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'Tis the song of the thrush:
Hatched are the blue eggs, the brown birds do sing--
Keeping the promise made in the spring.
If you liked, one voice, or half the party, might sing, "When the blue
eggs hatch," and the other, "The brown birds will sing." Some are
doubtful about the last lines, but the word "promise" had a jubilant
musical rhythm in my head. However, you can alter it; if it has not
the same in yours.... I don't set up for a versifier, and you may do
what you please with this.
There is a certain class of child's song which is always taught in the
National system by certificated infant school mistresses. They are
semi-theatrical, very pretty, and serve at once as music, discipline,
and amusement. Such as "The Clock," in which they beat the hours,
swing for the pendulum, etc. There are certain actions in these songs
which express listening.... I am very fond of the National system for
teaching children, and it has struck me that this song is a little of
that type.... I am doubly vexed it is so poor, because your next thing
to "Jerusalem the Golden" ought to be very good. If you can, make your
Processional Hymn very grand, and I will do my very best. I have more
hope of that. Would the metre of Longfellow's "Coplas de Manrique" be
good for music? It would be a fine hymn measure.... Don't hamper
yourself about the metre. I will fit the words to the music.
TO MRS. GATTY.
_S.S. China._ June 10, 1867.
I staggered up yesterday morning to have my first sight of an
iceberg.... The sea was dark-blue, a low line of land (Cape Race) was
visible, and the iceberg stood in the distance dead white, like a lump
of sugar.... I think the first sight of Halifax was one of the
prettiest sights I ever saw. When I first came up there was no
horizon, we were in a sea of mist. Gradually the horizon line
appeared--then a line of low coast--muddy-looking at first--it soon
became marked with lines of dark wood--then the shore dotted with grey
huts--then the sun came out--the breeze got milder--and the air became
strongly redolent of pine-woods. Nearer, the coast became more
defined, though still low, rather bare, and dotted with brushwood, and
grey stones low down, and crowned always with "murmuring pines." As we
came to habitations, which are dotted, and sparkle along the shore,
the effect was what we noticed in Belgium, as if a box of very bright
new toys had been put out to play with, red roofs--even red
houses--cardboard-looking churches--little bright wooden houses--and
stiffish trees mixed everywhere. It looks more like a quaint
watering-place than a city, though there are some fine buildings....
We took a great fancy to the place, which was like a new child's
picture book, and I was rather disappointed to learn it is not to be
our home. But Fredericton, where we are going, has superior advantages
in some respects, and will very likely be quite as pretty.
_Halifax._ June 19, 1867.
* * * * *
Rex and I went down to the fish-market that I might see it. Coming
back we met an old North American Indian woman. Such a picturesque
figure. We talked to her, and Rex gave her something. I do not think
it half so degraded-looking a type as they say. A very broad, queer,
but I think acute and pleasant-looking face. Since I came in I have
made two rather successful sketches of her.[34] She wore an old common
striped shawl, but curiously thrown round her so that it looked like a
chief's blanket, a black cap embroidered with beads, black trousers
stuffed into moccasins, a short black petticoat, and a large
gold-coloured cross on her breast, and a short jacket trimmed with
scarlet, a stick and basket for broken victuals. She said she was
going to catch the train! It sounded like hearing of Plato engaged for
a polka!...
[Footnote 34: See pages 175, 176.]
[Illustration: Indian.]
[Illustration: Indian.]
TO MISS E. LLOYD.
[_Sketch._]
_Cathedral Church of Fredericton, New Brunswick._
August 23, 1867.
