Madam Liberality,
and frequently going away to pay visits to her friends for change of
air.

We had one great friend to whom Julie often went, as she lived within
a mile of our home, but on a perfectly different soil to ours.
Ecclesfield stands on clay; but Grenoside, the village where our
friend lived, is on sand, and much higher in altitude. From it we have
often looked down at Ecclesfield lying in fog, whilst at Grenoside the
air was clear and the sun shining. Here my sister loved to go, and
from the home where she was so welcome and tenderly cared for, she
drew (though no _facts_) yet much of the colouring which is seen in
Mrs. Overtheway--a solitary life lived in the fear of God; enjoyment
of the delights of a garden; with tender treasuring of dainty china
and household goods for the sake of those to whom such relics had once
belonged.

Years after our friend had followed her loved ones to their better
home, and had bequeathed her egg-shell brocade to my sister, Julie had
another resting-place in Grenoside, to which she was as warmly
welcomed as to the old one, during days of weakness and convalescence.
Here, in an atmosphere of cultivated tastes and loving appreciation,
she spent many happy hours, sketching some of the villagers at their
picturesque occupations of carpet-weaving and clog-making, or amusing
herself in other ways. [10]This home, too, was broken up by Death, but
Mrs. Ewing looked back to it with great affection, and when, at the
beginning of her last illness, whilst she still expected to recover,
she was planning a visit to her Yorkshire home, she sighed to think
that Grenoside was no longer open to her.

[Footnote 10: Letters, Advent Sunday, 1881, 25th November, 1881,
January 18, 1884.]

On June 1, 1867, my sister was married to Alexander Ewing, A.P.D., son
of the late Alexander Ewing, M.D., of Aberdeen, and a week afterwards
they sailed for Fredericton, New Brunswick, where he was to be
stationed.

A gap now occurred in the continuation of "Mrs. Overtheway's
Remembrances." The first contributions that Julie sent from her new
home were, "An Idyl of the Wood," and "The Three Christmas Trees."[11]
In these tales the experiences of her voyage and fresh surroundings
became apparent; but in June 1868, "Mrs. Overtheway" was continued by
the story of "Reka Dom."

[Footnote 11: Letter, 19th Sunday after Trinity, 1867.]

In this Julie reverted to the scenery of another English home where
she had spent a good deal of time during her girlhood. The winter of
1862-3 was passed by her at Clyst St. George, near Topsham, with the
family of her kind friend, Rev. H.T. Ellacombe, and she evolved Mrs.
Overtheway's "River House"[12] out of the romance roused by the sight
of quaint old houses, with quainter gardens, and strange names that
seemed to show traces of foreign residents in days gone by. "Reka Dom"
was actually the name of a house in Topsham, where a Russian family
had once lived. Speaking of this house, Major Ewing said:--On the
evening of our arrival at Fredericton, New Brunswick, which stands on
the river St. John, we strolled down, out of the principal street, and
wandered on the river shore. We stopped to rest opposite to a large
old house, then in the hands of workmen. There was only the road
between this house and the river, and, on the banks, one or two old
willows. We said we should like to make our first home in some such
spot. Ere many weeks were over, we were established in that very
house, where we spent the first year, or more, of our time in
Fredericton. We _called_ it "Reka Dom," the River House.

[Footnote 12: Letter, February 3, 1868.]

[Illustration: THE RIVER HOUSE.
VIEW FROM THE WINDOW OF REKA DOM.]

For the descriptions of Father and Mother Albatross and their island
home, in the last and most beautiful tale of "Kerguelen's Land," she
was indebted to her husband, a wide traveller and very accurate
observer of nature.

To the volume of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ for 1869 she only sent "The
Land of Lost Toys,"[13] a short but very brilliant domestic story, the
wood described in it being the "Upper Shroggs," near Ecclesfield,
which had been a very favourite haunt in her childhood. In October
1869, she and Major Ewing returned to England, and from this time
until May 1877, he was stationed at Aldershot.

[Footnote 13: Letter, December 8, 1868.]

Whilst living in Fredericton my sister formed many close friendships.
It was here she first met Colonel and Mrs. Fox Strangways. In the
society of Bishop Medley and his wife she had also great happiness,
and with the former she and Major Ewing used to study Hebrew. The
cathedral services were a never-failing source of comfort, and at
these her husband frequently played the organ, especially on occasions
when anthems, which he had written at the bishop's request, were sung.

To the volume of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ for 1870 she gave "Amelia and
the Dwarfs," and "Christmas Crackers," "Benjy in Beastland," and
eight[14] "Old-fashioned Fairy Tales." "Amelia" is one of her
happiest combinations of real child life and genuine fairy lore. The
dwarfs inspired Mr. Cruikshank[15] to one of his best water-colour
sketches: who is the happy possessor thereof I do not know, but the
woodcut illustration very inadequately represents the beauty and
delicacy of the picture.

[Footnote 14: Letter, Sexagesima, 1869.]

[Footnote 15: Letters, August 3, 1880.]

[Illustration: IN THE DEAR OLD CAMP. NO. 1 HUT, X LINES, SOUTH CAMP.]

Whilst speaking of the stories in this volume of _Aunt Judy's
Magazine_, I must stop to allude to one of the strongest features in
Julie's character, namely, her love for animals. She threw over them,
as over everything she touched, all the warm sympathy of her loving
heart, and it always seemed to me as if this enabled her almost to get
inside the minds of her pets, and know how to describe their
feelings.[16]

[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,