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Original PDF Voices of Freedom A Documentary History Fifth Editionvol 2 5th Edition PDF
Original PDF Voices of Freedom A Documentary History Fifth Editionvol 2 5th Edition PDF
VOICES OF FREEDOM
“““““““"H““““““““
A DOCUMENTARY HISTORY
VOLUME
2
ERIC FONER
007-65853_ch00_vol2_6P.indd vi 10/14/16 9:04 AM
Contents
Preface xv
15
16
vii
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Vo l u m e 2
“What Is Freedom?”:
Reconstruction, 1865– 1877
FOOTNOTES:
[24] Louisa Anne Phillips; she was only sixteen when she made
her début.
[25] W. Clarkson Stanfield—the famous marine-painter.
CHAPTER XXI
A GREAT SORROW
“For my own part I have plenty that must be done; much connected
painfully with my terrible grief; much that is calculated to force me
into exertion, by the necessity of getting money to meet the
inevitable expenses. Whether it were inability or inertness I cannot
tell, but Otto is still but little advanced. I lament this of all things now;
I grieve over it as a fault as well as a misfortune.”
So wrote Miss Mitford to William Harness on January 9, 1830, the
day following her mother’s funeral. And truly there was plenty to be
done and she would need all her woman’s courage, for now “the
weight which Dr. Mitford had divided between two forbearing women
had to be borne by one.”
A new volume—the fourth—of Our Village was now almost ready
for publication, for which Whittaker agreed to give £150, and during
the month an agent from a publisher had called at Three Mile Cross
with a view to arranging for a work to be entitled Stories of American
Life by American Writers, which were to be selected and edited, with
prefaces by Miss Mitford. The suggested publisher was Colburn.
This, of course, necessitated a great deal of labour, in the midst of
which the negotiations for the American book nearly fell through by
reason of a quarrel between the publisher and his agent.
It was a most trying period, for Dr. Mitford grew more exacting day
by day, demanding more and more attention from his daughter,
whom he expected—nay, forced—to play cribbage with him until he
fell asleep, when, being released, she read and worked far into the
night. Then, to make matters worse, the Doctor began to imbibe
more wine than was good for him—it will be noticed that his creature
comforts did not diminish—and, whilst returning alone from a dinner-
party in the neighbourhood, was thrown out of the chaise and the
horse and vehicle arrived empty at the cottage in the dead of night.
His daughter, who had been waiting for him, made the discovery that
he was missing and, rousing the man and servants, they all set off
along the road to Shinfield, finding him lying stunned by the roadside
a mile away, “Only think,” wrote his daughter, “what an agony of
suspense it was! Thank Heaven, however, he escaped uninjured,
except being stiff from the jar; and I am recovering my nervousness
better than I could have expected.”
Very truly yours
M. R. Mitford
THE AUTHOR OF OUR VILLAGE
Miss Mitford “attended by a printer’s devil to whom she is
delivering ‘copy.’” (From a sketch in Fraser’s Magazine,
May, 1831.)
The success of Rienzi in America, and the previous re-publication
in that country of a small volume of the Narrative Poems on the
Female Character, had brought Miss Mitford’s name prominently
before the American people, and towards the end of 1830 she was
gratified by the receipt of a long letter of congratulation from Miss
Catharine Maria Sedgwick,[26] an American author of some repute in
her day, who had, that year, published a novel entitled Hope Leslie.
The letter mentioned the despatch of an author’s copy of one of the
writer’s books and asked for particulars of the village and home-life
of Miss Mitford, whose volumes on Our Village were being read with
avidity across the Atlantic. It drew a long and characteristic reply.
“I rejoice,” wrote Miss Mitford, “to find that your book is not merely
reprinted but published in England, and will contribute, together with
the splendid novels of Mr. Cooper, to make the literature and
manners of a country so nearly connected with us in language and
ways of thinking, known and valued here. I think that every day
contributes to that great end. Cooper is certainly, next to Scott, the
most popular novel writer of the age. Washington Irving enjoys a
high and fast reputation; the eloquence of Dr. Channing, if less
widely, is perhaps more deeply felt; and a lady, whom I need not
name, takes her place amongst these great men, as Miss Edgeworth
does among our Scotts and Chalmerses. I have contributed, or
rather, am about to contribute, my mite to this most desirable
interchange of mind with mind, having selected and edited three
volumes of tales, taken from the great mass of your periodical
literature, and called Stories of American Life by American Authors.
They are not yet published, but have been printed some time; and I
shall desire Mr. Colburn to send you a copy, to which, indeed, you
have every way a right, since I owe to you some of the best stories in
the collection.” Then followed a short description of the events which
led up to the removal from Bertram House to the cottage at Three
Mile Cross. “There was, however, no loss of character amongst our
other losses; and it is to the credit of human nature to say, that our
change of circumstances has been attended with no other change
amongst our neighbours and friends than that of increased attentions
and kindness. Indeed I can never be sufficiently thankful for the very
great goodness which I have experienced all through life, from
almost every one with whom I have been connected. My dear
mother I had the misfortune to lose last winter. My dear father still
lives, a beautiful and cheerful old man, whom I should of all things
like you to know, and if ever you do come to our little England, you
must come and see us. We should never forgive you if you did not.
Our family losses made me an authoress ... and I should have
abstained from all literary offence for the future had not poverty
driven me against my will to writing tragic verse and comic prose;
thrice happy to have been able, by so doing, to be of some use to
my dear family.”
In response to the invitation contained in this letter Miss Sedgwick
did call at the cottage when, some years later, she paid a visit to this
country. It was a visit ostensibly undertaken to see the sights and
meet the lions—particularly the literary lions. The record of the trip
was embodied in two small volumes published in 1841 by Moxon, in
London, and entitled Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home. Miss
Sedgwick possessed a telling style, picturesque to a degree, and
there can be no shadow of doubt that her “kindred at home” were
delighted to have her spicy epistles, but they shocked Miss Mitford.
“If you have a mind,” the latter wrote to a friend, “to read the coarsest
Americanism ever put forth, read the Literary Gazette of this last
week. I remember, my dear love, how much and how justly you were
shocked at Miss Sedgwick’s way of speaking of poor Miss Landon’s
death; but when you remember that her brother and nephew had
spent twice ten days at our poor cottage—that she had been
received as their kinswoman, and therefore as a friend, you may
judge how unexpected this coarse detail has been. The Athenæum
will give you no notion of the original passage nor the book itself—for
John Kenyon, meeting with it at Moxon’s, cancelled the passage—
but too late for the journals, except the Athenæum. Of course its
chief annoyance to me is the finding the aunt of a dear friend so
excessively vulgar. Do get the Literary Gazette—for really it must be
seen to be believed.”
We quote the extract from the Literary Gazette of July 10, 1841.
“Our coachman (who, after telling him we were Americans, had
complimented us on our speaking English, ‘and very good English,
too’) professed an acquaintance of some twenty years standing with
Miss M., and assured us that she was one of the ‘cleverest women in