FOOTNOTES:

[12] Rev. Richard Valpy, D.D., equally famous as a Greek scholar and as Head-Master of Reading Grammar School.

[13] Lady Charles Aynsley, a wealthy first-cousin of the Doctor’s.

[14] Richard Brinsley Sheridan. His second wife was a Miss Ogle, and a cousin of Dr. Mitford. Miss Mitford thought her “a vain woman.”

CHAPTER VIII
LITERATURE AS A SERIOUS AND PURPOSEFUL OCCUPATION

Except for very brief intervals, when the Reading races or some coursing meeting engaged his attention, Dr. Mitford was rarely to be found at home, with the result that the “farm” was left very much to the men, with such supervision as Mrs. Mitford might care, or be able, to give it. Money was getting scarce at Bertram House and the Doctor therefore resorted, more than ever, to the Clubs, in the hope that his skill at cards might once again tempt the fickle Goddess at whose shrine he was so ardent a votary. Nathaniel Ogle was his crony and between them they went the round of the gaming-tables with results which proved that either the Doctor’s powers were on the wane or that he was being subjected to frequent frauds.

It is a regrettable fact, but must be recorded, that both Mrs. and Miss Mitford appear to have been fully cognizant of his habits; whether they knew the extent of his losses, or realized what these losses meant with regard to their future comfort is a debatable point, although from what we are able to gather from the scant records at our command we incline to the belief that Mrs. Mitford was scarcely capable of either controlling or influencing a husband of Dr. Mitford’s temperament. Both by birth and upbringing she was absolutely unfitted for the task. Doubtless she had made her feeble remonstrances, but these proving of no avail she resigned herself to a policy of laissez-faire, in the belief, possibly, that whatever happened, their condition could never be as bad as in the black days which followed the flight from Lyme Regis and her husband’s confinement within the King’s Bench Rules. If under similar conditions a man might claim extenuating circumstances by urging his wife’s apathy, then Dr. Mitford would assuredly be entitled to our mercy, if not to our sympathy; but, happily, the world has not yet sunk so low as to condone a man’s misdemeanours on such a ground, so that Dr. Mitford stands condemned alone.

A series of letters addressed to him during 1807, to the care of “Richardson’s Hotel,” or the “Star Office” in Carey Street, convey some idea of the anxiety which his prolonged absence was occasioning his wife and daughter at home, while at the same time they give him tit-bits of domestic news.

“As lottery tickets continue at so high a price, had you not better dispose of yours, for I am not sanguine with respect to its turning out a prize, neither is mamma; but consult your better judgment. I think you have to deal with a slippery gentleman. You would do well to introduce a rule, that whoever introduces a gentleman should be responsible for him; that is, supposing that you mean to continue to play there; though my advice has always been, that you should stick to Graham’s, where, if you have not an equal advantage, you have at least no trouble, and know your society. You have always gained more there, on an average, than with chance players like the Baron, or at inferior clubs, like the one you now frequent.... I need not say, my darling, how much we long again to see you, nor how greatly we have been disappointed when, every succeeding day, the journey to Reading has been fruitless. The driver of the Reading coach is quite accustomed to be waylaid by our carriage.” The letter from which this is an extract is dated February 11, 1807, and begins with a lament over a caged owl, found dead that morning, and gives news of the expansion of a hyacinth which “I fear, if you do not hasten to return, you will lose its fresh and blooming beauty.”

The next letter dated February 15, records the sudden drooping and destruction of the hyacinth and contains a plea that the Doctor will not waste money on the purchase of a fur cap for his daughter, a gift he contemplated making after seeing his kinswoman, Mrs. Sheridan, in a similar head-dress. “Mrs. Sheridan’s dress is always singular and fantastic,” continues the letter, “but even if this masculine adornment be fashionable, the season is so far advanced that it would be impossible to wear it above a month longer.”

But it must not be thought that these were the only topics touched upon in the correspondence between father and daughter. Some of the letters reveal an extraordinary interest in Politics which must, surely, have been unusual among women a century ago. They also clearly indicate that the same critical faculty which was applied to literature by Miss Mitford was also focussed on men and manners. “What Grattan may be when speaking upon so interesting a subject as places and pensions, I know not; but when he was brought in last Parliament to display his powers upon the Catholic question (which is, I admit, to party men a subject of very inferior importance), the House was extremely disappointed. If I remember rightly, he was characterized as a ‘little, awkward, fidgetty, petulant speaker’; and the really great man who then led the Opposition easily dispensed with his assistance.... I perfectly agree with you as to the great merit of Lord Erskine’s very eloquent speech; and, as he was against the Catholic question, his opinions will have more weight with the country than those of any other of the ex-ministers. I always thought Lord Sidmouth a very bad speaker. His sun is set, never, I hope, to rise again!”

