Oh! pa.s.s me blindly, Oh! spare me kindly, Pity my terror, and leave me to rest.

_Chorus of Children._

Hush! hush! hush!

'Tis a poor mother thrush.

When the blue eggs hatch, the brown birds will sing-- This is a promise made in the spring.

_Child._

Five speckled thrushes, In leafy bushes, Singing sweet songs to the hot summer sky.

In and out twitting, Here and there flitting, Happy in life as the long days go by.

_Chorus._

Hush! hush! hush!

'Tis the song of the thrush: Hatched are the blue eggs, the brown birds do sing-- Keeping the promise made in the spring.

If you liked, one voice, or half the party, might sing, "When the blue eggs hatch," and the other, "The brown birds will sing." Some are doubtful about the last lines, but the word "promise" had a jubilant musical rhythm in my head. However, you can alter it; if it has not the same in yours.... I don't set up for a versifier, and you may do what you please with this.

There is a certain cla.s.s of child's song which is always taught in the National system by certificated infant school mistresses. They are semi-theatrical, very pretty, and serve at once as music, discipline, and amus.e.m.e.nt. Such as "The Clock," in which they beat the hours, swing for the pendulum, etc. There are certain actions in these songs which express listening.... I am very fond of the National system for teaching children, and it has struck me that this song is a little of that type.... I am doubly vexed it is so poor, because your next thing to "Jerusalem the Golden" ought to be very good. If you can, make your Processional Hymn very grand, and I will do my very best. I have more hope of that. Would the metre of Longfellow's "Coplas de Manrique" be good for music? It would be a fine hymn measure.... Don't hamper yourself about the metre. I will fit the words to the music.

TO MRS. GATTY.

_S.S. China._ June 10, 1867.

I staggered up yesterday morning to have my first sight of an iceberg.... The sea was dark-blue, a low line of land (Cape Race) was visible, and the iceberg stood in the distance dead white, like a lump of sugar.... I think the first sight of Halifax was one of the prettiest sights I ever saw. When I first came up there was no horizon, we were in a sea of mist. Gradually the horizon line appeared--then a line of low coast--muddy-looking at first--it soon became marked with lines of dark wood--then the sh.o.r.e dotted with grey huts--then the sun came out--the breeze got milder--and the air became strongly redolent of pine-woods. Nearer, the coast became more defined, though still low, rather bare, and dotted with brushwood, and grey stones low down, and crowned always with "murmuring pines." As we came to habitations, which are dotted, and sparkle along the sh.o.r.e, the effect was what we noticed in Belgium, as if a box of very bright new toys had been put out to play with, red roofs--even red houses--cardboard-looking churches--little bright wooden houses--and stiffish trees mixed everywhere. It looks more like a quaint watering-place than a city, though there are some fine buildings....

We took a great fancy to the place, which was like a new child's picture book, and I was rather disappointed to learn it is not to be our home. But Fredericton, where we are going, has superior advantages in some respects, and will very likely be quite as pretty.

_Halifax._ June 19, 1867.

Rex and I went down to the fish-market that I might see it. Coming back we met an old North American Indian woman. Such a picturesque figure. We talked to her, and Rex gave her something. I do not think it half so degraded-looking a type as they say. A very broad, queer, but I think acute and pleasant-looking face. Since I came in I have made two rather successful sketches of her.[34] She wore an old common striped shawl, but curiously thrown round her so that it looked like a chief's blanket, a black cap embroidered with beads, black trousers stuffed into moccasins, a short black petticoat, and a large gold-coloured cross on her breast, and a short jacket trimmed with scarlet, a stick and basket for broken victuals. She said she was going to catch the train! It sounded like hearing of Plato engaged for a polka!...

[Footnote 34: See pages 175, 176.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Indian.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Indian.]

TO MISS E. LLOYD.

[_Sketch._]

_Cathedral Church of Fredericton, New Brunswick._

August 23, 1867.

