JULIANA HORATIA EWING
MISCELLANEA.
BY
JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
London: Northumberland Avenue, W.C.
43, Queen Victoria Street, E.C.
Brighton: 129, North Street.
New York: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.
[Published under the direction of the General Literature
Committee.]
PREFACE.
The contents of this volume are republished in order to make the Edition
a complete collection of Mrs. Ewing's works, rather than because of
their intrinsic worth. The fact that she did not republish the papers
during her life shows that she did not estimate them very highly
herself; but as each one has a special interest connected with it, I
feel I am not violating her wishes in bringing the collection before the
public.
One of Mrs. Ewing's strongest gifts was her power of mimicry; this made
her an actor above the average of amateurs, and also enabled her to
imitate any special style of writing that she wished. The first four
stories in this volume are instances of this power. _The Mystery of the
Bloody Hand_ was an attempt to vie with some of the early sensational
novels, such as _Lady Audley's Secret_ and _The Moonstone_;--tales in
which a glimpse of the supernatural is introduced amongst scenes of
every-day life.
During my sister's girlhood we had a family MS. Magazine (as our Mother
had done in her young days), and two of the stories in Mrs. Gatty's
"Aunt Judy's Letters," _The Flatlands Fun Gazette_ and _The Black Bag_,
were founded on this custom, Mrs. Ewing being the typical "Aunt Judy" of
the book. Mrs. Gatty described how the children were called upon each to
contribute a tale for _The Black Bag_, and how No. 5 remonstrated by
saying--"I've been sitting over the fire this evening trying to think,
but what _could_ come, with only the coals and the fire-place before one
to look at? I dare say neither Hans Andersen nor Grimm nor any of those
fellows would have written anything, if they had not gone about into
caves and forests and those sort of places, or boated in the North
Seas!" Aunt Judy replied that she also had been looking into the fire,
and the longer she did so, the more she decided "that Hans Andersen was
not beholden to caves or forests or any curious things or people for his
story-telling inspirations"; but as it was difficult for the "little
ones" to write she enclosed three tales as "jokes, imitations, in fact,
of the Andersenian power of spinning gold threads out of old tow-ropes."
So far this was Mrs. Gatty's own writing, but the three tales were the
work of the real Aunt Judy, Mrs. Ewing herself. These three are (1)
_The Smut_, (2) _The Crick_, (3) _The Brothers_. The last sentence in
_The Brothers_ recalls the last entry in Mrs. Ewing's commonplace book,
which is quoted in her Life--"If we still love those we lose, can we
altogether lose those we love?"
_Cousin Peregrine's Wonder Stories_ and _Traveller's Tales_ were written
after Mrs. Ewing's marriage, with the help of her husband; he supplied
the facts and descriptions from things which he had seen during his long
residence abroad. Colonel Ewing also helped my sister in translating the
_Tales of the Khoja_ from the Turkish. The illustrations now reproduced
were drawn by our brother, Alfred Scott-Gatty.
In _Little Woods_ and _May-Day Customs_ Mrs. Ewing showed her ready
ability to take up any subject of interest that came under her
notice--botany, horticulture, archæology, folk-lore, or whatever it
might be. The same readiness was shown in her adaptation of the various
versions of the _Mumming Play_, or _The Peace Egg_.
_In Memoriam_ was written under considerable restraint soon after our
Mother's death. My sister knew that she did not wish her biography to be
written, but still it was impossible to let the originator and editor of
_Aunt Judy's Magazine_ pass away without some little record being given
to the many children who loved her writings. In Ecclesfield Church
there is a tablet erected to Mrs. Gatty's memory by one thousand
children, who each contributed sixpence.
_The Snarling Princess_ and _The Little Parsnip Man_ are adaptations of
two fairy tales which appeared in a German magazine; and as both the
tales and their illustrations took Mrs. Ewing's fancy, she made a free
rendering of them for _Aunt Judy's Magazine_.
_A Child's Wishes_ and _War and the Dead_ are more accurate
translations, but it may be said they have not suffered in their
transmission from one language to another. My sister's selection of the
last sketch for translation is noticeable, as giving a foretaste of her
keen sympathy with military interests.
CONTENTS.
The Mystery of the Bloody Hand
The Smut
The Crick
The Brothers
Cousin Peregrine's Wonder Stories:
1. The Chinese Jugglers, and the Englishman's Hands
2. Waves of the Great South Seas
Cousin Peregrine's Traveller's Tales:
Jack of Pera
The Princes of Vegetation
Little Woods
May-Day, Old Style and New Style
In Memoriam, Margaret Gatty
Tales of the Khoja (_from the Turkish_)
The Snarling Princess (_adapted from the German_)
The Little Parsnip-Man (_adapted from the German_)
A Child's Wishes (_from the German of R. Reinick_)
War and the Dead (_from the French of Jean Macé_)
THE MYSTERY OF THE BLOODY HAND.
