TO MRS. GOING.

_Villa Ponente, Taunton._ July 11, 1883.

DEAR MADAM,

Your letter was forwarded to me last month, when I was (and to some extent am still) very very busy in the details of setting up a new home--of the temporary nature of military homes!--as Major Ewing has been posted to Taunton.

As yet there are many things on which I cannot "lay my hand," and a copy of the Tug of War Hymn is among them!

When I can find it--I will lend it to you. Should I omit to do so--please be good enough to jog my memory!

It is a rather "ranting" tune-but has tender a.s.sociations for my ears.

The soldiers of the Iron Church, South Camp, Aldershot, used to "bolt"

with it in the manner described, and some dear little sons of an R.E.

officer always called it the "Tug of War Hymn."

With many thanks for your kind sayings, I am, dear Madam,

Yours very truly, JULIANA HORATIA EWING.

TO THE REV. J. GOING.

October 11, 1883.

DEAR MR. GOING,

I append a rough plan of my small garden. We do not stand dead E. and W., but perhaps a little more so than the arrows show. We are very high and the winds are often high too! The walls are brick--and that south bed is very warm. I mean to put bush roses down what is marked the Potato Patch--it is the original soil with one year's potato crop where I am mixing vegetables and flowers. The borders are given up to flowers--mixed herbaceous ones. And on my south wall I have already planted a Wistaria, a blue Pa.s.sion-flower--and a Rose of Sharon! I am keeping a warm corner for "Fortune's Yellow"--and now looking forward with more delight and grat.i.tude than I can express to "Cloth of Gold"!

I have sent to order the "well-rotted"--and the Gardener for Sat.u.r.day morning!

Now will you present my grateful acknowledgments to Mrs. Going, and say that with some decent qualms at my own greediness--I "too-too"

gratefully accept her further kind offers. I deeply desire some "Ladders to Heaven"--(does she know that old name for Lilies of the Valley?)--and I am devoted to pansies and have only a sc.r.a.p or two. A neighbour _has_ given me a few Myosotis--but I am a daughter of the horse-leech I fear where flowers are concerned, and if you really have one or two TO SPARE I thankfully accept. The truly Irish liberality of Mrs. Going's suggestions--emboldens me to ask if you happen to have in your garden any of the h.e.l.lebores? I have one good clump of Xmas Rose--but I have none of those green-faced varieties for which I have a peculiar predilection.

(I do not expect much sympathy from you! In fact I fear you will think that any one whose taste is so grotesque as to have a devotion for Polyanthuses--Oxlips--Green h.e.l.lebores--every variety of Arum (including the "stinking" one!)--Dog's-tooth violets--Irises--Auriculas--coloured primroses--and such dingy and undeveloped denizens of the flower garden--is hardly worthy to possess the glowing colours and last results of development in the Queen of flowers!)

But I DO appreciate roses I a.s.sure you.

And I am most deeply grateful to you for letting me benefit by--what is in itself such a treat! your--enthusiasm.

Mrs. Going seems to think that my soil and situation are better than yours.

Could it be possible that you might have any rose under development that you would care to deposit here for the winter and fetch away in the spring? I don't know if change of air and soil is ever good for them?

I fear you'll think mine a barren little patch on which to expend your kindness! But you are a true _Ama_--teur--and will look at my Villa Garden through _rose_-coloured spectacles!

Yours gratefully, J.H.E.

TO MRS. JELF,

October 19, 1883.

DEAREST MARNY,

One bit more of egotism before I stop!

You know how I love my bit of garden!--An admirer--specially of "Laetus"--whom I had never seen--an Irishman--and a Dorsetshire Parson. (But who had worked for over twenty years in the slums of London--which it is supposed only the Salvation Army venture to touch!)--

--arrived here last Sat.u.r.day with nineteen magnificent climbing roses, and has covered two sides of my house and the south wall of my garden!--but one sunny corner has been kept sacred to Aunty's Pa.s.sion-flower, which is doing well--and one for a rose Mrs. Walkinshaw has promised me. He is a very silent Irishman--a little alarming--possibly from the rather brief, authoritative ways which men who have worked big parishes in big towns often get. When Rex said to him, at luncheon--"How did you who are a Rose Fancier and such a flower maniac--LIVE all those years in such a part of London?" in rather a muttered sort of way he explained,

"Well, I had a friend a little out of town who had a garden, and his wife wanted flowers, and they knew nothing about it: so I made a compact. I provided the roses--I made the soil--I planted them--and I used to go and prune them and look after them. They were _magnificent_".

"Oh, then you _had_ flowers?"

"Well, I made a compact. They never picked a rose on Sat.u.r.day. On Sat.u.r.day night I used to go and clear the place. I had roses over my church on Sundays--and all Festivals. The rest of the year his wife had them."

It struck me as a most touching story--for the man is Rose Maniac.

What a sight those roses must have been to the eyes of such a congregation! The Church should have been dedicated to S. Dorothea! He is of the most modest order of Paddies--and as I say a little alarming. I was _appalled_ when I saw the _hedge_ of the "finest-named" roses he brought, and it was very difficult to "give thanks" adequately!--I said once--"I really simply cannot tell you the pleasure you have given me." He said rather grumpily--"You've given me pleasure enough--and to lots of others." Then he suddenly _chirped_ up and said--"Laetus cost 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!!!"

My dear, what a screed I have written to you!!

But your letter this morning _was_ a pleasure. There is something so nice in your getting the very hut where--as I think--"Old Father"

first began to recover after Cyprus-fever. I wish you had had F. to stride about the old lines also--and knock his head against your door-tops!--Best love to R., F., and the Queers--

Your loving, J.H.E.

Dec. 3, 1883.

MY DEAREST MARNY,

You are always so forbearing!--and I have been driven to a degree by work which I had promised, and have just despatched! Some day it may appeal to "the Queers." For it is a collated (and Bowdlerized!) version of the old Peace Egg Mumming Play for Christmas. I have been often asked about it: and the other day a Canon Portal wrote to me, and he urged me to try and do it, and it is done!

But it was a much larger matter than I had thought. The version I have made up is made up from five different versions, and I hope I have got the cream of them. It will be in the January number, which will be out before Xmas.

I have also been trying to see my way--I SHOULD so like to go to you--and if I can't yet awhile I hope you'll give me another chance.

This week I certainly cannot--thank you, dear! And I _don't_ see my way in December at all. I will _post-card_ you in a day or two again.

I am yours always lovingly, J.H.E.