MY DEAREST OLD ELEANORA,

I have been a wretch for not having written to you sooner. It seems strange there should remain any pressure of business or hurry of life in this place, where workmen look out of the windows of the house (our house and a fact!); they are repairing nine at a time, and boys swing their buckets and dawdle to the well for water, as if Time couldn't be lounged and coaxed off one's hands!! And yet busy I have been, and every mail has been a scramble. Getting into our house was no joke, attending sales and shops, buying furniture--ditto, ditto--as to paying and receiving calls on lovely days with splendid sketching lights--they have been thorns in the flesh--and, worst of all, regular colonial experiences of servants--one went off at a day's notice--and for two or three days we had _n.o.body_ but Rex's _orderly_, such a handy, imperturbable soldier, who made beds, cooked the dinner, hung pictures, and blew the organ with equal urbanity. He didn't know much--and in the imperfect state of our cuisine had few appliances--but he affected to be _au fait_ at everything--and what he had not got, he "annexed" from somewhere else. One of our maids uniformly set tumblers and wine-gla.s.ses with the tea set, and I found "William" the Never-at-fault cleaning the plate with knife-powder, and brushing his own clothes with the shoe brush. However, we have got a very fair maid now, and are comfortable enough. Our house is awfully jolly, though the workmen are yet about. The drawing-room really is not bad. It is a good-sized room with a day window--green carpet and sofa in the recess--window plant shelf--on one long side of the wall--a writing-table between two book-shelves--and oh! my dear, I cannot sufficiently say the _pleasure_ as well as _use_ and _comfort_ all my wedding presents have been to me. You can hardly estimate the comforting effect of these dear bits of civilization out here, especially at first when we were less comfortable. But the _refinements_ of comfort, you know, are not to be got here for love or money as we get them at home. Your dear book and inkstand and weights (uncommonly useful at this juncture of new postage), etc., look so well on my writing-table--on which are also the Longleys' Despatch Box--Frank Smith's blotting book--my j.a.panese bronzes, Indian box, Chinese ditto, j.a.panese candlestick and Chinese shoes, etc. of Rex's--our standing photos, table book-stand, etc., etc. You can't imagine how precious any knick-knacks have become. My mother's coloured photo that Brownie gave me is propped in the centre--and we have bought a mahogany bracket for my old Joan of Arc!! We have hired a good harmonium. Altogether the room really looks pretty with a fawn-coloured paper and the few water colours up--round table, etc., etc. Our bedroom has a blue and white paper, is a bright, airy, two-windowed room, with a _lovely_ eastward view over the river--the willows--and the pine woods. Our abundant s.p.a.ce mocks one's longing to invite a good many dear old friends to visit one! We have much to be thankful for--which excellent sentiment brings me to the Cathedral.

It would be a fine, well-appointed Church even in Europe. It stands lovelily looking over the river, surrounded by maples, etc., etc. (and to the left a beautiful group of the "feathered elms" of the country).

There is daily Morning Prayer at 7.30, to which we generally go, and where the Bishop always appears. There is a fair amateur choir, and a beautiful organ built by a man who died just when he had completed it.

But, my dear, in addition to these privileges, we weekly "sit under"

the most energetic, quaint-looking, and dignified of Bishops--who has a clear, soft, penetrating voice that rings down the Cathedral in the Absolution and Benediction, and who preaches such fine, able, practical, learned, and beautiful sermons--as I really do not think Oxon, or Vaughan, or any of our great men much excel. This would be nearly enough, even if one did not know him; but when we dined at Government House the other night--rather to my surprise, I was sent in with him, and found him very amusing, and full of funny anecdotes of the province. Since when we have rapidly become fast friends. He is very musical, and when he and Rex get n.o.bbling over the piano and organ--there they stick!! Rex is appointed supplementary organist, and to-morrow (being their Annual Festival) he is to play. Last night we had a grand "practice" at the Bishop's, and it felt wonderfully like home. He has lots of books, and has put them at our disposal--and, to crown all, has offered to teach us Hebrew if we will teach him German this winter. His wife is _very_ nice too.... She is a good practical doctor, kind without measure, and being a great admirer of Mother's writings, has taken me under her wing--to see that I do nothing contrary to the genius of the climate! People are wonderfully kind here. They really keep us in vegetables, and I have a lovely nosegay on my table at this moment. There is a very pleasant Regiment (22nd) here, with a lovely band. On my birthday Rex gave me Asa Gray's _Botany_, a book on botany generally, and on North American plants in particular. Some of the wild-flowers are lovely. One (Pigeon Berry) [_sketch_] has a white flower amid largish leaves--thus. It grows about as large as wild anemone, in similar places and quant.i.ties. When the flower falls the stamens develop into a thick _bunch_ of _berries_, the size and colour of holly berries, only _brighter_ brilliant scarlet, and patches of pine wood are covered with them.