CHAPTER I.
A MEMORABLE NEW YEAR'S DAY.
_Dorothy to Eleanor_,
Dearest Eleanor,
You have so often reminded me how rapidly the most startling facts pass
from the memory of man, and I have so often thereupon promised to write
down a full account of that mysterious affair in which I was
providentially called upon to play so prominent a part, that it is with
shame I reflect that the warning has been unheeded and the promise
unfulfilled. Do not, dear friend, accuse my affection, but my engrossing
duties and occupations, for this neglect, and believe that I now take
advantage of my first quiet evening for many months to fulfil your wish.
Betty has just brought me a cup of tea, and I have told the girl to be
within call; for once a heroine is not always a heroine, dear Nell. I am
full of childish terrors, and I assure you it is with no small mental
effort that I bring myself to recall the terrible events of the year
1813.
Oddly enough, it was on the first day of this year that I made the
acquaintance of Mr. George Manners; and I think I can do no better than
begin by giving you an extract from the first page of my journal at that
time.
"_Jan. 1, 1813_.--It is mid-day, and very fine, but it was no easy
matter to be at service this morning after all good Dr. Penn's
injunctions, as last night's dancing, and the long drive home, made me
sleepy, and Harriet is still in bed.
"Though I am not so handsome as Harriet, and boast of no conquests, and
though the gentlemen do not say the wonderfully pretty things to me that
they seem to do to her, I have much enjoyed several balls since my
introduction into society. But for ever first and foremost on my list of
dances must be Lady Lucy Topham's party on New Year's Eve. Let me say
New Year's Day, for the latter part of the evening was the happy one to
me. During the first part I danced a little and watched the others much.
To sit still is mortifying, and yet I almost think the dancing was the
greater penance, since I never had much to say to men of whom I know
nothing: the dances seem interminable, and I am ever haunted by a vague
feeling that my partner is looking out over my head for some one
prettier and more lively, which is not inspiring. I must not forget a
little incident, as we came up the stairs into the ball-room. With my
customary awkwardness I dropped my fan, and was about to stoop for it,
when some one who had been following us darted forward and presented it
to me. I curtsied low, he bowed lower; our eyes met for a moment, and
then he fell behind. It was by his eyes that I recognized him afterwards
in the ball-room, for in the momentary glance on the stairs I had not
had time to observe his prominent height and fine features. How
strangely one's fancy is sometimes seized upon by a foolish wish! My
modest desire last night was to dance with this Mr. George Manners, the
handsomest man and best dancer of the room, to be whose partner even
Harriet was proud. Though I had not a word for my second-rate partners,
I fancied that I could talk to _him_. Oh, foolish heart! how I chid
myself for my folly in watching his tall figure thread the dances, in
fancying that I had met his eyes many times that evening, and, above
all, for the throb of jealous disappointment that came with every dance
when he did not do what I never soberly expected he would--ask me. A
little before twelve I was sitting out among the turbans, when I saw him
standing at some distance, and unmistakably looking at me. A sudden
horror seized me that something was wrong--my hair coming down, my dress
awry--and I was not comforted by Harriet passing at this moment with--
"'What! sitting out still? You should be more lively, child! Men don't
like dancing with dummies.'
"When her dress had whisked past me I looked up and saw him again, but
at that moment he sharply turned his back on me and walked into the
card-room. I was sitting still when he came out again with Mr. Topham.
The music had just struck up, the couples were gathering; he was going
to dance then. I looked down at my bouquet with tears in my eyes, and
was trying hard to subdue my folly and to count the petals of a white
camellia, when Mr. Topham's voice close by me said--
"'Miss Dorothy Lascelles, may I introduce Mr. Manners to you?' and in
two seconds more my hand was in his arm, and he was saying in a voice as
commonplace as if the world had not turned upside down--
"'I think it is Sir Roger.'
"It is a minor satisfaction to me to reflect that, for once in my life,
I was right. I did talk to Mr. George Manners. The first thing I said
was--
"'I am very much obliged to you for picking up my fan.' To which he
replied (if it can be called a reply)--
"'I wish I had known sooner that you were Miss Lascelles' sister.'
"I said, 'Did you not see her with me on the stairs?' and he answered--
"'I saw no one but you.'
"Which, as it is the nearest approach to a pretty speech that ever was
made to me, I confide solemnly to this my fine new diary, which is to be
my dearest friend and confidante this year. Why the music went so fast,
and the dance was so short on this particular occasion, I never could
fathom; both had just ceased, and we were still chatting, when midnight
struck, deep-toned or shrill, from all the clocks in the house; and, in
the involuntary impressive pause, we could hear through the open window
the muffled echo from the village church. Then Mr. Topham ran in with a
huge loving-cup, and, drinking all our good healths, it was passed
through the company.