MY DEAREST OLD ELEANORA,
I have been a wretch for not having written to you sooner. It seems
strange there should remain any pressure of business or hurry of life
in this place, where workmen look out of the windows of the house (our
house and a fact!); they are repairing nine at a time, and boys swing
their buckets and dawdle to the well for water, as if Time couldn't be
lounged and coaxed off one's hands!! And yet busy I have been, and
every mail has been a scramble. Getting into our house was no joke,
attending sales and shops, buying furniture--ditto, ditto--as to
paying and receiving calls on lovely days with splendid sketching
lights--they have been thorns in the flesh--and, worst of all, regular
colonial experiences of servants--one went off at a day's notice--and
for two or three days we had _nobody_ but Rex's _orderly_, such a
handy, imperturbable soldier, who made beds, cooked the dinner, hung
pictures, and blew the organ with equal urbanity. He didn't know
much--and in the imperfect state of our cuisine had few
appliances--but he affected to be _au fait_ at everything--and what he
had not got, he "annexed" from somewhere else. One of our maids
uniformly set tumblers and wine-glasses with the tea set, and I found
"William" the Never-at-fault cleaning the plate with knife-powder, and
brushing his own clothes with the shoe brush. However, we have got a
very fair maid now, and are comfortable enough. Our house is awfully
jolly, though the workmen are yet about. The drawing-room really is
not bad. It is a good-sized room with a day window--green carpet and
sofa in the recess--window plant shelf--on one long side of the
wall--a writing-table between two book-shelves--and oh! my dear, I
cannot sufficiently say the _pleasure_ as well as _use_ and _comfort_
all my wedding presents have been to me. You can hardly estimate the
comforting effect of these dear bits of civilization out here,
especially at first when we were less comfortable. But the
_refinements_ of comfort, you know, are not to be got here for love or
money as we get them at home. Your dear book and inkstand and weights
(uncommonly useful at this juncture of new postage), etc., look so
well on my writing-table--on which are also the Longleys' Despatch
Box--Frank Smith's blotting book--my Japanese bronzes, Indian box,
Chinese ditto, Japanese candlestick and Chinese shoes, etc. of
Rex's--our standing photos, table book-stand, etc., etc. You can't
imagine how precious any knick-knacks have become. My mother's
coloured photo that Brownie gave me is propped in the centre--and we
have bought a mahogany bracket for my old Joan of Arc!! We have hired
a good harmonium. Altogether the room really looks pretty with a
fawn-coloured paper and the few water colours up--round table, etc.,
etc. Our bedroom has a blue and white paper, is a bright, airy,
two-windowed room, with a _lovely_ eastward view over the river--the
willows--and the pine woods. Our abundant space mocks one's longing to
invite a good many dear old friends to visit one! We have much to be
thankful for--which excellent sentiment brings me to the Cathedral.
It would be a fine, well-appointed Church even in Europe. It stands
lovelily looking over the river, surrounded by maples, etc., etc. (and
to the left a beautiful group of the "feathered elms" of the country).
There is daily Morning Prayer at 7.30, to which we generally go, and
where the Bishop always appears. There is a fair amateur choir, and a
beautiful organ built by a man who died just when he had completed it.
But, my dear, in addition to these privileges, we weekly "sit under"
the most energetic, quaint-looking, and dignified of Bishops--who has
a clear, soft, penetrating voice that rings down the Cathedral in the
Absolution and Benediction, and who preaches such fine, able,
practical, learned, and beautiful sermons--as I really do not think
Oxon, or Vaughan, or any of our great men much excel. This would be
nearly enough, even if one did not know him; but when we dined at
Government House the other night--rather to my surprise, I was sent in
with him, and found him very amusing, and full of funny anecdotes of
the province. Since when we have rapidly become fast friends. He is
very musical, and when he and Rex get nobbling over the piano and
organ--there they stick!! Rex is appointed supplementary organist, and
to-morrow (being their Annual Festival) he is to play. Last night we
had a grand "practice" at the Bishop's, and it felt wonderfully like
home. He has lots of books, and has put them at our disposal--and, to
crown all, has offered to teach us Hebrew if we will teach him German
this winter. His wife is _very_ nice too.... She is a good practical
doctor, kind without measure, and being a great admirer of Mother's
writings, has taken me under her wing--to see that I do nothing
contrary to the genius of the climate! People are wonderfully kind
here. They really keep us in vegetables, and I have a lovely nosegay
on my table at this moment. There is a very pleasant Regiment (22nd)
here, with a lovely band. On my birthday Rex gave me Asa Gray's
_Botany_, a book on botany generally, and on North American plants in
particular. Some of the wild-flowers are lovely. One (Pigeon Berry)
[_sketch_] has a white flower amid largish leaves--thus. It grows
about as large as wild anemone, in similar places and quantities. When
the flower falls the stamens develop into a thick _bunch_ of
_berries_, the size and colour of holly berries, only _brighter_
brilliant scarlet, and patches of pine wood are covered with them.
