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never read anything about the making of common Dutch toys did you?...
_Fredericton_, December 8, 1868.
* * * * *
Tell Mother I think she ought to get _Henry_ Kingsley to write for
_Aunt Judy's Magazine_. The _children_ and the _dogs_ in his novels
are the best part of them. They are utterly first rate! I am sure he
would make a hit with a child and dog story.
I told you that Bishop Ewing had written me such a charming letter,
and sent me a sermon of his? This mail he sent us a number of the
_Scottish Witness_ with "Jerusalem the Golden" in Gaelic in it....
To MRS. GATTY.
_Fredericton, N.B._
Easter Monday, 1869,
* * * * *
You are very dear and good about our ups and downs, and it makes me
doubly regret that I cannot reward you by conveying a perfectly
truthful _impression_ of our life, etc. here to your mind, I trace in
your very dearness and goodness about it, in your worrying more about
discomfort for me in our moves than about your own hopes of our
meeting at Home, how little able one is to do so by mere letters, I
wish it did not lead you to the unwarrantable conclusion that it is
because you are "weak and old" that you do not appreciate the
uncertainties of our military housekeeping, and can only "admire" the
coolness with which I look forward to breaking up our cosy little
establishment, just when we were fairly settled down. You can hardly
believe how well I understand your feelings for me, _because I have so
fully gone through them for myself_. I never had D.'s "spirit" for a
wandering life, and it is out of the fulness of my experience that I
_know_ and wish unspeakably that I could convey to you, how very much
of one's shrinking dread has all the _unreality_ of fear of an
_unknown_ evil. When I look back to all I looked forward to with fear
and trembling in reference to all the strangenesses of my new life, I
understand your feelings better than you think. I am too much your
daughter not to be strongly tempted to "beat my future brow," much
more so than to be over-hopeful. Rex is given that way too in his own
line; and we often are brought to say together how inexcusable it is
when everything turns out so much better than we expected, and when
"God" not only "chains the dog till night," but often never lets him
loose at all! Still the natural terrors of an untravelled and not
herculean woman about the ups and downs of a wandering, homeless sort
of life like ours are not so comprehensible by him, he having
travelled so much, never felt a qualm of sea-sickness, and less than
the average of home-sickness, from circumstances. It is one among my
many reasons for wishing to come Home soon, that one chat would put
you in possession of more idea of our passing home, the nest we have
built for a season, and the wood it is built in, and the birds (of
many feathers) amongst whom we live, than any _letters_ can do.... You
can imagine the state of (far from blissful) ignorance of military
life, tropical heat, Canadian inns, etc., etc., in which I landed at
Halifax after such a sudden wrench from the old Home, and such a very
far from cheerful voyage, and all the anecdotes of the summer heat,
the winter cold, the spring floods, the houses and the want of houses,
the servants and the want of servants, the impossibility of getting
anything, and the ruinous expense of it when got! which people pour
into the ears of a new-comer just because it is a more sensational and
entertaining (and _quite_ as stereotyped) a subject of conversation as
the weather and the crops. The points may be (isolatedly) true; but
the whole impression one receives is alarmingly false! And I can only
say that my experience is so totally different from my fears, and from
the cook-stories of the "profession," that I don't mean to request Rex
to leave Our Department at present!...
TO MRS. GATTY,
_Fredericton._ Septuagesima, 1869.
... I am sending you two fairy stories for your editorial
consideration. They are not intended to form part of "The Brownies"
book--they are an experiment on my part, and _I do not mean to put my
name to them_.
You know how fond I have always been of fairy tales of the Grimm type.
Modern fairy tales always seem to me such _very_ poor things by
comparison, and I have two or three theories about the reason of this.