Of Shaw Lefevre she evidently entertained a poor opinion and appears to have been unable to forgive or forget his supposed complicity in the plot to bring the Doctor to Reading during Election time.

“Mr. Lefevre sported some intolerably bad puns, which were, I suppose, intended for our entertainment; but they did not discompose my gravity.” This was after a visit he and his wife had paid to Bertram House, on which occasion he must have had a chilly reception from one, at least, of the ladies. She continues: “I believe that he has no inclination to meet you, and was glad to find you were in town. Little minds always wish to avoid those to whom they are under obligations, and his present ‘trimming’ in politics must conspire to render him still more desirous not to meet you, till he has found which party is strongest. That will, I am of opinion, decide which he will espouse.... In short, the more I know of this gentleman the more I am convinced that, under a roughness of manner, he conceals a very extraordinary pliancy of principles and a very accommodating conscience. He holds in contempt the old-fashioned manly virtues of firmness and consistency, and is truly ‘a vane changed by every wind.’ If he votes with the Opposition to-day, it will only be because he thinks them likely to be again in power; and it will, I really think, increase my contempt for him, if he does not do so.” Had poor Mr. Lefevre been anxious to propitiate his little critic, and had he seen the concluding sentence of her letter as above, he must surely have been nonplussed as to the course of conduct necessary to achieve that end!

During this year it is certain that Miss Mitford began seriously to think of authorship in the light of something more than a dilettante pastime and the scribbling of heroic verses to the notable men whom her father was constantly meeting as he gadded about town. Doubtless the haunting fear of impending disaster had much to do with this, though possibly she conveyed no hint to her parents as to the real cause of her diligence. “We go out so much that my work does not proceed so fast as I could wish” is the burden of a letter she wrote towards the end of May, “although,” she adds, “I am very happy I have seen Lord Blandford’s, my darling, as I should, if I had not, always have fancied it something superior.”

Lord Blandford’s was the estate known as “Whiteknights Park,” still existing on the southern heights overlooking Reading. During the twelfth century the land maintained a house which was attached to the Hospital for Lepers founded by Aucherius, the second Abbot of Reading Abbey. It was purchased in 1798 by the Marquis of Blandford (subsequently Duke of Marlborough) who spent a considerable sum in having the grounds laid out in the landscape style. Miss Mitford was not only disappointed but severely criticised the whole scheme, whilst of the lake she wrote: “and the piece of water looks like a large duck pond, from the termination not being concealed.” With the perversity of her sex—and it was a habit from which she was never free—her later descriptions of the place are quite eulogistic and she refers to

“These pure waters, where the sky

In its deep blueness shines so peacefully;

Shines all unbroken, save with sudden light

When some proud swan majestically bright

Flashes her snowy beauty on the eye;”

and she closes the Sonnet with—

“A spot it is for far-off music made,

Stillness and rest—a smaller Windermere.”

During this period she was also busily occupied in transcribing the manuscripts of her old friend and governess, Fanny Rowden, and was most anxious for the success of that lady’s recently-published poem entitled The Pleasures of Friendship. With an excess of zeal which ever characterized her labours for those she loved, she was continually urging her father to try and interest any of his friends who might be useful, and to this end suggested that the poem be shown to Thomas Campbell and to Samuel Rogers. Of Samuel Rogers she confesses that she can find no merit in his work, except “polished diction and mellifluous versification,” but at the same time records her own and her mother’s opinion that Miss Rowden’s poem is a “happy mixture of the polish of Rogers and the animation of Campbell,” with whose works it must rank in time.

With the exception of a short period during the year 1808 the Doctor was still to be found in London. This exception was caused by the Reading Races at which the Doctor was a regular attendant. On this particular occasion young William Harness, son of Mrs. Mitford’s trustee and then a boy at Harrow, was of the party. He went in fulfilment of an old promise, but the pleasure of his visit was considerably lessened by the fact that he noticed how greatly altered was the Mitford’s mode of living. It is recorded in his Life that “a change was visible in the household; the magnificent butler had disappeared; and the young Harrow boy by no means admired the Shabby Equipage in which they were to exhibit themselves on the race-course.”

