To B.R. Haydon Esqr
14
Three Mile Cross
August 24th1823.
Yes, my dear Sir, I plead guilty--since I have been a professed Authoress (woe is me! a washerwoman in good practice hath the better trade) since that misfortune has befallen me I have become a very shabby Correspondent & run the risk of appearing ungrateful to those whose favours I value most--but I will amend & pay you in quantity for the time to come--to pay you in quality I do not promise--who can?--I am not however quite to bad as I must have appeared, for I did write a note of most sincere & heartfelt congratulation to you & Mrs. Haydon on your release--Did you receive it? Owing to my having unluckily mislaid your penultimate letter--(Oh pedantry of pedantries! word bluer than indigo! I hope it is wrong) that beautiful letter which I would not lose for an Ingot--added to my faculty of forgetting every thing in the shape of a figure (the multiplication table &
the English Chronology were the torments of my Schooldays--I never got beyond the Twices in one & the Williams Up until Mitford's time, there had been a total of three King Williams in England: William the Conqueror (c. 1028-1087), William II, aka William Rufus (c. 1056-1100), and William III, aka William of Orange (1650-1702). Mitford jokes that she could remember no dates in English history past 1650. in the other)--from these two causes I misdirected my note putting as I believe 18 for 6 (I only wonder I came so near) & you being a new Inhabitant would most likely not receive it--Did you?--There was nothing in the blotted paper except our most sincere felicitations--& that assurance of success which burns within me whenever I think of you--especially since your last equally noble & prudent resolutions--which are really & truly in the Napoleon spirit--his best spirit. I am so glad that we think alike of that great man--What you say of your old servant is
hardly very distressing--such ingratitude destroys the blessed faith in human nature which is necessary to our happiness & almost to our virtue.--With respect to
Mr. Bewick
I cannot but hope & believe that you will find some extenuating circumstances--something to soften & palliate--some mistake or mis-statement--I cannot will not imagine other of one who seemed so interesting & amiable--so connected with the finest parts of your finest pictures--so much a part of you! Oh you will find it as I say I am sure--A man's countenance cannot tell just sad fibs as his would do otherwise.--I am heartily glad to hear of Mr. Chatfield's constancy--but what fools they must be that act
excessive
unkindly--their heads must be as much at fault as their hearts not to see that
to have been your pupils is & will be their best title let them paint as well as they may. I am as sure of your carrying your point, as I am of finishing this letter both events being, humanly speaking, certain--We may each of us die first to be sure--but the chances are undoubtedly
a million to onein favour of our accomplishing our objects. Let me know what subject you think of taking for your next picture--Is there nothing in which Mrs. Haydon & the Little one could be introduced? Two such models!
Pray are you a Cricketer?--We are very great Ones--I mean our Parish--of which we
the feminine members act audience, & "though we do not play o'erlook the" balls. When I wrote to you last I was just going to see a grand match in a fine old Park near us--Bramshill--between Hampshire, with Mr. Budd, & All England--anticipating great pleasure from so grand an exhibition & thinking like a simpleton the better the Play the more the enjoyment. Oh what a mistake! there they were a set of ugly men white headed & bald headed (for half of Lord's was engaged in the combat, players & gentlemen Mr. Ward & Lord Frederick, the Veterans of the green)--dressed in tight white jackets (the Apollo Belvedere could not bear the hideous disguise of a cricketing jacket) with neckcloths
pr
imly tied round their throats fine japa
nned
shoes silk
st
ockings & gloves--instead of our fine village lads with their unbuttoned collars their loose waistcoats & the large shirtsleeves which give an air of picturesque & Italian
to their glowing bounding youthfulness--there they stood railed in by themselves, silent, solemn, slow, playing for money, making a business of the thing--grave as judges--taciturn as chess players--
a sort of dancers without music--instead of the glee, the fun, the shouts, the laughter the glorious confusion of the country game--And there were we the lookers on in tents and Marquees, fine & freezing, dull as the players, cold as this
hard summer weather, shivering & yawning & trying to seem pleased. The curse of gentility on all our doings, as stupid as we could have been in a ball room. I never was so much disappointed in my life. But every thing is spoilt when Money puts its ugly nose in. To think of playing Cricket for hard cash!--Money & gentility would
spoil ruin any pastime under the sun. Much to my comfort (for the degrading my favourite sport in a "science" as they were pleased to call it had made me quite spiteful) the game ended unsatisfactorily to all parties--winners & losers. Old Lord Frederick on some real or imaginary affront took himself off in the middle of the second Innings--so that the two last
were
played without him, by which means his
side lost & the other could hardly be said to win. So be it always when men make an affair of bettings & hedging & cheating may be of the noble game of cricket.
--And now God bless you--Kindest regards & best wishes from all--Ever your's
MR Mitford
To
B.R. Haydon Esqre
8 Paddington Green
near the Church
Paddington