My dear, you _would_ like this place! My best love to all your people.
Isabel's fan could have no more appropriate field for its exhibition
than summer here! Adieu, beloved. (I say nothing about home news. Z.'s
affair bewilders me. I am awfully anxious for news, but it's useless
talking at this distance.) (See Lamb's Essay on Distant Correspondents
in the Elia!!!!!)
Your ever loving,
J.H. EWING.
TO MRS. GATTY.
_Fredericton._ September 21, 1867.
MY DEAREST MOTHER,
The room being rather warm (with a fire!) and having been very busy
all day sketching, etc., etc., and having just done my Hebrew lesson
in a sleepyish sort of manner--I have turned lazy about working at
Mrs. Overtheway to-night, and am going to get on with my letter
instead. Rex is mouthing Hebrew gutturals at my elbow, so don't be
astonished if I introduce the "_yatz_, _yotz_, _yomah_," etc., that
sound in my ears! I must tell you we have actually despatched a small
parcel to Ecclesfield. We crossed early one day by the ferry, and went
to the Indian settlement, where we bought a small and simple basket of
a squaw which she had just made, and which shows their work, and will
hold a few of your odds and ends. We send M. a little card-case of
Indian work, and R. a cigar-case. These two things are worked by Huron
Indians in stained moose hair. The Melicites who are _here_ work in
basket-work and in coloured beads. I got two strips of their coloured
bead-work, and Sarah and I "ran up" two red velvet bags and trimmed
them with these strips for tobacco bags for A. and S. I thought you
would like to see the different kinds of work. The MicMacs work in
stained porcupine, but I have not sent any of their work. They are
only very little things, but they come from _us!_ We have had so much
to do, I have got on very badly with my botanizing, but I have sent
one or two ferns for you. We were late for flowers. Tell S. the
_Impatiens Fulva_ is a wonderful flower. When you touch (almost when
you _shake_ with approaching) the seed vessels, they burst and curl up
like springs, and fling the seed away. I mean to try to preserve seed.
The _Chelone Glabra_ as pressed by me gives no idea of the beautiful
dead-white flower, something like a foxglove only more compact. I have
told you what the parcel contains that you may not expect greater
things than will appear from our little Christmas Box!...
To-day has been lovely and we have enjoyed it. Rex has been with me
all day, though when I speak of his being with me I speak of his
bodily presence only. In spirit he is with the conjugations Kal,
Highil, etc., etc. He has bought Gesenius' Grammar, and a very fine
one it seems. He lives with Gesenius, and if he doesn't take it to
bed, it is not that he leaves Hebrew in the drawing-room. He undresses
to the tune of the latest exercise, and puts me through the imperfect
and perfect of [Hebrew: khatah] before we get up of mornings! (He has just
discovered that Eden was about the same latitude as Fredericton!)
There is always Morning Prayer and Holy Communion here on Saints'
Days, and to-day being S. Matthew, we went to the 11 service. After
Church we went a little way up the road, and I did a sepia sketch of
"our street," Rex sitting by me and groaning Hebrew. It was gloriously
sunny, and such a lovely sky, and such an exquisitely calm river with
white-sailed boats on it. I have enjoyed it immensely....