In old days when I used to tell stories to the others, I used to have
to produce them in considerable numbers and without much preparation,
and as that argues a _certain_ amount of imagination, I have
determined to try if I can write a few fairy tales of the genuine
"uninstructive" type by following out my theories in reference to the
old traditional ones. Please _don't_ let out who writes them (if you
put them in, and if any one cares to inquire!), for I am very anxious
to hear if they elicit any comments from your correspondents to
confirm me in my views. In one sense you must not expect them to be
original. _My aim is_ to imitate the "old originals," and I mean to
stick close to orthodox traditions in reference to the proceedings of
elves, dwarfs, nixes, pixies, etc., and if I want them to use such
"common properties of the fairy stage"--as unscrupulous foxes, stupid
giants, successful younger sons, and the traditional "fool"--with much
wisdom under his folly (such as Hans in Luck)--who suggests the court
fools with their odd mixture of folly and shrewdness. _One_ of my
theories is that all real fairy tales (of course I do not allude to
stories of a totally different character in which fairy machinery is
used, as your Fairy Godmothers, my "Brownies," etc., etc.), that all
real "fairy tales" should be written as if they were oral traditions
taken down from the lips of a "story teller." This is where modern
ones (and modern editions of Grimm, _vide_ "Grimm's Goblins,"
otherwise a delicious book) fail, and the extent to which I have had
to cut out reflections, abandon epithets, and shorten sentences, since
I began, very much confirms my ideas. I think the Spanish ones in
_Aunt Judy's Magazine_ must have been so obtained, and the contrast
between them and the "Lost Legends" in this respect is marked. There
are plenty of children who can appreciate "The Rose and the Ring,"
"The Water Babies," your books, and the most poetical and suggestive
dreams of Andersen. But (if it can be done) I think there is also a
strong demand for new combinations of the Step-mother, the Fox, the
Luck Child, and the Kings, Princesses, Giants, Witches, etc. of the
old traditions. I say combinations advisedly, for I suppose _not_ half
of Grimm's Household Stories have "original" plots. They are palpable
"_réchauffées_" of each other, and the few original germs might, I
suspect, be counted on one's fingers, even in fairy-lore, and then
traced back to a very different origin. Of course the market is
abundantly stocked with modern versions, but I don't think they are
done the right way. This is, however, for the Editorial ear, and to
gain your unbiased criticism. But, above all, don't tell any friends
that they are mine for the present. Of course if they DID
succeed, I would republish and add my name. But I want to be incognito
for the present--1st, to get free criticism; 2nd, to give them fair
play; 3rd, not to do any damage to my reputation in another "walk" of
story-writing. I do not in the least mean to give up my own style and
take to fairy tale-telling, but I would like to try this
experiment....
Monday, April 19, 1869.
... I have two or three _schemes_ in my head.
"Mrs. Overtheway" (_2nd series_), "Fatima's Flowers," etc.
"The Brownies (and other Tales)."
"Land of Lost Toys," "Three Christmas Trees," "Idyll," etc.
"Boneless," "Second Childhood," etc., etc.
"The Other Side of the World," etc., etc.
"Goods and Chattels" (quite vague as yet).
"A Sack of Fairy Tales" (in abeyance).
"A Book of _weird queer_ Stories" (none written yet).
"Bottles in the Sea," "Witches in Eggshells," "Elephants in
Abyssinia," etc.
And (a dear project) a book of stories, chiefly about Flowers and
Natural History associations (_not scientific, pure fiction_),
"The Floating Gardens of Ancient Mexico," the "Dutch Story,"
"Immortelles," "Mummy Peas," etc., etc. (none even planned yet!)...
To H.K.F.G.
[Undated, _Fredericton_.]
... How well I know what you say about the truth of Mother's sayings
of the soothing effects of Nature! I used to feel it about gardening
also so much. Visions of three yellow, three white, and three purple
crocuses blooming in one pot beguile the mind from less happy
fancies--perhaps too the _largeness_ and _universality_ of Nature
disperse the selfishness of personal cares and worries. Then I think
the smell of _earth_ and _plants_ has a physical anodyne about it
somehow! One cannot explain it....
TO MRS. GATTY.
_Fredericton, N.B._
5th Sunday after Trinity, 1869.
