Reviews

Our Village by Mary Russell Mitford

wychwoodnz's review against another edition

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4.0

This is an assortment of essays about life in a village in Hampshire in the 1800s. Around half are descriptive passages of nature encountered on walks, with the remainder covering individuals and events in the village.

Note that this was originally published in 5 volumes and the various reprints may have slightly different lineups of individual essays. I have two different editions of volume 1, and one (Third Edition published by Geo. B Whittaker in London 1825, obtained via Google Books) has at least twice as many essays as the other (published by Macmillan & Co in 1893, obtained via Project Gutenberg).

ruthie_the_librarian's review against another edition

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3.0

I dipped in & out of this over many, many months. Some of it was just lovely, with beautiful descriptions and told with warmth & humour.
But some of it jarred, with the very defined social strata & judgements made.
I'd hoped for more local snippets, but still I'm glad I gave it a go.

mlafaive's review against another edition

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funny hopeful lighthearted slow-paced

4.0

upnorth's review against another edition

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informative lighthearted reflective relaxing slow-paced

4.0

If you love early Victorian books, and that particular kind of escapism appeals to you, try this one. It's a series of short essays from the 1820s and '30s about a small English village, written for a women's magazine. The author takes you on walks, introduces you to the places and people, talks about her garden and farming and the weather, tells you the local sad stories and the gossip. 

"By this time we were thoroughly soaked, all three. It was a pelting shower, that drove through our thin summer clothing and poor May's short glossy coat in a moment. And then, when we were wet to the skin, the sun came out, actually the sun, as if to laugh at our plight; and then, more provoking still, when the sun was shining, and the shower over, came a maid and a boy to look after us, loaded with cloaks and umbrellas enough to fence us against a whole day's rain. Never mind! on we go, faster and faster; Lizzy obliged to be most ignobly carried, having had the misfortune to lose a shoe in the mud, which we left the boy to look after. 

 Here we are at home—dripping; but glowing and laughing, and bearing our calamity most manfully. May, a dog of excellent sense, went instantly to bed in the stable, and is at this moment over head and ears in straw; Lizzy is gone to bed too, coaxed into that wise measure by a promise of tea and toast, and of not going home till to-morrow, and the story of Little Red Riding Hood; and I am enjoying the luxury of dry clothing by a good fire. Really getting wet through now and then is no bad thing, finery apart; for one should not like spoiling a new pelisse, or a handsome plume; but when there is nothing in question but a white gown and a straw bonnet, as was the case to-day, it is rather pleasant than not. The little chill refreshes, and our enjoyment of the subsequent warmth and dryness is positive and absolute. Besides, the stimulus and exertion do good to the mind as well as body. How melancholy I was all the morning! how cheerful I am now! Nothing like a shower-bath—a real shower-bath, such as Lizzy and May and I have undergone, to cure low spirits. Try it, my dear readers, if ever ye be nervous—I will answer for its success."

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