“A. L. O. E.” (Miss Tucker)
Mrs. Ewing

By Mrs. Marshall
“A. L. O. E.” (Miss Tucker)

Forty years ago, the mystic letters “A. L. O. E.” (“A Lady of England”) on the title-page of a book ensured its welcome from the children of those days. There was not then the host of gaily bound volumes pouring from the press to be piled up in tempting array in every bookseller’s shop at Christmas. The children for whom “A. L. O. E.” wrote were contented to read a “gift-book” more than once; and, it must be said, her stories were deservedly popular, and bore the crucial test of being read aloud to an attentive audience several times.

Many of these stories still live, and the allegorical style in which “A. L. O. E.” delighted has a charm for certain youthful minds to this day. There is a pride and pleasure in thinking out the lessons hidden under the
names of the stalwart giants in the “Giant Killer,” which is one of “A. 50. O. E.‘s” earlier and best tales. A fight with Giant Pride, a hard battle with Giant Sloth, has an inspiriting effect on boys and girls, who are led to “look at home” and see what giants hold them in bondage.

“A. L. O. E.‘s” style was almost peculiar to herself. She generally used allegory and symbol, and she was fired with the desire to arrest the attention of her young readers and “do them good.” We may fear that she often missed her aim by forcing the moral, and by indulging in long and discursive “preachments,” which interrupted the main current of the story, and were impatiently skipped that it might flow on again without vexatious hindrances.

In her early girlhood and womanhood “A. L. O. E.” had written plays, which, we are told by her biographer, Miss Agnes Giberne, were full of wit and fun. Although her literary efforts took a widely different direction when she began to write for children, still there are flashes of humour sparkling here and there on the pages of her most didactic stories, showing that her keen sense of the ludicrous was present though it was kept very much in abeyance.

From the first publication of “The Claremont Tales” her success as a writer for children was assured. The list of her books covering the space of fifteen or twenty years is a very long one, and she had no difficulty in
finding publishers ready to bring them out in an attractive form.

“The Rambles of a Rat” is before me, as I write, in a new edition, and is a very fair specimen of “A. L. O. E.‘s” work. Weighty sayings are put into the mouth of the rats, and provoke a smile. The discussion about the ancestry of Whiskerando and Ratto ends with the trite remark—which, however, was not spoken aloud—that the great weakness of one opponent was pride of birth, and his anxiety to be thought of an ancient family; but the chief matter, in Ratto’s opinion, was not whether our ancestors do honour to us, but whether by our conduct we do not disgrace them. Probably this page of the story was hastily turned here, that the history of the two little waifs and strays who took shelter in the warehouse, where the rats lived, might be followed.

Later on there is a discussion between a father and his little boy about the advantage of ragged schools, then a somewhat new departure in philanthropy. Imagine a boy of nine, in our time, exclaiming, “What a glorious thing it is to have ragged schools and reformatories, to give the poor and the ignorant, and the wicked, a chance of becoming honest and happy.” Boys of Neddy’s age, nowadays, would denounce him as a little prig, who ought to be well
snubbed for his philanthropical ambition, when he went on to say, “How 1 should like to build a ragged school myself!” “The Voyage of the Rats to Russia” is full of interest and adventure, and the glimpse of Russian life is vivid, and in “A. L. O. E.‘s” best manner.

Indeed, she had a graphic pen, and her descriptions of places and things were always true to life. In “Pride and his Prisoners,” for instance, there are stirring scenes, drawn with that dramatic power which had characterised the plays she wrote in her earlier days. “The Pretender, a farce in two Acts, by Charlotte Maria Tucker,” is published in Miss Giberne’s biography. In this farce there is a curious and constantly recurring play on words, but the allegory and the symbol with which she afterwards clothed her stories are absent.

“A. L. O. E.” did not write merely to amuse children; and the countless fairy tales and books of startling adventure, in their gilded covers and with their profuse illustrations, which are published every year, have thrown her stories into the shade. But they are written with verve and spirit, and in good English, which is high praise, and cannot always be given to the work of her successors in juvenile literature. In her books, as in every work she undertook throughout her life, she had
the high and noble aim of doing good. Whether she might have widened the sphere of her influence by less of didactic teaching, and by allowing her natural gifts to have more play, it is not for us to inquire.

It is remarkable that this long practice in allegory and symbol fitted her for her labours in her latter years, amongst the boys and girls of the Far East. Her style was well adapted to the Oriental mind, and kindled interest and awoke enthusiasm in the hearts of the children in the Batala Schools. Here she did a great work, which she undertook at the age of fifty-four, when she offered her services to the Church Missionary Society as an unpaid missionary.