... We have another "dogue."... _Trouvé_ is the name of Hector's
successor. 'Cos for why, we found him locked up in one of the barrack
rooms, when I was with Rex on one of his inspections. He is a "left
behind" either of the 1st Battalion 22nd, or the 4th Battalion 60th
Rifles, we do not know which. He has utterly taken to us, and is
especially fond of me I think. He is a big, black fellow, between a
Newfoundland and a retriever. In the "Sweep" line, but not so big. He
is wonderfully graceful and well-mannered (barring a trifling incident
yesterday, when he got into my little cupboard, ate about two pounds
of cheese and all the rolls, and _snuffed_ the butter). And another
trifling occurrence to-day. We chained him to the sofa, which, during
our absence, he _dragged_ (exactly as the dogs dragged _Mons. Jabot's
bed_) across the room, upset the ink on to the carpet, threw my
photo-book down by it, and established himself in Rex's arm-chair. It
was most ludicrous, for the other day he slipped his collar, and
_chose the sofa_ to lie on, but because he was tied to the sofa, with
full permission to use it, he chose the chair! and must nearly have
lugged his own head off. He does wonderfully little damage with his
pranks; there were wine-glasses, bottles, pickles, &c., in the
cupboard when he got the cheese; but he extracted his supper as
daintily as a cat, and not a thing was upset! Oddly enough, when we
are with him, he never thinks of getting into cushions and chairs like
that blessed old sybarite the Bull-dogue. But if we leave him tied up,
he plays old gooseberry with the furniture. I had been fearing it
would be rather a practical difficulty in the way of his adoption, the
question of where he should sleep; but he solved it for himself. He
walks up-stairs after us, flops on to the floor, gives two or three
sighs, and goes gracefully to sleep.... I wish you could have seen him
lying in perverse dignity in the arm-chair, with the sofa attached to
the end of his chain like a locket!!!
To H.K.F.G.
12th Sunday after Trinity.
_Fredericton, N.B._ August 16, 1869.
... We had a great scene with Peter yesterday. Rex has two guns, you
must know--a rifle, and an old fowling-piece--good enough in its way,
but awfully _old-fashioned_ (not a breech-loader), and he determined
to make old Peter a present of this, for he is a good old fellow, and
does not _cheat_ one, and we had resolved to give him something, and
we knew this would delight him. I wish you _could_ have seen him. He
burst out laughing, and laughed at intervals from pure pleasure, and
went away with it laughing. But with the childlike _enjoyment_ (which
negroes have also), the Indians have a power and grace in "expressing
their sentiments" on such an occasion which far exceeds the attempts
of our "poor people," and is most dignified. His first _speech_ was
an emphatic (and _always slow_) "_Too_ good! Too much!" and when Rex
assured him it was very old, not worth anything, etc., etc., he
hastily interrupted him with a _thoroughly_ gentlemanlike air, almost
Grandisonian, "Oh! oh! as good as new to me. Quite as good as new."
They were like two Easterns! For not to be outdone in courtesy, Rex
warned him not to put too large charges of powder for fear the barrel
should burst--being so old. A caution which I believe to be totally
unnecessary, and a mere hyperbole of depreciation--as Peter seemed
perfectly to understand! He told me it was "The first present I ever
receive from a gentleman. Well--well--I never forget it, the longest
day I live." The graceful candour with which he said, "I am very
thankful to you," was quite pretty.
TO MRS. GATTY.
[_Aldershot._] February 23, 1870.
MY DARLING MOTHER,
I was by no means sensible of your iniquities in not acknowledging my
poor Neck,[35] for I had entirely forgotten his very existence! Only I
was thinking it was a long time since I heard from you--and hoping you
were not ill. I am _very_ glad you like the Legend--I was doubtful, and
rather anxious to hear till I forgot all about it. The "Necks" are
Scandinavian in locality, and that desire for immortal life which is
their distinguishing characteristic is very touching. There is one
lovely little (real) Legend in Keightley. The bairns of a Pastor play
with a Neck one day, and falling into disputes they taunt him that he
will never be saved--on which he flings away his harp and weeps
bitterly. When the boys tell their father he reproves them for their
want of charity, and sends them back to unsay what they had said. So
they run back and say, "Dear Neck, do not grieve so; for our father says
that your Redeemer liveth also," on which the Neck was filled with joy,
and sat on a wave and played till the sun went down. He appeared like a
boy with long fair hair and a red cap. They also appear in the form of a
little old man wringing out his beard into the water. I ventured to give
my Neck both shapes according to his age. All the rest is _de
moi-même_....