_Fredericton._ 19th Sunday after Trinity, 1867.
* * * * *
I wonder if I send it by next mail, whether you would have room for a
very short Christmas sort of prose Idyll suggested to me by a scene I
saw when we were hunting for a sketch the other day. If I can jot it
down, I don't suppose it would be more than two or three pages. If I
send it at all it will come by the Halifax mail. It will be called
"The Two Christmas Trees."...
TO H.K.F.G.
September 29, 1867.
... I have fallen head over ears in love with another dog. Oh! bless
his nose!... His name is Hector. He is a _white_ pure bull-dog. His
face is more broad and round--and delicious and ferociously
good-natured--and affectionately ogreish--than you can imagine. The
moment I saw him I hugged him and kissed his benevolence bump, and he
didn't even _gowly powl_....
TO MRS. GATTY.
[_Fredericton_, 1867?]
... Talking of stories, if I only can get the full facts of his history,
I think I shall send A.J.M. a short paper on a Fredericton Dog. Did I
ever tell you of him? He has the loveliest face I ever saw, I think, _in
any Christian_. He knows us quite well when we go up the High Street
where he lives. When he gets two cents (1_d._) given him, he takes it in
his mouth to the nearest store and buys himself buscuits. I have seen
him do it. If you only give him _one_ cent he is dissatisfied, and tries
to get the second. The Bishop told me he used to come to Church with his
master at one time; he would come and behave very well--TILL the
offertory. Then he rose and _walked after the alms-collectors_, wagging
his tail as the money chinked in, because he wanted his penny for his
biscuits!!! He is a large dog--part St. Bernard, and has magnificent
eyes. But (my _poor_!) they shaved him this summer like a poodle! There
is a bear in the officers' quarters here--he belongs to the regiment. I
have patted him, but he catches at one's clothes. To see him _patting_
at my skirts with his paw was delicious--but I don't like his _head_, he
looks very sly!
January 2, 1868.
... Indeed it is hard not to be able to see each other at any moment
and to be "parted" even for a time. But to us all, who all enjoy
everything to be seen and heard, and heard of in new places and among
other people; the fact that I have to lead a traveller's life gives us
certain great pleasures we could not have had if Rex had been a curate
at Worksop (we'll say), and we couldn't even afford a trip to the
Continent! Also if I have any gift for writing it really _ought_ to
improve under circumstances so much more favourable than the narrowing
influence of a small horizon.... I only wish my gift were a little
nearer _real_ genius!! As it is, I do hope to improve gradually; and
as I _do_ work slowly and conscientiously, I may honestly look forward
with satisfaction to the hope of being able to turn a few honest
pennies to help us out: and it _is_ a satisfaction, and a blessing I
am thankful for. I only wish I could please myself better! However,
small writers are wanted as well as big ones, and there is no reason
why donkey-carts shouldn't drive even if there are coaches on the
road!...
[_Fredericton_.] February 3, 1868.
* * * * * *
I am so infinitely obliged to you for your wisdom _in re_ Reka Dom,
and very thankful for the criticisms, to which I shall attend. I mean
to compress it very much. I will keep the river part, though that is
really the shadow of some of my best writing, I think, in the _Dutch_
tale describing that scene at Topsham. I wrote a good bit last night,
and was much wishing for the returned MS. But the sight of the proof
will help me more than anything. I lose all judgment of my own work in
MS. I feel as if it must be as laborious to read as it has been to
write. Whereas in print it comes freshly on me, and I can criticize it
more fairly. It will not be very long when all is done, I think, and I
am so anxious to make it good, I hope it will be satisfactory. A
little praise really does help one to work, and I don't think makes
one a bit less conscientious.