"When the servant brought it to me, Mr. Manners took it from him, and
held it for me himself by both handles, saying--
"'It is too heavy for your hands;' and I drank, he quoting in jest from
_Hamlet_--
"'Nymph, in thine orisons be all my sins remembered.'
"Then he said, '_I_ shall wish in silence,' and paused a full minute
before putting it to his lips. When the servant had taken it away, he
heaved so profound a sigh that (we then being very friendly) I said--
"'What is the matter?'
"'Do you believe in presentiments, Miss Lascelles?' he said.
"'I don't think I ever had a presentiment,' I answered.
"'Don't think me a fool,' he said, 'but I have had the most intense
dread of the coming of this year. I have a presentiment (for which there
is no reason) that it will bring me a huge, overwhelming misfortune: and
yet I have just wished for a blessing of which I am vastly unworthy, but
which, if it does come, will probably come this year, and which would
make it the brightest one that I have ever seen. Be a prophet, Miss
Lascelles, and tell me--which will it be?--the joy or the sorrow?'
"He gazed so intently that I had some difficulty in answering with
composure--
"'Perhaps both. We are taught to believe that life is chequered.'
"'See,' he went on. 'This is the beginning of the year. We are standing
here safe and happy. Miss Lascelles, where shall we be when the year
ends?'
"The question seemed to me faithless in a Christian, and puerile in a
brave man: I did not say so; but my face may have expressed it, for he
changed the subject suddenly, and could not be induced to return to it.
I danced twice with him afterwards; and when we parted I said,
emphatically--
"'A happy new year to you, Mr. Manners.'
"He forced a smile as he answered, 'Amen!'
"Mrs. Dallas (who kindly chaperoned us) slept all the way home; and Miss
Dallas and Harriet chatted about their partners. Once only they appealed
to me. What first drew my attention was Mr. Manners' name.
"'Poor Mr. Manners!' Harriet said; 'I am afraid I was very rude to him.
He had to console himself with you, eh, Dolly?--on the principle of love
me love my dog, I suppose?'
"Am I so conceited that this had never struck me? And yet--but here
comes Harriet, and I must put you away, dear diary. I blush at my
voluminousness. If every evening is to take up so many pages, my book
will be full at Midsummer! But was not this a red-letter day?"
Well may I blush, dear Nell, to re-read this girlish nonsense. And yet
it contains not the least strange part of this strange story--poor Mr.
Manners' presentiment of evil. After this he called constantly, and we
met him often in society; and, blinded by I know not what delusion,
Harriet believed him to be devoted to herself, up to the period, as I
fancy, when he asked me to be his wife. I was staying with the Tophams
at the time. I believe that they had asked me there on purpose, being
his friends. Ah, George! what a happy time that was! How, in the sweet
days of the sweetest of summers, I laughed at your "presentiment"! How
you told me that the joy had come, and, reminding me of my own sermon on
the chequered nature of life, asked if the sorrow would yet tread it
down. Too soon, my love! too soon!
Nelly! forgive me this outburst. I must write more calmly. It is sad to
speak ill of a sister; but surely it was cruel, that she, who had so
many lovers, should grudge me my happiness; should pursue George with
such unreasonable malice; should rouse the senseless but immovable
obstinacy of our poor brother against him. Oh, Eleanor! think of my
position! Our father and mother dead; under the care of our only
brother, who, as you know, dear Nell, was at one time feared to be a
complete idiot, and had, poor boy! only so much sense as to make him
sane in the eyes of the law. You know the fatal obstinacy with which he
pursued an idea once instilled; the occasional fits of rage that were
not less than insanity. Knowing all this, my dear, imagine what I must
have suffered when angrily recalled home. I was forbidden to think of
Mr. Manners again. In vain I asked for reasons. They had none, and yet a
thousand to give me. When I think of the miserable stories that were
raked up against him,--the misconstruction of everything he did, or
said, or left undone,--my own impotent indignation, and my poor
brother's senseless rage, and the insulting way in which I was watched,
and taunted, and tortured,--oh, Nelly! it is agony to write. I did the
only thing left to me--I gave him up, and prayed for peace. I do not say
that I was right: I say that I did the best I could in a state of things
that threatened to deprive me of reason.
My submission did not produce an amount of harmony in the house in any
way proportionate to the price I paid for it. Harriet was obliged to
keep the slanders of my lover constantly in view, to quiet the
self-reproach which I think she must sometimes have experienced. As to
Edmund, my obedience had somewhat satisfied him, and made way for
another subject of interest which was then engrossing his mind.
