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114 pages

English

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Although Juliana Horatia Ewing certainly was not the first writer to pen tales specifically for younger audiences, critics regard her as one of the first to set aside the strong emphasis on morals and lessons that had long characterized the genre and focus more on developing realistic portraits of children that might ring true to her readers. This delightful collection of tales was her first published work.

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Children's

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 décembre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776593590
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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MELCHIOR'S DREAM AND OTHER TALES
* * *
JULIANA HORATIA EWING

*
Melchior's Dream and Other Tales From an 1895 edition Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-359-0 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-360-6 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Editor's Preface Melchior's Dream The Blackbird's Nest Friedrich's Ballad A Bit of Green Monsieur theViscount's Friend The Yew-Lane Ghosts A Bad Habit A Happy Family Endnotes
*
Dedicated
TO
FOUR BROTHERS AND FOUR SISTERS.
Editor's Preface
*
It is always a memorable era in a mother's life when she firstintroduces a daughter into society. Many things contribute to make itso; among which is the fact of the personal blessing to herself, inhaving been permitted to see the day—to have been spared, that is, towatch over her child in infancy, and now to see her entering life uponher own account.
But a more uncommon privilege is the one granted to me on the presentoccasion, of introducing a daughter into the literary world; and thefeelings of pride and pleasure it calls forth, are certainly not lesspowerful than those created by the commoner occurrence. It is mycomfort also to add that these are not overclouded by any painfulanxiety or misgiving. There may be differences of opinion as to theprecise amount of literary merit in these tales; but viewed as thefirst productions of a young author, they are surely full of promise;while their whole tone and aim is so unmistakably high, that eventhose who criticize the style will be apt to respect the writer.
I ought here to express a hope that it will not be thoughtpresumptuous on my part, to undertake the office of introduction. Ibeg it to be understood that I address myself especially to thosereaders who have (I speak it with deep gratitude and pleasure)listened kindly and favourably to me for several years past, and whowill, I trust, be no less well disposed towards my daughter'swritings.
To them also it may be interesting to know, that in the "J.H.G." of"Melchior's Dream," etc., they will find the original of my ownportrait of "Aunt Judy."
But I have still something more to say: another little bit ofgratification to express. What one sister has written, another hasillustrated by her pencil; a cause of double thankfulness in my heartto Him from whom all good gifts come.
MARGARET GATTY.
NOTE.— The foregoing Preface was written for the firstedition of "Melchior's Dream, and other Tales." This was published in1862 under Mrs. Ewing's maiden initials, "J.H.G." It contained thefirst five stories in the present volume, and these were illustratedby the writer's eldest sister, "M.S.G."
Melchior's Dream
*
AN ALLEGORY.
"Thou that hast given so much to me, Give one thing more—a grateful heart."
GEORGE HERBERT.
"Well, father, I don't believe the Browns are a bit better off than weare; and yet when I spent the day with young Brown, we cooked allsorts of messes in the afternoon; and he wasted twice as much rum andbrandy and lemons in his trash, as I should want to make good punchof. He was quite surprised, too, when I told him that our mince-pieswere kept shut up in the larder, and only brought out at meal-times,and then just one apiece; he said they had mince-pies always going,and he got one whenever he liked. Old Brown never blows up about thatsort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the holidays,particularly at Christmas."
The speaker was a boy—if I may be allowed to use the word in speakingof an individual whose jackets had for some time past been resignedto a younger member of his family, and who daily, in the privacy ofhis own apartment, examined his soft cheeks by the aid of his sisters'"back-hair glass." He was a handsome boy too; tall, and likeDavid—"ruddy, and of a fair countenance;" and his face, thoughclouded then, bore the expression of general amiability. He was theeldest son in a large young family, and was being educated at one ofthe best public schools. He did not, it must be confessed, thinkeither small beer or small beans of himself; and as to the beer andbeans that his family thought of him, I think it was pale ale andkidney-beans at least.
