Miscellanea Part 1

Miscellanea.

by Juliana Horatia Ewing.

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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 s.m.u.t_, (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 ill.u.s.trations 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, archaeology, 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_ pa.s.s 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 ill.u.s.trations 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.

THE MYSTERY OF THE b.l.o.o.d.y 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sure 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 b.a.l.l.s 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 wis.h.!.+ 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 pa.s.sing 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 m.u.f.fled echo from the village church. Then Mr. Topham ran in with a huge loving-cup, and, drinking all our good healths, it was pa.s.sed 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!'