A man on his estate, renting a farm close to us, who was a Quaker, and
very "strict" in his religious profession, had been for a long time
grossly cheating him, relying, no doubt, on my poor brother's deficient
intellect. But minds that are intellectually and in reason deficient,
are often endowed with a large share of cunning and caution, especially
in monetary affairs. Edmund guessed, watched, and discovered; but when
the proof was in his hands, his proceedings were characteristically
peculiar. He did not discharge the man, and have done with it; he
retained him in his place, but seemed to take a--let me say--insane
delight in exposing him to the religious circle in which he had been a
star, and from which he was ignominiously expelled; and in heaping every
possible annoyance and disgrace upon him that the circumstances
admitted. My dear, I think I should have preferred his wrath upon
myself, to being the witness of my brother's miserable exultation over
the wretched man, Parker. His chief gratification lay in the thought
that, exquisite as were the vexations he heaped upon him, the man was
obliged to express gratitude for his master's forbearance as regarded
the law.
"He said he should never forget my consideration for him till death! Ha!
ha!"
"My only puzzle," I said, "is, what can induce him to stay with you."
And then the storm turned upon me, Eleanor.
You will ask me, my dear, how, meanwhile, had Mr. Manners taken my
letter of dismissal. I know now, Nell, and so will not revive the
mystery that then added weight to my distress. He wrote me many
letters,--but I never saw one!
* * * * *
And now, dear friend, let me pause and gather courage to relate the
terrible events of that sultry, horrible--that accursed June.
CHAPTER II.
THE TERRIBLE JUNE.
It was about the middle of the month. Harriet was spending some hours
with a friend, Edmund was out, and I had been left alone all day for the
first time since I came home. I remember everything that happened with
the utmost distinctness. I spent the day chiefly in the garden,
gathering roses for pot-pourri, being disinclined for any more
reasonable occupation, partly by the thundery oppressiveness of the air,
partly by a vague, dull feeling of dread that made me restless, and
which was yet one of those phases of feeling in which, if life depended
on an energetic movement, one must trifle. In this mood, when the
foreclouded mind instinctively shrinks from its own great troubles,
little things assume an extraordinary distinctness. I trode carefully in
the patterns of the terrace pavement, counted the roses on the white
bush by the dial (there were twenty-six), and seeing a beetle on the
path, moved it to a bank at some distance. There it crept into a hole,
and such a wild, weary desire seized on me to creep after it and hide
from what was coming, that--I thought it wise to go in.
As I sat in the drawing-room there was a rose still whole in my lap. I
had begun to pluck off the petals, when the door-bell rang. Though I
heard the voice distinctly when the door was opened, I vow to you, dear
Nell, that my chief desire was to get the rose pulled to pieces before I
was disturbed. I had flung the last petal into my lap, when the door
opened and Mr. Manners came into the room.
He did not speak; he opened his arms, and I ran straight into them,
roses and all. The petals rained over us and over the floor. He talked
very fast, and I did nothing but cling to him, and endure in silence the
weight which his presence could not remove from my mind, while he
pleaded passionately for our marriage. He said that it was the extreme
of all that was unreasonable, that our lives' happiness should be
sacrificed to the insane freak of a hardly responsible mind. He
complained bitterly (though I could but confess justly!) of the
insulting and intolerable treatment that he had received. He had come,
he said, in the first place, to assure himself of my constancy--in the
second, for a powerful and final remonstrance with my brother--and, if
that failed, to remind me that I should be of age next month; and to
convey the entreaty of the Tophams that, as a last resource, I would
come to them and be married from their house. I made up my mind, and
promised: then I implored him to be careful in his interview with my
brother, for my sake--to calm his own natural anger, and to remember
Edmund's infirmity. He promised, but I saw that he was slightly piqued
by my dwelling so much on Edmund's feelings rather than on his. Ah!
Nelly, he had never seen one of the poor boy's rages.
It may have been half-past six when Mr. Manners arrived; it had just
struck a quarter to nine when Edmund came in and found us together. He
paused for a minute, clicking his tongue in his mouth, in a way he had
when excited; and then he turned upon me, and heaped abuse on insult,
loading me with accusations and reproaches. George, white with
suppressed rage, called incessantly upon me to go; and at last I dared
disobey no longer; but as I went I touched his arm and whispered,
"Remember! for my sake." His intense "I promise, my darling," comforted
me then--and afterwards, Nelly. I went into a little room that opened
into the hall and waited.
In about twenty minutes the drawing-room door opened, and they came out.
I heard George's voice saying this or something equivalent (afterwards
I could not accurately recall the words)--
"Good-night, Mr. Lascelles; I trust our next meeting may be a different
one."
The next sentences on both sides I lost. Edmund seems to have refused to
shake hands with Mr. Manners.
