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JANE AUSTEN'S WORKS 
 
 LADY SUSAN THE WATSONS 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR 
 
JANE AUSTEN'S WORKS. 
 
 SENSE AND SENSIBILITY . . . 2 vols. 
 
 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ... 2 vols. 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK 2 vols. 
 
 EMMA 2 vols. 
 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY .... I vol. 
 
 PERSUASION i vol. 
 
 LADY SUSAN THE WATSONS 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR . . . . i 
 
 LETTERS . . i 
 
THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN 
 
 LADY SUSAN 
 THE WATSONS 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR 
 
 BY HER NEPHEW 
 
 J. E. AUSTEN LEIGH 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 1898 
 
Copyright, 1893, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 ^Entoersttg 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE lately received permission to print the 
 following tale from the author's niece, Lady 
 Knatchbull, of Provender, in Kent, to whom the 
 autograph copy was given. I am not able to as- 
 certain when it was composed. Her family have 
 always believed it to be an early production. 
 Perhaps she wrote it as an experiment in conduct- 
 ing a story by means of letters. It was not, how- 
 ever, her only attempt of that kind; for " Sense 
 and Sensibility " was first written in letters; but 
 as she afterwards re-wrote one of these works and 
 never published the other, it is probable that she 
 was not quite satisfied with the result. The tale 
 itself is scarcely one on which a literary reputation 
 could have been founded: but though, like some 
 plants, it may be too slight to stand alone, it may, 
 perhaps, be supported by the strength of her more 
 firmly rooted works. At any rate, it cannot di- 
 minish Jane Austen's reputation as a writer*, for 
 even if it should be judged unworthy of the pub- 
 licity now given to it, the censure must fall on 
 him who has put it forth, not on her who kept it 
 locked up in her desk. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 
 
 Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. Vernon. 
 
 LANGFORD, Dec. 
 
 |Y DEAB BKOTHEK, I can no longer 
 refuse myself the pleasure of profiting 
 by your kind invitation when we last 
 parted of spending some weeks with 
 you at Churchhill, and therefore, if quite conven- 
 ient to you and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at 
 present, I shall hope within a few days to be in- 
 troduced to a sister whom I have so long desired 
 to be acquainted with. My kind friends here are 
 most affectionately urgent with me to prolong my 
 sta}^ but their hospitable and cheerful dispositions 
 lead them too much into society for my present sit- 
 uation and state of mind; and I impatiently look 
 forward to the hour when I shall be admitted into 
 your delightful retirement. 
 
 I long to be made known to your dear little chil- 
 dren, in whose hearts I shall be very eager to se- 
 cure an interest. I shall soon have need for all 
 my fortitude, as I am on the point of separation 
 
8 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 from my own daughter. The long illness of her 
 dear father prevented my paying her that atten- 
 tion which duty and affection equally dictated, 
 and I have too much reason to fear that the gov- 
 erness to whose care I consigned her was unequal 
 to the charge. I have therefore resolved on plac- 
 ing her at one of the best private schools in town, 
 where I shall have an opportunity of leaving her 
 myself in my way to you. I am determined, you 
 see, not to be denied admittance at Churchhill. It 
 would indeed give me most painful sensations to 
 know that it were not in your power to receive me. 
 Your most obliged and affectionate sister, 
 
 S. VEBNON. 
 
 II. 
 
 Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 LANGFORD. 
 
 You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in supposing 
 me fixed at this place for the rest of the winter : it 
 grieves me to say how greatly you were mistaken, 
 for I have seldom spent three months more agree- 
 ably than those which have just flown away. At 
 present, nothing goes smoothly; the females of 
 the family are united against me. You foretold 
 how it would be when I first came to Langford, 
 and Mainwaring is so uncommonly pleasing that I 
 was not without apprehensions for myself. I re- 
 member saying to myself, as I drove to the house, 
 ' ' I like this man, pray Heaven no harm come of 
 it! " But I was determined to be discreet, to bear 
 in mind my being only four months a widow, and 
 
LADY SUSAN. 9 
 
 to be as quiet as possible : and I have been so, my 
 dear creature; I have admitted no one's attentions 
 but Mainwaring's. T have avoided all general flir- 
 tation whatever ; I have distinguished no creature 
 besides, of all the numbers resorting hither, ex- 
 cept Sir James Martin, on whom I bestowed a 
 little notice, in order to detach him from Miss 
 Mainwaring; but if the world could know my 
 motive there they would honor me. I have been 
 called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred im- 
 pulse of maternal affection, it was the advantage 
 of my daughter that led me on; and if that daugh- 
 ter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I 
 might have been rewarded for my exertions as I 
 ought. 
 
 Sir James did make proposals to me for Fred- 
 erica; but Frederica, who was born to be the tor- 
 ment of my life, chose to set herself so violently 
 against the match that I thought it better to lay 
 aside the scheme for the present. I have more 
 than once repented that I did not marry him my- 
 self; and were he but one degree less contempti- 
 bly weak, I certainly should: but I must own 
 myself rather romantic in that respect, and that 
 riches only will not satisfy me. The event of all 
 this is very provoking : Sir James is gone, Maria 
 highly incensed, and Mrs. Mainwaring insupport- 
 ably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so enraged 
 against me, that, in the fury of her temper, I 
 should not be surprised at her appealing to her 
 guardian, if she had the liberty of addressing him : 
 but there your husband stands my friend; and 
 the kindest, most amiable action of his life was his 
 
10 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 throwing her off forever on her marriage. Keep 
 up his resentment, therefore, I charge you. We 
 are now in a sad state; no house was ever more al- 
 tered : the whole party are at war, and Mainwaring 
 scarcely dares speak to me. It is time for me to 
 be gone: I have therefore determined on leaving 
 them, and shall spend, I hope, a comfortable day 
 with you in town within this week. If I am as 
 little in favor with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must 
 come to me at 10 Wigmore Street ; but I hope this 
 may not be the case, for as Mr. Johnson, with all 
 his faults, is a man to whom that great word * ' re- 
 spectable " is always given, and I am known to be 
 so intimate with his wife, his slighting me has an 
 awkward look. 
 
 I take London in my way to that insupporta- 
 ble spot, a country village; for I am really going 
 to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend, it is 
 my last resource. Were there another place in 
 England open to me, I would prefer it. Charles 
 Vernon is my aversion, and I am afraid of his 
 wife. At Churchhill, however, I must remain till 
 I have something better in view. My young lady 
 accompanies me to town, where I shall deposit 
 her under the care of Miss Summers, in Wigmore 
 Street, till she becomes a little more reasonable. 
 She will make good connections there, as the girls 
 are all of the best families. The price is im- 
 mense, and much beyond what I can ever attempt 
 to pay. 
 
 Adieu, I will send you a line as soon as I arrive 
 in town. 
 
 Yours ever, S. VERNOJST. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 11 
 
 III. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHTJRCHHILL. 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHEK, I am very sorry to tell 
 you that it will not be in our power to keep our 
 promise of spending our Christmas with you; and 
 we are prevented that happiness by a circumstance 
 which is not likely to make us any amends. Lady 
 Susan, in a letter to her brother-in-law, has de- 
 clared her intention of visiting us almost imme- 
 diately ; and as such a visit is in all probability 
 merely an affair of convenience, it is impossible to 
 conjecture its length. I was by no means prepared 
 for such an event, nor can I now account for her 
 ladyship's conduct; Langford appeared so exactly 
 the place for her in every respect, as well from the 
 elegant and expensive style of living there, as 
 from her particular attachment to Mr. Mainwaring, 
 that I was very far from expecting so speedy a dis- 
 tinction, though I always imagined from her in- 
 creasing friendship for us since her husband's 
 death that we should, at some future period, be 
 obliged to receive her. Mr. Vernon, I think, was 
 a great deal too kind to her when he was in Staf- 
 fordshire ; her behavior to him, independent of her 
 general character, has been so inexcusably artful 
 and ungenerous since our marriage was first in 
 agitation that no one less amiable and mild than 
 himself could have overlooked it all; and though, 
 as his brother's widow, and in narrow circum- 
 stances, it was proper to render her pecuniary 
 assistance, I cannot help thinking his pressing in- 
 
12 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 vitation to her to visit us at Churchhill perfectly 
 unnecessary. Disposed, however, as he always is 
 to think the best of every one, her display of grief, 
 and professions of regret, and general resolutions 
 of prudence were sufficient to soften his heart, and 
 make him really confide in her sincerity; but as 
 for myself, I am still unconvinced, and plausibly 
 as her ladyship has now written, I cannot make up 
 my mind till I better understand her real meaning 
 in coming to us. You may guess, therefore, my 
 dear madam, with what feelings I look forward to 
 her arrival. She will have occasion for all those 
 attractive powers for which she is celebrated to 
 gain any share of my regard; and I shall certainly 
 endeavor to guard myself against their influence, 
 if not accompanied by something more substantial. 
 She expresses a most eager desire of being ac- 
 quainted with me, and makes very gracious men- 
 tion of my children, but I am not quite weak 
 enough to suppose a woman who has behaved with 
 inattention, if not with unkindness to her own 
 child, should be attached to any of mine. Miss 
 Vernon is to be placed at a school in London 
 before her mother comes to us, which I am glad of, 
 for her sake and my own. It must be to her ad- 
 vantage to be separated from her mother, and a 
 girl of sixteen who has received so wretched an 
 education could not be a very desirable companion 
 here. Reginald has long wished, I know, to see 
 the captivating Lady Susan, and we shall depend 
 on his joining our party soon. I am glad to hear 
 that my father continues so well; and am, with 
 best love, etc., 
 
 CATHERINE VERNON. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 13 
 
 IV. 
 Mr. D& Courcy to Mrs. Vernon. 
 
 PARKLANDS. 
 
 MY DEAR SISTER, I congratulate you and Mr. 
 Vernon on being about to receive into your family 
 the most accomplished coquette in England. As a 
 very distinguished flirt I have always been taught 
 to consider her, but it has lately fallen in my way 
 to hear some particulars of her conduct at Langford, 
 which prove that she does not confine herself to 
 that sort of honest flirtation which satisfies most 
 people, but aspires to the more delicious gratifica- 
 tion of making a whole family miserable. By her 
 behavior to Mr. Mainwaring she gave jealousy and 
 wretchedness to his wife, and by her attentions to 
 a young man previously attached to Mr. Main- 
 waring's sister deprived an amiable girl of her 
 lover. 
 
 I learnt all this from Mr. Smith, now in this 
 neighborhood (I have dined with him, at Hurst 
 and Wilford), who is just come from Langford, 
 where he was a fortnight with her ladyship, and 
 who is therefore well qualified to make the 
 communication. 
 
 What a woman she must be ! I long to see her, 
 and shall certainly accept your kind invitation, 
 that I may form some idea of those bewitching 
 powers which can do so much engaging at the 
 same time, and in the same house, the affections 
 of two men, who were neither of them at liberty 
 
14 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 to bestow them and all this without the charm 
 of youth! I am glad to find Miss Vernon does 
 not accompany her mother to Churchhill, as she 
 has not even manners to recommend her; and ac- 
 cording to Mr. Smith's account, is equally dull 
 and proud. Where pride and stupidity unite 
 there can be no dissimulation worthy notice, and 
 Miss Vernon shall be consigned to unrelenting 
 contempt; but by all that I can gather Lady Susan 
 possesses a degree of captivating deceit which it 
 must be pleasing to witness and detect. I shall 
 be with you very soon, and am ever 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 K. DE COURCY. 
 
 V. 
 
 Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 I RECEIVED your note, my dear Alicia, just 
 before I left town, and rejoice to be assured that 
 Mr. Johnson suspected nothing of your engagement 
 the evening before. It is undoubtedly better to 
 deceive him entirely, and since he will be stub- 
 born he must be tricked. I arrived here in safety, 
 and have no reason to complain of my reception 
 from Mr. Vernon ; but I confess myself not equally 
 satisfied with the behavior of his lady. She is 
 perfectly well-bred, indeed, and has the air of a 
 woman of fashion, but her manners are not such 
 as can persuade me of her being prepossessed in 
 my favor. I wanted her to be delighted at seeing 
 
LADY SUSAN. 15 
 
 me. I was as amiable as possible on the occasion, 
 but all in vain. She does not like me. To be 
 sure, when we consider that I did take some pains 
 to prevent my brother-in-law's marrying her, this 
 want of cordiality is not very surprising, and yet 
 it shows an illiberal and vindictive spirit to resent 
 a project which influenced me six years ago, and 
 which never succeeded at last. 
 
 I am sometimes disposed to repent that I did 
 not let Charles buy Vernon Castle, when we were 
 obliged to sell it; but it was a trying circum- 
 stance, especially as the sale took place exactly at 
 the time of his marriage ; and everybody ought to 
 respect the delicacy of those feelings which could 
 not endure that my husband's dignity should be 
 lessened by his younger brother's having posses- 
 sion of the family estate. Could matters have 
 been so arranged as to prevent the necessity of 
 our leaving the castle, could we have lived with 
 Charles and kept him single, I should have been 
 very far from persuading my husband to dispose of 
 it elsewhere ; but Charles was on the point of mar- 
 rying Miss De Courcy, and the event has justified 
 me. Here are children in abundance, and what 
 benefit could have accrued to me from his pur- 
 chasing Vernon? My having prevented it may 
 perhaps have given his wife an unfavorable im- 
 pression; but where there is a disposition to dis- 
 like, a motive will never be wanting; and as to 
 money matters it has not withheld him from being 
 very useful to me. I really have a regard for him, 
 he is so easily imposed upon! The house is a good 
 one, the furniture fashionable, and everything an- 
 
16 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 nounces plenty and elegance. Charles is very rich, 
 I am sure; when a man has once got his name in 
 a banking-house, he rolls in money; but they do 
 not know what to do with it, keep very little 
 company, and never go to London but on business. 
 We shall be as stupid as possible. I mean to win 
 my sister-in-law's heart through the children; I 
 know all their names already, and am going to at- 
 tach myself with the greatest sensibility to one in 
 particular, a young Frederic, whom I take on my 
 lap and sigh over for his dear uncle's sake. 
 
 Poor Mainwaring! I need not tell you how much 
 I miss him, how perpetually he is in my thoughts. 
 I found a dismal letter from him on my arrival 
 here, full of complaints of his wife and sister, and 
 lamentations on the cruelty of his fate. I passed 
 off the letter as his wife's, to the Vernons, and 
 when I write to him it must be under cover 
 to you. 
 
 Ever yours, S. VERNON, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Mr. De Courcy. 
 
 CHDRCHHILL. 
 
 WELL, my dear Keginald, I have seen this dan- 
 gerous creature, and must give you some descrip- 
 tion of her, though I hope you will soon be able 
 to form your own judgment. She is really exces- 
 sively pretty ; however you may choose to question 
 the allurements of a lady no longer young, I must, 
 for my own part, declare that I have seldom seen 
 
LADY SUSAN. 17 
 
 so lovely a woman as Lady Susan. She is deli- 
 cately fair, with fine gray eyes and dark eyelashes ; 
 and from her appearance one would not suppose 
 her more than five and twenty, though she must 
 in fact be ten years older. I was certainly not 
 disposed to admire her, though always hearing she 
 was beautiful; but I cannot help feeling that she 
 possesses an uncommon union of symmetry, bril- 
 liancy, and grace. Her address to me was so gen- 
 tle, frank, and even affectionate, that, if I had not 
 known how much she has always disliked me for 
 marrying Mr. Vernon, and that we had never met 
 before, I should have imagined her an attached 
 friend. One is apt, I believe, to connect assur- 
 ance of manner with coquetry, and to expect that 
 an impudent address will naturally attend an im- 
 pudent mind; at least I was myself prepared for 
 an improper degree of confidence in Lady Susan; 
 but her countenance is absolutely sweet, and her 
 voice and manner winningly mild. I am sorry it 
 is so, for what is this but deceit? Unfortunately, 
 one knows her too well. She is clever and agree- 
 able, has all that knowledge of the world which 
 makes conversation easy, and talks very well with 
 a happy command of language, which is too often 
 used, I believe, to make black appear white. She 
 has already almost persuaded me of her being 
 warmly attached to her daughter, though I have 
 been so long convinced to the contrary. She 
 speaks of her with so much tenderness and anxi- 
 ety, lamenting so bitterly the neglect of her edu- 
 cation, which she represents however as wholly 
 unavoidable, that I am forced to recollect how 
 
 2 
 
18 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 many successive springs her ladyship spent in 
 town, while her daughter was left in Staffordshire 
 to the care of servants, or a governess very little 
 better, to prevent my believing what she says. 
 
 Jf her manners have so great an influence on my 
 resentful heart, you may judge how much more 
 strongly they operate on Mr. Vernon's generous 
 temper. I wish I could be as well satisfied as he 
 is, that it was really her choice to leave Langford 
 for Churchhill ; and if she had not stayed there for 
 months before she discovered that her friend's 
 manner of living did not suit her situation or feel- 
 ings, I might have believed that concern for the 
 loss of such a husband as Mr. Vernon, to whom 
 her own behavior was far from unexceptionable, 
 might for a time make her wish for retirement. 
 But I cannot forget the length of her visit to the 
 Mainwarings; and when I reflect on the different 
 mode of life which she led with them from that to 
 which she must now submit, I can only suppose 
 that the wish of establishing her reputation by 
 following though late the path of propriety, occa- 
 sioned her removal from a family where she must 
 in reality have been particularly happy. Your 
 friend Mr. Smith's story, however, cannot be 
 quite correct, as she corresponds regularly with 
 Mrs. Mainwaring. At any rate it must be exag- 
 gerated. It is scarcely possible that two men 
 should be so grossly deceived by her at once. 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 CATHERINE VERNON. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 19 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 MY DEAR ALICIA, You are very good in tak- 
 ing notice of Frederica, and I am grateful for it as 
 a mark of your friendship; but as I cannot have 
 any doubt of the warmth of your affection, I am 
 far from exacting so heavy a sacrifice. She is a 
 stupid girl, and has nothing to recommend her. 
 I would not, therefore, on my account have you 
 encumber one moment of your precious time by 
 sending for her to Edward Street, especially as 
 every visit is so much deducted from the grand af- 
 fair of education, which I really wish to have at- 
 tended to while she remains at Miss Summers'. I 
 want her to play and sing with some portion of 
 taste and a good deal of assurance, as she has my 
 hand and arm and a tolerable voice. I was so 
 much indulged in my infant years that I was 
 never obliged to attend to anything, and conse- 
 quently am without the accomplishments which 
 are now necessary to finish a pretty woman. Not 
 that I am an advocate for the prevailing fashion of 
 acquiring a perfect knowledge of all languages, 
 arts, and sciences. It is throwing time away 
 to be mistress of French, Italian, and German: 
 music, singing, and drawing, etc., will gain a 
 woman some applause, but will not add one lover 
 to her list grace and manner, after all, are of 
 the greatest importance. I do not mean, there- 
 
20 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 fore, that Frederica's acquirements should be more 
 than superficial, and I flatter myself that she will 
 not remain long enough at school to understand 
 anything thoroughly. I hope to see her the wife 
 of Sir James within a twelvemonth. You know 
 on what I ground my hope, and it is certainly a 
 good foundation, for school must be very humilia- 
 ting to a girl of Frederica's age. And by the by, 
 you had better not invite her any more on that 
 account, as I wish her to find her situation as un- 
 pleasant as possible. I am sure of Sir James at 
 any time, and could make him renew his appli- 
 cation by a line. I shall trouble you meanwhile 
 to prevent his forming any other attachment when 
 he comes to town. Ask him to your house occa- 
 sionally, and talk to him of Frederica, that he 
 may not forget her. Upon the whole, I commend 
 my own conduct in this affair extremely, and re- 
 gard it as a very happy instance of circumspection 
 and tenderness. Some mothers would have in- 
 sisted on their daughter's accepting so good an 
 offer on the first overture; but I could not recon- 
 cile it to myself to force Frederica into a marriage 
 from which her heart revolted, and instead of 
 adopting so harsh a measure merely propose to 
 make it her own choice, by rendering her thor- 
 oughly uncomfortable till she does accept him 
 But enough of this tiresome girl. You may well 
 wonder how I contrive to pass my time here, and 
 for the first week it was insufferably dull. Now, 
 however, we begin to mend; our party is enlarged 
 by Mrs. Vernon's brother, a handsome young man, 
 who promises me some amusement. There is 
 
LADY SUSAN. 21 
 
 something about him which rather interests me, 
 a sort of sauciness and familiarity which I shall 
 teach him to correct. He is lively, and seems 
 clever ; and when I have inspired him with greater 
 respect for me than his sister's kind offices have 
 implanted, he may be an agreeable flirt. There is 
 exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent spirit, 
 in making a person predetermined to dislike ac- 
 knowledge one's superiority. I have disconcerted 
 him already by my calm reserve, and it shall be 
 my endeavor to humble the pride of these self- 
 important De Courcys still lower, to convince Mrs. 
 Vernon that her sisterly cautions have been be- 
 stowed in vain, and to persuade Reginald that she 
 has scandalously belied me. This project will 
 serve at least to amuse me, and prevent my feeling 
 so acutely this dreadful separation from you and 
 all whom I love. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 S. VERNON. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHUKCHHILL. 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER, You must not expect 
 Reginald back again for some time. He desires 
 me to tell you that the present open weather in- 
 duces him to accept Mr. Vernon' s invitation to 
 prolong his stay in Sussex, that they may have 
 some hunting together. He means to send for his 
 horses immediately, and it is impossible to say 
 
22 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 when you may see him in Kent. I will not dis- 
 guise my sentiments on this change from you, my 
 dear mother, though I think you had better not 
 communicate them to my father, whose excessive 
 anxiety about Reginald would subject him to an 
 alarm which might seriously affect his health and 
 spirits. Lady Susan has certainly contrived, in 
 the space of a fortnight, to make my brother like 
 her. In short I am persuaded that his continuing 
 here beyond the time originally fixed for his re- 
 turn is occasioned as much by a degree of fascina- 
 tion towards her, as by the wish of hunting with 
 Mr. Vernon, and of course I cannot receive that 
 pleasure from the length of his visit which my 
 brother's company would otherwise give me. I 
 am, indeed, provoked at the artifice of this unprin- 
 cipled woman; what stronger proof of her danger- 
 ous abilities can be given than this perversion of 
 Reginald's judgment, which when he entered the 
 house was so decidedly against her? In his last 
 letter he actually gave me some particulars of her 
 behavior at Langford, such as he received from a 
 gentleman who knew her perfectly well, which, if 
 true, must raise abhorrence against her, and which 
 Reginald himself was entirely disposed to credit. 
 His opinion of her, I am sure, was as low as of 
 any woman in England; and when he first came it 
 was evident that he considered her as one entitled 
 neither to delicacy nor respect, and that he felt 
 she would be delighted with the attentions of any 
 man inclined to flirt with her. Her behavior, I 
 confess, has been calculated to do away with such 
 an idea; I have not detected the smallest impro- 
 
LADY SUSAN. 23 
 
 priety in it nothing of vanity, of pretension, of 
 levity; and she is altogether so attractive that I 
 should not wonder at his being delighted with 
 her, had he known nothing of her previous to this 
 personal acquaintance ; hut against reason, against 
 conviction, to be so well pleased with her, as I am 
 sure he is, does really astonish me. His admira- 
 tion was at first very strong, but no more than 
 was natural, and I did not wonder at his being 
 much struck by the gentleness and delicacy of her 
 manners; but when he has mentioned her of late 
 it has been in terms of more extraordinary praise; 
 and yesterday he actually said that he could not be 
 surprised at any effect produced on the heart of 
 man by such loveliness and such abilities; and 
 when I lamented, in reply, the badness of her dis- 
 position, he observed that whatever might have 
 been her errors they were to be imputed to her 
 neglected education and early marriage, and that 
 she was altogether a wonderful woman. This 
 tendency to excuse her conduct, or to forget it, in 
 the warmth of admiration, vexes me; and if I did 
 not know that Reginald is too much at home at 
 Churchhill to need an invitation for lengthening 
 his visit, I should regret Mr. Vernon's giving him 
 any. Lady Susan's intentions are of course those 
 of absolute coquetry, or a desire of universal ad- 
 miration; I cannot for a moment imagine that she 
 has anything more serious in view; but it morti- 
 fies me to see a young man of Keginald's sense 
 duped by her at all. 
 
 I am, etc., 
 
 CATHERINE VEKNON 
 
24 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson to Lady S. Vernon. 
 
 EDWARD STREET. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, I congratulate you on 
 Mr. De Courcy's arrival, and I advise you by all 
 means to marry him; his father's estate is, we 
 know, considerable, and I believe certainly en- 
 tailed. Sir Reginald is very infirm, and not likely 
 to stand in your way long. I hear the young man 
 well spoken of; and though no one can really de- 
 serve you, my dearest Susan, Mr. De Courcy may 
 be worth having. Mainwaring will storm of 
 course, but you may easily pacify him; besides, 
 the most scrupulous point of honor could not require 
 you to wait for his emancipation. I have seen Sir 
 James ; he came to town for a few days last week, 
 and called several times in Edward Street. I 
 talked to him about you and your daughter, and 
 he is so far from having forgotten you that I am 
 sure he would marry either of you with pleasure. 
 I gave him hopes of Frederica's relenting, and 
 told him a great deal of her improvements. I 
 scolded him for making love to Maria Mainwaring; 
 he protested that he had been only in joke, and 
 we both laughed heartily at her disappointment; 
 and, in short, were very agreeable. He is as silly 
 as ever. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 ALICIA. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 25 
 
 Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 CHUKCHHILL. 
 