[Footnote 35: The Neck in "Old-fashioned Fairy Tales."]
[_Aldershot._] March 22, 1870.
MY DARLING MOTHER,
I am so very much pleased that you think better of Benjy[36] now. As I
have plenty of time, I mean to go through it, and soften Benjy down a
bit. He is an awful boy, and I think I can make him less repulsive.
The fact is the story was written _in fragments_, and I was anxious to
show that it was not a little boyish roughness that I meant to make a
fuss and "point a moral" about--nor did I want to go into fine-drawn
questions about the cruelties of sport, and when I came to join the
bits into a whole and copy out, I found I had overproved my point and
made Benjy a _fearful_ brute. But there _are_ some hideously cruel
boys, and I do think a certain devilish type of cruelty is generally
combined with a certain _lowness_ and _meanness_ of general
style--even in born gentlemen--and though quite curable, I would like
to hear what the boys think of it, if it would not bore them to read
it. But I certainly shall soften Benjy down--and will attend to all
your hints--and put in the "Mare's Nest" (many thanks!). Tell D. I do
not know how I could alter about Rough--unless I take out his death
altogether--but beg her to observe that he was not the least neglected
as to food, etc.; what he died of was joy after his anxiety....
[Footnote 36: Included in "Lob Lie-by-the-Fire, and other Tales," vol.
vii.]
[_Aldershot._] May Day, 1870.
... I have got some work into my head which has been long seething
there, and will, I think, begin to take shape. It is about
_flowers_--the ancestry of flowers; whether the flowers will tell
their own family records, or what the _plot_ will be I have not yet
planned, and it will take me some time to collect my data, but the
family histories of flowers which came originally from old Mexico in
the days of Montezuma, and the floating gardens, and the warriors who
wore nosegays, and the Indians who paddled the floating gardens on
which they lived up the waters of that gorgeous city with early
vegetables for the chiefs--would be rather weird! And then the strange
fashions and universal prevalence of Japanese gardening. The wistaria
rioting in the hedges, and the great lilies wild over the hills. Ditto
the camellias. With all the queer little thatched Japanese huts that
always have lumps of _iris_ on the top, which the Japanese ladies use
for bandoline. Then the cacti would have queer legends of South
America, where the goats climb the steep rocks and dig them up with
their horns and roll them down into the valley, and kick and play with
them till the _spines_ get rubbed off, and then devour them at
leisure. I give you these instances in case anything notable about
flowers comes in your way, "when found to make a note of" for me....
TO MRS. ELDER.
_Ecclesfield_, October 25, 1871.
MY DEAREST AUNT HORATIA,
Your letter _was_ shown to me, and I cannot tell you how much obliged
to you I am for the prospect of the gold thimble, _a thing I have
always wished to possess_.
I--(if it fits!!! But, as I told Charlie, if it is too big I _can_
wrap a sly bit of rag round my finger, but if it's too small, unless I
cut the tip, as Cinderella's sisters cut their heels, I don't know how
I can secure it!) shall additionally value it as a testimony of your
approval of my dear old Hermit[37], for that is one of my greatest
favourites amongst my efforts. Miss Yonge prefers it, I believe, to
anything I have ever done, and Rex nearly so....
Your loving niece, J.H.E.
[Footnote 37: "The Blind Hermit and the Trinity Flower," vol. xvi.]
TO C.T. GATTY.
_Aldershot_. Holy Innocents, 1871,
... I had the very latest widow here for two days "charring." She is
the lady alluded to by Rex when he told Stephen that she had been
weighed, and was found wanting. In justice to her physique, I must say
that this was not according to avoirdupois measure!! but figurative.
