I rather think my Father is going to London tomorrow--so as he will be able to get a frank--a thing which if our poor unlucky pensioned M. P. gets turned outParliamentary elections took place on 16 March 1819 in which Charles Fysshe Palmer defeated incumbent John Weyland, as Mitford hints may happen here. may be rather a rare article in this unparliamentary neighborhood--& as you may take it into your head not to write till you hear, & for many other good reasons I shall trouble you with a letter at once. Besides I have been meeting a Devonshire Squire of your's yours & I want to talk about him, & to ask questions & so forth. I write tell you the whole story. The husband of my most intimate friend in this neighborhood (Mr. Dickinson of Farley Hill--first Cousin to the Member for Somersetshire ) happens you must know to be a very clever man--and a patriot--(such unions--lamentable as they are do happen occur occasionally)--worse than a Patriot--he is an Ultra--an actual disciple of the old Major Cartwright. Well he had had some correspondence with your Devonshire Dema- (bless me I was going to write Demagogue!) with your Devonshire Patriot Mr. Northmore--& they both belong to the Hampden Club--& Mr. Northmore being I suppose sent to CoventryIn British idiom, to be "sent to Coventry" was "to be ignored or ostracized. This behaviour often takes the form of pretending that the shunned person, although conspicuously present, can't be seen or heard." Thought to originate in the English Civil Wars, but the first recorded citation is from 1765. See "The Phrase Finder": . Here, Mitford uses the phrase to indicate someone who, although known, is not received in polite society, someone who might be "cut" in public. in his own Country has & mind "to make his bear garden flourish here--for he is going about Berkshire estate hunting--so he invited himself to Farley Hill at a time when I happened to be staying there & he came & astonished us all prodigiously. My dear sir William, what a man! How loud & shrewd & full of himself & sharp all over from his eagle nose to his pointed hook toe! What a perpetual sky rocket bouncing starting & flaming! What a talker against time! Well might Mr. Hobhouse call him "the gentleman who came all the way from Devonshire to tell us that he was a great man at home." And he is a Poet too. Has written an Epic, which must have appeared incognito--for I never remember to have heard it mentioned in my life. An Epic Poem about Washington. A friend of his who came with him a very different sort of person--Mr. Johnson--the Junius of Marlow--who under the quaint name of Timothy Trueman contrives to exersize exercise so singular an influence in the party county politics of this part of the world--Mr. Johnson told me in answer to my questions about this poem, "That it displayed a very great spirit of liberty--& that independently of that there were some passages which were sufficiently felicitous." Is not this character the very model of the praise that damns? I dare say your abuse of it (if you should ever have seen it) will be much more merciful--at all events you must know the man--such a Volcano can hardly exist in a county without having been felt in its noise & smoke & stones & cinders--you must know about him & and do tell us--I never saw anyone who excited my curiosity more. Is he a gentleman born? And bred? What sort of woman is his wife? Is she sent to Coventry? And how do you class the animal?--I asked him if he knew you & he said you were a very able leader in the opposite forces--Perhaps you may know Mr. Johnson too--only that he has been always so much of a literary recluse--for though originally of Northumberland & now fixed in Buckinghamshire he has lived much in Devonshire--if you did know him I am sure you would like him--he is one of those delightful old men that render age so charming--mild playful kind & wise--talking just as Isaac Walton would have talked if we were to have gone out fishing with him. It is one of Mr. Northmore's sins in my eyes that he did not pay the proper attention to his venerable friend--If you suspect that he has affronted me you are mistaken--for except a little impertinent sort of praise which he thought very flattering, he was exceedingly civil--but that manner of his affronts every body without meaning it--that astonishing quantity of modest assurance--& moreover when my beautiful Mrs. Dickinson, 's best pupil, was singing what I think Handel's best song () he kept on one constant "very pretty, very pretty, very pretty" as a sort of running accompaniment--this was really too provoking--Mrs. Dickinson's singing is not only my delight but my pride--Good bye Mr. Northmore--Beau ideal of a democrat farewell! I have done with you--no--not quite either, for Washington is coming--at least Mr. Johnson threatened