Juliana Horatia Ewing And Her Books Part 26

Hoo oor Baby was _burrrned_.

(How our Baby was burnt.)

(You must realize a kind of amiable bland _whine_ in the way of telling this. A caressing tone in the Scotch drawl, as the good lady speaks of _oor wee Wullie_, etc. Also a roll of the r's on the word burned.)

"Did ye never hear hoo oor wee Baby was burrrned? Well ye see--it was _this_ way. The Minister and me had been to _Peebles_--and we were awfu' tired, and we were just haeing oor bit suppers--when oor wee Wullie cam doon-stairs and he says--'Mither, Baby's _burrrning_.'

"--Y'unerstan it was the day that the Minister and me were at Peebles.

We were _awful_ tired, and we were just at oor suppers, and the Minister says (very loud and nasal), '_Ca'll Nurrse_!'--but as it rarely and unfortunitly happened--Nurrse was was.h.i.+ng and she couldna be fashed.

"And in a while our WEE Wullie cam down the stairs again, and he says--'Mither! Baby's burning.'

"--as I was saying the Minister and me had been away over at Peebles, and we were in the verra midst of oor suppers, and I said to him--'Why didna ye call Nurse?'--and off he ran.

"--and there was the misfirtune of it--Nurrse was was.h.i.+ng, and she wouldn't be fashed.

"And--in--a while--oor weee Wullie--came doon the stairs again--and he says 'Mither! Baby's burrrned.' And that was the way oor poor woe baby was burnt!"

Now for one English one and then I must stop to-day. I flatter myself I can tell this with a nice mincing and yet vinegar-ish voice.

"When I married my 'Usbin I had no expectation that he would live three week.

"But Providence--for wise purposes no doubt!--has seen fit to spare him three years.

"And there he sits, all day long, a-reading the _Ill.u.s.trious News_."

Now I must stop....

Your loving niece, JULIANA HORATIA EWING.

TO A.E.

_Grenoside._ Advent Sunday, 1881.

On one point I think I have improved in my sketching. I have been long wanting to get a _quick style_ sketching not painting. Because I shall never have the time, or the time and strength to pursue a more finished style with success. Now I have got paper on which I can make no corrections (so it forces me to be "to the point"), and which takes colour softly and nicely. I have to aim at very correct drawing _at once_, and I lay in a good deal both of form and shade with a very soft pencil and then wash colour over; and with the colour I aim at blending tints as I go on, putting one into the other whilst it is wet, instead of was.h.i.+ng off, and laying tint over tint, which the paper won't bear. I am doing both figures and landscape, and in the same style. I think the nerve-vigour I get from the fresh air helps me to decision and choice of colours. But I shall bore you with this gallop on my little hobby horse!...

November 30.

... I have sketched up to to-day, but it was cold and sunless, so I did some village visiting. I am known here, by the bye, as "_Miss Gatty as was_"! I generally go about with a tribe of children after me, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin! They are now fairly trained to keeping behind me, and are curiously civil in taking care of my traps, pouring out water for me, and keeping each other in a kind of rough order by rougher adjurations!

"Keep out o' t' _leet_ can't ye?"

"Na then! How's shoo to see through thee?"

"Shoo's gotten t' Dovecot in yon book, and shoo's got little Liddy Kirk--and thy moother wi' her ap.r.o.n over her heead, and Eliza Flowers sitting upo' t' doorstep wi' her sewing--and shoo's got t'

woodyard--and Maester D. smooking his pipe--and shoo's gotten _Jack_."

"Nay! Has shoo gotten Jack?"

"Shoo _'as_. And shoo's gotten ould K. sitting up i' t' shed corner chopping wood, and shoo's bound to draw him and Dronfield's lad criss-cross sawing."

"Aye. Shoo did all Greno Wood last week, they tell me."

"Aye. And shoo's done most o' t' village this week. What's shoo bound to do wi' 'em all?"