She whipped about as nimbly as an elephant. She was rather given to
panting and groaning. You can fancy her. [_Sketch_.] "Mrs. Hewin,
ma'am, _don't_ soil your 'ands! _Let_ me! As I says to the parties at
the 'Imperial' at Folkstone, ladies thinks an elderly person can't get
through their work, but they can do a deal more than the young ones
that has to be told every--Using the table-cloth to wipe the dishes am
I? Tst, tst! so I ham! M'm! Hemma! where's your kitchen cloths? I
don't know where things his yet, Mrs. Hewin. But I've 'ad a 'Ome of my
own, Mrs. Hewin, and been use to take care of things"--("Take care,
Mrs. Plumridge")--"Well now! 'owever did _that_ slip through my
fingers now? Tst! tst! tst! There must have been a bit of butter on
the hunder side I think. Eh! deary dear! Ah--! Oh--!" Pause--Solo
recitative--"Eh, dear! If my poor 'usband was but alive, I shouldn't
be wanting now! I Ope I give you satisfaction, Mrs. Hewin. If I'm
poor, I'm honest. I ope I give satisfaction in hevery way, Mrs. Hewin,
Your property is safe in _my_ 'ands, Mrs. Hewin! What do you think of
my papers, Mrs. Hewin? One lady as see them said she didn't know what
more _hany_ one could require." (Said papers chiefly consisting of
baptism registers of the little Plumridges. Marriage lines of Mrs. P.,
and forms in reference to the late Mr. P., a pensioner.)
SEQUEL.
"Emma, where's the water-can?"
"Please 'm, Mrs. Plumberridge, she left it outside of the door
yesterday, and some one's took it."
There is yet a later widow, but I do _not_ think of taking her into
the house. The Widow Bone has taken to _boning_ her daughter's
clothes, so _she_ is forbidden the house....
To A.E.
_Brighton_. April 17, 1872.
... I got here all right, and wonderfully little tired, though the
train shook a good deal the latter part of the way.
Oh! the FLOWERS! The cowslips, the purple orchids, the kingcups, the
primroses! And the grey, drifting cumuli with gaps of blue, and the
cinnamon and purple woods, broken with yellowish poplars and pale
willows, with red farms, and yellow gorse lighted up by the sun!!! The
oaks just beginning to break out in yellowish tufts, [_Sketch._] I
can't tell you what lovely sketches I passed between Aldershot and
Redhill!
On to Brighton I took charge of a small boy being sent by a fond
mother to school. When I mention that he was nine years old,--and
informed me--that he had got "a jolly book," which proved to be _A
School for Fathers_, that his own school wasn't _much of a one_, and
he was going to leave, and ate hard-boiled eggs and crystallized
oranges by the way--you will see how this generation waxes apace!!
_Ecclesfield_. May 27, 1872.
... The weather is very nice now. I stayed till the end of the Litany
in church yesterday, and then slipped out by the organ door and sat
with Mother. I sat on the Boy's school side of the chancel, where a
little lad near me was singing _alto_ (not a "second" of thirds!)
strong and steady as a thrush in a hedge!! The music went very well.
The country looks lovely, _but for the smoke_. If it had but our blue
distance it would be grand. But the
"wreathed smoke afar
That o'er the town like mist upraised
Hung, hiding sun and star,"
gets worse every year! And when I think of our lovely blue and grey
folds of distance, and bright skies, and tints, I feel quite
_Ruskinish_ towards mills and manufactories.
TO C.T. GATTY.
_X Lines, South Camp, Aldershot._
August 10, 1873.
MY VERY DEAR OLD CHARLIE,
Don't you suppose your sister is forgetting you. Two causes have
delayed your drawings.
1. I have been working--oh _so_ hard! It was because Mr. Bell
announced that he wanted a "volume," and that for the Xmas Market one
must begin at once in July!
Such is competition!