My dear, you _would_ like this place! My best love to all your people.

Isabel's fan could have no more appropriate field for its exhibition than summer here! Adieu, beloved. (I say nothing about home news. Z.'s affair bewilders me. I am awfully anxious for news, but it's useless talking at this distance.) (See Lamb's Essay on Distant Correspondents in the Elia!!!!!)

Your ever loving, J.H. EWING.

TO MRS. GATTY.

_Fredericton._ September 21, 1867.

MY DEAREST MOTHER,

The room being rather warm (with a fire!) and having been very busy all day sketching, etc., etc., and having just done my Hebrew lesson in a sleepyish sort of manner--I have turned lazy about working at Mrs. Overtheway to-night, and am going to get on with my letter instead. Rex is mouthing Hebrew gutturals at my elbow, so don't be astonished if I introduce the "_yatz_, _yotz_, _yomah_," etc., that sound in my ears! I must tell you we have actually despatched a small parcel to Ecclesfield. We crossed early one day by the ferry, and went to the Indian settlement, where we bought a small and simple basket of a squaw which she had just made, and which shows their work, and will hold a few of your odds and ends. We send M. a little card-case of Indian work, and R. a cigar-case. These two things are worked by Huron Indians in stained moose hair. The Melicites who are _here_ work in basket-work and in coloured beads. I got two strips of their coloured bead-work, and Sarah and I "ran up" two red velvet bags and trimmed them with these strips for tobacco bags for A. and S. I thought you would like to see the different kinds of work. The MicMacs work in stained porcupine, but I have not sent any of their work. They are only very little things, but they come from _us!_ We have had so much to do, I have got on very badly with my botanizing, but I have sent one or two ferns for you. We were late for flowers. Tell S. the _Impatiens Fulva_ is a wonderful flower. When you touch (almost when you _shake_ with approaching) the seed vessels, they burst and curl up like springs, and fling the seed away. I mean to try to preserve seed.

The _Chelone Glabra_ as pressed by me gives no idea of the beautiful dead-white flower, something like a foxglove only more compact. I have told you what the parcel contains that you may not expect greater things than will appear from our little Christmas Box!...

To-day has been lovely and we have enjoyed it. Rex has been with me all day, though when I speak of his being with me I speak of his bodily presence only. In spirit he is with the conjugations Kal, Highil, etc., etc. He has bought Gesenius' Grammar, and a very fine one it seems. He lives with Gesenius, and if he doesn't take it to bed, it is not that he leaves Hebrew in the drawing-room. He undresses to the tune of the latest exercise, and puts me through the imperfect and perfect of [Hebrew: khatah] before we get up of mornings! (He has just discovered that Eden was about the same lat.i.tude as Fredericton!) There is always Morning Prayer and Holy Communion here on Saints'

Days, and to-day being S. Matthew, we went to the 11 service. After Church we went a little way up the road, and I did a sepia sketch of "our street," Rex sitting by me and groaning Hebrew. It was gloriously sunny, and such a lovely sky, and such an exquisitely calm river with white-sailed boats on it. I have enjoyed it immensely....

_Fredericton._ 19th Sunday after Trinity, 1867.

I wonder if I send it by next mail, whether you would have room for a very short Christmas sort of prose Idyll suggested to me by a scene I saw when we were hunting for a sketch the other day. If I can jot it down, I don't suppose it would be more than two or three pages. If I send it at all it will come by the Halifax mail. It will be called "The Two Christmas Trees."...

TO H.K.F.G.

September 29, 1867.

... I have fallen head over ears in love with another dog. Oh! bless his nose!... His name is Hector. He is a _white_ pure bull-dog. His face is more broad and round--and delicious and ferociously good-natured--and affectionately ogreish--than you can imagine. The moment I saw him I hugged him and kissed his benevolence b.u.mp, and he didn't even _gowly powl_....

TO MRS. GATTY.