 I AM much obliged to you, my dear friend, for 
 your advice respecting Mr. De Courcy, which I 
 know was given with the full conviction of its ex- 
 pediency, though I am not quite determined on fol- 
 lowing it. I cannot easily resolve on anything 
 so serious as marriage; especially as I am not at 
 present in want of money, and might perhaps, till 
 the old gentleman's death, he very little benefited 
 by the match. It is true that I am vain enough 
 to believe it within my reach. I have made him 
 sensible of my power, and can now enjoy the 
 pleasure of triumphing over a mind prepared to 
 dislike me, and prejudiced against all my past 
 actions. His sister, too, is, I hope, convinced how 
 little the ungenerous representations of any one to 
 the disadvantage of another will avail when op- 
 posed by the immediate influence of intellect and 
 manner. I see plainly that she is uneasy at my 
 progress in the good opinion of her brother, and con- 
 clude that nothing will be wanting on her part to 
 counteract me; but having once made him doubt 
 the justice of her opinion of me, I think I may 
 defy her. It has been delightful to me to watch 
 his advances towards intimacy, especially to ob- 
 serve his altered manner in consequence of my 
 repressing by the cool dignity of my deportment 
 his insolent approach to direct familiarity. My 
 
26 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 conduct has been equally guarded from the first, 
 and I never behaved less like a coquette in the 
 whole course of my life, though perhaps my desire 
 of dominion was never more decided. I have sub- 
 dued him entirely by sentiment and serious con- 
 versation, and made him, I may venture to say, at 
 least half in love with me, without the semblance 
 of the most commonplace flirtation. Mrs. Ver- 
 non's consciousness of deserving every sort of re- 
 venge that it can be in my power to inflict for her 
 ill-offices could alone enable her to perceive that I 
 am actuated by any design in behavior so gentle 
 and unpretending. Let her think and act as she 
 chooses, however. I have never yet found that 
 the advice of a sister could prevent a young man's 
 being in love if he chose. We are advancing now 
 to some kind of confidence, and in short are likely 
 to be engaged in a sort of platonic friendship. 
 On my side you may be sure of its never being 
 more, for if I were not attached to another person 
 as much as I can be to any one, I should make a 
 point of not bestowing my affection on a man who 
 had dared to think so meanly of me. Reginald 
 has a good figure, and is not unworthy the praise 
 you have heard given him, but is still greatly 
 inferior to our friend at Langford. He is less 
 polished, less insinuating than Mainwaring, and 
 is comparatively deficient in the power of saying 
 those delightful things which put one in good 
 humor with oneself and all the world. He is 
 quite agreeable enough, however, to afford me 
 amusement, and to make many of those hours pass 
 very pleasantly which would otherwise be spent in 
 
LADY SUSAN. 27 
 
 endeavoring to overcome my sister-in-law's reserve, 
 and listening to the insipid talk of her husband. 
 Your account of Sir James is most satisfactory, 
 and I mean to give Miss Frederica a hint of my 
 intentions very soon. 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 S. VERNON. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHURCHHILL 
 
 I REALLY grow quite uneasy, my dearest mother, 
 about Reginald, from witnessing the very rapid 
 increase of Lady Susan's influence. They are now 
 on terms of the most particular friendship, fre- 
 quently engaged in long conversations together; 
 and she has contrived by the most artful coquetry 
 to subdue his judgment to her own purposes. It 
 is impossible to see the intimacy between them so 
 very soon established without some alarm, though 
 I can hardly suppose that Lady Susan's plans ex- 
 tend to marriage. I wish you could get Reginald 
 home again on any plausible pretence; he is not at 
 all disposed to leave us, and I have given him as 
 many hints of my father's precarious state of 
 health as common decency will allow me to do in 
 my own house. Her power over him must now 
 be boundless, as she has entirely effaced all his 
 former ill-opinion, and persuaded him not merely 
 to forget but to justify her conduct. Mr. Smith's 
 account of her proceedings at Langford, where he 
 accused her of having made Mr. Mainwaring and a 
 
28 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 young man engaged to Miss Mainwaring distract- 
 edly in love with her, which Reginald firmly be- 
 lieved when he came here, is now, he is persuaded, 
 only a scandalous invention. He has told me so 
 with a warmth of manner which spoke his regret 
 at having believed the contrary himself. How 
 sincerely do I grieve that she ever entered this 
 house! I always looked forward to her coming 
 with uneasiness; but very far was it from origi- 
 nating in anxiety for Reginald. I expected a most 
 disagreeable companion for myself, but could not 
 imagine that my brother would be in the smallest 
 danger of being captivated by a woman with whose 
 principles he was so well acquainted, and whose 
 character he so heartily despised. If you can get 
 him away, it will be a good thing. 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 CATHERINE VERNON. 
 
 XII. 
 Sir Reginald de Courcy to his Son. 
 
 PARKLANDS. 
 
 I KNOW that young men in general do not admit 
 of any inquiry even from their nearest relations 
 into affairs of the heart, but I hope, my dear 
 Reginald, that you will be superior to such as 
 allow nothing for a father's anxiety, and think 
 themselves privileged to refuse him their confidence 
 and slight his advice. You must be sensible that as 
 an only son, and the representative of an ancient 
 family, your conduct in life is most interesting to 
 your connections ; and in the very important con- 
 
LADY SUSAN. 29 
 
 cern of marriage especially, there is everything at 
 stake your own happiness, that of your parents, 
 and the credit of your name. I dp not suppose 
 that you would deliberately form an absolute en- 
 gagement of that nature without acquainting your 
 mother and myself, or at least without being con- 
 vinced that we should approve of your choice; but 
 I cannot help fearing that you may be drawn in, 
 by the lady who has lately attached you, to a 
 marriage which the whole of your family, far and 
 near, must highly reprobate. Lady Susan's age 
 is itself a material objection, but her want of 
 character is one so much more serious that the 
 difference of even twelve years becomes in com- 
 parison of small amount. Were you not blinded 
 by a sort of fascination, it would be ridiculous in 
 me to repeat the instances of great misconduct on 
 her side so very generally known. 
 
 Her neglect of her husband, her encouragement 
 of other men, her extravagance and dissipation, 
 were so gross and notorious that no one could be 
 ignorant of them at the time, nor can now have 
 forgotten them. To our family she has always 
 been represented in softened colors by the benev- 
 olence of Mr. Charles Vernon, and yet, in spite 
 of his generous endeavors to excuse her, we know 
 that she did, from the most selfish motives, take 
 all possible pains to prevent his marriage with 
 Catherine. 
 
 My years and increasing infirmities make me 
 very desirous of seeing you settled in the world. 
 To the fortune of a wife, the goodness of my own 
 will make me indifferent, but her family and 
 
30 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 character must be equally unexceptionable. When 
 your choice is fixed so that no objection can be 
 made to it, then I can promise you a ready and 
 cheerful consent; but it is my duty to oppose a 
 match which deep art only could render possible, 
 and must in the end make wretched. It is possi- 
 ble her behavior may arise only from vanity, or 
 the wish of gaining the admiration of a man whom 
 she must imagine to be particularly prejudiced 
 against her; but it is more likely that she should 
 aim at something further. She is poor, and may 
 naturally seek an alliance which must be advan- 
 tageous to herself; you know your own rights, and 
 that it is out of my power to prevent your inherit- 
 ing the family estate. My ability of distressing 
 you during my life would be a species of revenge 
 to which I could hardly stoop under any circum- 
 stances. 
 
 I honestly tell you my sentiments and inten- 
 tions : I do not wish to work on your fears, but on 
 your sense and affection. It would destroy every 
 comfort of my life to know that you were married 
 to Lady Susan Vernon: it would be the death of 
 that honest pride with which I have hitherto con- 
 sidered my son; I should blush to see him, to hear 
 of him, to think of him. I may perhaps do no 
 good but that of relieving my own mind by this 
 letter, but I felt it my duty to tell you that your 
 partiality for Lady Susan is no secret to your 
 friends, and to warn you against her. I should 
 be glad to hear your reasons for disbelieving Mr. 
 Smith's intelligence; you had no doubt of its 
 authenticity a month ago. If you can give me your 
 
LADY SUSAN. 31 
 
 assurance of having no design beyond enjoying the 
 conversation of a clever woman for a short period, 
 and of yielding admiration only to her beauty and 
 abilities, without being blinded by them to her 
 faults, you will restore me to happiness; but if 
 you cannot do this, explain to me, at least, what 
 has occasioned so great an alteration in your 
 opinion of her. 
 
 I am, etc., etc., 
 
 REGINALD DE COURCY. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon. 
 
 PARKLANDS. 
 
 MY DEAR CATHERINE, Unluckily I was con- 
 fined to my room when your last letter came, by a 
 cold which affected my eyes so much as to prevent 
 my reading it myself, so I could not refuse your 
 father when he offered to read it to me, by which 
 means he became acquainted, to my great vexa- 
 tion, with all your fears about your brother. I 
 had intended to write to Reginald myself as soon 
 as my eyes would let me, to point out as well as I 
 could the danger of an intimate acquaintance 
 with so artful a woman as Lady Susan, to a young 
 man of his age and high expectations. I meant, 
 moreover, to have reminded him of our being 
 quite alone now, and very much in need of him to 
 keep up our spirits these long winter evenings. 
 Whether it would have done any good can never 
 be settled now, but I am excessively vexed that 
 Sir Reginald should know anything of the matter 
 
32 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 which we foresaw would make him so uneasy. He 
 caught all your fears the moment he had read your 
 letter, and I am sure he has not had the business 
 out of his head since. He wrote by the same post 
 to Reginald a long letter full of it all, and partic- 
 ularly asking an explanation of what he may have 
 heard from Lady Susan to contradict the late 
 shocking reports. His answer came this morn- 
 ing, which I shall enclose to you, as I think you 
 will like to see it. I wish it was more satisfac- 
 tory; but it seems written with such a determi- 
 nation to think well of Lady Susan, that his 
 assurances as to marriage, etc., do not set my 
 heart at ease. I say all I can, however, to satisfy 
 your father, and he is certainly less uneasy since 
 Reginald's letter. How provoking it is, my dear 
 Catherine, that this unwelcome guest of yours 
 should not only prevent our meeting this Christ- 
 mas, but be the occasion of so much vexation and 
 trouble ! Kiss the dear children for me. 
 Your affectionate mother, 
 
 C. DE COURCY. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Mr. De Courcy to Sir Reginald. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, I have this moment received 
 your letter, which has given me more astonish- 
 ment than I ever felt before. I am to thank my 
 sister, I suppose, for having represented me in 
 such a light as to injure me in your opinion, and 
 give you all this alarm. I know not why she 
 
LADY SUSAN. 33 
 
 should choose to make herself and her family un- 
 easy by apprehending an event which no one but 
 herself, I can affirm, would ever - have thought 
 possible. To impute such a design to Lady Susan 
 would be taking from her every claim to that ex- 
 cellent understanding which her bitterest enemies 
 have never denied herj and equally low must sink 
 my pretensions to common sense if I am suspected 
 of matrimonial views in my behavior to her. Our 
 difference of age must be an insuperable objec- 
 tion, and I entreat you, my dear father, to quiet 
 your mind, and no longer harbor a suspicion 
 which cannot be more injurious to your own peace 
 than to our understandings. I can have no other 
 view in remaining with Lady Susan, than to enjoy 
 for a short time (as you have yourself expressed it) 
 the conversation of a woman of high intellectual 
 powers. If Mrs. Vernon would allow something 
 to my affection for herself and her husband in the 
 length of my visit, she would do more justice to 
 us all ; but my sister is unhappily prejudiced be- 
 yond the hope of conviction against Lady Susan. 
 From an attachment to her husband, which in it- 
 self does honor to both, she cannot forgive the 
 endeavors at preventing their union, which have 
 been attributed to selfishness in Lady Susan; but 
 in this case, as well as in many others, the world 
 has most grossly injured that lady, by supposing 
 the worst where the motives of her conduct have 
 been doubtful. Lady Susan had heard something 
 so materially to the disadvantage of my sister as 
 to persuade her that the happiness of Mr. Vernon, 
 to whom she was always much attached, would be 
 
34 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 wholly destroyed by the marriage. And this cir- 
 cumstance, while it explains the true motives of 
 Lady Susan's conduct, and removes all the blame 
 which has been so lavished on her, may also con- 
 vince us how little the general report of any one 
 ought to be credited; since no character, however 
 upright, can escape the malevolence of slander. 
 If my sister, in the security of retirement, with 
 as little opportunity as inclination to do evil, 
 could not avoid censure, we must not rashly con- 
 demn those who, living in the world and sur- 
 rounded with temptations, should be accused of 
 errors which they are known to have the power 
 of committing. 
 
 I blame myself severely for having so easily be- 
 lieved the slanderous tales invented by Charles 
 Smith to the prejudice of Lady Susan, as I am now 
 convinced how greatly they have traduced her. 
 As to Mrs. Mainwaring's jealousy it was totally 
 his own invention, and his account of her attach- 
 ing Miss Mainwaring's lover was scarcely better 
 founded. Sir James Martin had been drawn in 
 by that young lady to pay her some attention; 
 and as he is a man of fortune, it was easy to see 
 her views extended to marriage. It is well known 
 that Miss M. is absolutely on the catch for a hus- 
 band, and no one therefore can pity her for losing, 
 by the superior attractions of another woman, the 
 chance of being able to make a worthy man com- 
 pletely wretched. Lady Susan was far from in- 
 tending such a conquest, and on finding how 
 warmly Miss Mainwaring resented her lover's de- 
 fection, determined, in spite of Mr. and Mrs. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 35 
 
 Mainwaring's most urgent entreaties, to leave the 
 family. I have reason to imagine she did receive 
 serious proposals from Sir James, but her removing 
 to Langford immediately on the discovery of his 
 attachment, must acquit her on that article with 
 any mind of common candor. You will, I am 
 sure, my dear Sir, feel the truth of this, and will 
 hereby learn to do justice to the character of a 
 very injured woman. I know that Lady Susan in 
 coming to Churchhill was governed only by the 
 most honorable and amiable intentions; her pru- 
 dence and economy are exemplary, her regard for 
 Mr. Vernon equal even to his deserts ; and her wish 
 of obtaining my sister's good opinion merits a bet- 
 ter return than it has received. As a mother she is 
 unexceptionable; her solid affection for her child 
 is shown by placing her in hands where her educa- 
 tion will be properly attended to; but because she 
 has not the blind and weak partiality of most 
 mothers, she is accused of wanting maternal ten- 
 derness. Every person of sense, however, will 
 know how to value and commend her well-directed 
 affection, and will join me in wishing that Ered- 
 erica Vernon may prove more worthy than she has 
 yet done of her mother's tender care. I have now, 
 my dear father, written my real sentiments of Lady 
 Susan ; you will know from this letter how highly 
 I admire her abilities, and esteem her character; 
 but if you are not equally convinced by my full 
 and solemn assurance that your fears have been 
 most idly created, you will deeply mortify and 
 distress me. 
 
 I am, etc., etc., B. DE CouRCY. 
 
. 
 
 36 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 XV. 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER, I return you Reginald's 
 letter, and rejoice with all my heart that my father 
 is made easy by it : tell him so, with my congratu- 
 lations ; but between ourselves, I must own it has 
 only convinced me of my brother's having no 
 present intention of marrying Lady Susan, not 
 that he is in 110 danger of doing so three months 
 hence. He gives a very plausible account of her 
 behavior at Langford; I wish it may be true, but 
 his intelligence must come from herself, and I am 
 less disposed to believe it than to lament the de- 
 gree of intimacy subsisting between them implied 
 by the discussion of such a subject. I am sorry to 
 have incurred his displeasure, but can expect noth- 
 ing better while he is so very eager in Lady 
 Susan's justification. He is very severe against 
 me indeed, and yet I hope I have not been hasty 
 in my judgment of her. Poor woman! though I 
 have reasons enough for my dislike, I cannot help 
 pitying her at present, as she is in real distress, 
 and with too much cause. She had this morning 
 a letter from the lady with whom she has placed 
 her daughter, to request that Miss Vernon might 
 be immediately removed, as she had been detected 
 in an attempt to run away. Why, or whither she 
 intended to go, does not appear; but as her situa- 
 tion seems to have been unexceptionable, it is a 
 
LADY SUSAN. 37 
 
 sad thing, and of course highly distressing to Lady 
 Susan. Frederica must be as much as sixteen, 
 and ought to know better; but from what her 
 mother insinuates, I am afraid she is a perverse 
 girl. She has been sadly neglected, however, and 
 her mother ought to remember it. Mr. Vernon 
 set off for London as soon as she had determined 
 what should be done. He is, if possible, to pre-- 
 vail on Miss Summers to let Frederica continue 
 with her; and if he cannot succeed, to bring her 
 to Churchhill for the present, till some other situ- 
 ation can be found for her. Her ladyship is com- 
 forting herself meanwhile by strolling along the 
 shrubbery with Reginald, calling forth all his 
 tender feelings, I suppose, on this distressing 
 occasion. She has been talking a great deal about 
 it to me. She talks vastly well; I am afraid of 
 being ungenerous, or I should say too well to feel 
 so very deeply ; but I will not look for faults ; she 
 may be Reginald's wife! Heaven forbid it! but 
 why should I be quicker-sighted than any one else? 
 Mr. Vernon declares that he never saw deeper dis- 
 tress than hers, on the receipt of the letter; and is 
 his judgment inferior to mine? She was very un- 
 willing that Frederica should be allowed to come 
 to Churchhill, and justly enough, as it seems a 
 sort of reward to behavior deserving very differ- 
 ently; but it was impossible to take her anywhere 
 else, and she is not to remain here long. "It 
 will be absolutely necessary," said she, "as you, 
 my dear sister, must be sensible, to treat my 
 daughter with some severity while she is here; a 
 most painful necessity, but I will endeavor to sub- 
 
 

 38 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 mit to it. I am afraid I have often been too indul- 
 gent, but my poor Frederica's temper could never 
 bear opposition well: you must support and en- 
 courage mej you must urge the necessity of re- 
 proof if you see me too lenient." All this sounds 
 very reasonably. Reginald is so incensed against 
 the poor silly girl! Surely it is not to Lady 
 Susan's credit that he should be so bitter against 
 her daughter; his idea of her must be drawn from 
 the mother's description. Well, whatever may be 
 his fate, we have the comfort of knowing that we 
 have done our utmost to save him. We must 
 commit the event to a higher power. 
 Yours ever, etc. 
 
 CATHERINE VERNON. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mrs Johnson. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 NEVER, my dearest Alicia, was I so provoked in 
 my life as by a letter this morning from Miss 
 Summers. That horrid girl of mine has been try- 
 ing to run away. I had not a notion of her being 
 such a little devil before, she seemed to have all 
 the Vernon milkiness ; but on receiving the letter 
 in which I declared my intention about Sir James, 
 she actually attempted to elope ; at least, I cannot 
 otherwise account for her doing it. She meant, I 
 suppose, to go to the Clarks in Staffordshire, for 
 she has no other acquaintances. But she shall be 
 
LADY SUSAN. 39 
 
 punished, she shall have him. I have sent 
 Charles to town to make matters up if he can, 
 for I do not by any means want her here. If 
 Miss Summers will not keep her, you must find 
 me out another school, unless we can get her mar- 
 ried immediately. Miss S. writes word that she 
 could not get the young lady to assign any cause 
 for her extraordinary conduct, which confirms me 
 in my own previous explanation of it. Frederica 
 is too shy, I think, and too much in awe of me to 
 tell tales; but if the mildness of her uncle should 
 get anything out of her, I am not afraid. I trust 
 I shall be able to make my story as good as hers. 
 If I am vain of anything, it is of my eloquence. 
 Consideration and esteem as surely follow com- 
 mand of language as admiration waits on beauty, 
 and here I have opportunity enough for the exer- 
 cise of my talent, as the chief of my time is spent 
 in conversation. 
 
 Reginald is never easy unless we are by our- 
 selves, and when the weather is tolerable, we pace 
 the shrubbery for hours together. I like him on 
 the whole very well; he is clever and has a good 
 deal to say, but he is sometimes impertinent and 
 troublesome. There is a sort of ridiculous deli- 
 cacy about him which requires the fullest expla- 
 nation of whatever he may have heard to my 
 disadvantage, and is never satisfied till he thinks 
 he has ascertained the beginning and end of every- 
 thing. This is one sort of love, but I confess it 
 does not particularly recommend itself to me. I 
 infinitely prefer the tender and liberal spirit of 
 Mainwaring, which, impressed with the deepest 
 
40 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 conviction of my merit, is satisfied that whatever 
 I do must be right; and look with a degree of con- 
 tempt on the inquisitive and doubtful fancies of 
 that heart which seeis always debating on the rea- 
 sonableness of its emotions. Mainwaring is in- 
 deed, beyond all compare, superior to Reginald 
 superior in everything but the power of being with 
 me! Poor fellow! he is much distracted by jeal- 
 ousy, which I am not sorry for, as I know no 
 better support of love. He has been teasing me to 
 allow of his coming into this country, and lodging 
 somewhere near incog. ; but I forbade everything 
 of the kind. Those women are inexcusable who 
 forget what is due to themselves, and the opinion 
 of the world. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 S. VERNON. 
 
 XVII. 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER, Mr. Vernon returned on 
 Thursday night, bringing his niece with him. 
 Lady Susan had received a line from him by that 
 day's post, informing her that Miss Summers had 
 absolutely refused to allow of Miss Vernon's con- 
 tinuance in her academy; we were therefore 
 prepared for her arrival, and expected them impa- 
 tiently the whole evening. They came while we 
 were at tea, and I never saw any creature look so 
 
LADY SUSAN. 41 
 
 frightened as Frederica when she entered the room. 
 Lady Susan, who had been shedding tears before, 
 and showing great agitation at the idea of the 
 meeting, received her with perfect self-command, 
 and without betraying the least tenderness of spirit. 
 She hardly spoke to her, and on Frederica 's burst- 
 ing into tears as soon as we were seated, took her 
 out of the room, and did not return for some time. 
 When she did, her eyes looked very red, and she 
 was as much agitated as before. We saw no more 
 of her daughter. Poor Reginald was beyond meas- 
 ure concerned to see his fair friend in such distress, 
 and watched her with so much tender solicitude, 
 that I, who occasionally caught her observing his 
 countenance with exultation, was quite out of pa- 
 tience. This pathetic representation lasted the 
 whole evening, and so ostentatious and artful a 
 display has entirely convinced me that she did in 
 fact feel nothing. T am more angry with her than 
 ever since T have seen her daughter; the poor girl 
 looks so unhappy that my heart aches for her. 
 Lady Susan is surely too severe, for Frederica does 
 not seem to have the sort of temper to make sever- 
 ity necessary. She looks perfectly timid, de- 
 jected, and penitent. She is very pretty, though 
 not so handsome as her mother, nor at all like her. 
 Her complexion is delicate, but neither so fair nor 
 so blooming as Lady Susan's, and she has quite 
 the Vernon cast of countenance, the oval face and 
 mild dark eyes, and there is peculiar sweetness in 
 her look when she speaks either to her uncle or me, 
 for as we behave kindly to her we have of course 
 engaged her gratitude. 
 
42 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 Her mother has insinuated that her temper is 
 intractable, but I never saw a face less indicative 
 of any evil disposition than hers; and from what 
 I can see of the behavior of each to the other, the 
 invariable severity of Lady Susan and the silent 
 dejection of Frederica, I am led to believe as here- 
 tofore that the former has no real love for her 
 daughter, and has never done her justice or treated 
 her affectionately. I have not been able to have 
 any conversation with my niece j she is shy, and 
 I think 1 can see that some pains are taken to pre- 
 vent her being much with me. Nothing satisfac- 
 tory transpires as to her reason for running away. 
 Her kind-hearted uncle, you may be sure, was too 
 fearful of distressing her to ask many questions as 
 they travelled. I wish it had been possible for 
 me to fetch her instead of him. I think I should 
 have discovered the truth in the course of a thirty- 
 mile journey. The small pianoforte has been re- 
 moved within these few days, at Lady Susan's 
 request, into her dressing-room, and Frederica 
 spends great part of the day there, practising as 
 it is called; but I seldom hear any noise when I 
 pass that way; what she does with herself there 
 I do not know. There are plenty of books, but it 
 is not every girl who has been running wild the 
 first fifteen years of her life, that can or will read. 
 Poor creature ! the prospect from her window is not 
 very instructive, for that room overlooks the lawn, 
 you know, with the shrubbery on one side, where 
 she may see her mother walking for an hour to- 
 gether in earnest conversation with Reginald. A 
 girl of Frederica's age must be childish indeed, if 
 
LADY SUSAN. 43 
 
 such things do not strike her. Is it not inexcusa- 
 ble to give such an example to a daughter? Yet 
 Reginald still thinks Lady Susan the best of 
 mothers, and still condemns Frederica as a worth- 
 less girl! He is convinced that her attempt to 
 run away proceeded from no justifiable cause, and 
 had no provocation. I am sure I cannot saj T that 
 it had, but while Miss Summers declares that Miss 
 Vernon showed no signs of obstinacy or perverse- 
 ness during her whole stay in Wigmore Street, 
 till she was detected in this scheme, I cannot so 
 readily credit what Lady Susan has made him, and 
 wants to make me believe, that it was merely an 
 impatience of restraint and a desire of escaping 
 from the tuition of masters which brought on the 
 plan of an elopement. O Reginald, how is your 
 judgment enslaved! He scarcel}' dares even al- 
 low her to be handsome, and when I speak of her 
 beauty, replies only that her eyes have no bril- 
 liancy! Sometimes he is sure she is deficient in 
 understanding, and at others that her temper only 
 is in fault. In short, when a person is always to 
 deceive, it is impossible to be consistent. Lady 
 Susan finds it necessary that Frederica should be 
 to blame, and probably has sometimes judged it 
 expedient to excuse her of ill-nature and some- 
 times to lament her want of sense. Reginald is 
 only repeating after her ladyship. 
 
 I remain, etc., etc., 
 
 CATHERINE VEKNON. 
 
44 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 From the same to the same. 
 
 CHCBCHHILL. 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER, I am very glad to find 
 that my description of Frederica Vernon has in- 
 terested you, for I do believe her truly deserving 
 of your regard; and when I have communicated a 
 notion which has recently struck me, your kind 
 impressions in her favor will, I am sure, be height- 
 ened. I cannot help fancying that she is growing 
 partial to my brother. I so very often see her eyes 
 fixed on his face with a remarkable expression of 
 pensive admiration. He is certainly very hand- 
 some; and yet more, there is an openness in his 
 manner that must be highly prepossessing, and I 
 am sure she feels it so. Thoughtful and pensive 
 in general, her countenance always brightens into 
 a smile when Keginald says anything amusing; 
 and, let the subject be ever so serious that he may 
 be conversing on, I am much mistaken if a sylla- 
 ble of his uttering escapes her. I want to make 
 him sensible of all this, for we know the power 
 of gratitude on such a heart as his; and could 
 Frederica's artless affection detach him from her 
 mother, we might bless the day which brought her 
 to Churchhill. I think, my dear mother, you would 
 not disapprove of her as a daughter. She is ex- 
 tremely young, to be sure, has had a wretched 
 education, and a dreadful example of levity in her 
 mother; but yet I can pronounce her disposition 
 
LADY SUSAN. 45 
 
 to be excellent, and her natural abilities very good. 
 Though totally without accomplishments, she is by 
 no means so ignorant as one might- expect to find 
 her, being fond of books and spending the chief of 
 her time in reading. Her mother leaves her more 
 to herself than she did, and I have her with me as 
 much as possible, and have taken great pains to 
 overcome her timidity. We are very good friends, 
 and though she never opens her lips before her 
 mother, she talks enough when alone with me to 
 make it clear that, if properly treated by Lady 
 Susan, she would always appear to much greater 
 advantage. There cannot be a more gentle, affec- 
 tionate heart; or more obliging manners, when 
 acting without restraint; and her little cousins are 
 all very fond of her. 
 