He had an idea that something which had not appeared in any magazine
would be more successful than reprints. _So_ I have written "Lob
Lie-by-the-Fire, or the Luck of Lingborough," and you will recognize
your _Cockie_ in it! I have taken no end of pains with it, and it has
been a matter of seven or eight hours a day lately. I mean the last
few days. Rather too much. It knocked me off my sleep, and reduced "my
poor back" to the consistency of pith. But I am picking up, partly by
such gross material aid as _bottled stout_ affords! and any amount of
fresh air blowing in full draughts over my bed at night!!
2. I _have_ been at work for you, but I get so horribly dissatisfied
with my things. No; I must do some real steady _work_ at it. One can't
jump with a little "nice feeling" and plenty of theories into what can
give any lasting pleasure to oneself or any one else. I will send you
shortly (I hope) a copy of one of Sir Hope Grant's Chinnerys, and
perhaps a wee thing of Ecclesfield. The worst of drawing is, it wants
mind as well as hands. One can't go at it _jaded_ from head work, as
one could "sew a long white seam" or any mechanical thing!...
When D---- was with me, we went to a _fête_ in the North Camp Gardens,
and I was talking to Lady Grant about the Chinnerys, and the "happy
thought" struck her to introduce me to a Mr. Walkinshaw. They live
somewhere in this country, and Mrs. Walkinshaw came up afterwards to
ask if she might call on me, as they have a Chinnery collection
(gathered in China), and Mr. Walkinshaw would show them to me!... I
mean to collect all possible information on the subject, and either to
write myself, or _prime you_ to write an article on him some day!
TO C.T. GATTY.
_X Lines._ August 20, 1873.
DEAR OLD BOY,
... I enjoyed your letter very much, and am so glad you keep "office
hours." It is very good of you not to be angry with my good advice!
"Experientia does it," as Mr. 'Aughton would say.... _I_ break down
about once in three months like clockwork--from sheer overwork. I
certainly am never happy idle; but I have too often to sit in sackcloth
in the depths of my heart--whilst everybody is beseeching me to be
"idle"--from a consciousness that, not from doing nothing, but by doing
B when I should have done A, and C when I should have done B, a kind of
indolence at the critical moment, I have _wasted_ my strength and time,
not MERELY overworked myself. Also that on _many_ things--drawing,
languages, etc.--I have spent in my life a great deal of labour with
little result, because it has not been consecutive and methodical. One
would like one's own failures to be one's friends' stepping-stones. I
_may_ say too that I have an excuse which, thank GOD, you can't plead
now--ill-health. It is not always easy, even for oneself, to judge when
languor at the precise instant of recurring duty is spine-ache from
brain work, and the sofa is the remedy,--or when it is what (in
reference to an unpublished--indeed unwritten--story on this head) I
call Boneless on the spine! MY back is apt to ache in any case!... I am
trying to teach myself that if one _has_ been working, one has not
necessarily been working to good purpose, and that one may waste
strength and forces of all sorts, as well as time!
Curious that _you_ and D---- should both have quoted that saying of J.H.
Newman to me in one week! I also will adopt it! Indeed "bit by bit" is
the only way _I_ feel equal to improve in _anything_, and I do think it
is GOD's way of teaching and leading us all as a rule, and it is the
principle on the face of all His creation--_Gradual_ growth. The art of
being happy was never difficult to me. I think I am permitted an unusual
_intensity_ of joy in common cheap pleasures and natural beauties--fresh
air, colour, etc., etc., to compensate for some ill-health and
deprivations.
Herewith comes my "Portrait by Spoker," and a copy of a Chinnery. The
first-fruits of "regular" work at drawing an hour a day!!!
Farewell, Beloved.... Ever your very loving old sister,
JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
TO A.E.
_Ecclesfield Vicarage, Sheffield_.
Sunday, Oct. 5, 1873.