It has been a very jolly mail this time, though the Lexicon has not
come. The Bishop's is getting worn with use, for Rex does his daily
chapter with unfailing regularity, and is murmuring Hebrew at my elbow
at this moment as usual. Mr. James McCombie, the uncle who lives in
Aberdeen, the lawyer, has sent me such a pretty book of photographs of
Aberdeen! with a kind message about my letter to the poor old Mother,
and asking me to write to them. I had asked for a photo of the old
Cathedral graveyard where Rex's parents and brother and sister are
buried, and there is a lovely one of it, but it is a set of views of
Aberdeen, very good photos, and a very pretty book. All Rex's old
haunts. Isn't it nice?
[_Sketch of Old Machar Cathedral._]
* * * * * *
[_Fredericton._] April 4, 1868.
I hoped to have sent you the whole of Reka Dom this mail. But a most
unexpected fall of snow has made the travelling so insecure that it is
considered a risk to wait till Monday, and I must send off what I can
to-day. It is so nearly done that I am not now afraid to send off the
first part (which will be more than you will want for May), and you
may rely on the rest by next mail; and the remainder of Mrs. O. as
rapidly as possible. It has certainly given me a wonderful amount of
bother this time, and I was disappointed in the feeling that Rex did
not think it quite up to my other things. But to-day in reading it
all, and a lot that he had not seen before, I heard him laughing over
it by himself, and he thinks it now one of my best, so I am in great
spirits, and mean to finish it with a flourish if possible. I have cut
and carved and clipped till I lost all sense of what was fit to
remain, and Rex has insisted on a good deal being replaced.
* * * * * *
_Fredericton._ April 17, 1868.
* * * * * *
The Squaw has been making the blotting-case, and Peter brought it
to-day, and I am very much pleased with it and hope M. will like it. I
would like to have got an envelope case and a canoe, but they are so
difficult to pack, and it would be so aggravating to have them broken,
so we got a few flat things. The blotting-case and moccasins, and a
cigar-case for F., and a tiny pair of snow-shoes. The blotting-case is
a good specimen, as it is made of the lovely birch bark; and they were
all got direct from Indians we know. A squaw with a sad face of
rather a nigh type called to beg the other day. She could hardly
speak English. She said, "Sister, me no ate to-day;" so I gave her
some bread-and-butter, which she gave at once to the boy with her, and
went away.
We have had some splendid Auroras lately. They are not _rosy_ here,
but very beautiful otherwise, and very capricious in shape, long grand
tongues of light shooting up into the sky.
* * * * *
We are beginning now to talk of "Mayflower expeditions." I think I
shall give one to a few select friends. I had thought of a child's
one, but a nice old school-mistress here gives one for children, and I
think one raid of the united juvenile population on the poor lovely
flowers is enough. The Mayflower is a lovely wax-like ground creeper
with an exquisite perfume. It is the first flower, and is to be found
before the snow has left the woods....
May 12, 1868.
... I have a wonderful lot of gardening on my shoulders, for we have
no _gardener_--only get a soldier to work in the kitchen garden--so I
have had to make my plans and arrange my crops for the kitchen garden,
as well as look after my own. We have really two _charming_ bits--a
little, hot, sunny, good soil, vegetable plot--and quite away from
this--by the house, my flower garden. Two round beds and four borders,
with a high fence and two little gates, I have nearly got this tidy.
The last occupant had never used it. It is a _great_ enjoyment to me,
and does me great good, I think, by keeping me out of doors. Rexie has
given me a dear little set of tools--French ones, like children's
toys, but quite enough for me. They form the subject of one of the
little rhymes that Hector and I make together, and that I croon to the
bull-doge to his great satisfaction.
"The little Missus with the little spade
Two little beds in the little garden has made.
The Bull-doge watches (for he can't work)
How she turns up the earth with her little fork.
Then she takes up the little hoe
And into the weeds doth bravely go,
At last with the smallest of little rakes
Quite smooth and tidy the beds she makes."