“All for love, and no reward” may surely be said to be “A. L. O. E.’s” watchword, as, with untiring energy, she laboured amongst the children in a distant part of the empire. Even there she was busy as an author. By her fertile pen she could reach thousands in that part of India who would never see her face or hear her voice. She wrote for India as she had written for England, ever keeping before her the good of her readers. The Hindu boys and girls, as well as the children of this country, have every reason to hold her name in grateful remembrance as one of the authors who have left a mark on the reign of Queen Victoria.
Mrs. Ewing

There lingers over some people whom we know a nameless charm. It is difficult to define it, and yet we feel it in their presence as we feel the subtle fragrance of flowers, borne to us on the wings of the fresh breeze, which has wandered over gorse and heather, beds of wild hyacinth, and cowslip fields, in the early hours of a sunny spring day. A charm like this breathes over the stories which Mrs. Ewing has left as an inheritance for English children, and for their elders also, for all time. The world must be better for her work; and looking back over the sometimes toilsome paths of authorship, this surely, above all others, is the guerdon all craftswomen of the pen should strive to win.

There is nothing morbid or melodramatic in Mrs. Ewing’s beautiful stories. They bubble over with the joys of child-life; they bristle with its humour; they touch its sorrows with a tender, sympathetic hand; they lend a gentle sadness of farewell to Death itself, with the sure hope of better things to come.

It was in 1861 and 1862 that those who were looking for healthy stories for children found, in “Melchior’s
Dream and other Tales,” precisely what they wanted. Soon after, Aunt Judy’s Magazine, edited by Mrs. Ewing’s mother, Mrs. Gatty, made a new departure in the periodical literature for children. The numbers were eagerly looked for month by month, and the title of the magazine was given to commemorate the “Judy” of the nursery, who had often kept a bevy of little brothers and sisters happy and quiet by pouring forth into their willing ears stories full of the prowess of giants, the freaks of fairies, with occasional but always good-natured shafts aimed at the little faults and frailties of the listening children.

Aunt Judy’s Magazine had no contributions from Mrs. Ewing’s pen till May 1866 and May 1867. Then the delightful “Remembrances of Mrs. Overtheway” enchanted her youthful readers. Little Ida’s own story and her lonely childhood had an especial charm for them; and Mrs. Overtheway’s remembrances of the far-off days when she, too, was a child, were told as things that had really happened. And so they had! For, in the disappointment of the imaginative child who had created a fair vision from her grandmother’s description of Mrs. Anastasia Moss as a golden-haired beauty in rose-bud brocade, and instead, saw an old lady with sunken black eyes, dressed in feuilles mortes satin, many a child may
have found the salient parts of her own experience rehearsed!

“Alas!” says Mrs. Overtheway, when little Ida, soothed by her gentle voice, has fallen asleep. “Alas! my grown-up friends, does the moral belong to children only? Have manhood and womanhood no passionate, foolish longings, for which we blind ourselves to obvious truth, and of which the vanity does not lessen the disappointment? Do we not all toil after rose-buds to find feuilles mortes?” It is in touches like this, in her stories, that Mrs. Ewing appeals to many older hearts as well as to those of the young dreamers, taking their first steps in the journey of life.

In 1857, Juliana Horatia Gatty married Alexander Ewing, A.P.D., and for some time “Mrs. Overtheway’s Remembrances” were not continued. The last of them, “Kerguelin’s Land,” is considered by some critics the most beautiful of the series, ending with the delightful surprise of little Ida’s joy in the return of her lost father.

Mrs. Ewing’s stories are so rich in both humour and pathos, that it is difficult to choose from them distinctive specimens of her style, and of that charm which pervades them, a charm which we think is peculiarly her own.

Mrs. Ewing gave an unconsciously faithful portrait of
herself in “Madam Liberality.” The reader has in this story glimpses of the author’s own heroic and self-forgetful childhood. Perhaps this tale is not as well known as some which followed it: so a few notes from its pages may not be unwelcome here.

Madam Liberality, when a little girl, was accustomed to pick out all the plums from her own slice of cake and afterwards make a feast with them for her brothers and sisters and the dolls. Oyster shells served for plates, and if by any chance the plums did not go round the party, the shell before Madam Liberality’s place was always the empty one. Her eldest brother had given her the title of Madam Liberality; and yet he could, with refreshing frankness, shake his head at her and say, “You are the most meanest and the generousest person I ever knew.”

Madam Liberality wept over this accusation, and it was the grain of truth in it that made her cry, for it was too true that she screwed, and saved, and pinched to have the pleasure of “giving away.” “Tom, on the contrary, gave away without pinching and 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.”

What a clever analysis of character is this! We have all known the “Toms,” for they are numerous, and some of us have known and but scantily appreciated the far rarer “Madam Liberalitys.”

It is difficult to read unmoved of the brave child’s journey alone to the doctor to have a tooth taken out which had caused her much suffering. Then when about to claim the shilling from her mother, which was the accustomed reward for the unpleasant operation, she remembered the agreement was a shilling for a tooth with fangs, sixpence for a tooth without them. She did so want the larger sum to spend on Christmas presents; so, finding a fang left in her jaw, she went back to the doctor, had it extracted, and staggered home once more, very giddy but very happy, with the tooth and the fang safe in a pill box!

“Moralists say a great deal about pain treading so very 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.

“Relief is certainly one of the most delicious sensations which poor humanity can enjoy.”

Madam Liberal............