MRS. EWING AND HER BOOKS.

eryfew persons will now be inclined to question that Mrs. Ewing is the premier story-teller for children of this generation. No library for young people can be considered complete without most of her books. A few of her writings may appeal more fully to older readers; but the majority afford immense delight when placed in the hands of boys and girls. Happily all can now be obtained at low prices.

Though Mrs. Ewing wrote no book of great length, the number and variety of her output are considerable. Her stories range from fairy tales with a purpose to books of adventure and domestic incident of all kinds. We get such sketches asThe Brownies, where two little lads act on the happy suggestion to serve as elfish helpers of their widowed and burdened father, and set to work to brighten the house, not without soon learning that “there is no such cure for untidiness as clearing up after other people; one sees so clearly where the fault lies.” We have such tales asTimothy’s Shoes, with the magic shoes which make every step like a galvanic shock when the feet are turned into wrong paths. We have books specifically for older boys and girls:We and the Worldis full of thrilling adventure;Six to Sixteenembodies a good deal of Mrs. Ewing’s views on education; it traces the quiet development of a girl’s life and thought, and though perhaps the interest flags a little in parts, it will always be popular on account of its description of military life during a cholera epidemic and its charming pictures of Yorkshire hospitality. A girl cannot fail to be the better for reading it. Indeed, there is not one of Mrs. Ewing’s numerous books that does not impart the consciousness of a tenderly sympathetic heart; with her we feel that

No simplest duty is forgot;Life hath no dim and lowly spotThat doth not in her sunshine share.

No simplest duty is forgot;

Life hath no dim and lowly spot

That doth not in her sunshine share.

Even when she describes spoiled children and domestic discord, as inA Very Ill-Tempered Family, we get an attractive portrait of Isobel, who becomes the peace-maker and is herself helped in her time of struggle by passages from Thomas à Kempis and the petitions of the “Te Deum,” and who is enabled to conciliate and save her hot-tempered brother. This sketch and the companion one ofA Great Emergencyare full of quaint wit and wisdom, though with fewer verbal quips than the earlier tales. Mrs. Ewing has the art of wrapping up her advice in a fascinating story, and does not make her pills with eight corners. The felicitously chosen titles, often reminding us of John Bunyan, by no means disappoint the reader.

Many may think thatLob Lie by the Fireis her completest work of art; and certainly it is a skilfully constructed composition, with a fragrance as ofCranfordin its earlier scenes. But it is in the trilogy of her last years that her powers culminated. Between 1879 and 1882 Mrs. Ewing produced the three works most widely popular—Jackanapes,Daddy Darwin’s Dovecot, andThe Story of a Short Life. These constitute an imperishable memorial to her genius, and have sold in enormous numbers, reaching to one hundred and fifty thousand in the case ofJackanapes. In these books every sentence is carefully chosen; no superfluous word is to be found; we get pen pictures of rarest excellence.

InJackanapeswe have the high ideal of soldierly self-sacrifice, and inThe Story of a Short Lifethe application of military habits and endurance to a crippled and stunted life. InDaddy Darwin’s Dovecotwe have a sweet idyll of village life. The lad, John March, on emerging from the workhouse school, has the double ambition to be a choir-boy and to take care of doves. We delight to trace his fidelity and diligence; his master soon sees and says that “he’s no vagrant.” “He’s fettling up all along. Jack’s the sort that if he finds a key he’ll look for the lock; if ye give him a knife-blade, he’ll fashion a heft.” And in the peaceful close of the story we listen to the master, with his last strength, saying to his adopted son, “’Twas that sweet voice o’ thine took me back again to public worship, and it’s not the least of all I owe thee, Jack March. A poor reason, lad, for taking up with a neglected duty—a poor reason—but the Lord is a God of mercy, or there’d be small chance for most of us.” As the old man died “his lips were trembling with the smile of acutest joy.”

In most of her books Mrs. Ewing traces the progress of children from youth to manhood and gives us an insight into the development of their character. Thus inLob Lie by the Fire, for example, we have the foundling christened John Broom; we see him adopted by Miss Betty and Miss Kitty in spite of the warnings of the cautious lawyer, but under the guidance of the good clergyman who, while feeling he may be encouraging them in grave indiscretion, feels impelled to say, “I do know that he has a Father Whose image is also to be found in His children—not quite effaced in any of them—and Whose care of this one will last when yours may seem to have been in vain.” We journey with him in all his difficult training; we are with him in his chivalrous devotion to McAlister, the Highlander, whose honour he saves and whose last hour he comforts. We watch him, as the beneficent “brownie” in his village home, as he brings luck to Lingborough, and works for others. In this tale, as in so many others, we feel that sustained personal interest which belongs to a biography.

