1001. Mary Russell Mitford to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 67–69.
Three Mile Cross,
Sept. 2, 1842.
You may imagine, my beloved friend, how very much my dear father is restored when I tell you that carrying with us, and sending on before, the four persons absolutely necessary to help him in and out of his very low open carriage, he was well enough to attend at the stone-laying ceremony yesterday [1] (Wednesday), and that the exertion, as Mr. May foretold, rather did him good than harm. It was really a pretty ceremony. I suppose there’ll be an account of it in the Reading paper next week; if so, I’ll send it. Perhaps, after reading, you will be so good as to return it, since I should like to keep the detail. If ever I am ungrateful enough to bemoan my isolated position, I ought to think over the assemblage in the morning, and at the evening tea-party and concert (where my father insisted on my appearing for an hour), in order to feel the thankfulness that thrilled through my very heart at the true and honest kindness with which I was received. It was an enthusiasm of man, woman, and child—hundreds—thousands—such as I can hardly venture to describe, and it lasted all the time I stayed. Indeed, the pleasure amounted to pain, so confusing was it to hear the over-praise of which I felt myself unworthy. But it was not the praise that was so touching, it was the kindliness, the affection. My father cried, K_____ cried, Dora Smith [2] cried, I think more than all, at the true, honest, generous heartiness of the people. There is in Reading a very eloquent man, really eloquent, and it is a high and rare gift. He is a physician, young and deeply religious, very clever, very scientific, and one who interests himself greatly in the instruction of the people, giving courses of lectures every winter. He spoke the oration, a very fine one; and if the reporter have done him justice, you will see that he is a speaker of no common stamp. [3] If the account be badly done, I shan’t send it; but will then write again to supply the omissions of this letter; taking for granted frankly, my most dearest, that to you it will be as full of interest as such a thing happening to you would be to me. Think how full of thanksgiving were my prayers last night that my dear father had enjoyed such gratification.
I must see the “North American Review,” and the condemned tragedies, chiefly the “North American.” I know very well Mrs. Stirling, the mother of the poet. His father is the most trenchant and violent writer of the “Times.” [4] Mrs. Stirling is very charming—a Cornelia-like [5] woman—stately and noble, whose pride in her son is charming. It is long since I have seen her. No, Mr. Milnes is not cold! I love his poetry.
Heaven bless you, my love! I am tired to death.
Ever your own,
M.R. Mitford.
Text: L’Estrange (2), III, 158–159.
1. See letter 999, note 2. Miss Mitford’s reference to the “ceremony yesterday (Wednesday)” indicates that either she or L’Estrange misdated the letter, as 2 September was a Friday.
2. Not identified.
3. The Berkshire Chronicle of 3 September, reporting on the ceremony and the soirée that followed, identified the speaker as Dr. Cowan (1784–1843) and devoted half a column to a summary of his speech. Thanking Miss Mitford for extending “her kind patronage and assistance on this our dawning day,” he spoke of her as “one whom God has gifted above her fellows.”
4. Edward Sterling (1773–1847) retired from journalism in 1840, after contributing to The Times for more than 25 years under the signatures Vetus and Magus. He had married Hester Coningham (d. 1843) in 1804. Their son John was one of the authors treated in The North American Review (see letter 999).
5. Cornelia, daughter of Scipio Africanus and widow of Sempronius Gracchus, was considered to be the ideal Roman matron. Once, when entreated to display her jewels, she produced her sons Tiberius and Gaius, saying “these are the only jewels of which I can boast.”
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