 Your affectionate daughter, 
 
 C. VERNON. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 You will be eager, I know, to hear something 
 further of Frederica, and perhaps may think me 
 negligent for not writing before. She arrived with 
 her uncle last Thursday fortnight, when, of course, 
 I lost no time in demanding the cause of her be- 
 havior; and soon found myself to have been per- 
 fectly right in attributing it to my own letter. 
 The prospect of it frightened her so thoroughly 
 that, with a mixture of true girlish perverseness 
 and folly, she resolved on getting out of the house 
 
46 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 and proceeding directly by the stage to her friends, 
 the Clarkes; and had really got as far as the 
 length of two streets in her journey when she 
 was fortunately missed, pursued, and overtaken. 
 Such was the first distinguished exploit of Miss 
 Frederica Vernonj and if we consider that it was 
 achieved at the tender age of sixteen, we shall 
 have room for the most flattering prognostics of her 
 future renown. I am excessively provoked, how- 
 ever, at the parade of propriety which prevented 
 Miss Summers from keeping the girl; and it seems 
 so extraordinary a piece of nicety, considering my 
 daughter's family connections, that I can only 
 suppose the lady to be governed by the fear of 
 never getting her money. Be that as it may, how- 
 ever, Frederica is returned on my hands ; and hav- 
 ing nothing else to employ her, is busy in pursuing 
 the plan of romance begun at Langford. She is 
 actually falling in love with Reginald de Courcy! 
 To disobey her mother by refusing an unexcep- 
 tionable offer is not enough; her affections must 
 also be given without her mother's approbation. 
 I never saw a girl of her age bid fairer to be the 
 sport of mankind. Her feelings are tolerably 
 acute, and she is so charmingly artless in their 
 display as to afford the most reasonable hope of 
 her being ridiculous, and despised by every man 
 who sees her. 
 
 Artlessuess will never do in love matters; and 
 that girl is born a simpleton who has it either by 
 nature or affectation. I am not yet certain that 
 Reginald sees what she is about, nor is it of much 
 consequence. She is now an object of indifference 
 
LADY SUSAN. 47 
 
 to him, and she would be one of contempt were he 
 to understand her emotions. Her beauty is much 
 admired by the Vernons, but it has no effect on 
 him. She is in high favor with her aunt alto- 
 gether, because she is so little like myself, of 
 course. She is exactly the companion for Mrs. 
 Vernon, who dearly loves to be first, and to have 
 all the sense and all the wit of the conversation to 
 herself: Frederica will never eclipse her. When 
 she first came I was at some pains to prevent her 
 seeing much of her aunt ; but I have relaxed, as I 
 believe I may depend on her observing the rules I 
 have laid down for their discourse. But do not 
 imagine that with all this lenity I have for a mo- 
 ment given up my plan of her marriage. No; I 
 am unalterably fixed 011 this point, though I have 
 not yet quite decided on the manner of bringing it 
 about. I should not choose to have the business 
 brought on here, and canvassed by the wise heads 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon; and I cannot just now 
 afford to go to town. Miss Frederica must there- 
 fore wait a little. 
 
 Yours ever, S. VERNOX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 WE have a very unexpected guest with us at 
 present, my dear mother : he arrived yesterday. I 
 heard a carriage at the door, as I was sitting with 
 my children while they dined; and supposing I 
 
48 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 should be wanted, left the nursery soon afterwards, 
 and was half-way downstairs, when Frederica, as 
 pale as ashes, came running up, and rushed by me 
 into her own room. I instantly followed, and 
 asked her what was the matter. " Oh! ;> said she, 
 "he is come Sir James is come, and what shall 
 I do!" This was no explanation; I begged her 
 to tell me what she meant. At that moment we 
 were interrupted by a knock at the door: it was 
 Reginald, who came, lay Lady Susan's direction, 
 to call Frederica down. "It is Mr. De Courcy! " 
 said she, coloring violently. "Mamma has sent 
 for me; I must go." We all three went down to- 
 gether; and I saw my brother examining the 
 terrified face of Frederica with surprise. In the 
 breakfast-room we found Lady Susan, and a young 
 man of gentlemanlike appearance, whom she intro- 
 duced by the name of Sir James Martin the 
 very person, as you may remember, whom it was 
 said she had been at pains to detach from Miss 
 Mainwaring; but the conquest, it seems, was not 
 designed for herself, or she has since transferred it 
 to her daughter; for Sir James is now desperately 
 in love with Frederica, and with full encourage- 
 ment from mamma. The poor girl, however, I am 
 sure, dislikes him; and though his person and ad- 
 dress are very well, he appears, both to Mr. Vernon 
 and me, a very weak young man. Frederica looked 
 so shy, so confused, when we entered the room, that 
 I felt for her exceedingly. Lady Susan behaved 
 with great attention to her visitor; and yet I 
 thought I could perceive that she had no particular 
 pleasure in seeing him. Sir James talked a great 
 
LADY SUSAN. 49 
 
 deal, and made many civil excuses to me for the 
 liberty he had taken in coming to Churchhill 
 mixing more frequent laughter with his discourse 
 than the subject required said many things over 
 and over again, and told Lady Susan three times 
 that he had seen Mrs. Johnson a few evenings 
 before. He now and then addressed Frederica, 
 but more frequently her mother. The poor girl 
 sat all this time without opening her lips her 
 eyes cast down, and her color varying every in- 
 stant; while Reginald observed all that passed in 
 perfect silence. At length Lady Susan, weary, 
 I believe, of her situation, proposed walking; and 
 we left the two gentlemen together, to put on our 
 pelisses. As we went upstairs Lady Susan begged 
 permission to attend me for a few moments in my 
 dressing-room, as she was anxious to speak with 
 me in private. I led her thither accordingly, and 
 as soon as the door was closed, she said: "I was 
 never more surprised in my life than by Sir 
 James's arrival, and the suddenness of it requires 
 some apology to you, my dear sister; though to 
 me, as a mother, it is highly flattering. He is so 
 extremely attached to my daughter that he could 
 not exist longer without seeing her. Sir James is 
 a young man of an amiable disposition and excellent 
 character; a little too much of the rattle, perhaps, 
 but a year or two will rectify that : and he is in 
 other respects so very eligible a match for Fred- 
 erica, that I have always observed his attachment 
 with the greatest pleasure ; and am persuaded that 
 you and my brother will give the alliance your 
 hearty approbation. I have never before mentioned 
 
50 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 the likelihood of its taking place to any one, because 
 I thought that whilst Frederica continued at school 
 it had better not be known to exist; but now, as I 
 am convinced that Frederica is too old ever to sub- 
 mit to school confinement, and have therefore 
 begun to consider her union with Sir James as not 
 very distant, I had intended within a few days to 
 acquaint yourself and Mr. Vernon with the whole 
 business. I am sure, my dear sister, you will ex- 
 cuse my remaining silent so long, and agree with 
 me that such circumstances, while they continue 
 from any cause in suspense, cannot be too cau- 
 tiously concealed. When you have the happiness 
 of bestowing your sweet little Catherine, some 
 years hence, on a man who in connection and 
 character is alike unexceptionable, you will know 
 what I feel now; though, thank Heaven, you can- 
 not have all my reasons for rejoicing in such an 
 event. Catherine will be amply provided for, and 
 not, like my Frederica, indebted to a fortunate 
 establishment for the comforts of life." She con- 
 cluded by demanding my congratulations. I gave 
 them somewhat awkwardly, I believe; for, in fact, 
 the sudden disclosure of so important a matter 
 took from me the power of speaking with any 
 clearness. She thanked me, however, most affec- 
 tionately, for my kind concern in the welfare of 
 herself and daughter; and then said: "lam not 
 apt to deal in professions, my dear Mrs. Vernon, 
 and I never had the convenient talent of affecting 
 sensations foreign to my heart; and therefore I 
 trust you will believe me when I declare that 
 much as I had heard in your praise before I knew 
 
LADY SUSAN. 51 
 
 you, I had no idea that I should ever love you as I 
 now do; and I must further say that your friend- 
 ship towards me is more particularly gratifying 
 because I have reason to believe that some attempts 
 were made to prejudice you against me. I only 
 wish that they, whoever they are to whom I am 
 indebted for such kind intentions, could see the 
 terms on which we now are together, and under- 
 stand the real affection we feel for each other; but 
 I will not detain you any longer. God bless you 
 for your goodness to me and my girl, and continue 
 to you all your present happiness." What can one 
 say of such a woman, my dear mother? Such 
 earnestness, such solemnity of expression! and yet 
 I cannot help suspecting the truth of everything 
 she says. As for Reginald, I believe he does not 
 know what to make of the matter. When Sir 
 James came, he appeared all astonishment and 
 perplexity; the folly of the young man and the 
 confusion of Frederica entirely engrossed him ; and 
 though a little private discourse with Lady Susan 
 has since had its effect, he is still hurt, I am sure, 
 at her allowing of such a man's attentions to her 
 daughter. Sir James invited himself with great 
 composure to remain here a few days hoped we 
 would not think it odd, was aware of its being 
 very impertinent, but he took the liberty of a rela- 
 tion; and concluded by wishing, with a laugh, 
 that he might be really one very soon. Even Lady 
 Susan seemed a little disconcerted by this forward- 
 ness; in her heart I am persuaded she sincerely 
 wished him gone. But something must be done 
 for this poor girl, if her feelings are such as both I 
 
52 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 and her uncle believe them to be. She must not 
 be sacrificed to policy or ambition, and she must 
 not be left to suffer from the dread of it. The 
 girl whose heart can distinguish Reginald de 
 Courcy deserves, however he may slight her, a 
 better fate than to be Sir James Martin's wife. 
 As soon as I can get her alone, I will discover the 
 real truth; but she seems to wish to avoid me. I 
 hope this does not proceed from anything wrong, 
 and that I shall not find out I have thought too 
 well of her. Her behavior to Sir James certainly 
 speaks the greatest consciousness and embarrass- 
 ment, but I see nothing in it more like encour- 
 agement. Adieu, my dear mother. 
 Yours, etc. 
 
 C. VERNOX. 
 
 XXL 
 
 Miss Vernon to Mr. De Courcy. 
 
 SIR, I hope you will excuse this liberty; I am 
 forced upon it by the greatest distress, or I should 
 be ashamed to trouble you. I am very miserable 
 about Sir James Martin, and have no other way in 
 the world of helping myself but by writing to you, 
 for I am forbidden even speaking to my uncle and 
 aunt on the subject; and this being the case, I am 
 afraid my applying to you will appear no better 
 than equivocation, and as if I attended to the letter 
 and not the spirit of mamma's commands. But if 
 you do not take my part and persuade her to break 
 it off, I shall be half distracted, for I cannot bear 
 
LADY SUSAN. 53 
 
 him. No human being but you could have any 
 chance of prevailing with her. If you will, there- 
 fore, have the unspeakably great kindness of taking 
 my part with her, and persuading her to send Sir 
 James away, I shall be more obliged to you than it 
 is possible for me to express. I always disliked 
 him from the first: it is not a sudden fancy, I as- 
 sure you, sir; I always thought him silly and 
 impertinent and disagreeable, and now he is grown 
 worse than ever. I would rather work for my bread 
 than marry him. I do not know how to apologize 
 enough for this letter; I know it is taking so great 
 a liberty. I am aware how dreadfully angry it will 
 make mamma, but I remember the risk. 
 
 I am, Sir, your most humble servant, 
 
 F. S. V. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson, 
 
 CHURCHHILL 
 
 THIS is insufferable! My dearest friend, I was 
 never so enraged before, and must relieve myself 
 by writing to you, who I know will enter into all 
 my feelings. Who should come on Tuesday but 
 Sir James Martin! Guess my astonishment and 
 vexation for, as you well know, I never wished 
 him to be seen at Churchhill. What a pity that 
 you should not have known his intentions! Not 
 content with coming, he actually invited himself 
 to remain here a few days. I could have poisoned 
 him ! I made the best of it, however, and told my 
 
54 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 story with great success to Mrs. Vernon, who, 
 whatever might be her real sentiments, said noth- 
 ing in opposition to mine. I made a point also 
 of Frederica's behaving civilly to Sir James, and 
 gave her to understand that I was absolutely de- 
 termined on her marrying him. She said some- 
 thing of her misery, but that was all. I have for 
 some time been more particularly resolved on the 
 match from seeing the rapid increase of her affec- 
 tion for Reginald, and from not feeling secure that 
 a knowledge of such affection might not in the 
 end awaken a return. Contemptible as a regard 
 founded only on compassion must make them both 
 in my eyes, I felt by no means assured that such 
 might not be the consequence. It is true that 
 Reginald had not in any degree grown cool towards 
 me-, but yet he has lately mentioned Frederica 
 spontaneously and unnecessarily, and once said 
 something in praise of her person. He was all as- 
 tonishment at the appearance of my visitor, and at 
 first observed Sir James with an attention which 
 I was pleased to see not unmixed with jealousy; 
 but unluckily it was impossible for me really to 
 torment him, as Sir James, though extremely gal- 
 lant to me, very soon made the whole party under- 
 stand that his heart was devoted to my daughter. 
 I had no great difficulty in convincing De Courcy. 
 when we were alone, that I was perfectly justified, 
 all things considered, in desiring the match-, and 
 the whole business seemed most comfortably ar- 
 ranged. They could none of them help perceiving 
 that Sir James was no Solomon; but I had posi- 
 tively forbidden Frederica complaining to Charles 
 
LADY SUSAN. 55 
 
 Vernon or his wife, and they had therefore no 
 pretence for interference; though my impertinent 
 sister, I believe, wanted only opportunity for doing 
 so. Everything, however, was going on calmly 
 and quietly; and though I counted the hours of 
 Sir James's stay, my mind was entirely satisfied 
 with the posture of affairs. Guess, then, what I 
 must feel at the sudden disturbance of all my 
 schemes; and that, too, from a quarter where I 
 had least reason to expect it. Reginald came this 
 morning into my dressing-room with a very un- 
 usual solemnity of countenance, and after some 
 preface informed me in so many words that he 
 wished to reason with me on the impropriety and 
 unkindness of allowing Sir James Martin to ad- 
 dress my daughter contrary to her inclinations. I 
 was all amazement. When I found that he was not 
 to be laughed out of his design, I calmly- begged an 
 explanation, and desired to know by what he was 
 impelled, and by whom commissioned to reprimand 
 me. He then told me, mixing in his speech a few 
 insolent compliments and ill-timed expressions of 
 tenderness, to which I listened with perfect indif- 
 ference, that my daughter had acquainted him with 
 some circumstances concerning herself, Sir James, 
 and me which had given him great uneasiness. In 
 short, I found that she had in the first place actu- 
 ally written to him to request his interference, and 
 that, on receiving her letter, he had conversed with 
 her on the subject of it, in order to understand the 
 particulars, and to assure himself of her real wishes. 
 I have not a doubt but that the girl took this op- 
 portunity of making downright love to him. I am 
 
56 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 convinced of it by the manner in which he spoke 
 of her. Much good may such love do him ! I shall 
 ever despise the man who can he gratified by the 
 passion which he never wished to inspire, nor so- 
 licited the avowal of. I shall always detest them 
 both. He can have no true regard for me, or he 
 would not have listened to her; and she, with her 
 little rebellious heart and indelicate feelings, to 
 throw herself into the protection of a young man 
 with whom she has scarcely ever exchanged two 
 words before ! I am equally confounded at her im- 
 pudence and his credulity. How dared he believe 
 what she told him in my disfavor! Ought he not 
 to have felt assured that I must have unanswerable 
 motives for all that I had done? Where was his 
 reliance on my sense and goodness then? Where 
 the resentment which true love would have dic- 
 tated against the person defaming me, that per- 
 son, too, a chit, a child, without talent or educa- 
 tion, whom he had been always taught to despise? 
 I was calm for some time; but the greatest degree 
 of forbearance may be overcome, and I hope I was 
 afterwards sufficiently keen. He endeavored, long 
 endeavored, to soften my resentment; but that 
 woman is a fool indeed who, while insulted by ac- 
 cusation, can be worked on by compliments. At 
 length he left me, as deeply provoked as myself; 
 and he showed his anger more. I was quite cool, 
 but he gave way to the most violent indignation; 
 I may therefore expect it will the sooner subside, 
 and perhaps his may be vanished forever, while 
 mine will be found still fresh and implacable. He 
 is now shut up in his apartment, whither I heard 
 
LADY SUSAN. 57 
 
 him go on leaving mine. How unpleasant, one 
 would think, must be his reflections! hut some 
 people's feelings are incomprehensible. I have 
 not yet tranquillized myself enough to see Frede- 
 rica. She shall not soon forget the occurrences of 
 this day; she shall find that she has poured forth 
 her tender tale of love in vain, and exposed herself 
 forever to the contempt of the whole world, and 
 the severest resentment of her injured mother. 
 
 Your affectionate S. VERNON. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 LET me congratulate you, my dearest mother! 
 The affair which has given us so much anxiety is 
 drawing to a happy conclusion. Our prospect is 
 most delightful; and since matters have now taken 
 so favorable a turn, I am quite sorry that I ever im- 
 parted my apprehensions to you ; for the pleasure 
 of learning that the danger is over is perhaps 
 dearly purchased by all that you have previously 
 suffered. I am so much agitated by delight that I 
 can scarcely hold a pen; but am determined to 
 send you a few short lines by James, that you may 
 have some explanation of what must so greatly 
 astonish you as that Keginald should be returning 
 to Parklands. I was sitting about half an hour ago 
 with Sir James in the breakfast-parlor, when my 
 brother called me out of the room. I instantly saw 
 that something was the matter; his complexion 
 was raised, and he spoke with great emotion; you 
 
58 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 know his eager manner, my dear mother, when 
 his mind is interested. " Catherine," said he, "I 
 am going home to-day; I am sorry to leave you, 
 but I must go : it is a great while since I have seen 
 my father and mother. I am going to send James 
 forward with my hunters immediately ; if you have 
 any letter, therefore, he can take it. I shall not 
 be at home myself till Wednesday or Thurs day, as 
 I shall go through London, where I have business ; 
 but before I leave you, " he continued, speaking in 
 a lower tone, and with still greater energy, "I 
 must warn you of one thing, do not let Frederica 
 Vernon be made unhappy by that Martin. He 
 wants to marry her; her mother promotes the 
 match, but she cannot endure the idea of it. Be 
 assured that I speak from the fullest conviction of 
 the truth of what I say; I know that Frederica is 
 made wretched by Sir James's continuing here. 
 She is a sweet girl, and deserves a better fate. 
 Send him away immediately; he is only a fool: but 
 what her mother can mean, Heaven only knows! 
 Grood-by, ;; he added, shaking my hand with ear- 
 nestness, "I do not know when you will see me 
 again ; but remember what I tell you of Frederica ; 
 you must make it your business to see justice done 
 her. She is an amiable girl, and has a very 
 superior mind to what we have given her credit 
 for." He then left me, and ran upstairs. I would 
 not try to stop him, for I know what his feelings 
 must be. The nature of mine, as I listened to him, 
 I need not attempt to describe; for a minute or two 
 I remained in the same spot, overpowered by wonder 
 of a most agreeable sort indeed; yet it required 
 
LADY SUSAN. 59 
 
 some consideration to be tranquilly happy. In about 
 ten minutes after my return to the parlor Lady 
 Susan entered the room. I concluded, of course, 
 that she and Reginald had been quarrelling, and 
 looked with anxious curiosity for a confirmation of 
 my belief in her face. Mistress of deceit, however, 
 she appeared perfectly unconcerned, and after 
 chatting on indifferent subjects for a short time, 
 said to me, " I find from Wilson that we are going 
 to lose Mr. De Courcy, is it true that he leaves 
 Churchhill this morning? " I replied that it was. 
 "He told us nothing of all this last night," said 
 she, laughing, " or even this morning at breakfast ; 
 but perhaps he did not know it himself. Young 
 men are often hasty in their resolutions, and not 
 more sudden in forming than unsteady in keeping 
 them. I should not be surprised if he were to 
 change his mind at last, and not go." She soon 
 afterwards left the room. I trust, however, my 
 dear mother, that we have no reason to fear an 
 alteration of his present plan; things have gone 
 too far. They must have quarrelled, and about 
 Frederica too. Her calmness astonishes me. 
 What delight will be yours in seeing him again, 
 in seeing him still worthy your esteem, still 
 capable of forming your happiness ! When I next 
 write I shall be able to tell you that Sir James is 
 gone, Lady Susan vanquished, and Frederica at 
 peace. We have much to do, but it shall be done. 
 I am all impatience to hear how this astonishing 
 change was effected. I finish as I began with the 
 warmest congratulations. 
 
 Yours ever, etc., CATH. VERNON. 
 
60 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 From the same to the same. 
 
 CHTJRCHHILL. 
 
 LITTLE did I imagine, niy dear mother, when I 
 sent off my last letter, that the delightful pertur- 
 bation of spirits I was then in would undergo 
 so speedy, so melancholy a reverse. I never can 
 sufficiently regret that I wrote to you at all. Yet 
 who could have foreseen what has happened? My 
 dear mother, every hope which made me so happy 
 only two hours ago has vanished. The quarrel 
 between Lady Susan and Reginald is made up, and 
 we are all as we were before. One point only is 
 gained. Sir James Martin is dismissed. What 
 are we now to look forward to? I am indeed 
 disappointed; Reginald was all but gone, his horse 
 was ordered and all but brought to the door; who 
 would not have felt safe? For half an hour I was 
 in momentary expectation of his departure. After 
 I had sent off my letter to you, I went to Mr. 
 Vernon, and sat with him in his room talking over 
 the whole matter, and then determined to look for 
 Frederica, whom I had not seen since breakfast. 
 I met her on the stairs, and saw that she was cry- 
 ing. " My dear aunt," said she, " he is going 
 Mr. De Courcy is going, and it is all my fault. I 
 am afraid you will be very angry with me, but in- 
 deed I had no idea it would end so. ' ' " My love, ' ; I 
 replied, " do not think it necessary to apologize to 
 me on that account. I shall feel myself under an 
 obligation to any one who is the means of sending 
 
LADY SUSAN. 61 
 
 my brother home, because," recollecting myself, " I 
 know my father wants very much to see him. But 
 what is it you have done to occasion all this? M 
 She blushed deeply as she answered: "I was so 
 unhappy about Sir James that I could not help 
 I have done something very wrong, I know; but 
 you have not an idea of the misery I have been in : 
 and mamma had ordered me never to speak to you or 
 my uncle about it, and " " You therefore spoke 
 to my brother to engage his interference, 77 said I, 
 to save her the explanation. "No; but I wrote 
 to him, I did indeed, I got up this morning 
 before it was light, and was two hours about it; 
 and when my letter was done I thought I never 
 should have courage to give it. After breakfast, 
 however, as I was going to my room, I met him 
 in the passage, and then, as I knew that every- 
 thing must depend on that moment, I forced my- 
 self to give it. He was so good as to take it 
 immediately. I dared not look at him, and ran 
 away directly. I was in such a fright I could 
 hardly breathe. My dear aunt, you do not know 
 how miserable I have been." "Frederica," said I, 
 "you ought to have told me all your distresses. 
 You would have found in me a friend al ways ready 
 to assist you. Do you think that your uncle or I 
 should not have espoused your cause as warmly 
 as my brother? " "Indeed, I did not doubt your 
 kindness," said she, coloring again, "but I thought 
 Mr. De Courcy could do anything with my mother ; 
 but I was mistaken: they have had a dreadful 
 quarrel about it, and he is going away. Mamma 
 will never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than 
 
62 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 ever." "No, you shall not," I replied; "in such 
 a point as this your mother's prohibition ought 
 not to have prevented your speaking to me on the 
 subject. She has no right to make you unhappy, 
 and she shall not do it. Your applying, however, 
 to Eeginald can be productive only of good to all 
 parties. I believe it is best as it is. Depend 
 upon it that you shall not be made unhappy any 
 longer." At that moment how great was my 
 astonishment at seeing Reginald come out of 
 Lady Susan's dressing-room. My heart misgave 
 me instantly. His confusion at seeing me was 
 very evident. Frederica immediately disappeared. 
 "Are you going?" I said; "you will find Mr. 
 Vernon in his own room." " No, Catherine, " he 
 replied, "I am not going. Will you let me speak 
 to you a moment? " We went into my room. " I 
 find," he continued, his confusion increasing as he 
 spoke, "that I have been acting with my usual 
 foolish impetuosity. I have entirely misunder- 
 stood Lady Susan, and was on the point of leaving 
 the house under a false impression of her conduct. 
 There has been some very great mistake : we have 
 been all mistaken, I fancy. Frederica does not 
 know her mother. Lady Susan means nothing but 
 her good, but she will not make a friend of her. 
 Lady Susan does not always know, therefore, what 
 will make her daughter happy. Besides, I could 
 have no right to interfere. Miss Vernon was mis- 
 taken in applying to me. In short, Catherine, 
 everything has gone wrong, but it is now all 
 happily settled. Lady Susan, I believe, wishes to 
 speak to you about it, if you are at leisure." " Cer- 
 
LADY SUSAN. 63 
 
 tainly," I replied, deeply sighing at the recital of 
 so lame a story. I made no comments, however, 
 for words would have been vain. 
 