Young Hopeful had, however, his weak points like the rest of us; andperhaps one of the weakest was the difficulty he found in amusinghimself without bothering other people. He had quite a monomania forproposing the most troublesome "larks" at the most inconvenientmoments; and if his plans were thwarted, an Æolian harp is cheerfulcompared to the tone in which, arguing and lamenting, he
"Fought his battles o'er again,"
to the distraction of every occupied member of the household.
When the lords of the creation of all ages can find nothing else todo, they generally take to eating and drinking; and so it came to passthat our hero had set his mind upon brewing a jorum of punch, andsipping it with an accompaniment of mince-pies; and Paterfamilias hadnot been quietly settled to his writing for half-an-hour, when he wasdisturbed by an application for the necessary ingredients. These hehad refused, quietly explaining that he could not afford to waste hisFrench brandy, etc., in school-boy cookery, and ending with, "You seethe reason, my dear boy?"
To which the dear boy replied as above, and concluded with thedisrespectful (not to say ungrateful) hint, "Old Brown never blows upabout that sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in theholidays."
Whereupon Paterfamilias made answer, in the mildly deprecating tone inwhich the elder sometimes do answer the younger in these topsy-turvydays:—
"That's quite a different case. Don't you see, my boy, that AdolphusBrown is an only son, and you have nine brothers and sisters? If youhave punch and mince-meat to play with, there is no reason why Tomshould not have it, and James, and Edward, and William, and Benjamin,and Jack. And then there are your sisters. Twice the amount of theBrowns' mince-meat would not serve you. I like you to enjoy yourselfin the holidays as much as young Brown or anybody; but you mustremember that I send you boys to good schools, and give you all thesubstantial comforts and advantages in my power; and the Christmasbills are very heavy, and I have a great many calls on my purse; andyou must be reasonable. Don't you see?"
"Well, father—" began the boy; but his father interrupted him. Heknew the unvarying beginning of a long grumble, and dreading theargument, cut it short.
"I have decided. You must amuse yourself some other way. And justremember that young Brown's is quite another case. He is an only son."
Whereupon Paterfamilias went off to his study and his sermon; and hisson, like the Princess in Andersen's story of the Swineherd, was leftoutside to sing,
"O dearest Augustine, All's clean gone away!"
Not that he did say that—that was the princess' song—what he saidwas,
" I wish I were an only son! "
This was rather a vain wish, for round the dining-room fire (where hesoon joined them) were gathered his nine brothers and sisters, who, tosay the truth, were not looking much more lively and cheerful thanhe. And yet (of all days in the year on which to be doleful anddissatisfied!) this was Christmas Eve.
Now I know that the idea of dulness or discomfort at Christmas is avery improper one, particularly in a story. We all know how everylittle boy in a story-book spends the Christmas holidays.
First, there is the large hamper of good things sent by grandpapa,which is as inexhaustible as Fortunatus's purse, and containseverything, from a Norfolk turkey to grapes from the grandpaternalvinery.
There is the friend who gives a guinea to each member of the family,and sees who will spend it best.
There are the godpapas and godmammas, who might almost be fairysponsors from the number of expensive gifts that they bring upon thescene. The uncles and aunts are also liberal.
One night is devoted to a magic-lantern (which has a perfect focus),another to the pantomime, a third to a celebrated conjuror, a fourthto a Christmas tree and juvenile ball.
The happy youth makes himself sufficiently ill with plum-pudding, totestify to the reader how good it was, and how much there was of it;but recovers in time to fall a victim to the negus and trifle atsupper for the same reason. He is neither fatigued with late hoursnor surfeited with sweets; or if he is, we do not hear of it.
But as this is a strictly candid history, I will at once confess thetruth, on behalf of my hero and his brothers and sisters. They hadspent the morning in decorating the old church, in pricking hollyabout the house, and in making a mistletoe bush. Then in the afternoonthey had tasted the Christmas soup and seen it given out; they had puta finishing touch to the snow man by crowning him with holly, and haddragged the yule-logs home from the carpenter's. And now, the earlytea being over, Paterfamilias had gone to finish his sermon forto-morrow; his friend was shut up in his room; and Materfamilias wasin hers, with one of those painful headaches which even Christmas willnot always keep away. So the ten children were left to amusethemselves, and they found it rather a difficult matter.
"Here's a nice Christmas!" said our hero. He had turned his youngestbrother out of the arm-chair, and was now lying in it with his legsover the side. "Here's a nice Christmas! A fellow might just as wellbe at school. I wonder what Adolphus Brown would think of being coopedup with a lot of children like thi