"_Shoo'll piece 'em all together and mak a big picter of t' whole place._" (These are true bills!)

Mr. S---- brings in some amusing _ana_ of the village on this subject.

A.W., a nice lad training for schoolmaster, was walking to Chapeltown with several _rolls of wall paper_ and a big wall paste-brush, when he was met by "Ould K." (a cynical old beggar, and vainer than any girl, who has been affronted because I put Master D. into my foreground, and not him), who said to him--"Well, lad! I see thou's _going out mapping_, like t' rest on 'em." This evening Mr. S---- tells me his landlord told him that some men who work for a very clever file-cutter here, who is _facile princeps_ at his trade, but _mean_, and keeps "the shop" cold and uncomfortable for his workmen--devised yesterday the happy thought of going to their Gaffer and telling him that I had been sketching down below (true) and was coming up their way, and that I was sure to expect a glint of fire in the shop, which ought to look its best. According to N. he took the bait completely, piled a roaring fire, and as the day wore on kept wandering restlessly out and peering about for me! When they closed for the night he said it was strange I hadn't been, but he reckoned I was sure to be there next day, and he could wish I would "tak him wi' his arm uplifted to strike." (He is a very powerful smith.) I think I _must_ go if the shop is at all picturesque....

Nov. 25, 1881.

Be happy in a small round. But, none the less, all the more does it refresh me to get the wave of all your wider experience to flood my narrow ones--and to enjoy all the _calm_ bits of your language study and the like. And oh, I am _very_ glad about the Musical Society!

Though I dare say you'll have some _mauvais quarts d'heure_ with the strings in damp weather!...

I have really got some pretty sketches done the last few days. Not _finished_ ones, the weather is not fit for long sitting; but H.H. has given me some "c.o.x" paper, a rough kind of stuff something like what _sugar_ is wrapped up in, and with a very soft black pencil I have been getting in quick outlines--and then tinting them with thin pure washes of colour. I have been doing one of the Clog-shop. This quaint yard has doors--old doors--which long since have been painted a most charming red. Then the old shop is red-tiled, and an old stone-chimney from which the pale blue smoke of the wood-fire floats softly off against the tender tints of the wood, on the edge of which lie fallen logs with yellow ends, ready for the clog-making, and all the bare brown trees, and the green and yellow sandstone walls, and Jack the Daw hopping about. The old man at the clog-yard was very polite to me to-day. He said, "It's a pratty bit of colour," and "It makes a nicet sketch now you're getting in the _dit_tails." He went some distance yesterday to get me some india-rubber, and then wanted me to keep it!

He's a perfect "picter card" himself. I must try and get _his_ portrait.

_Ecclesfield._ Dec. 23, 1881.

... I cannot tell you the pleasure it gives me that you say what you do of "Daddy Darwin." No; it will not make me overwork. I think, I hope, nothing ever will again. Rather make me doubly careful that I may not lose the gift you help me to believe I have. I have had very kind letters about it, and Mrs. L. sent me a sweet little girl dressed in pink--a bit of Worcester China!--as "Phoebe Shaw."...

Aunt M. sent "Daddy Darwin" to T. Kingdon (he is now Suffragan Bishop to Bishop Medley), and she sent us his letter. I will copy what he says: "'Daddy Darwin' is very charming--directly I read it I took it off to the Bishop--and he read it and cried over it with joy, and then read it again, and it has gone round Fredericton by this time. The story is beautifully told, and the picture is quite what it should be.

When I look at the picture I think nothing could beat it, and then when I read the story I think the story is best--till I look again at the picture, and I can only say that _together_ I don't think they could be beaten at all in their line. I have enjoyed them much. There is such a wonderful fragrance of the Old Country about them."

I thought you would like to realize the picture of our own dear old Bishop crying with joy over it! What a young heart! tenderer than many in their teens; and what unfailing affection and sympathy....

January 17, 1882.