 Reginald was glad to get away; and I went to 
 Lady Susan, curious, indeed, to hear her account 
 of it. " Did I not tell you," said she, with a 
 smile, " that your brother would not leave us after 
 all? " " You did, indeed, " replied I, very gravely ; 
 "but I flattered myself you would be mistaken." 
 "I should not have hazarded such an opinion," 
 returned she, "if it had not at that moment 
 occurred to me that his resolution of going might 
 be occasioned by a conversation in which we had 
 been this morning engaged, and which had ended 
 very much to his dissatisfaction, from our not 
 rightly understanding each other's meaning. This 
 idea struck me at the moment, and I instantly de- 
 termined that an accidental dispute, in which I 
 might probably be as much to blame as himself, 
 should not deprive you of your brother. If you 
 remember, I left the room almost immediately. I 
 was resolved to lose no time in clearing up those 
 mistakes as far as I could. The case was this 
 Frederica had set herself violently against marry- 
 ing Sir James." " And can your ladyship wonder 
 that she should?" cried I, with some warmth; 
 " Frederica has an excellent understanding, and 
 Sir James has none." "I am at least very far 
 from regretting it, my dear sister," said she; "on 
 the contrary, I am grateful for so favorable a sign 
 of my daughter's sense. Sir James is certainly 
 below par (his boyish manners make him appear 
 worse); and had Frederica possessed the penetra- 
 
64 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 tion and the abilities which I could have wished 
 in my daughter, or had I even known her to pos- 
 sess as much as she does, I should not have heen 
 anxious for the match." "It is odd that you 
 should alone be ignorant of your daughter's sense ! " 
 "Frederica never does justice to herself; her man- 
 ners are shy and childish, and besides she is afraid 
 of me. During her poor father's life she was a 
 spoilt child; the severity which it has since been 
 necessary for me to show has alienated her affec- 
 tion ; neither has she any of that brilliancy of in- 
 tellect, that genius or vigor of mind which will 
 force itself forward." " Say rather that she has 
 been unfortunate in her education! " " Heaven 
 knows, my dearest Mrs. Vernon, how fully I am 
 aware of that; but I would wish to forget every 
 circumstance that might throw blame on the 
 memory of one whose name is sacred with me." 
 Here she pretended to cry ; I was out of patience 
 with her. "But what," said I, "was your lady- 
 ship going to tell me about your disagreement with 
 my brother? " "It originated in an action of my 
 daughter's which equally marks her want of judg- 
 ment and the unfortunate dread of me I have been 
 mentioning, she wrote to Mr. De Courcy." "I 
 know she did; you had forbidden her speaking to 
 Mr. Vernon or to me on the cause of her distress ; 
 what could she do, therefore, but apply to my 
 brother? " " Good God! " she exclaimed, " what 
 an opinion you must have of me! Can you pos- 
 sibly suppose that I was aware of her unhappiness, 
 that it was my object to make my own child miser- 
 able, and that I had forbidden her speaking to you 
 
LADY SUSAN. 65 
 
 on the subject from fear of your interrupting the 
 diabolical scheme? Do you think me destitute of 
 every honest, every natural feeling? Am I capable 
 of consigning her to everlasting misery whose wel- 
 fare it is my first earthly duty to promote? The 
 idea is horrible !" "What, then, was your inten- 
 tion when you insisted on her silence?" " Of 
 what use, my dear sister, could be any application 
 to you, however the affair might stand? Why 
 should I subject you to entreaties which I refused 
 to attend to myself? Neither for your sake nor 
 for hers nor for my own, could such a thing be 
 desirable. When my own resolution was taken, 
 I could not wish for the interference, however 
 friendly, of another person. I was mistaken, it 
 is true, but I believed myself right." " But what 
 was this mistake to which your ladyship so often 
 alludes? from whence arose so astonishing a mis- 
 conception of your daughter's feelings? Did you 
 not know that she disliked Sir James? " "I knew 
 that he was not absolutely the man she would have 
 chosen, but I was persuaded that her objections to 
 him did not arise from any perception of his defi- 
 ciency. You must not question me, however, my 
 dear sister, too minutely on this point," continued 
 she, taking me affectionately by the hand; "I 
 honestly own that there is something to conceal. 
 Frederica makes me very unhappy ! Her applying 
 to Mr. De Courcy hurt me particularly." "What 
 is it you mean to infer," said I, " by this appear- 
 ance of mystery? If you think your daughter at 
 all attached to Reginald, her objecting to Sir 
 James could not less deserve to be attended to 
 
66 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 than if the cause of her objecting had been a con- 
 sciousness of his folly; and why should your lady- 
 ship, at any rate, quarrel with my brother for an 
 interference which you must know it is not in his 
 nature to refuse when urged in such a manner? " 
 
 " His disposition, you know, is warm, and he- 
 came to expostulate with me; his compassion all 
 alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in distress ! 
 We misunderstood each other: he believed me 
 more to blame than I really was ; I considered his 
 interference less excusable than I now find it. I 
 have a real regard for him, and was beyond ex- 
 pression mortified to find it, as I thought, so ill 
 bestowed. We were both warm, and of course both 
 to blame. His resolution of leaving Churchhill is 
 consistent with his general eagerness. When I 
 understood his intention, however, and at the same 
 time began to think that we had been perhaps 
 equally mistaken in each other's meaning, I re- 
 solved to have an explanation before it was too 
 late. For any member of your family I must 
 always feel a degree of affection, and I own it 
 would have sensibly hurt me if my acquaintance 
 with Mr. De Courcy had ended so gloomily. I 
 have now only to say, further, that as I am con- 
 vinced of Frederica's having a reasonable dislike 
 to Sir James, I shall instantly inform him that he 
 must give up all hope of her. I reproach myself 
 for having even, though innocently, made her un- 
 happy on that score. She shall have all the retri- 
 bution in my power to make ; if she value her own 
 happiness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, 
 and command herself as she ought, she may now 
 
LADY SUSAN; 67 
 
 be easy. Excuse me, my dearest sister, for thus 
 trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own 
 character; and after this explanation I trust I am 
 in no danger of sinking in your opinion." I could 
 hare said, "Not much, indeed! " but I left her 
 almost in silence. It was the greatest stretch of 
 forbearance I could practise. I could not have 
 stopped myself had I begun. Her assurance ! her 
 deceit! but I will not allow myself to dwell on 
 them ; they will strike you sufficiently. My heart 
 sickens within me. As soon as I was tolerably 
 composed I returned to the parlor. Sir James's 
 carriage was at the door, and he, merry as usual, 
 soon afterwards took his leave. How easily does 
 her ladyship encourage or dismiss a lover! In 
 spite of this release, Frederica still looks unhappy : 
 still fearful, perhaps, of her mother's anger; and 
 though dreading my brother's departure, jealous, 
 it may be, of his staying. I see how closely she 
 observes him and Lady Susan, poor girl ! I have 
 now no hope for her. There is not a chance of her 
 affection being returned. He thinks very differ- 
 ently of her from what he used to do; he does her 
 some justice, but his reconciliation with her 
 mother precludes every dearer hope. Prepare, my 
 dear mother, for the worst! The probability of 
 their marrying is surely heightened! He is more 
 securely hers than ever. When that wretched 
 event takes place, Frederica must belong wholly 
 to us. I am thankful that my last letter will pre- 
 cede this by so little, as every moment that you 
 can be saved from feeling a joy which leads only 
 to disappointment is of consequence. 
 
 Yours ever, etc., CATHERINE VERNON 
 
68 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 I CALL on you, dear Alicia, for congratulations : 
 I am my own self, gay and triumphant ! When I 
 wrote to you the other day I was, in truth, in high 
 irritation, and with ample cause. Nay, I know 
 not whether I ought to be quite tranquil now, for 
 I have had more trouble in restoring peace than I 
 ever intended to submit to, a spirit, too, result- 
 ing from a fancied sense of superior integrity, 
 which is peculiarly insolent! I shall not easily 
 forgive him, I assure you. He was actually on 
 the point of leaving Churchhill! I had scarcely 
 concluded my last, when Wilson brought me word 
 of it. I found, therefore, that something must be 
 done ; for I did not choose to leave my character at 
 the mercy of a man whose passions are so violent 
 and so revengeful. It would have been trifling 
 with my reputation to allow of his departing with 
 such an impression in my disfavor; in this light, 
 condescension was necessary. I sent Wilson to 
 say that I desired to speak with him before he 
 went; he came immediately. The angry emotions 
 which had marked every feature when we last 
 parted were partially subdued. He seemed aston- 
 ished at the summons, and looked as if half wish- 
 ing and half fearing to be softened by what I 
 might say. If my countenance expressed what I 
 aimed at, it was composed and dignified, and yet 
 
LADY SUSAN. 69 
 
 with a degree of pensiveness which might convince 
 him that I was not quite happy. "I beg your 
 pardon, sir, for the liberty I have taken in sending 
 for you," said I; "but as I have just learnt your 
 intention of leaving this place to-day, I feel it my 
 duty to entreat that you will not on my account 
 shorten your visit here even an hour. I am per- 
 fectly aware that after what has passed between us 
 it would ill suit the feelings of either to remain 
 longer in the same house : so very great, so total a 
 change from the intimacy of friendship must ren- 
 der any future intercourse the severest punish- 
 ment; and your resolution of quitting Churchhill 
 is undoubtedly in unison with our situation, and 
 with those lively feelings which I know you to 
 possess. But at the same time it is not for me to 
 suffer such a sacrifice as it must be to leave rela- 
 tions to whom you are so much attached and are 
 so dear. My remaining here cannot give that 
 pleasure to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon which your soci- 
 ety must ; and my visit has already perhaps been 
 too long. My removal, therefore, which must at 
 any rate take place soon, may with perfect con- 
 venience be hastened ; and I make it my particular 
 request that I may not in any way be instrumental 
 in separating a family so affectionately attached to 
 each other. Where I go is of no consequence to 
 any one; of very little to myself; but you are of 
 importance to all your connections/ 7 Here I con- 
 cluded, and I hope you will be satisfied with my 
 speech. Its effect on Reginald justifies some por- 
 tion of vanity, for it was no less favorable than in- 
 stantaneous. Oh, how delightful it was to watch 
 
70 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 the variations of his countenance while I spoke, 
 to see the struggle between returning tenderness and 
 the remains of displeasure! There is something 
 agreeable in feelings so easily worked on ; not that 
 I envy him their possession, nor would, for the 
 world, have such myself; but they are very con- 
 venient when one wishes to influence the passions 
 of another. And yet this Eeginald, whom a very 
 few words from me softened at once into the ut- 
 most submission, and rendered more tractable, 
 more attached, more devoted than ever, would have 
 left me in the first angry swelling of his proud 
 heart without deigning to seek an explanation. 
 Humbled as he now is, I cannot forgive him such 
 an instance of pride, and am doubtful whether I 
 ought not to punish him by dismissing him at once 
 after this reconciliation, or by marrying and teas- 
 ing him forever. But these measures are each too 
 violent to be adopted without some deliberation; 
 at present my thoughts are fluctuating between 
 various schemes. I have many things to compass : 
 I must punish Frederica, and pretty severely too, 
 for her application to Reginald; I must punish 
 him for receiving it so favorably, and for the rest 
 of his conduct. I must torment my sister-in-law 
 for the insolent triumph of her look and manner 
 since Sir James has been dismissed; for in recon- 
 ciling Reginald to me, I was not able to save that 
 ill-fated young man; and I must make myself 
 amends for the humiliation to which I have stooped 
 within these few days. To effect all this I have 
 various plans. I have also an idea of being soon 
 in town; and whatever may be my determination 
 
LADY SUSAN. 71 
 
 as to the rest, I shall probably put that project in 
 execution; for London will be always the fairest 
 field of action, however my views may be directed; 
 and at any rate I shall there be rewarded by your 
 society, and a little dissipation, for a ten weeks' 
 penance at Churchhill. I believe I owe it to 
 my character to complete the match between my 
 daughter and Sir James after having so long 
 intended it. Let me know your opinion on this 
 point. Flexibility of mind, a disposition easily 
 biased by others, is an attribute which you know 
 I am not very desirous of obtaining; nor has 
 Frederica any claim to the indulgence of her no- 
 tions at the expense of her mother's inclinations. 
 Her idle love for Reginald, too ! It is surely my 
 duty to discourage such romantic nonsense. All 
 things considered, therefore, it seems incumbent 
 on me to take her to town and marry her immedi- 
 ately to Sir James. When my own will is effected 
 contrary to his, I shall have some credit in being 
 on good terms with Reginald, which at present, 
 in fact, I have not ; for though he is still in my 
 power, I have given up the very article by which 
 our quarrel was produced, and at best the honor of 
 victory is doubtful. Send me your opinion on all 
 these matters, my dear Alicia, and let me know 
 whether you can get lodgings to suit me within a 
 short distance of you. 
 
 Your most attached 
 
 S. VEBNON, 
 
72 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan. 
 
 EDWARD STREET. 
 
 I AM gratified by your reference, and this is my 
 advice: that you come to town yourself, without 
 loss of time, but that you leave Frederica behind. 
 It would surely be much more to the purpose to 
 get yourself well established by marrying Mr. 
 De Courcy, than to irritate him and the rest of 
 his family by making her marry Sir James. You 
 should think more of yourself and less of your 
 daughter. She is not of a disposition to do you 
 credit in the world, and seems precisely in her 
 proper place at Churchhill, with the Vernons. 
 But you are fitted for society, and it is shameful 
 to have you exiled from it. Leave Frederica, 
 therefore, to punish herself for the plague she has 
 given you, by indulging that romantic tender- 
 heartedness which will always insure her misery 
 enough, and come to London as soon as you can. 
 I have another reason for urging this: Mainwar- 
 ing came to town last week, and has contrived, in 
 spite of Mr. Johnson, to make opportunities of 
 seeing me. He is absolutely miserable about you, 
 and jealous to such a degree of De Courcy that it 
 would be highly unadvisable for them to meet at 
 present. And yet, if you do not allow him to 
 see you here, I cannot answer for his not commit- 
 ting some great imprudence, such as going to 
 Churchhill, for instance, which would be dreadful ! 
 
LADY SUSAN. 73 
 
 Besides, if you take my advice, and resolve to 
 marry De Courcy, it will be indispensably neces- 
 sary to you to get Mainwaring out of the way; 
 and you only can have influence enough to send 
 him back to his wife. I have still another motive 
 for your coming: Mr. Johnson leaves London 
 next Tuesday; he is going for his health to Bath, 
 where, if the waters are favorable to his consti- 
 tution and my wishes, he will be laid up with the 
 gout many weeks. During his absence we shall be 
 able to choose our own society, and to have true 
 enjoyment. I would ask you to Edward Street, 
 but that once he forced from me a kind of promise 
 never to invite you to my house ; nothing but my 
 being in the utmost distress for money should 
 have extorted it from me. I can get you, how- 
 ever, a nice drawing-room apartment in Upper 
 Seymour Street, and we may be always together 
 there or here; for I consider my promise to Mr. 
 Johnson as comprehending only (at least in his 
 absence) your not sleeping in the house. Poor 
 Mainwaring gives me such histories of his wife's 
 jealousy. Silly woman to expect constancy from 
 so charming a man! but she always was silly 
 intolerably so in marrying him at all, she the 
 heiress of a large fortune and he without a shil- 
 ling: one title, I know, she might have had, 
 besides baronets. Her folly in forming the con- 
 nection was so great that though Mr. Johnson 
 was her guardian, and I do not in general share 
 his feelings, I never can forgive her. 
 Adieu. Yours ever, 
 
 ALICIA. 
 
74 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHURCHHILL. 
 
 THIS letter, my dear mother, will be brought 
 you by Reginald. His long visit is about to be 
 concluded at last, but I fear the separation takes 
 place too late to do us any good. She is going to 
 London to see her particular friend, Mrs. John- 
 son. It was at first her intention that Frederica 
 should accompany her, for the benefit of masters, 
 but we overruled her there. Frederica was wretched 
 in the idea of going, and I could not bear to have 
 her at the mercy of her mother; not all the mas- 
 ters in London could compensate for the ruin of 
 her comfort. I should have feared, too, for her 
 health, and for everything but her principles, 
 there I believe she is not to be injured by her 
 mother, or her mother's friends; but with those 
 friends she must have mixed (a very bad set, I 
 doubt not), or have been left in total solitude, 
 and I can hardly tell which would have been worse 
 for her. If she is with her mother, moreover, she 
 must, alas! in all probability be with Reginald, 
 and that would be the greatest evil of all. Here 
 we shall in time be in peace; and our regular 
 employments, our books and conversations, with 
 exercise, the children, and every domestic pleas- 
 ure in my power to procure her, will, I trust, 
 gradually overcome this youthful attachment. I 
 should not have a doubt of it were she slighted for 
 
LADY SUSAN. 75 
 
 any other woman in the world than her own 
 mother. How long Lady Susan will be in town, 
 or whether she returns here again, I know not. 
 I could not be cordial in my invitation; but if she 
 chooses to come, no want of cordiality on my part 
 will keep her away. I could not help asking 
 Reginald if he intended being in London this 
 winter, as soon as I found her ladyship's steps 
 would be bent thither; and though he professed 
 himself quite undetermined, there was something 
 in his look and voice as he spoke which contra- 
 dicted his words. I have done with lamenta- 
 tion; I look upon the event as so far decided 
 that I resign myself to it in despair. If he 
 leaves you soon for London, everything will be 
 concluded. 
 
 Your affectionate, etc., 
 
 C. VERNON. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan. 
 
 EDWABD STREET. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, I write in the greatest 
 distress; the most unfortunate event has just taken 
 place. Mr. Johnson has hit on the most effectual 
 manner of plaguing us all. He had heard, I 
 imagine, by some means or other, that you were 
 soon to be in London, and immediately contrived 
 to have such an attack of the gout as must at 
 least delay his journey to Bath, if not wholly 
 prevent it. I am persuaded the gout is brought 
 
76 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 on or kept off at pleasure ; it was the same when I 
 wanted to join the Hamiltons to the Lakes ; and 
 three years ago, when I had a fancy for Bath, noth- 
 ing could induce him to have a gouty symptom. 
 
 I am pleased to find that my letter had so much 
 effect on you, and that De Courcy is certainly 
 your own. Let me hear from you as soon as you 
 arrive, and in particular tell me what you mean 
 to do with Mainwaring. It is impossible to say 
 when I shall be able to come to you; my confine- 
 ment must be great. It is such an abominable 
 trick to be ill here instead of at Bath that I can 
 scarcely command myself at all. At Bath his 
 old aunts would have nursed him, but here it all 
 falls upon me; and he bears pain with such pa- 
 tience that I have not the common excuse for 
 losing my temper. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 ALICIA. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 UPPER SEYMOUR STREET. 
 
 MY DEAR ALICIA, There needed not this 
 last fit of the gout to make me detest Mr. John- 
 son, but now the extent of my aversion is not to 
 be estimated. To have you confined as nurse in 
 his apartment! My dear Alicia, of what a mis- 
 take were you guilty in marrying a man of his 
 age! just old enough to be formal, ungovernable, 
 and to have the gout ; too old to be agreeable, too 
 
LADY SUSAN. 77 
 
 young to die. I arrived last night about five, had 
 scarcely swallowed my dinner when Mainwaring 
 made his appearance. I will not dissemble what 
 real pleasure his sight afforded me, nor how 
 strongly I felt the contrast between his person and 
 manners and those of Keginald, to the infinite 
 disadvantage of the latter. For an hour or two I 
 was even staggered in my resolution of marrying 
 him, and though this was too idle and nonsensi- 
 cal an idea to remain long on my mind, I do not 
 feel very eager for the conclusion of my marriage, 
 nor look forward with much impatience to the 
 time when Reginald, according to our agreement, 
 is to be in town. I shall probably put off his 
 arrival under some pretence or other. He must 
 not come till Mainwaring is gone. I am still 
 doubtful at times as to marrying; if the old man 
 would die I might not hesitate, but a state of 
 dependence on the caprice of Sir Reginald will not 
 suit the freedom of my spirit ; and if I resolve to 
 wait for that event, I shall have excuse enough at 
 present in having been scarcely ten months a 
 widow. I have not given Mainwaring any hint 
 of my intention, or allowed him to consider my 
 acquaintance with Reginald as more than the 
 commonest flirtation, and he is tolerably appeased. 
 Adieu, till we meet; I am enchanted with my 
 lodgings. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 S. VERNON. 
 
78 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. De Courcy. 
 
 UPPER SEYMOUR STREET. 
 
 I HAVE received your letter, and though I do not 
 attempt to conceal that I am gratified by your im- 
 patience for the hour of meeting, I yet feel myself 
 under the necessity of delaying that hour beyond 
 the time originally fixed. Do not think me un- 
 kind for such an exercise of my power, nor accuse 
 me of instability without first hearing my reasons. 
 In the course of my journey from Churchhill I had 
 ample leisure for reflection on the present state of 
 our affairs, and every review has served to convince 
 me that they require a delicacy and cautiousness of 
 conduct to which we have hitherto been too little 
 attentive. We have been hurried on by our feel- 
 ings to a degree of precipitation which ill accords 
 with the claims of our friends or the opinion of the 
 world. We have been unguarded in forming this 
 hasty engagement, but we must not complete the 
 imprudence by ratifying it while there is so much 
 reason to fear the connection would be opposed by 
 those friends on whom you depend. It is not for 
 us to blame any expectations on your father's side 
 of your marrying to advantage ; where possessions 
 are so extensive as those of your family, the wish 
 of increasing them, if not strictly reasonable, is too 
 common to excite surprise or resentment. He 
 has a right to require a woman of fortune in his 
 daughter-in-law, and I am sometimes quarrelling 
 with myself for suffering you to form a connection 
 
LADY SUSAN. 79 
 
 so imprudent; but the influence of reason is often 
 acknowledged too late by those who feel like me. 
 I have now been but a few months a widow, and, 
 however little indebted to my husband's memory 
 for any happiness derived from him during a union 
 of some years, I cannot forget that the indelicacy 
 of so early a second marriage must subject me to 
 the censure of the world, and incur, what would 
 be still more insupportable, the displeasure of Mr. 
 Vernon. I might perhaps harden myself in time 
 against the injustice of general reproach, but the 
 loss of his valued esteem I am, as you well know, 
 ill-fitted to endure ; and when to this may be added 
 the consciousness of having injured you with your 
 family, how am I to support myself? With feel- 
 ings so poignant as mine, the conviction of having 
 divided the son from his parents would make me, 
 even with you, the most miserable of beings. It 
 will surely, therefore, be advisable to delay our 
 union to delay it till appearances are more prom- 
 ising till affairs have taken a more favorable 
 turn. To assist us in such a resolution I feel that 
 absence will be necessary. We must not meet. 
 Cruel as this sentence may appear, the necessity 
 of pronouncing it, which can alone reconcile it 
 to myself, will be evident to you when you have 
 considered our situation in the light in which I 
 have found myself imperiously obliged to place it. 
 You may be you must be well assured that 
 nothing but the strongest conviction of duty could 
 induce me to wound my own feelings by urging 
 a lengthened separation, and of insensibility to 
 yours you will hardly suspect me. Again, there- 
 
80 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 fore, I say that we ought not, we must not, yet 
 meet. By a removal for some months from each 
 other we shall tranquillize the sisterly fears of 
 Mrs. Vernon, who, accustomed herself to the en- 
 joyment of riches, considers fortune as necessary 
 everywhere, and whose sensibilities are not of a 
 nature to comprehend ours. Let me hear from you 
 soon very soon. Tell me that you submit to my 
 arguments, and do not reproach me for using such. 
 I cannot bear reproaches: my spirits are not so 
 high as to need being repressed. I must endeavor 
 to seek amusement, and fortunately many of my 
 friends are in town; amongst them the Mainwar- 
 ings; you know how sincerely I regard both hus- 
 band and wife. 
 
 I am, very faithfully yours, 
 
 S. VERNON. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 UPPER SEYMOUR STREET. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, That tormenting creature, 
 Reginald, is here. My letter, which was intended 
 to keep him longer in the country, has hastened 
 him to town. Much as I wish him away, however, 
 I cannot help being pleased with such a proof of 
 attachment. He is devoted to me, heart and soul. 
 He will carry this note himself, which is to serve 
 as an introduction to you, with whom he longs to 
 be acquainted. Allow him to spend the evening 
 with you, that I may be in no danger of his re- 
 turning here. I have told him that I am not quite 
 well, and must be alone ; and should he call again 
 
LADY SUSAN. 81 
 
 there might be confusion, for it is impossible to be 
 sure of servants. Keep him, therefore, I entreat 
 you, in Edward Street. You will not find him a 
 heavy companion, and I allow you to flirt with him 
 as, much as you like. At the same time do not 
 forget my real interest; say all that you can to 
 convince him that I shall be quite wretched if he 
 remains here ; you know my reasons, propriety, 
 and so forth. I would urge them more myself, but 
 that I am impatient to be rid of him, as Mainwar- 
 ing comes within half an hour. Adieu ! 
 
 S. VERNON. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan. 
 
 EDWARD STREET. 
 
 MY DEAR CREATURE, I am in agonies, and 
 know not what to do. Mr. De Courcy arrived just 
 when he should not. Mrs. Mainwaring had that in- 
 stant entered the house, and forced herself into her 
 guardian's presence, though I did not know a syl- 
 lable of it till afterwards, for I was out when both 
 she and Keginald came, or I should have sent him 
 away at all events ; but she was shut up with Mr. 
 Johnson, while he waited in the drawing-room for 
 me. She arrived yesterday in pursuit of her 
 husband, but perhaps you know this already from 
 himself. She came to this house to entreat my 
 husband's interference, and before I could be aware 
 of it, everything that you could wish to be con- 
 cealed was known to him, and unluckily she had 
 wormed out of Mainwaring's servant that he had 
 6 
 
82 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 visited you every day since your being in town, 
 and had just watched him to your door herself! 
 What could I do? Facts are such horrid things! 
 All is by this time known to De Courcy, who is 
 now alone with Mr. Johnson. Do not accuse me; 
 indeed, it was impossible to prevent it. Mr. 
 Johnson has for some time suspected De Courcy of 
 intending to marry you, and would speak with 
 him alone as soon as he knew him to be in the 
 house. That detestable Mrs. Mainwaring, who, 
 for your comfort, has fretted herself thinnef and 
 uglier than ever, is still here, and they have been 
 all closeted together. What can be done? At 
 any rate, I hope he will plague his wife more than 
 ever. With anxious wishes, 
 
 Yours faithfully, ALICIA. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 UPPER SEYMOUR STREET. 
 
 THIS eclaircissement is rather provoking. How 
 unlucky that you should have been from home ! I 
 thought myself sure of you at seven ! I am undis- 
 mayed, however. Do not torment yourself with 
 fears on my account; depend on it, I can make my 
 story good with Reginald. Mainwaring is just 
 gone; he brought me the news of his wife's arrival. 
 Silly woman, what does she expect by such ma- 
 noauvres? Yet I wish she had stayed quietly at 
 Langford. Reginald will be a little enraged at 
 first, but by to-morrow's dinner everything will 
 be well again. 
 
 Adieu! S. V. 
 
LADY SUSAN. 83 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan. 
 
 HOTEL. 
 
 I WRITE only to bid you farewell, the spell is 
 removed; I see you as you are. Since we parted 
 yesterday, I have received from indisputable 
 authority such a history of you as must bring the 
 most mortifying conviction of the imposition I 
 have been under, and the absolute necessity of an 
 immediate and eternal separation from you. You 
 cannot doubt to what I allude. Langford! Lang- 
 ford! that word will be sufficient. I received my 
 information in Mr. Johnson's house, from Mrs. 
 Mainwaring herself. You know how I have 
 loved you j you can intimately judge of my present 
 feelings, but I am not so weak as to find indulgence 
 in describing them to a woman who will glory in 
 having excited their anguish, but whose affection 
 they have never been able to gain. 
 
 K. DE COURCY. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy. 
 
 UPPER SEYMOUR STREET. 
 
