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Updated: June 16, 2025
The "Dairyman's Daughter" was a favorite book with the girls of the school, and young disciples were sometimes heard to say, as Sarah took her seat in the house of God, "Have we not an Elizabeth Wallbridge among us?" She lingered till June, and was often found with her open Bible and several women by her side, whom she was leading to Christ. Her praying companions often had meetings in her room.
She walked across a meadow, where the dewy grass was cool under her feet, and so to the open space in front of the dairyman's house a shabby building attached like a wen to the ruined refectory. She started at hearing the snort of a horse, and the jingling of bit and curb-chain, and came suddenly upon a coach-and-four, with a couple of post-boys standing beside their team.
So we find Angel Clare at six-and-twenty here at Talbothays as a student of kine, and, as there were no houses near at hand in which he could get a comfortable lodging, a boarder at the dairyman's. His room was an immense attic which ran the whole length of the dairy-house.
Altogether the firmament looked black for Nicholas Long, notwithstanding her half-hour's ardour for him when she saw him dancing with the dairyman's daughter. Most great passions, movements, and beliefs individual and national burst during their decline into a temporary irradiation, which rivals their original splendour; and then they speedily become extinct.
One afternoon he strolled into the old church-yard to search out the grave of Elizabeth Wallbridge, the sweet heroine of Leigh Richmond's beautiful religious story, "The Dairyman's Daughter." He found seated beside the mound a lady and a young girl, the latter reading aloud, in a full, melodious voice, the touching tale of the Christian maiden.
"Let us take a turn in the square," said he, "we shall not dine for half an hour." "Well," said he, as we were walking in the square, "what have you been doing since I last saw you?" "I have been looking about London," said I, "and I have bought the Dairyman's Daughter; here it is." "Pray put it up," said the publisher; "I don't want to look at such trash.
"Oh yes; I have no doubt of it," said the person behind the dun cow. Tess's attention was thus attracted to the dairyman's interlocutor, of whom she could see but the merest patch, owing to his burying his head so persistently in the flank of the milcher. She could not understand why he should be addressed as "sir" even by the dairyman himself.
"Yes, sir, evangelical novels." "Something in the style of Herder?" "Herder is a drug, sir; nobody cares for Herder thanks to my good friend. Sir, I have in yon drawer a hundred pages about Herder, which I dare not insert in my periodical; it would sink it, sir. No, sir, something in the style of the Dairyman's Daughter." "I never heard of the work till the present moment."
The effect of his sermon in touching the heart of one young woman was long remembered, in consequence of a memoir of her, entitled "The Dairyman's Daughter," which was drawn up after her death by the clergyman of her parish, the Rev. Legh Richmond. It was as trying a voyage as Henry Martyn's, except that even less was to be expected from his shipmates.
The book was about the conversion and holy life and early death of a pale, delicate, consumptive dairyman's daughter in the Isle of Wight. It became famous, was translated into many languages, and was reprinted by some misguided or malevolent man not long ago.
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