A Dozen Ways of Love | Page 8

and I said you were that when I first saw you.'"
April 16, 1863. "Thank you so much for letting me bring home a flower
or two! I do love them so much."
As Julie emerged from the nursery and began to take an interest in our
village neighbours, her taste for "projects" was devoted to their
interests. It was her energy that established a Village Library in 1859,
which still remains a flourishing institution; but all her attempts were
not crowned with equal success. She often recalled, with great
amusement, how, the first day on which she distributed tracts as a
District Visitor, an old lady of limited ideas and crabbed disposition
called in the evening to restore the tract which had been lent to her,
remarking that she had brought it back and required no more, as--"My
'usband does not attend the public-'ouse, and we've no unrewly
children!"
My sister gave a series of Lessons[6] on the Liturgy in the day-school,
and on Sunday held a Class for Young Women at the Vicarage, because
she was so often prevented by attacks of quinsy from going out to
school; indeed, at this time, as the mother of some of her ex-pupils only
lately remarked, "Miss Julie were always cayling."

[Footnote 6: Letter, August 19, 1864.]
[Illustration: SOUTH SCREEN, ECCLESFIELD CHURCH.]
The first stories that she published belong to this so-to-speak
"parochial" phase of her life, when her interests were chiefly divided
between the nursery and the village. "A Bit of Green" came out in the
Monthly Packet in July 1861; "The Blackbird's Nest" in August 1861;
"Melchior's Dream" in December 1861; and these three tales, with two
others, which had not been previously published ("Friedrich's Ballad"
and "The Viscount's Friend"), were issued in a volume called
"Melchior's Dream and other Tales," in 1862. The proceeds of the first
edition of this book gave "Madam Liberality" the opportunity of
indulging in her favourite virtue. She and her eldest sister, who
illustrated the stories, first devoted the "tenths" of their respective
earnings for letterpress and pictures to buying some hangings for the
sacrarium of Ecclesfield Church, and then Julie treated two of her
sisters, who were out of health, to Whitby for change of air. Three
years later, out of some other literary earnings, she took her eldest
brother to Antwerp and Holland, to see the city of Rubens' pictures, and
the land of canals, windmills, and fine sunsets.[7] The expedition had
to be conducted on principles which savoured more of strict integrity
and economy than of comfort; for they went in a small steamer from
Hull to Antwerp, but Julie feasted her eyes and brain on all the fresh
sights and sounds she encountered, and filled her sketch-book with
pictures.
[Footnote 7: Letters, September 1865.]
[Illustration: IN OWNING A GOOD TURN]
"It was at Rotterdam," wrote her brother, "that I left her with her
camp-stool and water-colours for a moment in the street, to find her, on
my return, with a huge crowd round her, and before--a baker's man
holding back a blue veil that would blow before her eyes--and she
sketching down an avenue of spectators, to whom she kept motioning
with her brush to stand aside. Perfectly unconscious she was of how she
looked, and I had great difficulty in getting her to pack up and move on.

Every quaint Dutch boat, every queer street, every peasant in gold
ornaments, was a treasure to her note-book. We were very happy!"
I doubt, indeed, whether her companion has experienced greater
enjoyment during any of his later and more luxurious visits to the same
spots; the first sight of a foreign country must remain a unique
sensation.
It was not the intrinsic value of Julie's gifts to us that made them so
precious, but the wide-hearted spirit which always prompted them. Out
of a moderate income she could only afford to be generous from her
constant habit of thinking first for others, and denying herself. It made
little difference whether the gift was elevenpence three-farthings' worth
of modern Japanese pottery, which she seized upon as just the right
shape and colour to fit some niche on one of our shelves, or a copy of
the edition de luxe of "Evangeline," with Frank Dicksee's magnificent
illustrations, which she ordered one day to be included in the parcel of
a sister, who had been judiciously laying out a small sum on the
purchase of cheap editions of standard works, not daring to look into
the tempting volume for fear of coveting it. When the carrier brought
home the unexpectedly large parcel that night, it was difficult to say
whether the receiver or the giver was the happier.
My turn came once to be taken by Julie to the sea for rest (June 1874),
and