1472. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 8, 111–113.
[London]
Dec 27. 1843
My dearest Miss Mitford that you shd ever for a moment conclude from my silence, that I was tired of you, is an extravagance of conjecture I did not attribute to you!– The fact is I have not been well, & had a good deal of perforce writing to do notwithstanding; & then I did not like to write briefly to you with the news of my being unwell, & so buzz in your ear with a disquieting thought to no good end. I caught cold in a mystery. Fancy my catching cold through my hermetical sealing! I caught a very ordinary cold,—just such a cold as I might have caught if I had walked out in a December moonshine without my bonnet,—and I had a dry hard cough every time I opened my mouth to say even “yes” or “no” in a whisper,—and grew weak & unwell with it,—& moreover with a chest & bloodvessels made of glass, had very good reason to expect the catastrophe of spitting blood, with every breath. The catastrophe however has not happened—no sign of any rupture has appeared—and after some ten days of absolute quiet & silence I am recovering my voice & losing my cough. So now it is all over, or all but over, & I write of the past rather than the present, your kindness may lie down quietly on its sofa & go to sleep,—if it can—only its eyes are always too wide open for sleeping– Dear Mr Kenyon I have been obliged to refuse to see twice. It was impossible to talk. Even Flush had to be satisfied with pats upon his ears—and he—dear little thing,—quite seemed to understand, & was more unwilling than ever to leave the room. Well—& this is enough of me, I am sure. And if I say so much, it is because a cough is a matter of life or death with me—a hinge on which the door may turn either out or in. But it is shut now,—& in the course of being locked for the nonce.
Thank you much for Mrs Niven’s letter. Will she publish her travels, do you think? I esteem Forsythe’s learning, but his medium of communicating it, I never cd particularly admire. [1] He wants life .. & so, it appears to me, does your friend.
Did you read the very powerful “Song of the Shirt” by Hood, printed in Punch, & now going the round of the papers? [2] It is full of tragic sympathy & power—& despite your indisposition towards Hood, you will not touch the end of it unmoved. It was in the Athenæum of a week or two ago–
Also have you seen Wordsworth’s Inscription for the grave of Southey?– [3] I will send it to you if you have not,—and yet there is not much in it that is worthy of either of the great men. Is it possible for genius to grow old?—or to sink so deep in laurels as to be unable to stir a hand freely? But this poet’s genius is not & never was, monumental & concentrative in its character—he never cd say great things briefly,—and in that fact perhaps, lies the better reason for an obvious feebleness.
And yet again, how nobly he tolls his sonnets—he is concentrative enough in them: and he might have tolled a noble sonnet, one wd think, over this grave.
Mr Kenyon left word three days ago that he was going to Devonshire in five or six,—& I hope I shall be able to see him for one half hour before he goes.
My sympathies like yours have been with the daughters, rather than with the step-mother, in the Southey case, be sure!– [4] And although not agreeing with you that the poetry of Caroline Bowles (the Birthday & the minor verses) [5] is “meretricious,”—nay, seeming to see in it much tender simplicity, freshness & moral sweetness, I do not class it or herself highly as poet & poetry, & am aware of the feebleness essentially,—the want of reach of mind & imagination. It is strange! But certainly I shd have fancied that with you, some portions of the Birthday .. the fishing scenes with her father in the sweet rural cheerfulness of their details—the passage about the clock—& various other points of the poem,—would have found ready sympathy & favor. Well—I never cd have fancied that I shd be found pointing out these things to you, & that you shd call them “meritricious”! Oh no, my dearest friend!—not “meretricious” surely—that is, if I know the meaning of the imputation. She is a female half of Cowper—without his force, variety & originality—without in fact his genius— .. or his gloom. The Churchyard chapters indeed are some what too full of “the trick of sighing” [6] —but then the subject exacted black bombazeen, & there was scarcely a way of escape. Her other works are serene & cheerful, I think. Oh—she is no favorite of mine. I speak without a prejudice “for”—either personal or literary.
The Christmas Carol strikes me much as it does you. I dont like the machinery—which is entangled with allegory & ghostery—but I like & admire the mode of the working out—& the exquisite scenes about the clerk & little Tiny [Tim]; I thank the writer in my heart of hearts for them. [7]
Dearest friend, I hope you received a little fish which I sent upon an embassy to represent me who was mute as a fish! [8] Heart to heart, my dearest Miss Mitford, indeed! Wishes warm as the Yule log are with you at Christmastime & always.
Yours most affectionate
EBB.
Thank you thank you for the seal! Ah—& I am ashamed to say that it has fallen somewhere—but it shall be found.
My book is not out of its ms yet—and I am very busy with it.
Publication: EBB-MRM, II, 363–365.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Joseph Forsyth (1763–1815) spent a considerable time abroad; his observations were embodied in Remarks on Antiquities, Arts, and Letters, During an Excursion in Italy in the Years 1802 and 1803 (1813).
2. See letter 1465.
3. See letter 1470.
4. Southey’s second wife was cordially disliked by her step-children (DNB). In letter 1198, EBB criticized her actions during Southey’s last days.
5. The Birth-Day, published in 1836, was her most ambitious work.
6. Cf. Twelfth Night, II, 5, 151–152. Chapters on Churchyards, a reprint of essays contributed to Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, was published in 1829.
7. A Christmas Carol, just published, was reviewed in The Athenæum of 23 December (no. 843, pp. 1127–28).
8. Cf. Congreve, The Way of the World (1700), IV, 9, 4.
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