Another that was made in bed on the occasion of one of his _raids_ on
my invalid breakfast was--
"'Tis the voice of the Bull-doge, I hear him complain,
'You have fed me but lately: I must grub again.'
As a pauper for pudding--so he for his meat--
Gapes his jaws, and there's nothing a Bull-doge can't eat."
We sing these little songs together--and then I let him look in the
glass, when he gowly powls and barks dreadfully at the rival
_doge_....
TO H.K.F.G.
May 18, 1868.
... I am awfully busy with my garden, and people are very kind in
giving me things. To-morrow we go to the Rowans, and I am to ransack
_his_ garden! I do think the exchange of herbaceous perennials is one
of the joys of life. You can hardly think how delicious it feels to
_garden_ after six months of frost and snow. Imagine my feelings when
Mrs. Medley found a bed of seedling bee larkspurs in her garden, and
gave me at least two dozen!!! I have got a whole row of them along a
border, next to which I _think_ I shall have mignonette and scarlet
geraniums alternately. It is rather odd after writing Reka Dom, that I
should fall heir to a garden in which almost the only "fixture" is a
south border of lilies of the valley!...
TO MISS E. LLOYD.
_Fredericton, N.B._ June 2, 1868.
MY DEAREST ELEANOR--
* * * * *
I can hardly tell you what a pleasure it is to me to have a garden.
The place has never felt so like a home before! I went into my little
flower garden (a separate plat from the other--fenced round, and
simply composed of two round beds, and four wooden-edged borders and
one elm tree) [_sketch_] early this morning, and it seemed so jolly
after the long winter. My jonquils are just coming out, and one or two
other things. In the elm tree two bright yellow birds were cheeping. I
mean to plant scarlet-runners to attract the humming birds. It is
something to see fireflies and humming birds in the flesh, one must
admit!
* * * * *
I cannot echo your severe remarks on the Queen, though I am _quite_
willing to second your praise of the Prince Consort. Her Most Gracious
Majesty is--excuse me--a subject I feel rather strongly about. We are
not--as an age--guilty of much weakness in the way of over loyalty to
anything or any person, and I cannot help at times thinking that it must
be a painful enough reflection to a woman like Queen Victoria, who at
any rate is as well read in the history and constitution of England as
most of us, to know what harvests of love and loyalty have been reaped
by Princes who lived for themselves and not for their people, who were
fortunate in the accidents of more power and less conscience, and of
living in times when you couldn't get your sovereign's portrait for a
penny, or suggest to the loyal and well-behaved Commons that if the
King's health was not equal to all that you thought fit, you would
rather he abdicated. When one thinks of all that noble hearts bled and
suffered and held their peace for--to prop up the throne of Stuart--of
all the vices that have been forgiven, the weaknesses that have been
covered, the injustice that has been endured from Kings--when one
thinks--if _she_ thinks!--of all that has been suffered from successive
mistresses and favourites of royalty a thousand times more easily than
she can be forgiven for (grant it!) a weak and selfish grief for a noble
husband--it is enough to make one wonder if nations are not like
dogs--better for beating. If the Queen could cut off a few more heads,
and subscribed to a few less charities, if she were a little less
virtuous, and a little more tyrannical, if she borrowed her subjects'
plate and repudiated her debts, instead of reducing her household
expenses, and regulating court mournings by the interests of trade, I am
very much afraid we should be a more loyal people! If we had a
slender-limbed Stuart who insisted upon travelling with his temporary
favourite when the lives and livelihoods of the best blood of Britain
were being staked for his throne whilst he amused himself, I suppose we
should wear white favours, and believe in the divine right of Kings. It
must be impossible for her to forget that the Prince, whom death has
proved to be worthy of the praise most people now accord him, was far
from popular in his lifetime, and the pet gibe and sport of _Punch_. I
suppose when she is dead or abdicated we shall discover that England has
had few better sovereigns--and one can only hope that the reflection may
not be additionally stimulated by the recurrence of her successor to
some of the more popular--if not beneficial--peculiarities of former
reigns. It is true that then we might kick royalty overboard altogether,
but, judging by the United States, I don't know that we should benefit
even on the points where one might most expect to do so. In truth, I
believe that the virtue of loyalty is extinct and must be--except under
one or two conditions. Either more royal prerogative than we have--or in
the substitution of a loyal affection that shall in each member of the
commonwealth cover and be silent over the weak points which the
publicity of the present day exposes to vulgar criticism--for the spirit
which used to give the blood and possessions which are not exacted of
us. This is why the Queen's books do not trouble _my_ feelings about
her. She is no great writer certainly, and has perhaps made a mistake in
thinking that they would do good. I think they will do good with a
certain class, perhaps they lower her in the eyes of others. I do think
myself that the virtues she (and even her books incidentally) display
are so great, and her weaknesses comparatively so small, that one's
loyalty must be little indeed if one cannot honour her. "Them's my
sentiments." I am ashamed to have bored you with them at such length.