 I WILL not attempt to describe my astonishment 
 in reading the note this moment received from you. 
 I am bewildered in my endeavors to form some ra- 
 tional conjecture of what Mrs. Mainwaring can 
 have told you to occasion so extraordinary a change 
 in your sentiments. Have I not explained every- 
 
84 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 thing to you with respect to myself which could 
 bear a doubtful meaning, and which the ill-nature 
 of the world had interpreted to my discredit? 
 What can you now have heard to stagger your 
 esteem for me? Have I ever had a concealment 
 from you? Reginald, you agitate me beyond ex- 
 pression. I cannot suppose that the old story of 
 Mrs. Mainwaring's jealousy can be revived again, 
 or at least be listened to again. Come to me 
 immediately, and explain what is at present ab- 
 solutely incomprehensible. Believe me the single 
 word of Langford is not of such potent intelligence 
 as to supersede the necessity of more. If we are 
 to part, it will at least be handsome to take your 
 personal leave but I have little heart to jest; in 
 truth, I am serious enough; for to be sunk, though 
 but for an hour, in your esteem is a humiliation 
 to which I know not how to submit. I shall count 
 every minute till your arrival. 
 
 S. V. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan. 
 
 HOTEL. 
 
 WHY would you write to me? Why do you 
 require particulars? But since it must be so, I am 
 obliged to declare that all the accounts of your mis- 
 conduct during the life and since the death of Mr. 
 Vernon, which had reached me, in common with the 
 world in general, and gained my entire belief be- 
 fore I saw you, but which you, by the exertion of 
 your perverted abilities, had made me resolved to 
 disallow, have been unanswerably proved to me; 
 
LADY SUSAN. 85 
 
 nay more, I am assured that a connection of which I 
 had never before entertained a thought, has for 
 some time existed, and still continues to exist, 
 between you and the man whose family you robbed 
 of its peace in return for the hospitality with which 
 you were received into it; that you have corre- 
 sponded with him ever since your leaving Langford; 
 not with his wife, but with him, and that he now 
 visits you every day. Can you, dare you deny it? 
 and all this at the time when I was an encouraged, 
 an accepted lover ! From what have I not escaped! 
 I have only to be grateful. Far from me be all 
 complaint, every sigh of regret. My own folly 
 had endangered me, my preservation I owe to the 
 kindness, the integrity of another; but the unfor- 
 tunate Mrs. Mainwaring, whose agonies while she 
 related the past seemed to threaten her reason, 
 how is she to be consoled ! After such a discovery as 
 this, you will scarcely affect further wonder at my 
 meaning in bidding you adieu. My understand- 
 ing is at length restored, and teaches no less to 
 abhor the artifices which had subdued me than to 
 despise myself for the weakness on which their 
 strength was founded. 
 
 R. DE COURCY. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy. 
 
 UPPER SEYMOUR STREET, 
 
 I AM satisfied, and will trouble you no more 
 when these few lines are dismissed. The engage- 
 ment which you were eager to form a fortnight ago 
 
86 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 is no longer compatible with your views, and I re- 
 joice to find that the prudent advice of your parents 
 has not been given in vain. Your restoration to 
 peace will, I doubt not, speedily follow this act of 
 filial obedience, and I flatter myself with the hope 
 of surviving my share in this disappointment. 
 
 S. V. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan Vernon. 
 
 EDWARD STREET. 
 
 I AM grieved, though I cannot be astonished, at 
 your rupture with Mr. De Courcy ; he has just in- 
 formed Mr. Johnson of it by letter. He leaves 
 London, he says, to-day. Be assured that I par- 
 take in all your feelings, and do not be angry if I 
 say that our intercourse, even by letter, must soon 
 be given up. It makes me miserable ; but Mr. John- 
 son vows that if I persist in the connection, he 
 will settle in the country for the rest of his life, 
 and you know it is impossible to submit to such 
 an extremity while any other alternative remains. 
 You have heard of course that the Mainwarings 
 are to part, and I am afraid Mrs. M. will come 
 home to us again ; but she is still so fond of her 
 husband, and frets so much about him, that per- 
 haps she may not live long. Miss Mainwaring is 
 just come to town to be with her aunt, and they 
 say that she declares she will have Sir James 
 Martin before she leaves London again. If I were 
 you, I would certainly get him myself. I had 
 almost forgot to give you my opinion of Mr. De 
 
LADY SUSAN. 87 
 
 Courcy: I am really delighted with him; he is full 
 as handsome, I think, as Mainwaring, and with 
 such an open, good-humored countenance that one 
 cannot help loving him at first sight. Mr. John- 
 son and he are the greatest friends in the world. 
 Adieu, my dearest Susan, I wish matters did not 
 go so perversely. That unlucky visit to Langford! 
 but T dare say you did all for the best, and there 
 is no defying destiny. 
 
 Your sincerely attached, ALICIA* 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 UPPER SEYMOUR STREET. 
 
 MY DEAR ALICIA, I yield to the necessity 
 which parts us. Under circumstances you could 
 not act otherwise. Our friendship cannot be im- 
 paired by it, and in happier times, when your 
 situation is as independent as mine, it will unite 
 us again in the same intimacy as ever. For this 
 I shall impatiently wait, and meanwhile can safely 
 assure you that I never was more at ease, or better 
 satisfied with myself and everything about me 
 than at the present hour. Your husband I abhor, 
 Reginald I despise, and I am secure of never see- 
 ing either again. Have I not reason to rejoice? 
 Mainwaring is more devoted to me than ever; and 
 were we at liberty, I doubt if I could resist even 
 matrimony offered by him. This event, if his 
 wife live with you, it may be in your power to 
 hasten. The violence of her feelings, which must 
 
88 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 wear her out, may be easily kept in irritation. 1 
 rely on your friendship for this. I am now satis- 
 fied that I never could have brought myself to 
 marry Reginald, and am equally determined that 
 Frederica never shall. To-morrow I shall fetch 
 her from Churchhill, and let Maria Mainwaring 
 tremble for the consequence. Frederica shall be 
 Sir James's wife before she quits my house, and 
 she may whimper, and the Vernons may storm, I 
 regard them not. I am tired of submitting my 
 will to the caprices of others ; of resigning my own 
 judgment in deference to those to whom I owe no 
 duty, and for whom I feel no respect ; I have given 
 up too much, have been too easily worked on, but 
 Frederica shall now feel the difference. Adieu, 
 dearest of friends ; may the next gouty attack be 
 more favorable ! and may you always regard me as 
 unalterably yours, 
 
 S. VERNON. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon. 
 
 MY DEAR CATHERINE, I have charming news 
 for you, and if I had not sent off my letter this 
 morning you might have been spared the vexation 
 of knowing of Reginald's being gone to London, 
 for he is returned. Reginald is returned, not to 
 ask our consent to his marrying Lady Susan, but 
 to tell us they are parted forever. He has been 
 only an hour in the house, and I have not been 
 able to learn particulars, for he is so very low that 
 I have not the heart to ask questions, but I hope 
 
LADY SUSAN. 89 
 
 we shall soon know all. This is the most joyful 
 hour he has ever given us since the day of his 
 birth. Nothing is wanting but to have you here, 
 and it is our particular wish and entreaty that you 
 would come to us as soon as you can. You have 
 owed us a visit many long weeks ; I hope nothing 
 will make it inconvenient to Mr. Vernon; and 
 pray bring all my grandchildren; and your dear 
 niece is included, of course ; I long to see her. It 
 has been a sad, heavy winter hitherto, without 
 Reginald, and seeing nobody from Churchhill. I 
 never found the season so dreary before ; but this 
 happy meeting will make us young again. Fred- 
 erica runs much in my thoughts, and when Regi- 
 nald has recovered his usual good spirits (as I 
 trust he soon will), we will try to rob him of his 
 heart once more, and I am full of hopes of seeing 
 their hands joined at no great distance. 
 Your affectionate mother, 
 
 C. DE COURCT. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy. 
 
 CHURCHHILL, 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER, Your letter has surprised 
 me beyond measure! Can it be true that they are 
 really separated and forever? I should be over- 
 joyed if I dared depend on it, but after all that I 
 have seen how can one be secure? And Reginald 
 really with you! My surprise is the greater be- 
 cause on Wednesday, the very day of his coming 
 to Parklands, we had a most unexpected and un- 
 
90 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 welcome visit from Lady Susan, looking all cheer- 
 fulness and good-humor, and seeming more as if 
 she were to marry him when she got to London 
 than as if parted from him forever. She stayed 
 nearly two hours, was as affectionate and agreeable 
 as ever, and not a syllable, not a hint was dropped, 
 of any disagreement or coolness between them. I 
 asked her whether she had seen my brother since 
 his arrival in town; not, as you may .suppose, with 
 any doubt of the fact, but merely to see how she 
 looked. She immediately answered, without any 
 embarrassment, that he had been kind enough to 
 call on her on Monday; but she believed he had 
 already returned home, which I was very far from 
 crediting. Your kind invitation is accepted by 
 us with pleasure, and on Thursday next we and our 
 little ones will be with you. Pray heaven, Regi- 
 nald may not be in town again by that time ! I 
 wish we could bring dear Frederica too, but I am 
 sorry to say that her mother's errand hither was to 
 fetch her away ; and, miserable as it made the poor 
 girl, it was impossible to detain her. I was 
 thoroughly unwilling to let her go, and so was her 
 uncle; and all that could be urged we did urge; 
 but Lady Susan declared that as she was now 
 about to fix herself in London for several months, 
 she could not be easy if her daughter were not with 
 her for masters, etc. Her manner, to be sure, was 
 very kind and proper, and Mr. Vernon believes 
 that Frederica will now be treated with affection. 
 I wish I could think so too. The poor girl's 
 heart was almost broke at taking leave of us. I 
 charged her to write to me very often, and to re- 
 
LADY SUSAN. 91 
 
 member that if she were in any distress we should 
 be always her friends. I took care to see her 
 alone, that I might say all this, and I hope made 
 her a little more comfortable; but I shall not be 
 easy till I can go to town and judge of her situa- 
 tion myself. I wish there were a better prospect 
 than now appears of the match which the conclu- 
 sion of your letter declares your expectations of. 
 At present it is not very likely. 
 Yours ever, etc., 
 
 C. VERNON. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 THIS correspondence, by a meeting between some 
 of the parties, and a separation between the others, 
 could not, to the great detriment of the Post-Office 
 revenue, be continued any longer. Very little as- 
 sistance to the State could be derived from the 
 epistolary intercourse of Mrs. Vernon and her 
 niece; for the former soon perceived, by the style 
 of Frederica's letters, that they were written under 
 her mother's inspection! and therefore, deferring 
 all particular inquiry till she could make it per- 
 sonally in London, ceased writing minutely or 
 often. Having learnt enough in the mean while, 
 from her open-hearted brother, of what had passed 
 between him and Lady Susan to sink the latter 
 lower than ever in her opinion, she was proportion- 
 ably more anxious to get Frederica removed from 
 such a mother, and placed under her own care; 
 and, though with little hope of success, was re- 
 
92 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 solved to leave nothing unattempted that might 
 offer a chance of obtaining her sister-in-law's con- 
 sent to it. Her anxiety on the subject made her 
 press for an early visit to London; and Mr. Ver- 
 non, who, as it must already have appeared, lived 
 only to do whatever he was desired, soon found 
 some accommodating business to call him thither. 
 With a heart full of the matter, Mrs. Vernon 
 waited on Lady Susan shortly after her arrival in 
 town, and was met with such an easy and cheerful 
 affection, as made her almost turn from her with 
 horror. No remembrance of Reginald, no con- 
 sciousness of guilt, gave one look of embarrass- 
 ment; she was in excellent spirits, and seemed 
 eager to show at once by every possible attention 
 to her brother and sister her sense of their kind- 
 ness, and her pleasure in their society. Frederica 
 was no more altered than Lady Susan; the same 
 restrained manners, the same timid look in the 
 presence of her mother as heretofore, assured her 
 aunt of her situation being uncomfortable, and con- 
 firmed her in the plan of altering it. JSTo unkind- 
 ness, however, on the part of Lady Susan appeared. 
 Persecution on the subject of Sir James was en- 
 tirely at an end; his name merely mentioned to 
 say that he was not in London; and indeed, in all 
 her conversation she was solicitous only for the 
 welfare and improvement of her daughter, acknowl- 
 edging, in terms oi grateful delight, that Frederica 
 was now growing every day more and more what a 
 parent could desire. Mrs. Vernon, surprised and 
 incredulous, knew not what to suspect, and, with- 
 out any change in her own views, only feared 
 
LADY SUSAN. 93 
 
 greater difficulty in accomplishing them. The first 
 hope of anything better was derived from Lady 
 Susan's asking her whether she thought Frederica, 
 looked quite as well as she had done at Churchhill, 
 as she must confess herself to have sometimes an 
 anxious doubt of London's perfectly agreeing with 
 her. Mrs. Vernon, encouraging the doubt, directly 
 proposed her niece's returning with them into the 
 country. Lady Susan was unable to express her 
 sense of such kindness, yet knew not, from a va- 
 riety of reasons, how to part with her daughter; and 
 as, though her own plans were not yet wholly fixed, 
 she trusted it would erelong be in her power to 
 take Frederica into the country herself, concluded 
 by declining entirely to profit by such unexampled 
 attention. Mrs. Vernon persevered, however, in 
 the offer of it ; and though Lady Susan continued 
 to resist, her resistance in the course of a few days 
 seemed somewhat less formidable. The lucky 
 alarm of an influenza decided what might not have 
 been decided quite so soon. Lady Susan's mater- 
 nal fears were then too much awakened for her to 
 think of anything but Frederica's removal from the 
 risk of infection; above all disorders in the world 
 she most dreaded the influenza for her daughter's 
 constitution ! 
 
 Frederica returned to Churchhill with her uncle 
 and aunt; and three weeks afterwards, Lady Susan 
 announced her being married to Sir James Martin. 
 Mrs. Vernon was then convinced of what she had 
 only suspected before, that she might have spared 
 herself all the trouble of urging a removal which 
 Lady Susan had doubtless resolved on from the 
 
94 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 first. Frederica's visit was nominally for six 
 weeks ; but her mother, though inviting her to re- 
 turn in one or two affectionate letters, was very 
 ready to oblige the whole party by consenting to a 
 prolongation of her stay, and in the course of two 
 months ceased to write of her absence, and in the 
 course of two more to write to her at all. Fred- 
 erica was therefore fixed in the family of her uncle 
 and aunt till such time as Reginald de Courcy 
 could be talked, flattered, and finessed into an af- 
 fection for her which, allowing leisure for the con- 
 quest of his attachment to her mother, for his 
 abjuring all future attachments, and detesting the 
 sex, might be reasonably looked for in the course 
 of a twelvemonth. Three months might have done 
 it in general, but Reginald's feelings were no less 
 lasting than lively. Whether Lady Susan was or 
 was not happy in her second choice, I do not see 
 how it can ever be ascertained ; for who would take 
 her assurance of it on either side of the question? 
 The world must judge from probabilities; she had 
 nothing against her but her husband and her con- 
 science. Sir James may seem to have drawn a 
 harder lot than mere folly merited; I leave him, 
 therefore, to all the pity that anybody can give 
 him. For myself, I confess that / can pity only 
 Miss Mainwaring, who, coming to town, and put- 
 ting herself to an expense in clothes which im- 
 poverished her for two years, on purpose to secure 
 him, was defrauded of her due by a woman ten 
 years older than herself. 
 
THE WATSONS. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THIS WORK was left by its author a fragment with- 
 out a name, in so elementary a state as not even 
 to be divided into chapters ; and some obscurities 
 and inaccuracies of expression may be observed in 
 it which the author would probably have corrected. 
 The original manuscript is the property of my 
 sister, Miss Austen, by whose permission it is 
 now published. I have called it " The Watsons, ' ' 
 for the sake of having a title by which to desig- 
 nate it. Two questions may be asked concerning 
 it, When was it written? and, Why was it 
 never finished? I was unable to answer the first 
 question, so long as I had only the internal evi- 
 dence of the style to guide me. I felt satisfied, 
 indeed, that it did not belong to that early class 
 of her writings which are mentioned at page 218 of 
 the Memoir, but rather bore marks of her more 
 mature style, though it had never been subjected 
 to the filing and polishing process by which she 
 was accustomed to impart a high finish to her 
 published works. At last, on a close inspection 
 of the original manuscript, the water-marks of 
 7 
 
98 PREFACE. 
 
 1803 and 1804 were found in the paper on which 
 it was written. It is therefore probable that it 
 was composed at Bath, before she ceased to reside 
 there in 1805. This would place the date a few 
 years later than the composition, but earlier than 
 the publication, of " Sense and Sensibility 77 and 
 " Pride and Prejudice.' 7 
 
 To the second question, Why was it never fin- 
 ished? I can give no satisfactory answer. I 
 think it will be generally admitted that there is 
 much in it which promised well: that some of 
 the characters are drawn with her wonted vigor, 
 and some with a delicate discrimination peculiarly 
 her own; and that it is rich in her especial power 
 of telling the story, and bringing out the charac- 
 ters by conversation rather than by description. 
 It could not have been broken up for the purpose 
 of using the materials in another fabric ; for, with 
 the exception of Mrs. Robert Watson, in whom a 
 resemblance to the future Mrs. Elton is very 
 discernible, it would not be easy to trace much 
 resemblance between this and any of her subse- 
 quent works. She must have felt some regret at 
 leaving Tom Musgrave's character incomplete; yet 
 he never appears elsewhere. My own idea is, but it 
 is only a guess, that the author became aware of 
 the evil of having placed her heroine too low, in 
 such a position of poverty and obscurity as, though 
 not necessarily connected with vulgarity, has a 
 
PREFACE. 99 
 
 sad tendency to degenerate into it j and therefore, 
 like a singer who has begun on too low a note, 
 she discontinued the strain. It was an error of 
 which she was likely to become more sensible, as 
 she grew older, and saw more of society; certainly 
 she never repeated it by placing the heroine of any 
 subsequent work under circumstances likely to be 
 unfavorable to the refinement of a lady. 
 
THE WATSONS. 
 
 JHE first winter assembly in the town of 
 D. in Surrey was to be held on Tues- 
 day, October 13th, and it was gener- 
 ally expected to be a very good one. 
 A long list of county families was confidently run 
 over as sure of attending, and sanguine hopes were 
 entertained that the Osbornes themselves would 
 be there. The Edwards' invitation to the Wat- 
 sons followed, of course. The Edwards were peo- 
 ple of fortune, who lived in the town and kept 
 their coach. The Watsons inhabited a village 
 about three miles distant, were poor, and had no 
 close carriage; and ever since there had been balls 
 in the place, the former were accustomed to invite 
 the latter to dress, dine, and sleep at their house on 
 every monthly return throughout the winter. On 
 the present occasion, as only two of Mr. Watson's 
 children were at home, and one was always neces- 
 sary as companion to himself, for he was sickly 
 and had lost his wife, one only could profit by the 
 kindness of their friends. Miss Emma Watson, 
 
102 THE WATSONS. 
 
 who was very recently returned to her family 
 from the care of an aunt who had brought her up, 
 was to make her first public appearance in the 
 neighborhood, and her eldest sister, whose de- 
 light in a ball was not lessened by a ten years' 
 enjoyment, had some merit in cheerfully under- 
 taking to drive her and all her finery in the old 
 chair to D. on the important morning. 
 
 As they splashed along the dirty lane, Miss 
 Watson thus instructed and cautioned her inex- 
 perienced sister : 
 
 "I dare say it will be a very good ball, and 
 among so many officers you will hardly want 
 partners. You will find Mrs. Edwards' maid very 
 willing to help you, and I would advise you to ask 
 Mary Edwards' opinion if you are at all at a loss, 
 for she has a very good taste. If Mr. Edwards 
 does not lose his money at cards, you will stay as 
 late as you can wish for ; if he does, he will hurry 
 you home perhaps but you are sure of some 
 comfortable soup. I hope you will be in good 
 looks. I should not be surprised if you were to 
 be thought one of the prettiest girls in the room; 
 there is a great deal in novelty. Perhaps Tom 
 Musgrave may take notice of you; but I would 
 advise you by all means not to give him any en- 
 couragement. He generally pays attention to 
 every new girl ; but he is a great flirt, and never 
 means anything serious." 
 
 "I think I have heard you speak of him be- 
 fore," said Emma; "who is he?" 
 
 "A young man of very good fortune, quite 
 independent, and remarkably agreeable, a univer- 
 
THE WATSONS. 103 
 
 sal favorite wherever lie goes. Most of the girls 
 hereabout are in love with him, or have been. I 
 believe I am the only one among them that have 
 escaped with a whole heart; and yet I was the 
 first he paid attention to when he came into this 
 country six years ago; and very great attention 
 did he pay me. Some people say that he has 
 never seemed to like any girl so well since, though 
 he is always behaving in a particular way to one 
 or another. " 
 
 ' ' And how came your heart to be the only cold 
 one? " said Emma, smiling. 
 
 " There was a reason for that," replied Miss 
 Watson, changing color, "I have not been very 
 well used among them, Emma. I hope you will 
 have better luck." 
 
 "Dear sister, I beg your pardon if I have 
 unthinkingly given you pain." 
 
 "When first we knew Tom Musgrave, " con- 
 tinued Miss Watson, without seeming to hear her, 
 '' I was very much attached to a young man of the 
 name of Purvis, a particular friend of Robert's, 
 who used to be with us a great deal. Everybody 
 thought it would have been a match." 
 
 A sigh accompanied these words, which Emma 
 respected in silence; but her sister after a short 
 pause went on. 
 
 "You will naturally ask why it did not take 
 place, and why he is married to another woman, 
 while I am still single, But you must ask him, 
 not me, you must ask Penelope. Yes, Emma, 
 Penelope was at the bottom of it all. She thinks 
 everything fair for a husband. I trusted her ; she 
 
104 THE WATSONS. 
 
 set him against me, with a view of gaining him 
 herself, and it ended in his discontinuing his 
 visits, and soon after mairying somebody else. 
 Penelope makes light of her conduct, but I think 
 such treachery very bad. It has been the ruin of 
 my happiness. I shall never love any man as I 
 loved Purvis. I do not think Tom Musgrave 
 should be named with him in the same day." 
 
 11 You quite shock me by what you say of Pene- 
 lope," said Emma. " Could a sister do such a 
 thing? Rivalry, treachery between sisters ! I shall 
 be afraid of being acquainted with her. But I hope 
 it was not so; appearances were against her." 
 
 "You do not know Penelope. There is noth- 
 ing she would not do to get married. She would 
 as good as tell you so herself. Do not trust her 
 with any secrets of your own, take warning by me, 
 do not trust her; she has her good qualities, but 
 she has no faith, no honor, no scruples, if she can 
 promote her own advantage. I wish with all my 
 heart she was well married. I declare I had 
 rather have her well married than myself." 
 
 " Than yourself! yes, I can suppose so. A heart 
 wounded like yours can have little inclination for 
 matrimony. " 
 
 "Not much indeed but you know we must 
 marry. I could do very well single for my own 
 part ; a little company, and a pleasant ball now and 
 then, would be enough for me, if one could be 
 young ' forever ; but my father cannot provide for 
 us, and it is very bad to grow old and be poor and 
 laughed at. I have lost Purvis, it is true; but 
 very few people marry their first loves. I should 
 
THE WATSONS. 105 
 
 not refuse a man because he was not Purvis. Not 
 that I can ever quite forgive Penelope." 
 
 Emma shook her head in acquiescence. 
 
 "Penelope, however, has had her troubles, " 
 continued Miss Watson. " She was sadly disap- 
 pointed in Tom Musgrave, who afterwards trans- 
 ferred his attentions from me to her, and whom 
 she was very fond of; but he never means anything 
 serious, and when he had trifled with her long 
 enough, he began to slight her for Margaret, and 
 poor Penelope was very wretched. And since 
 then she has been trying to make some match at 
 Chichester, she won't tell us with whom; but I 
 believe it is a rich old Dr. Harding, uncle to the 
 friend she goes to see; and she has taken a vast 
 deal of trouble about him, and given up a great 
 deal of time to no purpose as yet. When she went 
 away the other day, she said it should be the last 
 time. I suppose you did not know what her par- 
 ticular business was at Chichester, nor guess at 
 the object which could take her away from Stanton 
 just as you were coming home after so many years' 
 absence." 
 
 ' ' No indeed, I had not the smallest suspicion of 
 it. I considered her engagement to Mrs. Shaw 
 just at that time as very unfortunate for me. I 
 had hoped to find all my sisters at home, to be 
 able to make an immediate friend of each/ 7 
 
 " I suspect the Doctor to have had an attack of 
 the asthma, and that she was hurried away on that 
 account. The Shaws are quite on her side, at 
 least, I believe so ; but she tells me nothing. She 
 professes to keep her own counsel; she says, and 
 
106 THE WATSONS. 
 
 truly enough, that 'Too many cooks spoil the 
 broth. '" 
 
 "I am sorry for her anxieties, " said Emma; 
 ft but I do not like her plans or her opinions. I 
 shall be afraid of her. She must have too mascu- 
 line and bold a temper. To be so bent on marriage, 
 to pursue a man merely for the sake of situation, 
 is a sort of thing that shocks me ; I cannot under- 
 stand it. Poverty is a great evil ; but to a woman 
 of education and feeling it ought not, it cannot be 
 the greatest. I would rather be teacher at a school 
 (and I can think of nothing worse) than marry a 
 man I did not like." 
 
 ' ' I would rather do anything than be teacher at 
 a school," said her sister. " I have been at school, 
 Emma, and know what a life they lead; you never 
 have. I should not like marrying a disagreeable 
 man any more than yourself; but I do not think 
 there are many very disagreeable men; I think I 
 could like any good-humored man with a comfort- 
 able income. I suppose my aunt brought you up 
 to be rather refined." 
 
 " Indeed I do not know. My conduct must tell 
 you how I have been brought up. I am no judge 
 of it myself. I cannot compare my aunt's method 
 with any other person's, because I know no other." 
 
 " But I can see in a great many things that you 
 are very refined. I have observed it ever since 
 you came home, and I am afraid it will not be for 
 your happiness. Penelope will laugh at you very 
 much." 
 
 " That will not be for my happiness > I am sure. 
 If my opinions are wrong, I must correct themj if 
 
THE WATSONS. 107 
 
 they are above my situation, I miist endeavor to 
 conceal them ; but I doubt whether ridicule Has 
 Penelope much wit? " 
 
 "Yes; she has great spirits, and never cares 
 what she says." 
 
 " Margaret is more gentle, I imagine?" 
 
