Juliana Horatia Ewing And Her Books | Page 7

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. Painful experience convinced Madam Liberality in the end
that his way was a wrong one, but she had her doubts many times in her
life whether there were not something unhandsome in her own decided
talent for economy. Not that economy was always pleasant to her.
When people are very poor for their position in life, they can only keep
out of debt by stinting on many occasions when stinting is very painful
to a liberal spirit. And it requires a sterner virtue than good nature to
hold fast the truth that it is nobler to be shabby and honest than to do

things handsomely in debt.
But long before Tom had a bill even for bull's-eyes and Gibraltar rock,
Madam Liberality was pinching and plotting, and saving bits of
coloured paper and ends of ribbon, with a thriftiness which seemed to
justify Tom's view of her character. The object of these savings was
twofold,--birthday presents and Christmas-boxes. They were the chief
cares and triumphs of Madam Liberality's childhood. It was with the
next birthday or the approaching Christmas in view that she saved her
pence instead of spending them, but she so seldom had any money that
she chiefly relied on her own ingenuity. Year by year it became more
difficult to make anything which would "do for a boy;" but it was easy
to please Darling, and "Mother's" unabated appreciation of
pin-cushions, and of needle-books made out of old cards, was most
satisfactory.
Equally characteristic of Julie's moral courage and unselfishness is the
incident of how Madam Liberality suffered the doctor's assistant to
extract the tooth fang which had been accidentally left in her jaw,
because her mother's "fixed scale of reward was sixpence for a tooth
without fangs, and a shilling for one with them," and she wanted the
larger sum to spend on Christmas-tree presents.
When the operation was over,
Madam Liberality staggered home, very giddy, but very happy.
Moralists say a great deal about pain treading so closely on the heels of
pleasure in this life, but they are not always wise or grateful enough to
speak of the pleasure which springs out of pain. And yet there is a bliss
which comes just when pain has ceased, whose rapture rivals even the
high happiness of unbroken health; and there is a keen pleasure about
small pleasures hardly earned, in which the full measure of those who
can afford anything they want is sometimes lacking. Relief is certainly
one of the most delicious sensations which poor humanity can enjoy!
The details which can be traced in Julie's letters after undergoing the
removal of her tonsils read very much like extracts from Madam
Liberality's biography. During my sister's last illness she spoke about

this episode, and said she looked back with surprise at the courage she
had exercised in going to London alone, and staying with friends for
the operation. Happily, like Madam Liberality, she too earned a reward
in the relief which she appreciated so keenly; for, after this event,
quinsies became things of the past to her, and she had them no more.
On April 14, 1863, she wrote--
"MY DEAREST MOTHER,--I could knock my head off when I think
that I am to blame for not being able to send you word yesterday of the
happy conclusion of this affair!! * * I cannot apologize enough, but
assure you I punished myself by two days' suspense (a letter had been
misdirected to the surgeon which delayed his visit). I did intend to have
asked if I might have spent a trifle with the flower-man who comes to
the door here, and bring home a little adornment to my flower-box as a
sugar-plum after my operation * * now I feel I do not deserve it, but
perhaps you will be merciful!
"It was a tiresome operation--so choking! He (Mr. Smith, the surgeon)
was about an hour at it. He was more kind and considerate than can be
expressed; when he went I said to him, 'I am very much obliged to you,
first for telling me the truth, and secondly for waiting for me.' For when
I got 'down in the mouth,' he waited, and chatted till I screwed up my