Anne Manning, one of the most active women novelists of Queen
Victoria's reign, was born in London on February 17, 1807. Her
first book, "A Sister's Gift: Conversations on Sacred
Subjects," was written in the form of lessons for her brothers
and sisters, and published at her own expense in 1826. It was
followed in 1831 by "Stories from the History of Italy," and
in 1838 her first work of fiction, "Village Belles," made its
appearance. In their day Miss Manning's novels had a great
vogue, only equalled by her amazing output. Altogether some
fifty-one stories appeared under her name, of which the best
remembered is "The Household of Sir Thomas More," an imaginary
diary written by More's daughter, Margaret. After appearing in
"Sharpe's Magazine," it was published in book form in 1860. It
is wonderfully vivid, and is written with due regard to
historical facts. It is interesting to compare it with the
"Life of Sir Thomas More," written by William Roper, Margaret
More's husband, with which it is now frequently reprinted.
Miss Manning died on September 14, 1879.
_I.--Of the Writing of My Libellus_
_Chelsea, June_ 18.
On asking Mr. Gunnel to what use I should put this fayr _Libellus_, he
did suggest my making it a kinde of family register, wherein to note the
more important of our domestic passages, whether of joy or griefe--my
father's journies and absences--the visits of learned men, theire
notable sayings, etc. "You are ready at the pen, Mistress Margaret," he
was pleased to say, "and I woulde humblie advise your journaling in the
same fearless manner in the which you framed that letter which so well
pleased the Bishop of Exeter that he sent you a Portugal piece. 'Twill
be well to write it in English, which 'tis expedient for you not
altogether to negleckt, even for the more honourable Latin."
Methinks I am close upon womanhood. My master Gonellus doth now "humblie
advise" her he hath so often chid. 'Tis well to make trial of his
"humble" advice.
...As I traced the last word methoughte I heard the well-known tones of
Erasmus, his pleasant voyce, and indeede here is the deare little man
coming up from the riverside with my father, who, because of the heat,
had given his cloak to a tall stripling behind him to bear, I flew
upstairs, to advertise mother, and we found 'em alreadie in the hall.
So soon as I had obtayned their blessings, the tall lad stept forth, and
who should he be but William Roper, returned from my father's errand
overseas! His manners are worsened, for he twice made to kiss me and
drew back. I could have boxed his ears, 'speciallie as father, laughing,
cried, "The third time's lucky!"
After supper, we took deare Erasmus entirely over the house, in a kind
of family procession. In our own deare Academia, with its glimpse of the
cleare-shining Thames, Erasmus noted and admired our cut flowers, and
glanced, too, at the books on our desks--Bessy's being Livy; Daisy's,
Sallust; and mine, St. Augustine, with father's marks where I was to
read, and where desist. He tolde Erasmus, laying hand fondlie on my
head, "Here is one who knows what is implied in the word 'trust.'" Dear
father, well I may! Thence we visitted the chapel, and gallery, and all
the dumb kinde. Erasmus doubted whether Duns Scotus and the Venerable
Bede had been complimented in being made name-fathers to a couple of
owls; but he said Argus and Juno were good cognomens for peacocks.
Anon, we rest and talk in the pavilion. Sayth Erasmus to my father, "I
marvel you have never entered into the king's service in some publick
capacitie."
Father smiled. "I am better and happier as I am. To put myself forward
would be like printing a book at request of friends, that the publick
may be charmed with what, in fact, it values at a doit. When the
cardinall offered me a pension, as retaining fee to the king, I told him
I did not care to be a mathematical point, to have position without
magnitude."
"We shall see you at court yet," says Erasmus.