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 then one of the chief enjoyments lay in the unwonted luxury of being allowed to choose my own route.  Freedom of choice to a wearied mind is quite as refreshing as ozone to an exhausted body.  Julie had none of the petty tyranny about her which often mars the generosity of otherwise liberal souls, who insist on giving what they wish rather than what the receiver wants.

I was told to take out Bradshaw’s map, and go exactly where I desired, and, oh! how we pored over the various railway lines, but finally chose Dartmouth for a destination, as being old in itself, and new to us, and really a “long way off.”  We were neither of us disappointed; we lived on the quay, and watched the natives living in boats on the harbour, as is their wont; and we drove about the Devon lanes, all nodding with foxgloves, to see the churches with finely-carved screens that abound in the neighbourhood, our driver being a more than middle-aged woman, with shoes down at heel, and a hat on her head.  She was always attended by a black retriever, whom she called “Naro,” and whom Julie sketched.  I am afraid, as years went on, I became unscrupulous about accepting her presents, on the score that she “liked” to give them!—­and I only tried to be, at any rate, a gracious receiver.

[Illustration:  “THE LADY WILL DRIVE!”]

There was one person, however, whom Julie found less easy to deal with, and that was an Aunt, whose liberality even exceeded her own.  When Greek met Greek over Christmas presents, then came the tug of war indeed!  The Aunt’s ingenuity in contriving to give away whatever plums were given to her was quite amazing, and she generally managed to baffle the most careful restrictions which were laid upon her; but Julie conquered at last, by yielding—­as often happens in this life!

“It’s no use,” Julie said to me, as she got out her bit of cardboard (not for a needle-book this time!)—­“I must make her happy in her own way.  She wants me to make her a sketch for somebody else, and I’ve promised to do it.”

The sketch was made,—­the last Julie ever drew,—­but it remained amongst the receiver’s own treasures.  She was so much delighted with it, she could not make up her mind to give it away, and Julie laughed many times with pleasure as she reflected on the unexpected success that had crowned her final effort.