But it is in connection withThe Story of a Short Lifethat interest has recently been rekindled in Mrs. Ewing in many quarters, on account of the remarkable development of the “Guild of the Brave Poor Things,” which has sprung into existence as the direct outcome of this tale. As Sir Walter Besant built the “People’s Palace” by the picture painted in his novel, so Mrs. Ewing has done an equally important work, though not herself permitted to live to see the results of her suggestions.

In the work of this guild gatherings of afflicted people—blind, deaf, paralysed, or otherwise incapacitated for the full activity of ordinary life and work—are held at regular intervals in London and other centres. Classes suitable to their varied needs are conducted; companies of the brave who suffer, often with infinite heroism, are inspirited by being assembled for bright meetings, in which all that the suggestion of the atmosphere and colour of military habit can impart, is used to make prominent the fact that the members are as truly soldiers as the veterans of the “tented field,” that the “courage to bear and the courage to dare are really one and the same.” Thus the schoolrooms are decked with banners, while the roll-call of members and the singing of the tug-of-war hymn (Bishop Heber’s “The Son of God goes forth to war”) are looked forward to eagerly by the sufferers, young and old, who are banded together in this comradeship of affliction. It is almost startling to find walls emblazoned with the motto “Lætus sorte meâ,” and to learn that many people, innocent of any language but their mother-tongue, have become intelligently proud of the words which bid them be happy in their lot.[1]

The whole of this movement, now spreading rapidly, has come from Mrs. Ewing’s sweetly pathetic story, which appeared under its familiar title ofA Story of a Short Lifeonly four days before the death of its author in 1885. Some three years previously it had been issued in magazine form under the forbidding Latin title of its motto. An Irishman, who was a Dorsetshire parson, came with a present of magnificent climbing roses to Mrs. Ewing a short time afterwards. When he was thanked for his gift, he said rather grumpily, “You’ve given me pleasure enough—and to lots of others.” Then he suddenlychirpedup and said, “Lætuscost me 2s. 6d. though. My wife bet me 2s. 6d. I couldn’t read it aloud without crying. I thought I could. But after a page or two I put my hand in my pocket. I said, ‘There—take your half-crown, and let me cry comfortably when I want to!’”[2]

We understand that this tale is based largely on life; certainly it enshrines much of the surroundings of Aldershot, where Major and Mrs. Ewing lived for eight years. In it we have the life-history of the lad Leonard, and trace how this high-spirited and spoiled child conquers his peevishness and triumphs over the limitations of his lot as a cripple. For a time after his accident his violent and irritable temper carries all before it; his very crutches become “implements of impatience”; but he is subdued, and eventually transfigured by intercourse with a gallant officer wearing the Victoria Cross, who teaches him that he, too, may be a happy warrior, and, though “doomed to go in company with pain,” may “turn his necessity to glorious gain,” and count himself as true a soldier as any wounded on the battle-field. Leonard not only becomes brave and patient, but he forms a book or register of “Poor Things,” that is, of people who, like the blind organ-tuner, manage almost as well in spite of their troubles. In this roll of honour he inscribes the names of those who

“argue notAgainst Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate one jotOr heart or hope, but still bear up and steerRight onward.”

“argue not

Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate one jot

Or heart or hope, but still bear up and steer

Right onward.”

Hence the name of the guild, which is itself a beautiful posthumous memorial to the genius and sympathy of its creator. And here it is pleasing to record an incident of Mrs. Ewing’s last illness. In one of her paroxysms of pain she expressed a fear to the doctor that she had been impatient. He answered, “Indeed you are not. I think you deserve a Victoria Cross for the way in which you bear it.” This afforded her intense satisfaction, as it was known that the doctor had not readA Story of a Short Lifeitself.