 "Yes; especially in company. She is all gentle- 
 ness and mildness when anybody is by; but she 
 is a little fretful and perverse among ourselves. 
 Poor creature! She is possessed with the notion 
 of Tom Musgrave's being more seriously in love 
 with her than he ever was with anybody else, and 
 is always expecting him to come to the point. 
 This is the second time within this twelvemonth 
 that she has gone to spend a month with Eobert 
 and Jane on purpose to egg him on by her absence ; 
 but I am sure she is mistaken, and that he will no 
 more follow her to Croydon now than he did last 
 March. He will never marry unless he can marry 
 somebody very great, Miss Osborne, perhaps, or 
 somebody in that style.' 7 
 
 "Your account of this Tom Musgrave, Eliza- 
 beth, gives me very little inclination for his 
 acquaintance." 
 
 "You are afraid of him; I do not wonder at 
 you." 
 
 "No, indeed; I dislike and despise him." 
 
 "Dislike and despise Tom Musgrave! No, that 
 you never can. I defy you not to be delighted 
 with him if he takes notice of you. I hope he will 
 dance with you; and I dare say he will, unless the 
 Osbornes come with a large party, and then he will 
 not speak to anybody else." 
 
108 THE WATSONS. 
 
 "He seems to have most engaging manners!" 
 said Emma. " Well, we shall see how irresistible 
 Mr. Tom Musgrave and I find each other. I sup- 
 pose I shall know him as soon as I enter the ball- 
 room ; he must carry some of his charms in his face. 7 ' 
 
 "You will not find him in the ball-room, I can 
 tell you; you will go early, that Mrs. Edwards 
 may get a good place by the fire, and he never 
 comes till late j if the Osbornes are coming, he will 
 wait in the passage and come in with them. I 
 should like to look in upon you, Emma. If it was 
 but a good day with my father, I would wrap my- 
 self up, and James should drive me over as soon as 
 I had made tea for him j and I should be with you 
 by the time the dancing began. 77 
 
 "What! Would you come late at night in this 
 chair? " 
 
 "To be sure I would. There, I said you were 
 very refined, and that 7 s an instance of it.' 7 
 
 Emma for a moment made no answer. At last 
 she said, 
 
 " I wish, Elizabeth, you had not made a point 
 of my going to this ball; I wish you were going 
 instead of me. Your pleasure would be greater 
 than mine. I am a stranger here, and know no- 
 body but the Edwards j my enjoyment, therefore, 
 must be very doubtful. Yours, among all your 
 acquaintance, would be certain. It is not too late 
 to change. Very little apology could be requisite 
 to the Edwards, who must be more glad of your 
 company than of mine, and I should most readily 
 return to my father; and should not be at all 
 afraid to drive this quiet old creature home. Your 
 
THE WATSONS. 109 
 
 clothes I would undertake to find means of sending 
 to you." 
 
 "My dearest Emma," cried Elizabeth, warmly, 
 "do you think I would do such a thing? Not 
 for the universe! But I shall never forget your 
 good-nature in proposing it. You must have a 
 sweet temper indeed! I never met with anything 
 like it! And would you really give up the ball 
 that I might be able to go to it? Believe me, 
 Emma, I am not so selfish as that comes to. No; 
 though I am nine years older than you are, I would 
 not be the means of keeping you from being seen. 
 You are very pretty, and it would be very hard that 
 you should not have as fair a chance as we have 
 all had to make your fortune. No, Emma, whoever 
 stays at home this winter, it sha'n't be you. I 
 am sure I should never have forgiven the person 
 who kept me from a ball at nineteen." 
 
 Emma expressed her gratitude, and for a few 
 minutes they jogged on in silence. Elizabeth first 
 spoke : 
 
 " You will take notice who Mary Edwards dances 
 with? " 
 
 "I will remember her partners, if I can; but 
 you know they will be all strangers to me." 
 
 ( ' Only observe whether she dances with Captain 
 Hunter more than once, I have m}^ fears in that 
 quarter. Not that her father or mother like offi- 
 cers; but if she does, you know, it is all over vrith 
 poor Sam. And I have promised to write him 
 word who she dances with." 
 
 " Is Sam attached to Miss Edwards? " 
 
 " Did not you know that? " 
 
110 THE WATSONS. 
 
 " How should I know it? How should I know 
 in Shropshire what is passing of that nature in 
 Surrey? It is not likely that circumstances of 
 such delicacy should have made any part of the 
 scanty communication which passed between you 
 and me for the last fourteen years." 
 
 "I wonder I never mentioned it when I wrote. 
 Since you have been at home, I have been so busy 
 with my poor father and our great wash that I 
 have had no leisure to tell you anything; but, in- 
 deed, I concluded you knew it all. He has been 
 very much in love with her these two years, and it 
 is a great disappointment to him that he cannot al- 
 ways get away to our balls ; but Mr. Curtis won't 
 often spare him, and just now it is a sickly time at 
 Guildford." 
 
 "Do you suppose Miss Edwards inclined to like 
 him? " 
 
 " I am afraid not : you know she is an only child, 
 and will have at least ten thousand pounds. 
 
 "But still she may like our brother." 
 
 "Oh, no! The Edwards look much higher. 
 Her father and mother would never consent to it. 
 Sam is only a surgeon, you know. Sometimes I 
 think she does like him. But Mary Edwards is 
 rather prim and reserved; I do not always know 
 what she would be at." 
 
 "Unless Sam feels on sure grounds with the 
 lady herself, it seems a pity to me that he should 
 be encouraged to think of her at all." 
 
 "A young man must think of somebody," said 
 Elizabeth, " and why should not he be as lucky as 
 Robert, who has got a good wife and six thousand 
 pounds? " 
 
THE WATSONS. Ill 
 
 "We must not all expect to be individually 
 lucky/' replied Emma. " The luck of one member 
 of a family is luck to all." 
 
 " Mine is all to come, I am sure, " said Elizabeth* 
 giving another sigh to the remembrance of Purvis, 
 " I have been unlucky enough; and I cannot say 
 much for you, as my aunt married again so fool- 
 ishly. Well, you will have a good ball, I dare- 
 say. The next turning will bring us to the 
 turnpike : you may see the church-tower over the 
 hedge, and the White Hart is close by it. I shall 
 long to know what you think of Tom Musgrave." 
 
 Such were the last audible sounds of Miss 
 Watson's voice, before they passed through the 
 turnpike-gate, and entered on the pitching of the 
 town, the jumbling and noise of which made fur- 
 ther conversation most thoroughly undesirable. 
 The old mare trotted heavily on, wanting no direc- 
 tion of the reins to take the right turning, and 
 making only one blunder, in proposing to stop at 
 the milliner's before she drew up towards Mr. 
 Edwards' door. Mr. Edwards lived in the best 
 house in the street, and the best in the place, if Mr. 
 Tomlinson, the banker, might be indulged in calling 
 his newly erected house at the end of the town, 
 w r ith a shrubbery and sweep, in the country. 
 
 Mr. Edwards' house was higher than most of its 
 neighbors, with four windows on each side the 
 door; the windows guarded by posts and chains, 
 and the door approached by a flight of stone 
 steps. 
 
 "Here we are," said Elizabeth, as the carriage 
 ceased moving, "safely arrived, and by the market 
 
112 THE WATSONS. 
 
 clock we have been only five-and-thirty minutes 
 coming; which I think is doing pretty well, 
 though it would he nothing for Penelope. Is not 
 it a nice town? The Edwards have a noble house, 
 you see, and they live quite in style. The door 
 will be opened by a man in livery, with a 
 powdered head, I can tell you." 
 
 Emma had seen the Edwards only one morning 
 at Stanton ; they were therefore all but strangers to 
 her; and though her spirits were by no means in- 
 sensible to the expected joys of the evening, she 
 felt a little uncomfortable in the thought of all 
 that was to precede them. Her conversation with 
 Elizabeth, too, giving her some very unpleasant 
 feelings with respect to her own family, had made 
 her more open to disagreeable impressions from 
 any other cause, and increased her sense of the 
 awkwardness of rushing into intimacy on so slight 
 an acquaintance. 
 
 There was nothing in the manner of Mrs. and 
 Miss Edwards to give immediate change to these 
 ideas. The mother, though a very friendly wo- 
 man, had a reserved air, and a great deal of formal 
 civility; and the daughter, a genteel-looking girl 
 of twenty-two, with her hair in papers, seemed very 
 naturally to have caught something of the style 
 of her mother, who had brought her up. Emma 
 was soon left to know what they could be, by 
 Elizabeth's being obliged to hurry away; and some 
 very languid remarks on the probable brilliancy of 
 the ball were all that broke, at intervals, a silence 
 of half an hour, before they were joined by the 
 master of the house. Mr. Edwards had a much 
 
THE WATSONS. 113 
 
 easier and more communicative air than the ladies 
 of the family j he was fresh from the street, and he 
 came ready to tell whatever might interest. After 
 a cordial reception of Emma, he turned to his 
 daughter with, . 
 
 "Well, Mary, I bring you good news: the 
 Osbornes will certainly be at the ball to-night. 
 Horses for two carriages are ordered from the 
 White Hart to be at Osborne Castle by nine." 
 
 "I am glad of it," observed Mrs. Edwards, "be- 
 cause their coming gives a credit to our assem- 
 bly. The Osbornes being known to have been at 
 the first ball, will dispose a great many people to 
 attend the second. It is more than they deserve ; 
 for, in fact, they add nothing to the pleasure 
 of the evening: they come so late and go so early; 
 but great people have always their charm." 
 
 Mr. Edwards proceeded to relate many other 
 little articles of news which his morning's lounge 
 had supplied him with, and they chatted with 
 greater briskness, till Mrs. Edwards' moment for 
 dressing arrived, and the young ladies were care- 
 fully recommended to lose no time. Emma was 
 shown to a very comfortable apartment, and as 
 soon as Mrs. Edwards' civilities could leave her to 
 herself, the happy occupation, the first bliss of a 
 ball, began. The girls, dressing in some measure 
 together, grew unavoidably better acquainted. 
 Emma found in Miss Edwards the show of good 
 sense, a modest unpretending mind, and a great 
 wish of obliging; and when they returned to the 
 parlor where Mrs. Edwards was sitting, respectably 
 attired in one of the two satin gowns which went 
 8 
 
114 THE WATSONS. 
 
 through the winter, and a new cap from the 
 milliner's, they entered it with much easier feelings 
 and more natural smiles than they had taken away. 
 Their dress was now to be examined : Mrs. Edwards 
 acknowledged herself too old-fashioned to approve 
 of every modern extravagance, however sanctioned; 
 and though complacently viewing her daughter's 
 good looks, would give but a qualified admiration; 
 and Mr. Edwards, not less satisfied with Mary, 
 paid some compliments of good-humored gallantry 
 to Emma at her expense. The discussion led to 
 more intimate remarks, and Miss Edwards gently 
 asked Emma if she was not often reckoned very 
 like her youngest brother. Emma thought she 
 could perceive a faint blush accompany the ques- 
 tion, and there seemed something still more suspi- 
 cious in the manner in which Mr. Edwards took up 
 the subject. 
 
 " You are paying Miss Emma no great compli- 
 ment, I think, Mary," said he, hastily. "Mr. 
 Sam Watson is a very good sort of young man, 
 and I dare say a very clever surgeon; but his 
 complexion has been rather too much exposed to 
 all weathers to make a likeness to him very 
 flattering." 
 
 Mary apologized, in some confusion, 
 
 "She had not thought a strong likeness at all 
 incompatible with very different degrees of beauty. 
 There might be resemblance in countenance, and 
 the complexion and even the features be very 
 unlike." 
 
 "I know nothing of my brother's beauty," 
 said Emma, "for I have not seen him since he 
 
THE WATSONS. 115 
 
 was seven years old; but my father reckons us 
 alike." 
 
 "Mr. Watson! " cried Mr. Edwards; "well, 
 you astonish me. There is not the least likeness 
 in the world; your brother's eyes are gray, yours 
 are brown; he has a long face and a wide mouth. 
 My dear, do you perceive the least resemblance ?" 
 
 "Not the least: Miss Emma Watson puts me 
 very much in mind of her eldest sister, and some- 
 times I see a look of Miss Penelope, and once or 
 twice there has been a glance of Mr. Robert, but I 
 cannot perceive any likeness to Mr. Samuel." 
 
 "I see the likeness between her and Miss 
 Watson," replied Mr. Edwards, "very strongly, 
 but I am not sensible of the others. I do not 
 much think she is like any of the family but Miss 
 Watson; but I am very sure there is no resem- 
 blance between her and Sam." 
 
 This matter was settled, and they went to 
 dinner. 
 
 "Your father, Miss Emma, is one of my oldest 
 friends," said Mr. Edwards, as he helped her to 
 wine, when they were drawn round the fire to 
 enjoy their dessert. "We must drink to his 
 better health. It is a great concern to me, I 
 assure you, that he should be such an invalid. I 
 know nobody who likes a game of cards, in a 
 social way, better than he does, and very few 
 people who play a fairer rubber. It is a thousand 
 pities that he should be so deprived of the pleas- 
 ure. For now we have a quiet little Whist Club, 
 that meets three times a week at the White Hart ; 
 and if he could but have his health, how much he 
 would enjoy it! " 
 
116 THE WATSONS. 
 
 "I dare say he would, sir; and I wish, with all 
 my heart, he were equal to it." 
 
 "Your club would be better fitted for an in- 
 valid," said Mrs. Edwards, "if you did not keep 
 it up so late." This was an old grievance. 
 
 " So late, my dear! What are you talking of? " 
 cried the husband, with sturdy pleasantry. "We 
 are always at home before midnight. They would 
 laugh at Osborne Castle to hear you call that 
 late; they are but just rising from dinner at 
 midnight." 
 
 "That is nothing to the purpose," retorted the 
 lady, calmly. " The Osbornes are to be no rule 
 for us. You had better meet every night, and 
 break up two hours sooner." 
 
 So far the subject was very often carried; but 
 Mr. and Mrs. Edwards were so wise as never to 
 pass that point; and Mr. Edwards now turned to 
 something else. He had lived long enough in 
 the idleness of a town to become a little of a 
 gossip, and having some anxiety to know more of 
 the circumstances of his young guest than had j^et 
 reached him, he began with, 
 
 "I think, Miss Emma, I remember your aunt 
 very well, about thirty years ago; I am pretty 
 sure I danced with her in the old rooms at 
 Bath the year before I married. She was a 
 very fine woman then; but like other people, I 
 suppose, she is grown somewhat older since that 
 time. I hope she is likely to be \happy in her 
 second choice." 
 
 "I hope so; I believe so, sir," said Emma, in 
 some agitation. 
 
THE WATSONS. 117 
 
 " Mr. Turner had not been dead a great while, 
 I think? " 
 
 <( About two years, sir." 
 
 ' ' I forget what her name is now. ' ' 
 
 "O'Brien." 
 
 "Irish! ah, I remember; and she is gone to 
 settle in Ireland. I do not wonder that you 
 should not wish to go with her into that country, 
 Miss Emma ; but it must be a great deprivation to 
 her, poor lad} 7 ! after bringing you up like a child 
 of her own." 
 
 "I was not so ungrateful, sir," said Emma, 
 warmly, "as to wish to be anywhere but with her. 
 It did not suit Captain O'Brien that I should be of 
 the party." 
 
 "Captain!" repeated Mrs. Edwards. "The 
 gentleman is in the army then ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "Ay, there is nothing like your officers for 
 captivating the ladies, young or old. There is no 
 resisting a cockade, my dear." 
 
 "I hope there is," said Mrs. Edwards, gravety, 
 with a quick glance at her daughter; and Emma 
 had just recovered from her own perturbation in 
 time to see a blush on Miss Edwards' cheek, and 
 in remembering what Elizabeth had said of Cap- 
 tain Hunter, to wonder and waver between his 
 influence and her brother's. 
 
 "Elderly ladies should be careful how they 
 make a second choice," observed Mr. Edwards. 
 
 " Carefulness and discretion should not be con- 
 fined to elderly ladies or to a second choice," 
 added his wife. "They are quite as necessary to 
 young ladies in their first." 
 
118 THE WATSONS. 
 
 "Rather more so, my dear," replied he; " be- 
 cause young ladies are likely to feel the effects of 
 it longer. When an old lady plays the fool, it is 
 not in the course of nature that she should suffer 
 from it many years." 
 
 Emma drew her hand across her eyes; and Mrs. 
 Edwards, in perceiving it, changed the subject to 
 one of less anxiety to all. 
 
 With nothing to do but to expect the hour of 
 setting off, the afternoon was long to the two 
 young ladies; and though Miss Edwards was 
 rather discomposed at the very early hour which 
 her mother always fixed for going, that early hour 
 itself was watched for with some eagerness. The 
 entrance of the tea-things at seven o'clock was 
 some relief; and luckily Mr. and Mrs. Edwards 
 always drank a dish extraordinary and ate an 
 additional muffin when they were going to sit up 
 late, which lengthened the ceremony almost to the 
 wished-for moment. 
 
 At a little before eight o'clock the Tomlinsons' 
 carriage was heard to go by, which was the con- 
 stant signal for Mrs. Edwards to order hers to the 
 door; and in a very few minutes the party were 
 transported from the quiet and warmth of a snug 
 parlor to the bustle, noise, and draughts of air 
 of a broad entrance passage of an inn. Mrs. 
 Edwards, carefully guarding her own dress, while 
 she attended with yet greater solicitude to the 
 proper security of her young charges' shoulders 
 and throats, led the way up the wide staircase, 
 while no sound of a ball but the first scrape of one 
 violin blessed the ears of her followers; and Miss 
 
THE WATSONS. 119 
 
 Edwards, on hazarding the anxious inquiry of 
 whether there were many people come yet, was 
 told by the waiter, as she knew she should, that 
 Mr. Tomlinson's family were in the room. 
 
 In passing along a short gallery to the assembly- 
 room, brilliant in lights before them, they were ac- 
 costed by a young man in a morning-dress and 
 boots, who was standing in the doorway of a bed- 
 chamber apparently on purpose to see them go by. 
 
 " Ah! Mrs. Edwards, how do you do? How do 
 you do, Miss Edwards? " he cried, with an easy air. 
 ' * You are determined to be in good time, I see, as 
 usual. The candles are but this moment lit." 
 
 "I like to get a good seat by the fire, you know, 
 Mr. Musgrave," replied Mrs. Edwards. 
 
 "I am this moment going to dress," said he. 
 " I am waiting for my stupid fellow. We shall 
 have a famous ball. The Osbornes are certainly 
 coming; you may depend upon that^ for I was with 
 Lord Osborne this morning. " 
 
 The party passed on. Mrs. Edwards' satin gown 
 swept along the clean floor of the ballroom to the- 
 fireplace at the upper end, where one party only 
 were formally seated, while three or four officers 
 were lounging together, passing in and out from 
 the adjoining card-room. A very stiff meeting be- 
 tween these near neighbors ensued; and as soon as 
 they were all duly placed again, Emma, in a low 
 whisper, which became the solemn scene, said to 
 Miss Edwards, 
 
 * ' The gentleman we passed in the passage was 
 Mr. Musgrave, then; he is reckoned remarkably 
 agreeable, I understand? " 
 
120 THE WATSONS. 
 
 Miss Edwards answered hesitatingly, "Yes; he 
 is very much liked by many people ; but we are not 
 very intimate/ 5 
 
 "He is rich, is not he? " 
 
 "He has about eight or nine hundred a year, I 
 believe. He came into possession of it when he 
 was very young, and my father and mother think it 
 has given him rather an unsettled turn. He is no 
 favorite with them. 7 ' 
 
 The cold and empty appearance of the room, and 
 the demure air of the small cluster of females at 
 one end of it, began soon to give way. The inspir- 
 iting sound of other carriages was heard, and con- 
 tinual accessions of portly chaperons and strings of 
 smartly dressed girls were received, with now and 
 then afresh gentleman straggler, who, if not enough 
 in love to station himself near any fair creature, 
 seemed glad to escape into the card-room. 
 
 Among the increasing number of military men, 
 one now made his way to Miss Edwards with an 
 air of empressement which decidedly said to her 
 companion, "I am Captain Hunter; " and Emma, 
 who could not but watch her at such a moment, 
 saw her looking rather distressed, but by no means 
 displeased, and heard an engagement formed for 
 the two first dances, which made her think her 
 brother Sam's a hopeless case. 
 
 Emma in the mean while was not unobserved or 
 unadmired herself. A new face, and a very pretty 
 one, could not be slighted. Her name was whis- 
 pered from one party to another; and no sooner had 
 the signal been given by the orchestra's striking up 
 a favorite air, which seemed to call the young to 
 
THE WATSONS. 121 
 
 their duty and people the centre of the room, than 
 she found herself engaged to dance with a brother 
 officer, introduced by Captain Hunter. 
 
 Emma Watson was not more than of the middle 
 height, well made and plump, with an air of 
 healthy vigor. Her skin was very brown, but 
 clear, smooth, and glowing, which, with a lively 
 eye, a sweet smile, and an open countenance, gave 
 beauty to attract, and expression to make that 
 beauty improve on acquaintance. Having no rea- 
 son to be dissatisfied with her partner, the evening 
 began very pleasantly to her, and her feelings per- 
 fectly coincided with the reiterated observation of 
 others, that it was an excellent ball. The two first 
 dances were not quite over when the returning 
 sound of carriages after a long interruption called 
 general notice. "The Osbornes are coming! 
 The Osbornes are coming ! " was repeated round 
 the room. After some minutes of extraordinary 
 bustle without and watchful curiosity within, the 
 important party, preceded by the attentive master 
 of the inn to open a door which was never shut, 
 made their appearance. They consisted of Lady 
 Osborne; her son, Lord Osborne; her daughter, 
 Miss Osborne; Miss Carr, her daughter's friend; 
 Mr. Howard, formerly tutor to Lord Osborne, now 
 clergyman of the parish in which the castle stood; 
 Mrs. Blake, a widow sister, who lived with him ; 
 her son, a fine boy of ten years old ; and Mr. Tom 
 Musgrave, who probably, imprisoned within his 
 own room, had been listening in bitter impatience 
 to the sound of the music for the last half-hour. 
 In their progress up the room they paused almost 
 
122 THE WATSONS. 
 
 immediately behind Emma to receive the compli- 
 ments of some acquaintance; and she heard Lady 
 Osborne observe that they had made a point of 
 coming early for the gratification of Mrs. Blake's 
 little boy, who was uncommonly fond of dancing. 
 Emma looked at them all as they passed, but chiefly 
 and with most interest on Tom Musgrave, who was 
 certainly a genteel, good-looking young man. Of 
 the females Lady Osborne had by much the finest 
 person; though nearly fifty, she was very hand- 
 some, and had all the dignity of rank. 
 
 Lord Osborne was a very fine young man; but 
 there was an air of coldness, of carelessness, even 
 of awkwardness about him, which seemed to speak 
 him out of his element in a ball-room. He came, 
 in fact, only because it was judged expedient for 
 him to please the borough; he was not fond of 
 women's company, and he never danced. Mr, 
 Howard was an agreeable-looking man, a little 
 more than thirty. 
 
 At the conclusion of the two dances Emma 
 found herself, she knew not how, seated amongst 
 the Osbornes' set; and she was immediately struck 
 with the fine countenance and animated gestures of 
 the little boy, as he was standing before his mother, 
 considering when they should begin. 
 
 "You will not be surprised at Charles's impa- 
 tience, 77 said Mrs. Blake, a lively, pleasant-looking 
 little woman of five or six and thirty, to a lady who 
 was standing near her, "when you know what a 
 partner he is to have. Miss Osborne has been so 
 very kind as to promise to dance the two first 
 dances with him." 
 
THE WATSONS. 123 
 
 " Oh, yes! we have been engaged this week," 
 cried the boy, "and we are to dance down every 
 couple." 
 
 On the other side of Emma, Miss Osborne, Miss 
 Carr, and a party of young men were standing 
 engaged in very lively consultation ; and soon after- 
 wards she saw the smartest officer of the set walk- 
 ing off to the orchestra to order the dance, while 
 Miss Osborne, passing before her to her little ex- 
 pecting partner, hastily said: " Charles, I beg 
 your pardon for not keeping my engagement, but 
 I am going to dance these two dances with Colonel 
 Beresford. I know you will excuse me, and I will 
 certainly dance with you after tea;" and without 
 staying for an answer, she turned again to Miss 
 Carr, and in another minute was led by Colonel 
 Beresford to begin the set. If the poor little boy's 
 face had in its happiness been interesting to 
 Emma, it was infinitely more so under this sudden 
 reverse; he stood the picture of disappointment, 
 with crimsoned cheeks, quivering lips, and eyes 
 bent on the floor. His mother, stifling her own 
 mortification, tried to soothe his with the prospect 
 of Miss Osborne's second promise; but though he 
 contrived to utter, with an effort of boyish bravery, 
 "Oh, I do not mind it! " it was very evident, by 
 the unceasing agitation of his features, that he 
 minded it as much as ever. 
 
 Emma did not think or reflect; she felt and 
 acted. " I shall be very happy to dance with you, 
 sir, if you like it," said she, holding out her hand 
 with the most unaffected good-humor. The boy, in 
 one moment restored to all his first delight, looked 
 
124 THE WATSONS. 
 
 joyfully at his mother; and stepping forwards with 
 an honest, simple "Thank you, ma'am,'' was 
 instantly ready to attend his new acquaintance. 
 The thankfulness of Mrs. Blake was more diffuse; 
 with a look most expressive of unexpected pleasure 
 and lively gratitude, she turned to her neighbor 
 with repeated and. fervent acknowledgments of so 
 great and condescending a kindness to her boy. 
 Emma with perfect truth could assure her that she 
 could not be giving greater pleasure than she felt 
 herself; and Charles being provided with his gloves 
 and charged to keep them on, they joined the set 
 which was now rapidly forming, with nearly equal 
 complacency. It was a partnership which could 
 not be noticed without surprise. It gained her a 
 broad stare from Miss Osborne and Miss Carr as 
 they passed her in the dance. "Upon my word, 
 Charles, you are in luck, 7 ' said the former, as she 
 turned him; "you have got a better partner than 
 me; " to which the happy Charles answered 
 "Yes." 
 
 Tom Musgrave, who was dancing with Miss 
 Carr, gave her many inquisitive glances ; and after 
 a time Lord Osborne himself came, and under pre- 
 tence of talking to Charles, stood to look at his 
 .partner. Though rather distressed by such obser- 
 vation, Emma could not repent what she had done, 
 so happy had it made both the boy and his mother; 
 the latter of whom was continually making oppor- 
 tunities of addressing her with the warmest civ- 
 ility. Her little partner she found, though bent 
 chiefly on dancing, was not unwilling to speak, 
 when her questions or remarks gave him anything 
 
THE WATSONS. 125 
 
 to say; and she learnt, by a sort of inevitable in- 
 quiry, that he had two brothers and a sister, that 
 they and their mamma all lived with his uncle at 
 Wickstead, that his uncle taught him Latin, that 
 he was very fond of riding, and had a horse of his 
 own given him by Lord Osborne; and that he 
 had been out once already with Lord Osboriie's 
 hounds. 
 
