“I have only one moment in which to proffer a petition to you. I have a little trumpery volume, Country Stories, about to be published. Will you permit me to give these tales some little value in my own eyes by inscribing them (of course, in a few true and simple words,) to you, my very old and most kind friend? I would not dedicate a play to you, for fear of causing you injury in your profession; but I do not think that this slight testimony of a very sincere affection could do you harm in that way, for even those who do not allow novels in their house sanction my little books.
Ever affectionately yours,
“M. R. Mitford.”
To this request, particularly gratifying to its recipient, permission was immediately granted, and the volume appeared with the following Dedication:—
“To the Rev. William Harness, whose old hereditary friendship has been the pride and pleasure of her happiest hours, her consolation in the sorrows, and her support in the difficulties of life, this little volume is most respectfully and affectionately inscribed by the Author.”
We, who have so far followed Miss Mitford’s life, know how just a tribute was this dedication, and at the same time we may be able, imperfectly perhaps, to understand how true was her reference to the sorrows and difficulties with which she had been forced to contend. By this time, under ordinary circumstances, she might have hoped that her pecuniary difficulties were wellnigh overcome; but this was not to be, and in this year (1837) the liabilities of the Mitford household were so overwhelming and the wherewithal to meet them so slight that Miss Mitford was reduced to the lowest depths of despair.
A view in Swallowfield Park, one of Miss Mitford’s favourite scenes.
Taking counsel with William Harness, she wrote a touching appeal, in May, to Lord Melbourne, begging the grant of a State Pension. It was a piteous appeal, and concluded thus:—“My life has been one of struggle and of labour, almost as much withdrawn from the literary as from the fashionable world; but I am emboldened to take this step by the sight of my father’s white hairs, and the certainty that such another winter as the last would take from me all power of literary exertion, and send those white hairs in sorrow to the grave.”
Letters on the subject were also despatched to the Duke of Devonshire, to Miss Fox and to Lady Dacre in the hope that they would throw the weight of their influence into the petition. “Is all this right?” she asked William Harness. “It may not succeed, but it can do no harm. If it do succeed, I shall owe all to you, who have spirited me up to the exertion. No woman’s constitution can stand the wear and tear of all this anxiety. It killed poor Mrs. Hemans, and will, if not averted, kill me.”
The most strenuous efforts were made by highly-placed friends to influence Lord Melbourne in the petitioner’s favour, among them being those already mentioned, Lord and Lady Radnor, Lord Palmerston, “and many others whom I have never seen, whose talents and character, as well as their rank and station, render their notice and approbation a distinction as well as an advantage.” All this resulted in the granting of the Pension, notice of which was conveyed to the anxious one within a fortnight of the original petition. In addition to this Miss Mitford received private assurances that the sum granted—£100 per annum—was intended merely as an instalment, and that it was hoped to settle it at £300 before long—a forlorn hope, as it happened!