Mrs. Ewing died when she was only forty-four years old. Her comparatively brief life was throughout heavily streaked with periods of much pain, endured with amazing fortitudeand cheerfulness. From her earliest days she found her chief happiness in sacrificing for others. In the exquisite little memoir which her sister (Mrs. Eden) has published, we have a personal interpretation supplied to some of her writings. We learn that in the sketch of Madam Liberality we have reminiscences of her own doings: “Here she has painted a picture of her own character that can never be surpassed.” With such a testimony we turn to peruse its pages with redoubled interest. In the first sentences of this sketch we find it recorded of Madam Liberality:

“It was not her real name: it was given to her by her brothers and sister. People with very marked qualities of character do sometimes get such distinctive titles to rectify the indefiniteness of those they inherit and those they receive in baptism. The ruling peculiarity of a character is apt to show itself early in life, and it showed itself in Madam Liberality when she was a little child.”

And then we have the account of the pleasure the child derived from saving the plums from her cake, and how “she could ‘do without’ anything if the wherewithal to be hospitable was left to her.” Her liberality was the outcome of continuous and rigid self-denial, and in sharp contrast to that of her brother Tom.

“It may seem strange that Madam Liberality should even have been accused of meanness, and yet her eldest brother did once shake his head at her and say, ‘You’re the most meanest and generoustest person I ever knew.’

“And Madam Liberality wept over the accusation, although her brother was then too young to form either his words or his opinions correctly. But it was the touch of truth in it which made Madam Liberality cry. To the end of their lives Tom and she were alike and yet different in this matter. Madam Liberality saved and pinched and planned and then gave away, and Tom gave away without the pinching and the saving. This sounds much handsomer, and it was poor Tom’s misfortune that he always believed it to be so, though he gave away what did not belong to him, and fell back for the supply of his own pretty numerous wants upon other people, not forgetting Madam Liberality.”

Mrs. Eden tells us of the thoughtful kindness shown to herself and other members of her family by her sister who, out of her literary earnings, planned delightful holidays for them, often adding to the pleasure by letting the patient choose her own route according to her fancy.

In this same sketch we get an insight into the courage of Madam Liberality, “like little body with a mighty heart.” Often tortured by headache, toothache, and quinsy, “no sufferings abated her energy for fresh exploits or quenched the hope that cold and damp and fatigue could not hurt her ‘this time.’” Of Mrs. Ewing it is stated that “she was always coughing” as a girl, but her weakness never seemed to affect her vivacity. We read how Madam Liberality went alone to the dentist’s and allowed him to extract a horribly difficult tooth without flinching; she well merited the praise, “You’re the bravest little lady I ever knew.” This incident finds its counterpart in Mrs. Ewing’s life when she went alone to a London surgeon for an operation on her throat in order that no friend might be present at so unpleasant a scene.

On the “ever-glorious first of June” in the year 1867 Juliana Gatty was married to Alexander Ewing, A.P.D. After two years spent in New Brunswick she returned to England with her husband, who for eight years was stationed at Aldershot. Here she acquired her close familiarity with military habits and the high appreciation of soldierly virtues which have made her later books both pathetic and stimulating. Of fragile frame herself, she has immortalised the famous south country camp.

Not long after the final removal of Major Ewing from Aldershot the health of his wife began steadily to fail. She was compelled to remain in England when he had to serve in India, and she had to bear many crushed hopes during the last six years of her life. But her “lamp of zeal and high desire” continued to burn brightly.

In the early part of 1885 she was seized with an attack of blood-poisoning. After a short period of physical and mental darkness she said truly that she would be “more patient than before.” At her request her sisters made a calendar for the week with the text above, “In your patience possess ye your souls.” Each day the date was struck through with a pencil. For another week she had the text, “Be strong and of a good courage,” and later still, when nights of suffering were added to days of pain, “The day is Thine; the night also is Thine.” Her brave life was closed on May 13th, so far as her visible presence in this life is concerned; but who can fail to appreciate the words from theNewcomes, which are the last entry made in Mrs. Ewing’s commonplace book, “If we still love those we lose, can we altogether lose those we love?”

Whilst herself a devoted member of the Anglican Church, Mrs. Ewing was well able to appreciate the point of view of others; thus we get sympathetic pen portraits of devout Presbyterians, and her writings are free from sectarian suggestions. In the realm of philanthropy we owe much to both Mrs. Gatty and her daughter. Both bring us into close touch with nature and inculcate a tenderer sympathy with all created beings and objects. No one can read Mrs. Gatty’sParables from Naturewithout gaining some spiritual insight and a fuller conception of God’s care and love.

F. W. Newland, M.A.

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