No hint of this state of things is to be found in the letters of the period, nor can we trace even the vestige of a murmur in them from the mother and daughter who must have been torn with anxiety. Here and there, however, there is a suspicion of disappointment at the long absence of the Doctor and his failure to fulfil promises of certain return. Nearly every letter contains some phrase indicative of this, such as: “I hope Mr. Ogle will not long detain you from us”; “Heaven bless you, my beloved! We long for your return, and are ever most fondly,” etc.; or,—“I have myself urged a request to be favoured with the second canto [of Miss Rowden’s poem] by your worship’s return; which felicity, as you say nothing to the contrary, we may, I presume, hope for on Thursday”; to which was added, by way of reminder of their many disappointed attempts to meet him in Reading, “but you must expect, like all deceivers, not to be so punctually attended to this time as before.”

Miss Mitford was never the one to sit about the house, crying and moping over wreckage, the naturally corollary to which would have been an upbraiding of the wrecker, and from such an outrageous action—she would have so considered it—she ever refrained. Rather she preferred to apply herself more strenuously to her literary work wherein she might not only absorb herself but be laying the foundation of a career which, in time, she trusted might resuscitate their diminished fortunes and ensure a regular competence.

Her most ambitious effort, at this period, was, as she described it when submitting it to her father in London, “a faint attempt to embalm the memory of the hero of Corunna.” This, we are given to understand, was written under “mamma’s persuasions,” although the writer considered it far above her powers. “I fancy I am more than usually dissatisfied,” she goes on to write, “from the comparison I cannot avoid making between these and the exquisitely beautiful performance I have lately been engaged in examining,” a kindly reference of course to Miss Rowden’s work.

The poem is dated February 7, 1809, is entitled “To the Memory of Sir John Moore,” and is signed “M. R. M.” It consists of thirty-four lines, too long to quote here, but we cannot refrain from giving the concluding stanzas because, in view of subsequent events, they have a peculiar literary significance:—

“No tawdry, ’scutcheons hang around thy tomb,

No hired mourners wave the sabled plume,

No statues rise to mark the sacred spot,

No pealing organ swells the solemn note.

A hurried grave thy soldiers’ hands prepare;

Thy soldiers’ hands the mournful burthen bear;

The vaulted sky to earth’s extremest verge

Thy canopy; the cannon’s roar thy dirge!

Affections sorrows dew thy lowly bier,

And weeping Valour sanctifies the tear.”

This, as we have shown, was written in 1809. On April 19, 1817, eight years later, there appeared in the Newry Telegraph (a small tri-weekly, published in Ulster), under the simple head of “Poetry,” what Byron called “the most perfect ode in the language”—“The Burial of Sir John Moore.” This poem was variously ascribed to Byron, Campbell and a number of others, and it was not until the year 1823 that it became known that the real author was the late Rev. Charles Wolfe, the curate of Ballyclog, in Tyrone, who had just died of consumption at the early age of thirty-two. Under ordinary circumstances there could be nothing remarkable in the fact of a notable occurrence, such as the burial of a nation’s hero, inspiring two poets, at different dates, to choose it as a theme. In this case it is, however, very singular that the hurried, rough burial of the hero should have resulted in phrases almost identical in thought if not in word, especially as it was almost impossible for Mr. Wolfe to have seen Miss Mitford’s work. As a literary curiosity we subjoin the verses of Mr. Wolfe to which we refer:—

“Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,

As his corpse to the rampart we hurried;

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,

O’er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night,

The sods with our bayonets turning;

By the struggling moonbeams misty light

And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest

With his martial cloak around him.

But half of our heavy task was done

When the clock struck the hour for retiring;

And we heard the distant and random gun

That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone—

But we left him alone with his glory.”

Having given these two quotations we might properly leave the matter, but for another curious incident which occurred in 1852 when, being engaged in preparing for the press her Recollections of a Literary Life, Miss Mitford had her attention drawn to a French poem which she considered had either been translated from Mr. Wolfe’s poem and applied to some other hero, or that Mr. Wolfe, seeing this French poem,[15] had translated it and applied it as an ode on the burial of Sir John Moore. As to which was the better poem of the two, she unhesitatingly declared in favour of the French.