The works of Mary Russell Mitford, prose and verse, viz Our village, Belford Regis, Country stories, Finden's tableaux, Foscari, Julian, Rienzi, Charles the First

Front matter

In Memoriam of CROSBY STUART NOYES

The bridegrcom may forget the bride,

Was made his wedded wife yeste'en ; The monarch may forget his crown

Preface

In leaving- them, however, we cannot, but point attention to the happy choice of their subjects, and in doing- this, may venture a remark or two which will lead us on to the works by which Miss Mitford is most widely known — her sketches of country life and scenery. Among the characteristics which eminently distinguish female authorship, it has ollen struck us, that there is none more certiin and striking than an instinctive quickness of discovery and happiness in working- out available subjects and fresh veins of fancy. At least, if we travel through the domains of lighter literature during the last fifty years, we shall find enough to prove our assertion. We shall find the supernatural romance growing into eminence under the hands of Aima Radcliffe — the national tale introduced to the public by Miss Edgeworth and Lady Morgan — the historical novel by Miss Lee and tlie Miss Porters — the story of domestic life, witii commonplace persons for its actors, brought to its last perfection by Miss Austen. We shall find " Kenilworth" anticipated by the " Recess" (a tale strangely forgotten,) and " Werner," owinji- not only its origin, but its very dialogue to " Ivruitzner" — and the stories of " Foscari" and " Rienzi," ere they fell into the hands of Byron and Bulwer, fixed upon with a happy boldness by the authoress under notice. But the claims of Miss Mitford to swell tiie list of i«uentors, rest upon yet firmer grounds ; tiiey rest upon those exquisite sketches by which — their scenery all, and their characters half real — she has created a scliool of writing, homely but not vulgar, familiar but not breeding contempt, (in this point alone not resembling the highly finished pictures of the Dutch school,) wherein the small events and the simple characters of rural life, are made interesting by the truth and sprightliness with which they are represented.

Every one now knows "Our Village," and every one knows that the nooks and corners, the haunts and copses so delightfully described in its pages, will be (bund in the immediate neighbourhood of Reading, and more especially around " Three Mile Cross," a cluster of cottages on the Basingstoke road, in one of which our authoress has now resided for many years. But so little was the |)eculia,r and original excellence of her descriptions understood, in the first instance, that, after having gone the round of rejection through the more important periodicals, they at last saw the liffht in no worthier publication than the Ladi/s Mn^azine. But the series of rural ()ictures grew, and the venture of collecting them into a separate volume was tried. The public began to relish the style so fresh yet so finisiicd, to enjoy the delicate humour and tiic sim[)le pathos of the tales ; and the end was, that the popularity of these sketches somewhat outgrew that of the works of loflier order, proceeding from the same pen — that young writers, English and American, began to imitate so artless and charming a manner of narration; and that an obscure Berkshire hamlet, by the magic of talent and kindly feeling, was converted into a place of resort and interest for not a few of the finest spirits of the age.

It should, perhaps, be owned in speaking of these village sketches, that their writer enamels too brightly — not the hedge-rows and the meadow-streams, the orchards and the cottage gardens, for who could exceed nature? — but the figures which people the scene ; that her country boys and village girls are too refined, too constantly turned " to favour and to prettincss." But this flattery only shows to us the health and benevolence of mind belonging to the writer ; nor would it be just to count it as a fault, unless we also were to denounce Crabbe as an unfaithful painter of English life and scenery, because, with a tendency diametrically opposite, he lingers like a lover in the workhouse and the hovel, and dwells rather upon decay, and meanness, and misery, than the prosperity and charity and comfort with which their gloom is so largely chequered. He may be called the Caravaggio, Miss Mitford the Claude, of village life in England ; and the truth lies between them. Both, however, are remarkable for the purity and selectness of their language; both paint with words, in a manner as faithful as it is significant. Crabbe should be reserved for those bright moments when the too buoyant spirits require a chastencr, a memento of the "days of darkness;" Miss Mitford resorted to in hours of depression and misgiving, when any book bearing an olive-branch to tell us that there is fair weather abroad, is a blessed visitant.

After publishing five volumes of these charming sketches, a wider field for the same descriptive powers was found in a small market-town, its peculiarities and its inhabitants, — and " Belford Regis" was written. But the family likeness between this work and " Our Village" is so strong as to spare us the necessity of dwelling upon its features. And now our record may be closed, as I it is not permitted to us to dwell ujjon the private pleasures and cares of an uneventful life, spent | for the most part in a " labourer's cottage, with a j duchess's flower-garden." We should mention, ! however, the recent addition of Miss Mitford's name to the pension-list, as one among many } gratifying proofs, that literature is increasingly j becoming an object of care and protection to I statesmen, and that in this nmch-stiginatized i world, talent and self-sacrifice do not always puss ; on their way unsympathized with or unrecog- I nized. ■ 1

Contents

First Series: — ■ Page

Hannah 11

Walks in the Country. Frost and Thaw. 13