SD799. Mary Russell Mitford to George Mitford
Published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 329 (in part).
Russell Square,
May 27, 1836.
I told you, my dearest father, that Mr. Kenyon was to take me to the giraffes and the Diorama, with both of which I was delighted. A sweet young woman, whom we called for in Gloucester Place, went with us—a Miss Barrett—who reads Greek as I do French, and has published some translations from Æschylus, and some most striking poems. She is a delightful young creature; shy and timid and modest. Nothing but her desire to see me got her out at all, but now she is coming to us to-morrow night also.
We just missed poor Mrs. Hofland, but I hope to call upon her to-morrow, having commissioned William Harness to get me a fly, that I may go and see Mrs. Callcott (from whom I have a most charming note) and Miss Joy (from whom I have also heard), and the Dilkes, Allan Cunningham, Erskine Perry, Chantry, and Westmacott to see Mr. Perry’s monument. A fly, they say, is cheaper than a glass coach, and quite as respectable, and I could not otherwise manage the matter.
Monday and Tuesday, William and Mr. Chorley are to take me to exhibitions. We had at William Harness’s Wordsworth, Mr. Hope, Mr. Dyce, Mr. Chorley, Miss Sotherby (you knew her father, a friend of the Ogles—she is to meet me at Lady Dacre’s), and a heap more of ladies and gentlemen; amongst the rest Mr. Knight, a very clever artist, who wants to take my portrait, in order to rescue his brother artists from the disgrace of the caricatures which have been taken of me. William says that the reason of his falling in love with me is, that I am so well dressed, and you will be glad to hear that our pains have not been thrown away, for I am just dressed like the fashionable people at the other end of the town, and really it is pleasant that it should be so. We had a delightful dinner, only dimmed by poor Mr. Chorley’s distress. He has had another affliction, for Mary Howitt’s book turns out to be a dead failure. He is a charming young man. We had loads of other visitors, both before and after my departure to the Zoological Gardens. Everybody is more kind to me than you can imagine. All the naughty ladies were at our play, Lady B——, Mrs. N—— &c., &c. I wish you had been there. Am I not very good in writing? If you know the immense concourse of people who are thronging here, you would think so. Heaven bless you! Love to Dash and all friends.
Ever most fondly your own,
M. R. Mitford.
Publication: L’Estrange (2), III, 46–47.
Manuscript: Reading Central Library.
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