... It is all over. She _is_ with your Father and Mother, and the dear
Bishop, and my two brothers, and many an old friend who has "gone
before." Had she been merely a friend she is one of those whose loss
cannot but be felt more as years and experience make one realize the
value of certain noble qualities, and their rarity; but if
GOD has laid a heavy cross upon us in this blow,--which seems
such a blow in spite of long preparing!--He has given us every
comfort, every concession to the weaknesses of our love in the
accidents of her death.... It was an ideal end. GOD Who had
permitted her to suffer so sorely in body, and to be often visited in
old times--by dread of death and of "death-agonies," parted the waves
of the last Jordan, and she "went through dryshod!"... The sense of
her higher state is so overwhelming, one _cannot_ indulge a _common_
sorrow. For myself I can only say that I feel as if I were a child
again in respect of her. She is as much with _me_ now, as with any of
her children, even if I am in Jamaica or Ceylon. _Now_ she knows and
sees my life, and I have a feeling as if she were an ever-present
_conscience_ to me (as a mother's _presence_ makes a child alive to
what is right and what is wrong), which I hope by GOD's grace
may never leave me and may make me more worthy of having had such a
Mother....
TO C.T. GATTY,
_R Lines; South Camp._ January 4, 1874.
DEARLY BELOVED,
What _would_ I give to have a visit from you! I fear you did not get
home at Xmas! Thank you a thousand times for your card--I think it
almost the very prettiest I ever saw!
... As I am not prompt _to time_ with my Xmas Box I may as well be
appropriate in kind. Is there any trifle you are "in want" of?
"Price ner object," as Emmanuel Eaton (the old Nursery man) (very
appropriately) named his latest Fuchsia, when he saw us children
turning down the Wood End Lane in the Donkey Carriage on a birthday,
flush of coppers--and bashful about abating prices!
... I was on the border of sending you a nice collection of
poetry--and a shadow crossed my brain that you have said you "don't
care about poetry"--"Lives there a man with soul so dead"--or does the
great commercial whirl weary out the brain?--If I am wrong and you
like it--will you have (if you don't possess) Trench's fine collection
of poems of all dates?
Your ever devoted
J.H.E.
TO C.T. GATTY,
_X Lines, South Camp._ March 13, 1874.
MY DEAREST CHARLIE,
I am _quite a brute_ not to have written before. I didn't, because (to
say the truth!) I had a "return compliment" in the Valentine line in
my head, and I never got time to do it! You know what the _pressure_
of work is, and I have had a lot in hand, and been _very_ far from
well.
It was VERY good of you to send me a Val., and much appreciated.
I also owe you thanks for a copy of the "fretful" Porcupine [_Sketch_]
duly received. I was very glad to get it--for you have greatly,
wonderfully improved in your writing. I liked your article extremely,
and was so very glad to see the marked improvement....
I am _not_, when I speak of improvement in the art of English
composition, alluding solely to the time when you wrote as follows
(italics and caps your own):
"Mr. Gatty thinks that Messrs. Fisher & Holmes has sent more than he
desired _he said 2s._ or _2s. 6d._ and he thinks there is here more
than that he hopes he will answer and tell me what price the
LOT is and how many plants I may take for _2s._ or _2s. 6d._
by return of post or by Cox which will be better Ecclesfield June
1866."
I wouldn't part with the original of the above under a considerable
sum of money! It always refreshes my brain to go back to it--and I
laugh as often as one laughs, and re-laughs at Pickwick!--the way the
pronouns become entangled and after making an imperfectly distinctive
stand at "_he said_," jump desperately to the pith of the matter in
"what price the LOT is." All difficulties of punctuation
being disposed of by the process of omitting stops entirely--like old
Hebrew--written without points!
(What an autograph for collectors if ever you're the "King Cole" of
Liverpool!)
* * * * *
... I have been staying with M.M. I wish I could impart my mental
gleanings. I made several experiments on her intellect. I tried to
_pin her_ again and again--but QUITE without success--or (on
_her_ part) sense of failure. I tried to remember what she had said
afterwards--and I could not succeed. I couldn't carry a single
sentence.
Generally speaking I gather that--
"The Kelts are destroying themselves--the Teuton Element MUST
prevail--one feels--genius--the thing--Herr Beringer--Dr. Zerffi--but
whatever one may FEEL--so it is! Every other nation COMMENCED where we
LEAVE OFF. WE BEGAN with the DRAMA and left off with the
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