 At the end of these dances Emma found they 
 were to drink tea; Miss Edwards gave her a cau- 
 tion to be at hand, in a manner which convinced 
 her of Mrs. Edwards' holding it very important to 
 have them both close to her when she moved into 
 the tea-room; and Emma was accordingly on the 
 alert to gain her proper station. It was always the 
 pleasure of the company to have a little bustle and 
 crowd when they adjourned for refreshment. The 
 tea-room was a small room within the card-room; 
 and in passing through the latter, where the 
 passage was straitened by tables, Mrs. Edwards 
 and her party were for a few moments hemmed in. 
 It happened close by Lady Osborne's casino-table; 
 Mr. Howard, who belonged to it, spoke to his ne- 
 phew; and Emma, on perceiving herself the object 
 of attention both to Lady Osborne and him, had 
 just turned away her eyes in time to avoid 
 seeming to hear her young companion exclaim 
 delightedly aloud, "Oh, uncle! do look at my 
 partner; she is so pretty! " As they were imme- 
 diately in motion again, however, Charles was 
 hurried off without being able to receive his 
 uncle's suffrage. On entering the tea-room, in 
 which two long tables were prepared, Lord Osborne 
 
126 THE WATSONS. 
 
 was to be seen quite alone at the end of one, as if 
 retreating as far as he could from the ball, to en- 
 joy his own thoughts and gape without restraint. 
 Charles instantly pointed him out to Emma. 
 "There 'a Lord Osborne; let you and I go and sit 
 by him." 
 
 "No, no," said Emma, laughing; "you must 
 sit with my friends." 
 
 Charles was now free enough to hazard a few 
 questions in his turn. " What o'clock was it? " 
 
 " Eleven." 
 
 "Eleven! and I am not at all sleepy. Mamma 
 said I should be asleep before ten. Do you think 
 Miss Osborne will keep her word with me when 
 tea is over? " 
 
 " Oh, yes! I suppose so; " though she felt that 
 she had no better reason to give than that Miss 
 Osborne had not kept it before. 
 
 " When shall you come to Osborne Castle?" 
 
 "Never, probably. I am not acquainted with 
 the family." 
 
 "But you may come to Wickstead and see 
 mamma, and she can take you to the castle. There 
 is a monstrous curious stuffed fox there, and a 
 badger; anybody would think they were alive. It 
 is a pity you should not see them." 
 
 On rising from tea there was again a scramble 
 for the pleasure of being first out of the room, 
 which happened to be increased by one or two of 
 the card-parties having just broken up, and the 
 players being disposed to move exactly the differ- 
 ent way. Among these was Mr. Howard, his 
 sister leaning on his arm; and no sooner were they 
 
THE WATSONS. 127 
 
 within reach of Emma, than Mrs. Blake, calling 
 her notice by a friendly touch, said, " Your good- 
 ness to Charles, my dear Miss Watson, brings all 
 his family upon you. Give me leave to introduce my 
 brother." Emma courtesied, the gentleman bowed, 
 made a hasty request for the honor of her hand in 
 the two next dances, to which as hasty an affirma- 
 tive was given, and they were immediately impelled 
 in opposite directions. Emma was very well pleased 
 with the circumstance ; there was a quietly cheer- 
 ful, gentlemanlike air in Mr. Howard which suited 
 her; and in a few minutes afterwards the value of 
 her engagement increased, when as she was sitting 
 in the card-room, somewhat screened by a door, she 
 heard Lord Osborne, who was lounging on a va- 
 cant table near her, call Tom Musgrave towards 
 him and say, " Why do not you dance with that 
 beautiful Emma Watson? I want you to dance 
 with her, and I will come and stand by you." 
 
 "I was determined on it this very moment, my 
 lord; I '11 be introduced and dance with her 
 directly." 
 
 "Ay, do; and if you find she does not want 
 much talking to, you may introduce me by and 
 
 by." 
 
 " Very well, my lord ; if she is like her sisters, 
 she will only want to be listened to. I will go 
 this moment. I shall find her in the tea-room. 
 That stiff old Mrs. Edwards has never done tea." 
 
 Away he went, Lord Osborne after him; and 
 Emma lost no time in hurrying from her corner 
 exactly the other way, forgetting in her haste that 
 she left Mrs. Edwards behind. 
 
128 THE WATSONS. 
 
 "We had quite lost you/' said Mrs. Edwards, 
 who followed her with Mary in less than five min- 
 utes. " If you prefer this room to the other, there 
 is no reason why you should not be here ; but we 
 had better all be together. " 
 
 Emma was saved the trouble of apologizing, by 
 their being joined at the moment by Tom Mus- 
 grave, who requesting Mrs. Edwards aloud to do 
 him the honor of presenting him to Miss Emma 
 Watson, left that good lady without any choice in 
 the business, but that of testifying by the coldness 
 of her manner that she did it unwillingly. The 
 honor of dancing with her was solicited without 
 loss of time; and Emma, however she might like 
 to be thought a beautiful girl by lord or com- 
 moner, was so little disposed to favor Tom Mus- 
 grave himself that she had considerable satisfaction 
 in avowing her previous engagement. He was 
 evidently surprised and discomposed. The style 
 of her last partner had probably led him to believe 
 her not overpowered with applications. 
 
 "My little friend, Charles Blake/ 7 he cried, 
 "must not expect to engross you the whole even- 
 ing. We can never suffer this. It is against the 
 rules of the assembly, and I am sure it will never 
 be patronized by our good friend here, Mrs. Ed- 
 wards; she is by much too nice a judge of de- 
 corum to give her license to such a dangerous 
 particularity " 
 
 "I am not going to dance with Master Blake, 
 sir!" 
 
 The gentleman, a little disconcerted, could only 
 hope he might be fortunate another time, and seem- 
 
THE WATSONS. 129 
 
 ing unwilling to leave her, though his friend, Lord 
 Osborne, was waiting in the doorway for the result, 
 as Emma with some amusement perceived, he began 
 to. make civil inquiries after her family. 
 
 " How comes it that we have not the pleasure of 
 seeing your sisters here this evening? Our assem- 
 blies have been used to be so well treated by them 
 that we do not know how to take this neglect.' 1 
 
 "My eldest sister is the only one at home, and 
 she could not leave my father." 
 
 "Miss Watson the only one at home! You as- 
 tonish me ! It seems but the day before yesterday 
 that I saw them all three in this town. But I am 
 afraid I have been a very sad neighbor of late. I 
 hear dreadful complaints of my negligence wher- 
 ever I go, and I confess it is a shameful length of 
 time since I was at Stanton. But I shall now en- 
 deavor to make myself amends for the past.' 7 
 
 Emma's calm courtesy in reply must have struck 
 him as very unlike the encouraging warmth he had 
 been used to receive from her sisters, and gave him 
 probably the novel sensation of doubting his own 
 influence, and of wishing for more attention than 
 she bestowed. The dancing now recommenced; 
 Miss Carr being impatient to call, everybody was 
 required to stand up; and Tom Musgrave's curi- 
 osity was appeased on seeing Mr. Howard come 
 forward and claim Emma's hand. 
 
 "That will do as well for me/' was Lord Os- 
 borne's remark, when his friend carried him the 
 news, and he was continually at Howard's elbow 
 during the two dances. 
 
 The frequency of his appearance there was the 
 9 
 
130 THE WATSONS. 
 
 only unpleasant part of the engagement, the only 
 objection she could make to Mr. Howard. In him- 
 self, she thought him as agreeable as he looked; 
 though chatting on the commonest topics, he had 
 a sensible, unaffected way of expressing himself, 
 which made them all worth hearing, and she only 
 regretted that he had not been able to make his 
 pupil's manners as unexceptionable as his own. 
 The two dances seemed very short, and she had her 
 partner's authority for considering them so. At 
 their conclusion the Osbornes and their train were 
 all on the move. 
 
 " We are off at last," said his lordship to Tom. 
 " How much longer do you stay in this heavenly 
 place? till sunrise? " 
 
 "No, faith! my lord; I have had quite enough 
 of it, I assure you. I shall not show myself here 
 again when I have had the honor of attending Lady 
 Osborne to her carriage. I shall retreat in as much 
 secrecy as possible to the most remote corner of the 
 house, where I shall order a barrel of oysters, and 
 be famously snug." 
 
 "Let me see you soon at the castle, and bring 
 me word how she looks by daylight." 
 
 Emma and Mrs. Blake parted as old acquaint- 
 ance, and Charles shook her by the hand, and 
 wished her good-by at least a dozen times. From 
 Miss Osborne and Miss Carr she received some- 
 thing like a jerking courtesy as they passed her; 
 even Lady Osborne gave her a look of complacency, 
 and his lordship actually came back, after the others 
 were out of the room, to "beg her pardon," and 
 look in the window-seat behind her for the gloves 
 
THE WATSONS. 131 
 
 which were visibly compressed in his hand. As 
 Tom Mus grave was seen no more, we may suppose 
 his plan to have succeeded, and imagine him mor- 
 tifying with his barrel of oysters in dreary soli- 
 tude, or gladly assisting the landlady in her bar to 
 make fresh negus for the happy dancers above. 
 Emma could not help missing the party by whom 
 she had been, though in some respects unpleas- 
 antly, distinguished; and the two dances which 
 followed and concluded the ball were rather flat in 
 comparison with the others. Mr. Edwards having 
 played with good luck, they were some of the last 
 in the room. 
 
 " Here we are back again, I declare," said Emma, 
 sorrowfully, as she walked into the dining-room, 
 where the table was prepared, and the neat upper 
 maid was lighting the candles. 
 
 " My dear Miss Edwards, how soon it is at an 
 end! I wish it could all come over again. 7 ' 
 
 A great deal of kind pleasure was expressed in 
 her having enjoyed the evening so much; and Mr. 
 Edwards was as warm as herself in the praise of 
 the fulness, brilliancy, and spirit of the meeting, 
 though as he had been fixed the whole time at the 
 same table in the same room, with only one change 
 of chairs, it might have seemed a matter scarcely 
 perceived; but he had won four rubbers out of five, 
 and everything went well. His daughter felt the 
 advantage of this gratified state of mind, in the 
 course of the remarks and retrospections which 
 now ensued over the welcome soup. 
 
 " How came you not to dance with either of the 
 Mr. Tomlinsons, Mary? " said her mother. 
 
132 THE WATSONS. 
 
 "I was always engaged when they asked me." 
 
 "I thought you were to have stood up with 
 Mr. James the two last dances; Mrs. Tomlinson 
 told me he was gone to ask you, and I had heard 
 you say two minutes before that you were not 
 engaged." 
 
 "Yes, hut there was a mistake; I had misunder- 
 stood. I did not know I was engaged. I thought 
 it had been for the two dances after, if we stayed 
 so long; but Captain Hunter assured me it was for 
 those very two." 
 
 " So you ended with Captain Hunter, Mary, did 
 you? " said her father. "And whom did you begin 
 with? " 
 
 " Captain Hunter," was repeated in a very hum- 
 ble tone. 
 
 " Hum! That is being constant, however. But 
 who else did you dance with? " 
 
 "Mr. Norton and Mr. Styles." 
 
 "And who are they? " 
 
 " Mr. Norton is a cousin of Captain Hunter's." 
 
 "And who is Mr. Styles?" 
 
 " One of his particular friends." 
 
 "All in the same regiment," added Mrs. 
 Edwards. "Mary was surrounded by red-coats all 
 the evening. I should have been better pleased to 
 see her dancing with some of our old neighbors, I 
 confess." 
 
 "Yes, yes; we must not neglect our old neigh- 
 bors. But if these soldiers are quicker than other 
 people in a ball-room, what are young ladies to 
 do?" 
 
 " I think there is no occasion for their engaging 
 
THE WATSONS. 133 
 
 themselves so many dances before hand, Mr. 
 Edwards. 
 
 "No, perhaps not; but I remember, my dear, 
 when you and I did the same." 
 
 Mrs. Edwards said no more, and Mary breathed 
 again. A good deal of good-humored pleasantry 
 followed; and Emma went to bed in charming 
 spirits, her head full of Osbornes, Blakes, and 
 Howards. 
 
 The next morning brought a great many visitors. 
 It was the way of the place always to call on Mrs. 
 Edwards the morning after a ball, and this neigh- 
 borly inclination was increased in the present 
 instance by a general spirit of curiosity on Emma's 
 account, as everybody wanted to look again at the 
 girl who had been admired the night before by 
 Lord Osborne. Many were the eyes, and various 
 the degrees of approbation with which she was 
 examined. Some saw no fault, and some no beauty. 
 With some her brown skin was the annihilation of 
 every grace, and others could never be persuaded 
 that she was half so handsome as Elizabeth Wat- 
 son had been ten years ago. The morning passed 
 quickly away in discussing the merits of the ball 
 with all this succession of company; and Emma 
 was at once astonished by finding it two o'clock, 
 and considering that she had heard nothing of her 
 father's chair. After this discovery she had 
 walked twice to the window to examine the street, 
 and was on the point of asking leave to ring the 
 bell and make inquiries, when the light sound of a 
 carriage driving up to the door set her heart at 
 ease. She stepped again to the window, but 
 
134 THE WATSONS. 
 
 instead of the convenient though very un-smart 
 family equipage perceived a neat curricle. Mr. 
 Musgrave was shortly afterwards announced, and 
 Mrs. Edwards put on her very stiffest look at the 
 sound. Not at all dismayed, however, by her chill- 
 ing air, he paid his compliments to each of the 
 ladies with no unbecoming ease, and continuing to 
 address Emma, presented her a note, which "he 
 had the honor of bringing from her sister, but to 
 which he must observe a verbal postscript from 
 himself would be requisite. " 
 
 The note, which Emma was beginning to read 
 rather before Mrs. Edwards had entreated her 
 to use no ceremony, contained a few lines from 
 Elizabeth importing that their father, in conse- 
 quence of being unusually well, had taken the 
 sudden resolution of attending the visitation that 
 day, and that as his road lay quite wide from D., it 
 was impossible for her to come home till the 
 following morning, unless the Edwards would send 
 her, which was hardly to be expected, or she could 
 meet with any chance conveyance, or did not mind 
 walking so far. She had scarcely run her eye 
 through the whole, before she found herself 
 obliged to listen to Tom Musgrave's further 
 account. 
 
 "I received that note from the fair hands of 
 Miss Watson only ten minutes ago, " said he; "I 
 met her in the village of Stanton, whither my 
 good stars prompted me to turn my horses' heads. 
 She was at that moment in quest of a person to 
 employ on the errand, and I was fortunate enough 
 to convince her that she could not find a more 
 
THE WATSONS. 135 
 
 willing or speedy messenger than myself. Kemem- 
 ber, I say nothing of my disinterestedness. My 
 reward is to be the indulgence of conveying you 
 to Stanton in my curricle. Though they are not 
 written down, I bring your sister's orders for the 
 same. 7 ' 
 
 Emma felt distressed; she did not like the 
 proposal, she did not wish to be on terms of 
 intimacy with the proposer; and yet, fearful of 
 encroaching on the Edwards, as well as wishing to 
 go home herself, she was at a loss how entirely to 
 decline what he offered. Mrs. Edwards continued 
 silent, either not understanding the case, or wait- 
 ing to see how the young lady's inclination lay. 
 Emma thanked him, but professed herself very 
 unwilling to give him so much trouble. " The 
 trouble was of course honor, pleasure, delight, 
 what had he or his horses to do?" Still she 
 hesitated, " She believed she must beg leave to 
 decline his assistance; she was rather afraid of the 
 sort of carriage. The distance was not beyond a 
 walk." Mrs. Edward was silent no longer. She 
 inquired into the particulars, and then said, "We 
 shall be extremely happy, Miss Emma, if you can 
 give us the pleasure of your company till to- 
 morrow; but if you cannot conveniently do so, our 
 carriage is quite at your service, and Mary will be 
 pleased with the opportunity of seeing your sister.'* 
 
 This was precisely what Emma had longed for, 
 and she accepted the offer most thankfully, acknowl- 
 edging that as Elizabeth was entirely alone, it 
 was her wish to return home to dinner. The plan 
 was warmly opposed by their visitor, 
 
136 THE WATSONS. 
 
 "I cannot suffer it, indeed. I must not be 
 deprived of the happiness of escorting you. I 
 assure you there is not a possibility of fear with 
 my horses. You might guide them yourself. 
 Your sisters all know how quiet they are; they 
 have none of them the smallest scruple in trusting 
 themselves with me, even on a race-course. Be- 
 lieve me," added he, lowering his voice, "you 
 are quite safe, the danger is only mine." 
 
 Emma was not more disposed to oblige him for 
 all this. 
 
 "And as to Mrs. Edwards' carriage being used 
 the day after a ball, it is a thing quite out of rule, 
 I assure you, never heard of before. The old 
 coachman will look as black as his horses, 
 won't he, Miss Edwards?" 
 
 No notice was taken. The ladies were silently 
 firm, and the gentleman found himself obliged to 
 submit. 
 
 "What a famous ball we had last night!" he 
 cried, after a short pause. " How long did you 
 keep it up after the Osbornes and I went away?" 
 
 " We had two dances more." 
 
 "It is making it too much of a fatigue, I think, 
 to stay so late. I suppose your set was not a very 
 full one." 
 
 "Yes; quite as full as ever, except the Osbornes. 
 There seemed no vacancy anywhere; and every- 
 body danced with uncommon spirit to the very 
 last." 
 
 Emma said this, though against her conscience. 
 
 "Indeed! perhaps I might have looked in upon 
 you again, if I had been aware of as much; for I 
 
THE WATSONS. 137 
 
 am rather fond of dancing than not. Miss Os- 
 horne is a charming girl, is not she?" 
 
 " I do not think her handsome/ ' replied Emma, 
 to -whom all this was chiefly addressed. 
 
 " Perhaps she is not critically handsome, but 
 her manners are delightful. And Fanny Carr is 
 a most interesting little creature. You can im- 
 agine nothing more naive or piquantej and what do 
 you think of Lord Osborne, Miss Watson? " 
 
 "He would be handsome even though he were 
 not a lord, and perhaps, better bred; more desirous 
 of pleasing and showing himself pleased in a right 
 place." 
 
 " Upon my word, you are severe upon my friend! 
 I assure you Lord Osborne is a very good fellow." 
 
 "I do not dispute his virtues, but I do not like 
 his careless air." 
 
 "If it were not a breach of confidence," replied 
 Tom, with an important look, "perhaps I might 
 be able to win a more favorable opinion of poor 
 Osborne." 
 
 Emma gave him no encouragement, and he was 
 obliged to keep his friend's secret. He was also 
 obliged to put an end to his visit, for Mrs. Ed- 
 wards having ordered her carriage, there was no 
 time to be lost on Emma's side in preparing for it. 
 Miss Edwards accompanied her home; but as it 
 was dinner-hour at Stanton, stayed with them only 
 a few minutes. 
 
 "Now, my dear Emma," said Miss Watson, as 
 soon as they were alone, "you must talk to me all 
 the rest of the day without stopping, or I shall not 
 be satisfied; but, first of all, Nanny shall bring in 
 
138 THE WATSONS. 
 
 the dinner. Poor thing! You will not dine as 
 you did yesterday, for we have nothing but some 
 fried beef. How nice Mary Edwards looks in her 
 new pelisse ! And now tell me how you like them 
 all, and what I am to say to Sam. I have begun 
 my letter j Jack Stokes is to call for it to-morrow, 
 for his uncle is going within a mile of G-uildford 
 next day. 77 
 
 Nanny brought in the dinner. 
 "We will wait upon ourselves, 77 continued 
 Elizabeth, " and then we shall lose no time. And 
 so you would not come home with Tom Mus- 
 grave? 77 
 
 "No, you had said so much against him that I 
 could not wish either for the obligation or the 
 intimacy which the use of his carriage must have 
 created. I should not even have liked the appear- 
 ance of it. 77 
 
 " You did very right; though I wonder at your 
 forbearance, and I do not think I could have done 
 it myself. He seemed so eager to fetch you that I 
 could not say no, though it rather went against 
 me to be throwing you together, so well as I knew 
 his tricks ; but I did long to see you, and it was a 
 clever way of getting you home. Besides, it won 7 t 
 do to be too nice. Nobody could have thought of 
 the Edwards letting you have their coach, after the 
 horses being out so late. But what am I to say to 
 Sam? 77 
 
 " If you are guided by me, you will not encour- 
 age him to think of Miss Edwards. The father is 
 decidedly against him, the mother shows him no 
 favor, and I doubt his having any interest with 
 
THE WATSONS. 139 
 
 Mary. She danced twice with Captain Hunter, 
 and I think shows him in general as much encour- 
 agement as is consistent with her disposition and 
 the circumstances she is placed in. She once 
 mentioned Sam, and certainly with a little confu- 
 sion; but that was perhaps merely owing to the 
 consciousness of his liking her, which may very 
 probably have come to her knowledge. 7 ' 
 
 " Oh, dear! yes. She has heard enough of that 
 from us all. Poor Sam! he is out of luck as well 
 as other people. For the life of me, Emma, I 
 cannot help feeling for those that are crossed in 
 love. Well, now begin, and give me an account 
 of everything as it happened. " 
 
 Emma obeyed her, and Elizabeth listened with 
 very little interruption till she heard of Mr. 
 Howard as a partner. 
 
 " Dance with Mr. Howard! Good heavens! you 
 don't say so! Why he is quite one of the great and 
 grand ones. Did you not find him very high? " 
 
 "His manners are of a kind to give me much 
 more ease and confidence than Tom Musgrave's." 
 
 "Well, go on. I should have been frightened 
 out of my wits to have had anything to do with 
 the Osbornes' set." 
 
 Emma concluded her narration. 
 
 "And so you really did not dance with Tom 
 Musgrave at all; but you must have liked him, 
 you must have been struck with him altogether." 
 
 " I do not like him, Elizabeth. I allow his 
 person and air to be good, and that his manners to 
 a certain point his address rather is pleasing; 
 but I see nothing else to admire in him. On the 
 
140 THE WATSONS. 
 
 contrary, he seems very vain, very conceited, 
 absurdly anxious for distinction, and absolutely 
 contemptible in some of the measures he takes for 
 being so. There is a ridiculousness about him 
 that entertains me ; but his company gives me no 
 other agreeable emotion." 
 
 "My dearest Emma! you are like nobody else 
 in the world. It is well Margaret is not by. You 
 do not offend me, though I hardly know how to 
 believe you; but Margaret would never forgive 
 such words. " 
 
 " I wish Margaret could have heard him profess 
 his ignorance of her being out of the country; he 
 declared it seemed only two days since he had seen 
 her." 
 
 "Ay, that is just like him; and yet this is the 
 man she will fancy so desperately in love with 
 her. He is no favorite of mine, as you well know, 
 Emma; but you must think him agreeable. Can 
 you lay your hand on your heart, and say you do 
 not?" 
 
 " Indeed, I can, both hands; and spread them to 
 their widest extent. " 
 
 " I should like to know the man you do think 
 agreeable." 
 
 "His name is Howard." 
 
 "Howard! Dear me; I cannot think of him 
 but as playing cards with Lady Osborne, and look- 
 ing proud. I must own, however, that it is a 
 relief to me to find you can speak as you do of 
 Tom Musgrave. My heart did misgive me that 
 you would like him too well. You talked so 
 stoutly beforehand, that I was sadly afraid your 
 
THE WATSONS. 141 
 
 brag would be punished. I only hope it will last, 
 and that he will not come on to pay you much 
 attention. It is a hard thing for a woman to 
 stand against the flattering ways of a man when 
 he is bent upon pleasing her." 
 
 As their quietly sociable little meal concluded, 
 Miss Watson could not help observing how com- 
 fortably it had passed. 
 
 "It is so delightful to me," said she, " to have 
 things going on in peace and good-humor. No- 
 body can tell how much I hate quarrelling. Now, 
 though we have had nothing but fried beef, how 
 good it has all seemed! I wish everybody were as 
 easily satisfied as you; but poor Margaret is very 
 snappish, and Penelope owns she would rather have 
 quarrelling going on than nothing at all." 
 
 Mr. Watson returned in the evening not the 
 worse for the exertion of the day, and, conse- 
 quently, pleased with what he had done, and glad 
 to talk of it over his own fireside. Emma had not 
 foreseen any interest to herself in the occurrences 
 of a visitation; but when she heard Mr. Howard 
 spoken of as the preacher, and as having given 
 them an excellent sermon, she could not help 
 listening with a quicker ear. 
 
 " I do not know when I have heard a discourse 
 more to my mind," continued Mr. Watson, "or 
 one better delivered. He reads extremely well, 
 with great propriety, and in a very impressive 
 manner, and at the same time without any theat- 
 rical grimace or violence. I own I do not like 
 much action in the pulpit; I do not like the 
 studied air and artificial inflexions of voice which 
 
142 THE WATSONS. 
 
 your very popular and most admired preachers 
 generally have. A simple delivery is much bet- 
 ter calculated to inspire devotion, and shows a 
 much better taste. Mr. Howard read like a 
 scholar and a gentleman." 
 
 " And what had you for dinner, sir? " said his 
 eldest daughter. 
 
 He related the dishes, and told what he had ate 
 himself. 
 
 " Upon the whole,' 7 he added, "I have had a 
 very comfortable day. My old friends were quite 
 surprised to see me amongst them, and I must say 
 that everybody paid me great attention, and 
 seemed to feel for me as an invalid. They would 
 make me sit near the fire; and as the partridges 
 were pretty high, Dr. Richards would have them 
 sent away to the other end of the table, "that 
 they might not offend Mr. Watson/' which I 
 thought very kind of him. But what pleased me 
 as much as anything was Mr. Howard's attention. 
 There is a pretty steep flight of steps up to the 
 room we dine in, which do not quite agree with 
 my gouty foot; and Mr. Howard walked by me 
 from the bottom to the top, and would make me 
 take his arm. It struck me as very becoming in 
 so young a man ; but I am sure I had no claim to 
 expect it, for I never saw him before in my life. By 
 the by, he inquired after one of my daughters ; but I 
 do not know which. I suppose you know among 
 yourselves.' 7 
 
 On the third day after the ball, as Nanny, at 
 five minutes before three, was beginning to bustle 
 
THE WATSONS. 143 
 
 into the parlor with the tray and knife-case, she 
 was suddenly called to the front door by the sound 
 of as smart a rap as the end of a riding-whip could 
 give ; and though charged by Miss Watson to let 
 nobody in, returned in half a minute with a look 
 of awkward dismay to hold the parlor door open 
 for Lord Osborne and Tom Musgrave. The sur- 
 prise of the young ladies may be imagined. No 
 visitors would have been welcome at such a mo- 
 ment, but such visitors as these, such an one as 
 Lord Osborne at least, a nobleman and a stranger, 
 was really distressing. 
 
