Mary Botham Howitt
Biography of Mary Botham Howitt
Mary Howitt (12 March 1799 – 30 January 1888) was an English poet, and author of the famous poem The Spider and the Fly. She was born Mary Botham at Coleford, in Gloucestershire, the temporary residence of her parents, while her father, Samuel Botham, a prosperous Quaker of Uttoxeter, Staffordshire, was looking after some mining property. Samuel had married his wife Ann in South Wales in 1796 when he was 38 and she was 32. They had four children Anna, Mary, Emma and Charles. Their Queen Anne house is now known as Howitt Place.
Mary Botham was educated at home, and read widely; she commenced writing verses at a very early age. Together with her husband she wrote over 180 books.
On 16 April 1821 she was married in Uttoxeter to William Howitt, and began a career of joint authorship with her husband. They lived initially in Heanor in Derbyshire where William was a pharmacist. It was not until 1823, when they were living in Nottingham, that William decided to give up his business with his brother Richard and concentrate with Mary on writing. Their literary productions at first consisted chiefly of poetical and other contributions to annuals and periodicals, of which a selection was published in 1827 under the title of The Desolation of Eyam and other Poems. William and Mary mixed with many of the important literary figures of the day including Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Gaskell and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. In 1837 they went on a tour of the north and stayed with William and Dorothy Wordsworth. Their work was well regarded, as can be seen from the minister George Byng's present in 1839 from Queen Victoria. She gave him a copy of Mary's book Hymns and Fireside Verses. In the same year, her brother-in-law Godfrey Howitt set out with his wife and her family to emigrate to Australia, arriving at Port Philip in April 1840. The life of Mary Howitt was completely bound up with that of her husband; she was separated only from him during the period of his Australian journey (1851-4). On removing to Esher in 1837 she commenced writing her well-known tales for children, a long series of books which met with signal success. They moved to London in 1843, and following a second move in 1844 they counted Tennyson amongst their neighbors.
Mary Botham Howitt Poems
The Spider And The Fly
Will you walk into my parlour?' said the Spider to the Fly, 'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
I love the sunshine everywhere - In wood, and field, and glen; I love it in the busy haunts Of town-imprison'd men.
D' ye know the little Wood-Mouse, That pretty little thing, That sits among the forest leaves,
The Sparrow's Nest
Nay, only look what I have found! A Sparrow's nest upon the ground; A Sparrow's nest as you may see, Blown out of yonder old elm tree.
Summer Song Of The Strawberry-Girl
It is summer! it is summer! how beautiful it looks! There is sunshine on the old gray hills, and sunshine on the brooks
The humming-bird! the humming-bird! So fairy-like and bright: It lives among the sunny flowers, A creature of delight!
Oh! fragrant dwellers of the lea, When first the wild wood rings With each sound of vernal minstrelsy, When fresh the green grass springs!
The Old Man's Story
There was an old and quiet man, And by the fire sate he, 'And now,' he said, 'to you I'll tell A dismal thing, which once befell
The Broom Flower
Oh the Broom, the yellow Broom, The ancient poet sung it, And dear it is on summer days To lie at rest among it.
The Unregarded Toils Of The Poor
Alas! what secret tears are shed, What wounded spirits bleed; What loving hearts are sundered
The Sea Fowler
THE BARON hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea; But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.
The Clock Is On The Stroke Of Six
The clock is on the stroke of six, The Father’s work is done; Sweep up the hearth and mend the fire, And put the kettle on.
Religious Reflections On Winter: The Cre...
'Tis night! Oh, now come forth to gaze Upon the heavens, intense and bright! Look on yon myriad worlds, and say,
The Rose Of May
Ah! there's the lily, marble pale, The bonny broom, the cistus frail; The rich sweet pea, the iris blue, The larkspur with its peacock hue;
D' ye know the little Wood-Mouse,
That pretty little thing,
That sits among the forest leaves,
Beside the forest spring?
Its fur is red as the red chestnut,
And it is small and slim;
It leads a life most innocent
Within the forest dim.