I wonder whether you thought of us yesterday? But I know you did! We
had planned a Johnny Gilpin out for the day, but it proved impossible.
So we spent it thus--A.M. Full Cathedral Service with the Holy
Communion, which was very nice, though, as it was a Feast Day, the
service was later than usual, so it took all our morning. Rex played
the organ. We spent most of the afternoon in tuning the organ, and
then R. went off to mesmerize a man for neuralgia, and I went up town
to try and get something good for dinner!
I am very happy, though at times one _longs_ to see certain faces. But
GOD is very good, and I have all that I can desire almost.
The Spring flowers are very lovely, some of them. I must go out.
Adieu.
_Best_ love to your Mother and all, to Lucy especially.
Your ever affectionate, J.H.E.
TO MRS. GATTY.
_Fredericton._ June 8, 1868.
MY DEAREST MOTHER,
Does the above sketch give you the faintest idea of what it is to
paddle up and down these lovely rivers with their smaller tributaries
and winding creeks, on a still sunny afternoon? It really is the most
fascinating amusement we have tried yet. Mr. Bliss took us out the
other day, it being the first time either of us was in a canoe, and
Rex took one of the paddles, and got on so well that we intend to have
a canoe of our own. Peter Poultice is building it, and I hope soon to
send you a sketch of Rex paddling his own canoe! Of us, I may say, for
I tried a paddle to-day, and mean to have a little one of my own to
give _my_ valuable assistance in helping the canoe along. Next month
when Rex can get away we think of going up the river to "Grand Falls"
(the next thing to Niagara, they say) by steamer, taking our canoe
with us, and then paddling ourselves home with the stream. About
eighty miles. Of course we should do it bit by bit, sleeping at
stopping-places. One art Rex has not yet acquired, and it _looks_
awful! A sort of juggler's trick, that of _carrying_ his canoe.
Imagine taking hold of the side of a canoe that would hold six people,
throwing it up and overturning it neatly on your head, without
injuring either your own skull or the canoe's bottom.... This canoeing
is really a source of great pleasure to us, and will more thaw double
the enjoyment of summer to me. With a canoe Rex can "pull" me to a
hundred places where a short walk from the shore will give me
sketching, botanizing, and all I want! Moreover, the summer heat at
times oppresses my head, and then to get on the water gives a cool
breeze, and _freshens one up_ in a way that made me think of what it
must be to people in India to get to "the hills." I have never wished
for some of you more than on this lovely river, gliding about close to
the water (you sit on the very bottom of the canoe), all the trees
just bursting into green, and the water reflecting everything
exquisitely. Kingfishers and all kinds of birds flitting about and
singing unfamiliar songs; bob-o-links going "twit-twit," little yellow
birds, kingbirds, crows, and the robin-thrushes everywhere. I landed
to-day at one place, and went into a wood to try and get flowers. I
only got one good one, but it was very lovely! Two crows were making
wild cries for the loss of one of their young ones which some boys had
taken, and as I went on I heard the queer chirrup (like a bird's note)
of Adjidaumo the squirrel! and he ran across my path and into a hollow
tree. It is a much smaller squirrel than ours, about the size of a
water rat, and beautifully striped.