to send the book--but I never promised to read it. Good bye for the present Mr. Northmore I am going to talk of better things--I have just been reading the book I mentioned to you in my last----very amusing indeed, though not quite so excellent as to be suspected to be a posthumous work of Miss Austen's--still I recommend it to you very strongly--It has the one great charm of a novel--it makes one laugh. There are four most delightful personages all new and yet in books, & old in nature--three Scotch old maids--Miss Jacky--Miss Nicky--Miss Grizzy & a married friend Lady Maclaughlin MacLaughlan --all are good--but Miss Jacky & Miss Grizzy are the inimitable pair--their letters, are equal to Mr. Collins's--How you would enjoy two such Correspondents!--What hearty laughs they would give you! Besides these exquisite portraits there is a great deal of comic talent throughout the work. And there had need. Nothing but the bouyant air-bladder of Comedy could have floated such heavy materials as the prosing & preaching of the second Volume--the total want of everything resembling interest from first to last--the interminable speeches--& that deadest of dead weights the all perfect Heroine. A book so heavy had need be covered all over with Cork-jackets not to sink--of these grievances the heroine is much the worst. Somebody has said that we never forgive perfection unless it be made properly wretched--Now this heroine is not wretched at all. She is a female Sir Charles Grandison with no cares but the sentimental conflicts of duty & love. How I do hate those over good book people. They are just like triple refined sugar sweet & bright & hard & spotless, & good for nothing till mixed with some powerful acid--good for nothing at all. Luckily we know how to skip (invaluable discovery, I wonder no one has ever written an essay in its praise) & Grizzy & Jacky make ample amends for the fair Mary's sins of wisdom & virtue.--Grizzy is my favorite--I think I shall christen the white kitten your kitten--by that melodious name--Do you like it? Here am I talking of kittens & novels & Mr. Northmore's & such like baubles & quite forgetting the opportunity I have to shew off & look grand & learned, & classical & critical, & bluer than a blue bag. Do you know that I am holding the responsible office of critic to a which a friend of mine--Mr. Dickinson by the bye--is about to print at his private press as soon as ever they have undergone my last revisal? There's for you. Translations from Dante--Tasso--Ariosto--Petrarch--Ovid & Virgil. Very fine translations too--combining in a most extraordinary degree fidelity to the words & the spirit of the Author with the most flowing versification & the purest syle. The Ugolino & Isabella stories are superb. These Italian people are my old acquaintance--I was not quite so intimate with the Latin Gentleman--I had read to be sure--but then it was a long time ago--& of Mr Ovid I knew nothing at all. I have now had the honour of an introduction--to his tale of Phaeton & I think him a very fine fellow indeed. I don't know anybody who talks so much magnificent nonsense--he goes far beyond Mr. Southey-- is "pale pink compared to the flaming scarlet" of the . The 4th too surprised me with its matchless beauties & its in my mind intolerable faults. How Virgil could make his pious hero such a cold heartless abominable rascal--& his tender heroine such an incomparable fool passes my comprehension. In the critical readings which passed between Mr & Mrs Dickinson & myself we of course did not fail to compare Mr D's translations with those of others--Pitt's--Dryden's--& Beresford's--which last has without intending it all the merit of a travestie. In the finest part of Dido's passion where she talks of sacrificing her faithless lover--immolating his son & so forth--Mr. Beresford very quietly makes her say--"Why should not I smile as kill Ascanius & Dish him to his father?" This Mr. Beresford was no other than the Author of the &c--& this doughty Translation is subscribed for by a ll Oxford & half Cambridge--I think they ought and yet to have known be tter. Don't you?--

Wednesda y My Father did not go to London & Mr. Palmer is returned-- & we shan't to use the words of a Blacksmith Friend who wrote to the Votary of Vulcan on the occasion--"Our Frend Charls Fish Palmer is got a good seet--& hopes he'll keep it."--He is to make his grand Entree into Reading Tomorrow--bells are to be rung--bonfires made--houses illuminated--& that his Victory may be graced in all possible ways he shall have the honour of franking this letter--I am very glad he has beaten Mr. Weyland--but I hope he'll give up the Pension.Palmer's wife Madalina received a state pension and it was a point of contention during the election and after, as to whether or not an M.P.'s wife should accept one.