supposed
that the Tales and Letters were really written by Julie, and the
introductory portions that strung them together by my Mother. This was
a complete mistake; the only bits that Julie wrote in either of the
books were three brief tales, in imitation of Andersen, called [9]"The
Smut," "The Crick," and "The Brothers," which were included in "The
Black Bag" in "Aunt Judy's Letters."

[Footnote 9: These have now been reprinted in vol. xvii.
"Miscellanea."]

Julie's first contribution to _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ was "Mrs.
Overtheway's Remembrances," and between May 1866 and May 1867 the
three first portions of "Ida," "Mrs. Moss," and "The Snoring Ghosts,"
came out. In these stories I can trace many of the influences which
surrounded my sister whilst she was still the "always cayling Miss
Julie," suffering from constant attacks of quinsy, and in the
intervals, reviving from them with the vivacity of Madam Liberality,
and frequently going away to pay visits to her friends for change of
air.

We had one great friend to whom Julie often went, as she lived within
a mile of our home, but on a perfectly different soil to ours.
Ecclesfield stands on clay; but Grenoside, the village where our
friend lived, is on sand, and much higher in altitude. From it we have
often looked down at Ecclesfield lying in fog, whilst at Grenoside the
air was clear and the sun shining. Here my sister loved to go, and
from the home where she was so welcome and tenderly cared for, she
drew (though no _facts_) yet much of the colouring which is seen in
Mrs. Overtheway--a solitary life lived in the fear of God; enjoyment
of the delights of a garden; with tender treasuring of dainty china
and household goods for the sake of those to whom such relics had once
belonged.

Years after our friend had followed her loved ones to their better
home, and had bequeathed her egg-shell brocade to my sister, Julie had
another resting-place in Grenoside, to which she was as warmly
welcomed as to the old one, during days of weakness and convalescence.
Here, in an atmosphere of cultivated tastes and loving appreciation,
she spent many happy hours, sketching some of the villagers at their
picturesque occupations of carpet-weaving and clog-making, or amusing
herself in other ways. [10]This home, too, was broken up by Death, but
Mrs. Ewing looked back to it with great affection, and when, at the
beginning of her last illness, whilst she still expected to recover,
sh