The only drawback to the paddling is that the beloved Hector cannot go
with us. He would endanger the safety of the canoe. One has to sit
very still....
June 16, 1868.
MY DEAREST MOTHER,
We sent off the first part of "Kerguelen's Land" yesterday.... Rex is
so much pleased with the story that _I_ am quite in spirits about it,
and hope you may think as favourably. He thinks if you read the end
bit before you get the rest you will never like it, and yet I am very
anxious to take the chance of the first part's having gone, as I want
a proof--so if you do not get the first part, please put this by till
you do, and don't read it.
Would it be possible for Wolf to illustrate it? If he knows the
breeding islands of the Albatross he would make a lovely thing of it.
This is the last _story_. There will only be a _conclusion_ now. I
have got my "information" from Rex, and "Homes without Hands."--The
only point I am in doubt about is whether the parent birds would have
remained on the island so _long_--I mean for _months_. Do you know any
naturalist who would tell you this? When they are not breeding they
seem to have no home, as they follow ships for weeks.
How we miss Dr. Harvey, and his _fidus Achates_--poor old Dr.
Fisher!--I so often want things "looked up"--and we do lack books
here!...
_Fredericton_. November 3, 1868.
... I _must_ tell you what Mrs. Medley said to me this evening as we
came out of church. She said, "It is an odd place to begin in about
it, but I must thank you for the end of Mrs. Overtheway. The pathos of
those old Albatrosses! The Bishop and I cried over them. I suppose
it's the highest compliment we can pay you to say it is equal to
anything of your Mother's, and that you are a worthy daughter of your
Mother." Wasn't that a splendid bit of praise to hear all these miles
away from one's dear old wonderful old Mother?...
To H.K.F.G.
_Fredericton N.B._
Tuesday, December 8, 1868.
... Tell the dear Mother, please, that I got dissatisfied with my
story, and _recast it_ and began again--and got on awfully well, and
was very well satisfied with it. But Rex read what was done and
doesn't care for it a bit--in fact quite the reverse, which has rather
upset my hopes. However, he says he cannot properly judge till it is
finished, so I am going to finish it off, and if he likes it better
then, I shall send it next mail. It is a regular child's story--about
Toys--not at all sentimental--in fact meant to be amusing; but as Rex
read it with a face for a funeral, I don't know how it will be. I
don't somehow think the idea is bad. It is (roughly) this: A pickle of
a boy with a very long-suffering sister (I hope you won't object to
her being called Dot. You know it's a very common pet name, and it
"shooted" so well) gets all her toys and his own and makes an
"earthquake of Lisbon" in which they are all smashed. From which a
friend tells them the story of a dream she is supposed to have had
(but I flattered myself the dream was rather neatly done up) of
getting into fairyland to the Land of Lost Toys--where she meets all
her old toys that she destroyed in her youth. Here she is shown in a
kind of vision Dutch and German people making these toys with much
pains and industry, and is given a lot of material and set to do the
like. Failing this she is condemned to suffer what she inflicted on
the toys, each one passing its verdict upon her. Eventually a doll
(MY Rosa!!!!) that she had treated very well rescues her, and
the story reverts to the sister and brother, who takes to amusing
himself by establishing himself as toy-mender to the establishment,
instead of cultivating his bump of destructiveness. I sketch the idea
because (if the present story fails) if you think the _idea_ good I
would try to recast it again. If I send it as it is, it is pretty sure
to come by the Halifax mail next week.... I do miss poor dear old Dr.
Fisher, so! I very much wanted some statistics about toy-making. You
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