August 23, 1867.
My Dearest Old Eleanora,
I have been a wretch for not having written to you sooner. It seems strange there should remain any pressure of business or hurry of life in this place, where workmen look out of the windows of the house (our house and a fact!); they are repairing nine at a time, and boys swing their buckets and dawdle to the well for water, as if Time couldn't be lounged and coaxed off one's hands!! And yet busy I have been, and every mail has been a scramble. Getting into our house was no joke, attending sales and shops, buying furniture—ditto, ditto—as to paying and receiving calls on lovely days with splendid sketching lights—they have been thorns in the flesh—and, worst of all, regular colonial experiences of servants—one went off at a day's notice—and for two or three days we had nobody but Rex's orderly, such a handy, imperturbable soldier, who made beds, cooked the dinner, hung pictures, and blew the organ with equal urbanity. He didn't know much—and in the imperfect state of our cuisine had few appliances—but he affected to be au fait at everything—and what he had not got, he "annexed" from somewhere else. One of our maids uniformly set tumblers and wine-glasses with the tea set, and I found "William" the Never-at-fault cleaning the plate with knife-powder, and brushing his own clothes with the shoe brush. However, we have got a very fair maid now, and are comfortable enough. Our house is awfully jolly, though the workmen are yet about. The drawing-room really is not bad. It is a good-sized room with a day window—green carpet and sofa in the recess—window plant shelf—on one long side of the wall—a writing-table between two book-shelves—and oh! my dear, I cannot sufficiently say the pleasure as well as use and comfort all my wedding presents have been to me. You can hardly estimate the comforting effect of these dear bits of civilization out here, especially at first when we were less comfortable. But the refinements of comfort, you know, are not to be got here for love or money as we get them at home. Your dear book and inkstand and weights (uncommonly useful at this juncture of new postage), etc., look so well on my writing-table—on which are also the Longleys' Despatch Box—Frank Smith's blotting book—my Japanese bronzes, Indian box, Chinese ditto, Japanese candlestick and Chinese shoes, etc. of Rex's—our standing photos, table book-stand, etc., etc. You can't imagine how precious any knick-knacks have become. My mother's coloured photo that Brownie gave me is propped in the centre—and we have bought a mahogany bracket for my old Joan of Arc!! We have hired a good harmonium. Altogether the room really looks pretty with a fawn-coloured paper and the few water colours up—round table, etc., etc. Our bedroom has a blue and white paper, is a bright, airy, two-windowed room, with a lovely eastward view over the river—the willows—and the pine woods. Our abundant space mocks one's longing to invite a good many dear old friends to visit one! We have much to be thankful for—which excellent sentiment brings me to the Cathedral. It would be a fine, well-appointed Church even in Europe. It stands lovelily looking over the river, surrounded by maples, etc., etc. (and to the left a beautiful group of the "feathered elms" of the country). There is daily Morning Prayer at 7.30, to which we generally go, and where the Bishop always appears. There is a fair amateur choir, and a beautiful organ built by a man who died just when he had completed it. But, my dear, in addition to these privileges, we weekly "sit under" the most energetic, quaint-looking, and dignified of Bishops—who has a clear, soft, penetrating voice that rings down the Cathedral in the Absolution and Benediction, and who preaches such fine, able, practical, learned, and beautiful sermons—as I really do not think Oxon, or Vaughan, or any of our great men much excel. This would be nearly enough, even if one did not know him; but when we dined at Government House the other night—rather to my surprise, I was sent in with him, and found him very amusing, and full of funny anecdotes of the province. Since when we have rapidly become fast friends. He is very musical, and when he and Rex get nobbling over the piano and organ—there they stick!! Rex is appointed supplementary organist, and to-morrow (being their Annual Festival) he is to play. Last night we had a grand "practice" at the Bishop's, and it felt wonderfully like home. He has lots of books, and has put them at our disposal—and, to crown all, has offered to teach us Hebrew if we will teach him German this winter. His wife is very nice too.... She is a good practical doctor, kind without measure, and being a great admirer of Mother's writings, has taken me under her wing—to see that I do nothing contrary to the genius of the climate! People are wonderfully kind here. They really keep us in vegetables, and I have a lovely nosegay on my table at this moment. There is a very pleasant Regiment (22nd) here, with a lovely band. On my birthday Rex gave me Asa Gray's Botany, a book on botany generally, and on North American plants in particular. Some of the wild-flowers are lovely. One (Pigeon Berry) [sketch] has a white flower amid largish leaves—thus. It grows about as large as wild anemone, in similar places and quantities. When the flower falls the stamens develop into a thick bunch of berries, the size and colour of holly berries, only brighter brilliant scarlet, and patches of pine wood are covered with them.
My dear, you would like this place! My best love to all your people. Isabel's fan could have no more appropriate field for its exhibition than summer here! Adieu, beloved. (I say nothing about home news. Z.'s affair bewilders me. I am awfully anxious for news, but it's useless talking at this distance.) (See Lamb's Essay on Distant Correspondents in the Elia!!!!!)
Your ever loving,
J.H. Ewing.
To Mrs. Gatty.
Fredericton. September 21, 1867.
My Dearest Mother,