 He looked a little embarrassed himself, as, on 
 being introduced by his easy, voluble friend, he 
 muttered something of doing himself the honor 
 of waiting upon Mr. Watson. Though Emma 
 could not but take the compliment of the visit to 
 herself, she was very far from enjoying it. She 
 felt all the inconsistency of such an acquaintance 
 with the very humble style in which they were 
 obliged to live; and having in her aunt's family 
 been used to many of the elegancies of life, was 
 fully sensible of all that must be open to the ridi- 
 cule of richer people in her present home. Of the 
 pain of such feelings, Elizabeth knew very little. 
 Her simple mind, or juster reason, saved her from 
 such mortification ; and though shrinking under a 
 general sense of inferiority, she felt no particular 
 shame. Mr. Watson, as the gentleman had al- 
 ready heard from Nanny, was not well enough to 
 be down-stairs. With much concern they took 
 their seats; Lord Osborne near Emma, and the 
 convenient Mr. Musgrave, in high spirits at his 
 
144 THE WATSONS. 
 
 own importance, on the other side of the fireplace, 
 with Elizabeth. He was at no loss for words; 
 but when Lord Osborne had hoped that Emma had 
 not caught cold at the ball, he had nothing more to 
 say for some time, and could only gratify his eye 
 by occasional glances at his fair companion. 
 Emma was not inclined to give herself much 
 trouble for his entertainment; and after hard 
 labor of mind, he produced the remark of its being 
 a very fine day, and followed it up with the 
 question of, "Have you been walking this 
 morning? " 
 
 "No, my lord; we thought it too dirty." 
 
 "You should wear half-boots." After another 
 pause : " Nothing sets off a neat ankle more than 
 a half-boot; nankeen, galoshed with black, looks 
 very well. Do not you like half -boots? }) 
 
 " Yes; but unless they are so stout as to injure 
 their beauty, they are not fit for country walk- 
 ing." 
 
 ' ' Ladies should ride in dirty weather. Do you 
 ride?" 
 
 "No, my lord." 
 
 " I wonder every lady does not; a woman never 
 looks better than on horseback." 
 
 "But every woman may not have the inclina- 
 tion or the means." 
 
 " If they knew how much it became them, they 
 would all have the inclination; and I fancy, Miss 
 Watson, when once they had the inclination, the 
 means would soon follow." 
 
 ' i Your lordship thinks we always have our own 
 way. That is a point on which ladies and gentle- 
 
THE WATSONS. 145 
 
 men have long disagreed; but without pretending 
 to decide it, I may say that there are some circum- 
 stances which even women cannot control. Fe- 
 male economy will do a great deal, my lord; but it 
 cannot turn a small income into a large one." 
 
 Lord Osborne was silenced. Her manner had 
 been neither sententious nor sarcastic; but there 
 was a something in its mild seriousness, as well as 
 in the words themselves, which made his lordship 
 think; and when he addressed her again, it was 
 with a degree of considerate propriety totally un- 
 like the half-awkward, half-fearless style of his 
 former remarks. It was a new thing with him to 
 wish to please a woman; it was the first time that 
 he had ever felt what was due to a woman in 
 Emma's situation ; but as he was wanting neither 
 in sense nor a good disposition, he did not feel it 
 without effect. 
 
 " You have not been long in this country, I un- 
 derstand," said he, in the tone of a gentleman. 
 "I hope you are pleased with it." 
 
 He was rewarded by a gracious answer, and a 
 more liberal full view of her face than she had yet 
 bestowed. Unused to exert himself, and happy in 
 contemplating her, he then sat in silence for some 
 minutes longer, while Tom Musgrave was chatter- 
 ing to Elizabeth; till they were interrupted by 
 Nanny's approach, who, half-opening the door and 
 putting in her head, said, 
 
 " Please, ma'am, master wants to know why he 
 be n't to have his dinner? " 
 
 The gentlemen, who had hitherto disregarded 
 every symptom, however positive, of the nearness 
 10 
 
146 THE WATSONS. 
 
 of that meal, now jumped up with apologies, while 
 Elizabeth called briskly after Nanny to take up 
 the fowls. 
 
 "I am sorry it happens so, 7 ' she added, turning 
 good-humoredly towards Musgrave, "but you 
 know what early hours we keep." 
 
 Tom had nothing to say for himself; he knew it 
 very well, and such honest simplicity, such shame- 
 less truth, rather bewildered him. Lord Osborne's 
 parting compliments took some time, his inclina- 
 tion for speech seeming to increase with the short- 
 ness of the term for indulgence. He recommended 
 exercise in defiance of dirt ; spoke again in praise 
 of half-boots; begged that his sister might be al- 
 lowed to send Emma the name of her shoemaker; 
 and concluded with saying, "My hounds will be 
 hunting this country next week. I believe they 
 will throw off at Stanton Wood on Wednesday, at 
 nine o'clock. I mention this in hopes of your 
 being drawn out to see what 's going on. If the 
 morning 's tolerable, pray do us the honor of giv- 
 ing us your good wishes in person." 
 
 The sisters looked on each other with astonish- 
 ment when their visitors had withdrawn. 
 
 " Here's an unaccountable honor! " cried Eliza- 
 beth, at last. " Who would have thought of Lord 
 Osborne's coming to Stanton? He is very hand- 
 some ; but Tom Musgrave looks all to nothing the 
 smartest and most fashionable man of the two. I 
 am glad he did not say anything to me; I would 
 not have had to talk to such a great man for the 
 world. Tom was very agreeable, was not he? But 
 did you hear him ask where Miss Penelope and 
 
THE WATSONS. 147 
 
 Miss Margaret were, when he first came in? It 
 put me out of patience. I am glad Nanny had not 
 laid the cloth, however, it would have looked so 
 awkward; just the tray did not signify.' 7 To say 
 that Emma was not flattered by Lord Osborne's 
 visit would be to assert a very unlikely thing and 
 describe a very odd young lady; but the gratifica- 
 tion was by no means unalloyed : his coining was 
 a sort of notice which might please her vanity, but 
 did not suit her pride ; and she would rather have 
 known that he wished the visit without presuming 
 to make it, than have seen him at Stanton. 
 
 Among other unsatisfactory feelings it once oc- 
 curred to her to wonder why Mr. Howard had not 
 taken the same privilege of coming, and accom- 
 panied his lordship ; but she was willing to suppose 
 that he had either known nothing about it, or had 
 declined any share in a measure which carried 
 quite as much impertinence in its form as good- 
 breeding. Mr. Watson was very far from being 
 delighted when he heard what had passed; a little 
 peevish under immediate pain, and ill-disposed to 
 be pleased, he only replied, 
 
 "Pooh! pooh! what occasion could there be for 
 Lord Osborne's coming? I have lived here four- 
 teen years without being noticed by any of the 
 family. It is some fooling of that idle fellow, Tom 
 Musgrave. I cannot return the visit. I would 
 not if I could." And when Tom Musgrave was 
 met with again, he was commissioned with a mes- 
 sage of excuse to Osborne Castle, on the too-sufli- 
 cient plea of Mr. Watson's infirm state of health. 
 
 A week or ten days rolled quietly away after this 
 
148 THE WATSONS. 
 
 visit before any new bustle arose to interrupt even 
 for half a day the tranquil and affectionate inter- 
 course of the two sisters, whose mutual regard was 
 increasing with the intimate knowledge of each 
 other which such intercourse produced. The first 
 circumstance to break in on their security was the 
 receipt of a letter from Croydon to announce the 
 speedy return of Margaret, and a visit of two or 
 three days from Mr. and Mrs. Robert Watson, who 
 undertook to bring her home, and wished to see 
 their sister Emma. 
 
 It was an expectation to fill the thoughts of the 
 sisters at Stanton and to busy the hours of one of 
 them at least ; for, as Jane had been a woman of 
 fortune, the preparations for her entertainment 
 were considerable; and as Elizabeth had at all 
 times more goodwill than method in her guidance 
 of the house, she could make no change without a 
 bustle. An absence of fourteen years had made all 
 her brothers and sisters strangers to Emma, but in 
 her expectation of Margaret there was more than the 
 awkwardness of such an alienation; she had heard 
 things which made her dread her return; and the 
 day which brought the party to Stanton seemed to 
 her the probable conclusion of almost all that had 
 been comfortable in the house. 
 
 Robert Watson was an attorney at Croydon, in 
 a good way of business; very well satisfied with 
 himself for the same, and for having married the 
 only daughter of the attorney to whom he had been 
 clerk, with a fortune of six thousand pounds. 
 Mrs. Robert was not less pleased with herself for 
 having had that six thousand pounds and for being 
 
THE WATSONS. 149 
 
 now in possession of a very smart house in Croy- 
 don, where she gave genteel parties and wore fine 
 clothes. In her person there was nothing remark- 
 able; her manners were pert and conceited. Mar- 
 garet was not without beauty; she had a slight 
 pretty figure, and rather wanted countenance than 
 good features; but the sharp and anxious expres- 
 sion of her face made her beauty in general little 
 felt. On meeting her long-absent sister, as on 
 every occasion of show, her manner was all affec- 
 tion and her voice all gentleness ; continual smiles 
 and a very slow articulation being her constant 
 resource when determined on pleasing. 
 
 She was now "so delighted to see dear, dear 
 Emma, 77 that she could hardly speak a word in a 
 minute. 
 
 "I am sure we shall be great friends,' 7 she ob- 
 served with much sentiment, as they were sitting 
 together. Emma scarcely knew how to answer 
 such a proposition, and the manner in which it 
 was spoken she could not attempt to equal. Mrs. 
 Robert Watson eyed her with much familiar 
 curiosity and triumphant compassion : the loss of 
 the aunt's fortune was uppermost in her mind at 
 the moment of meeting; and she could not but feel 
 how much better it was to be the daughter of a 
 gentleman of property in Croydon than the niece 
 of an old woman who threw herself away on an 
 Irish captain. Robert was carelessly kind, as 
 became a prosperous man and a brother; more 
 intent on settling with the post-boy, inveighing 
 against the exorbitant advance in posting, and 
 pondering over a doubtful half-crown, than on 
 
150 THE WATSONS 
 
 welcoming a sister who was no longer likely to 
 have any property for him to get the direction of. 
 
 "Your road through the village is infamous, 
 Elizabeth," said he; "worse than ever it was. 
 By Heaven! I would indict it if I lived near you. 
 Who is surveyor now? " 
 
 There was a little niece at Croydon to be fondly 
 inquired after by the kind-hearted Elizabeth, who 
 regretted very much her not being of the party. 
 
 "You are very good," replied her mother, 
 " and I assure you it went very hard with Augusta 
 to have us come away without her. I was forced 
 to say we were only going to church, and promise 
 to come back for her directly. But you know it 
 would not do to bring her without her maid, and 
 I am as particular as ever in having her properly 
 attended to." 
 
 "Sweet little darling!" cried Margaret. "It 
 quite broke my heart to leave her." 
 
 < ' Then why was you in such a hurry to run 
 away from her ?" cried Mrs. Robert. " You are 
 a sad, shabby girl. I have been quarrelling with 
 you all the way we came, have not I? Such a 
 visit as this I never heard of! You know how 
 glad we are to have any of you with us, if it be for 
 months together; and I am sorry (with a witty 
 smile) we have not been able to make Croydon 
 agreeable this autumn." 
 
 { ' My dearest Jane, do not overpower me with 
 your raillery. You know what inducements I had 
 to bring me home. Spare me, I entreat you. I 
 am no match for your arch sallies." 
 
 Well, I only beg you will not set your neigh- 
 
 " 
 
THE WATSONS. 151 
 
 bors against the place. Perhaps Emma may he 
 tempted to go hack with us and stay till Christ- 
 inas, if you don't put in your word." 
 
 Emma was greatly ohliged. "I assure you we 
 have very good society at Croydon. I do not much 
 attend the halls, they are rather too mixed; but 
 our parties are very select and good. I had seven 
 tables last week in my drawing-room. " 
 
 " Are you fond of the country? How do you like 
 Stanton?" 
 
 " Very much," replied Emma, who thought a 
 comprehensive answer most to the purpose. She 
 saw that her sister-in-law despised her immedi- 
 ately. Mrs. Robert Watson was indeed wonder- 
 ing what sort of a home Emma could possibly hav 
 been used to in Shropshire, and setting it down as 
 certain that the aunt could never have had six 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 " How charming Emma is," whispered Margaret 
 to Mrs. Robert, in her most languishing tone. 
 Emma was quite distressed by such behavior; and 
 she did not like it better when she heard Margaret 
 five minutes afterwards say to Elizabeth in a 
 sharp, quick accent, totally unlike the first, 
 ( ' Have you heard from Pen since she went to 
 Cliichester? I had a letter the other day. I don't 
 find she is likely to make anything of it. I fancy 
 she '11 come back * Miss Penelope, 7 as she went." 
 
 Such she feared would be Margaret's common 
 voice when the novelty of her own appearance were 
 over; the tone of artificial sensibility was not 
 recommended by the idea. The ladies were invited 
 upstairs to prepare for dinner. 
 
152 THE WATSONS. 
 
 "I hope you will find things tolerably comfor 
 able, Jane," said Elizabeth, as she opened tl 
 door of the spare bedchamber. 
 
 "My good creature/' replied Jane, "use r 
 ceremony with me, I entreat you. I am one < 
 those who always take things as they find then 
 I hope I can put up with a small apartment f< 
 two or three nights without making a piece < 
 work. I always wish to be treated quite 6 
 famille when I come to see you. And now I c 
 hope you have not been getting a great dinner f( 
 us. Remember we never eat suppers." 
 
 "I suppose," said Margaret, rather quickly 1 
 Emma, "you and I are to be together; Elizabet 
 always takes care to have a room to herself." 
 
 "No. Elizabeth gives me half hers." 
 
 " Oh! " in a softened voice, and rather mortifie 
 to find that she was not ill-used. 
 
 "I am sorry I am not to have the pleasure < 
 your company, especially as it makes me nervoi 
 to be much alone." 
 
 Emma was the first of the females in the pa 
 lor again; on entering it she found her broth* 
 alone. 
 
 " So Emma," said he, " you are quite a strange 
 at home. It must seem odd enough for you to I 
 here. A pretty piece of work your Aunt Turnc 
 has made of it! By Heaven! a woman shoul 
 never be trusted with money. I always said sli 
 ought to have settled something on you, as soon s 
 her husband died." 
 
 "But that would have been trusting me wit 
 money," replied Emma; "and I am a woman too. 
 
THE WATSONS. 153 
 
 " It might have been secured to your future use, 
 without your having any power over it now. 
 What a blow it must have been upon you ! To find 
 yourself, instead of heiress of 8,OOOZ. or 9,000^., 
 sent back a weight upon your family, without a 
 sixpence. I hope the old woman will smart for 
 it." 
 
 " Do not speak disrespectfully of her; she was 
 very good to me, and if she has made an imprudent 
 choice, she will suffer more from it herself than 
 I can possibly do.' 7 
 
 "I do not mean to distress you, but you know 
 everybody must think her an old fool. I thought 
 Turner had been reckoned an extraordinarily sen- 
 sible, clever man. How the devil came he to make 
 such a will?" 
 
 "My uncle's sense is not at all impeached in 
 my opinion by his attachment to my aunt. She 
 had been an excellent wife to him. The most 
 liberal and enlightened minds are always the most 
 confiding. The event has been unfortunate; but 
 my uncle's memory is, if possible, endeared to me 
 by such a proof of tender respect for my aunt." 
 
 " That 's odd sort of talking. He might have pro- 
 vided decently for his widow, without leaving 
 everything that he had to dispose of, or any part 
 of it, at her mercy." 
 
 " My aunt may have erred," said Emma, 
 warmly ; ' ' she has erred, but my uncle's con- 
 duct was faultless: I was her own niece, and he 
 left to her the power of providing for me." 
 
 "But unluckily she has left the pleasure of 
 providing for you to your father, and without the 
 
154 THE WATSONS. 
 
 power. That 's the long and short of the business. 
 After keeping you at a distance from your family 
 for such a length of time as must do away all 
 natural affection among us, and breeding you up 
 (I suppose) in a superior style, you are returned 
 upon their hands without a sixpence." 
 
 "You know/' replied Emma, struggling with 
 her tears, "my uncle's melancholy state of health. 
 He was a greater invalid than my father. He 
 could not leave home." 
 
 " I do not mean to make you cry," said Robert, 
 rather softened, and after a short silence, by way 
 of changing the subject, he added: "I am just 
 come from my father's room 5 he seems very in- 
 different. It will be a sad break up when he 
 dies. Pity you can none of you get married! 
 You must come to Croydon as well as the rest, 
 and see what you can do there. I believe if 
 Margaret had had a thousand or fifteen hundred 
 pounds, there was a young man who would have 
 thought of her. " 
 
 Emma was glad when they were joined by the 
 others; it was better to look at her sister-in-law's 
 finery than listen to Robert, who had equally 
 irritated and grieved her. Mrs. Robert, exactly as 
 smart as she had been at her own party, came in 
 with apologies for her dress. 
 
 " I would not make you wait," said she; " so I 
 put on the first thing I met with. I am afraid I 
 am a sad figure. My dear Mr. W. (addressing her 
 husband), you have not put any fresh powder in 
 your hair." 
 
 " No, I do not intend it. I think there is 
 
THE WATSONS. 155 
 
 powder enough in my hair for my wife and 
 sisters." 
 
 i ' Indeed, you ought to make some alteration in 
 your dress before dinner when you are out visiting, 
 though you do not at home." 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 "It is very odd you do not like to do what other 
 gentlemen do. Mr. Marshall and Mr. Hemming 
 change their dress every day of their lives before 
 dinner. And what was the use of my putting up 
 your last new coat, if you are never to wear it ? " 
 
 "Do be satisfied with being fine yourself, and 
 leave your husband alone." 
 
 To put an end to this altercation and soften the 
 evident vexation of her sister-in-law, Emma (though 
 in no spirits to make such nonsense easy), be 
 gan to admire her gown. It produced immediate 
 complacency. 
 
 " Do you like it ?" said she. "lam very 
 happy. It has been excessively admired; but 
 sometimes I think the pattern too large. I shall 
 wear one to-morrow which I think you will prefer 
 to this. Have you seen the one I gave Margaret? " 
 
 Dinner came, and except when Mrs. Kobert 
 looked at her husband's head, she continued gay 
 and flippant, chiding Elizabeth for the profusion 
 on the table, and absolutely protesting against the 
 entrance of the roast turkey, which formed the only 
 exception to "You see your dinner." " I do beg 
 and entreat that no turkey may be seen to-day. I 
 am really frightened out of my wits with the 
 number of dishes we have already. Let us have 
 no turkey, I beseech you." 
 
156 THE WATSONS. 
 
 " My dear," replied Elizabeth, "the turkey is 
 roasted, and it may just as well come in as stay in 
 the kitchen. Besides, if it is cut, I am in hopes 
 my father may be tempted to eat a bit, for it is 
 rather a favorite dish." 
 
 " You may have it in, my dear; but I assure you 
 I sha'n't touch it." 
 
 Mr. Watson had not been well enough to join 
 the party at dinner, but was prevailed on to come 
 down and drink tea with them. 
 
 " I wish he may be able to have a game of cards, 
 to-night," said Elizabeth to Mrs. Eobert, after 
 seeing her father comfortably seated in his arm- 
 chair. 
 
 " Not on my account, my dear, I beg. You 
 know I am no card-player. I think a snug chat 
 infinitely better. I always say cards are very well 
 sometimes to break a formal circle, but one never 
 wants them among friends." 
 
 " I was thinking of it J s being something to 
 amuse my father," said Elizabeth, "if it was not 
 disagreeable to you. He says his head won't bear 
 whist, but perhaps if we make a round game he 
 may be tempted to sit down with us." 
 
 "By all means, my dear creature, I am quite at 
 your service; only do not oblige me to choose the 
 game, that 7 s all. Speculation is the only round 
 game at Croydon now, but I can play anything. 
 When there is only one or two of you at home, you 
 must be quite at a loss to amuse him. Why do you 
 not get him to play atcribbage? Margaret and I 
 have played at cribbage most nights that we have 
 not been engaged." 
 
THE WATSONS. 157 
 
 A sound like a distant carriage was at this 
 moment caught: everybody listened; it became 
 more decided; it certainly drew nearer. It was 
 an unusual sound for Stanton at any time of the 
 day, for the village was on no very public road, 
 and contained no gentleman's family but the 
 rector's. The wheels rapidly approached; in two 
 minutes the general expectation was answered; 
 they stopped beyond a doubt at the garden-gate of 
 the parsonage. Who could it be? It was cer- 
 tainly a postchaise. Penelope was the only creat- 
 ure to be thought of; she might perhaps have met 
 with some unexpected opportunity of returning. 
 A pause of suspense ensued. Steps were dis- 
 tinguished along the paved footway, which led 
 under the window of the house to the front door, 
 and then within the passage. They were the 
 steps of a man. It could not be Penelope. It 
 must be Samuel. The door opened, and displayed 
 Tom Musgrave in the wrap of a traveller. He 
 had been in London, and was now on his way 
 home, and he had come half-a-mile out of his 
 road merely to call for ten minutes at Stanton. 
 He loved to take people by surprise with sudden 
 visits at extraordinary 'seasons, and, in the pres- 
 ent instance, he had the additional motive of being 
 able to tell the Miss Watsons, whom he depended 
 on finding sitting quietly employed after tea, 
 that he was going home to an eight-o'clock 
 dinner. 
 
 As it happened, he did not give more surprise 
 than he received, when, instead of being shown 
 into the usual little sitting-room, the door of the 
 
158 THE WATSONS. 
 
 best parlor (a foot larger each way than the other) 
 was thrown open, and he beheld a circle of smart 
 people whom he could not immediately recognize, 
 arranged with all the honors of visiting round 
 the fire, and Miss Watson seated at the best 
 Pembroke table, with the best tea-things before 
 her. He stood a few seconds in silent amazement. 
 "Musgrave," ejaculated Margaret, in a tender 
 voice. He recollected himself, and came forward, 
 delighted to find such a circle of friends, and 
 blessing his good fortune for the unlooked-for 
 indulgence. He shook hands with Robert, bowed 
 and smiled to the ladies, and did everything very 
 prettily; but as to any particularity of address or 
 emotion towards Margaret, Emma, who closely 
 observed him, perceived nothing that did not 
 justify Elizabeth's opinion, though Margaret's 
 modest smiles imported that she meant to take 
 the visit to herself. He was persuaded without 
 much difficulty to throw off his great-coat and 
 drink tea with them. For " whether he dined at 
 eight or nine," as he observed, "was a matter of 
 very little consequence; " and without seeming 
 to seek, he did not turn away from the chair close 
 by Margaret, which she was assiduous in provid- 
 ing him. She had thus secured him from her 
 sisters, but it was not immediately in her power 
 to preserve him from her brother's claims; for as 
 he came avowedly from London, and had left it 
 only four hours ago, the last current report as to 
 public news, and the general opinion of the day, 
 must be understood before Robert could let his 
 attention be yielded to the less rational and im- 
 
THE WATSONS. 159 
 
 portant demands of the women. At last, however, 
 he was at liberty to hear Margaret's soft address, 
 as she spoke her fears of his having had a most 
 terrible cold, dark, dreadful journey. 
 
 "Indeed, you should not have set out so 
 late." 
 
 "I could not be earlier," he replied. "I was 
 detained chatting at the Bedford by a friend. All 
 hours are alike to me. How long have you been 
 in the country, Miss Margaret? " 
 
 " We only came this morning; my kind brother 
 and sister brought me home this very morning. 
 'T is singular, is it not? " 
 
 "You were gone a great while, were not you? 
 A fortnight, I suppose ?" 
 
 "You may call a fortnight a great while, Mr. 
 Musgrave, " said Mrs. Robert, sharply; "but we 
 think a month very little. I assure you we 
 bring her home at the end of a month much 
 against our will." 
 
 ' ' A month ! Have you really been gone a 
 month? 'T is amazing how time flies." 
 
 "You may imagine," said Margaret, in a sort 
 of whisper, "what are my sensations in finding 
 myself once more at Stanton; you know what a 
 sad visitor I make. And I was so excessively 
 impatient to see Emma; I dreaded the meeting, 
 and at the same time longed for it. Do you not 
 comprehend the sort of feeling?" 
 
 "Not at all," cried he, aloud: " I could never 
 dread a meeting with Miss Emma Watson, or any 
 of her sisters." 
 
 It was lucky that he added that finish. 
 
160 THE WATSONS. 
 
 " Were you speaking to me? " said Emma, who 
 had caught her own name. 
 
 "Not absolutely," he answered; "but I was 
 thinking of you, as many at a greater distance 
 are probably doing at this moment. Fine open 
 weather, Miss Emma, charming season for 
 hunting." 
 
 "Emma is delightful, is not she?" whispered 
 Margaret ; "I have found her more than answer 
 my warmest hopes. Did you ever see anything 
 more perfectly beautiful? I think even you must 
 be a convert to a brown complexion.' 7 
 
 He hesitated. Margaret was fair herself, and 
 he did not particularly want to compliment 
 her;, but Miss Osborne and Miss Carr were 
 likewise fair, and his devotion to them carried 
 the day. 
 
 "Your sister's complexion," said he, at last, 
 "is as fine as a dark complexion can be; but I 
 still profess my preference of a white skin. You 
 have seen Miss Osborne? She is my model for a 
 truly feminine complexion, and she is very fair." 
 
 "Is she fairer than me?" 
 
 Tom made no reply. "Upon my honor, 
 ladies," said he, giving a glance over his own 
 person, "I am highly indebted to your conde- 
 scension for admitting me in such dishabille into 
 your drawing-room. I really did not consider how 
 unfit I was to be here, or I hope I should have 
 kept my distance. Lady Osborne would tell me 
 that I was growing as careless as her son if she 
 saw me in this condition." 
 
 The ladies were not wanting in civil returns, and 
 
THE WATSONS. 161 
 
 Robert Watson, stealing a view of his own head in 
 an opposite glass, said with equal civility, 
 
 " You cannot be more in dishabille than myself. 
 We got here so late that I had not time even to put 
 a little fresh powder into my hair. 77 
 
 Emma could not help entering into what she sup- 
 posed her sister-in-law's feelings at the moment. 
 
 When the tea-things were removed, Tom began 
 to talk of his carriage ; but the old card-table being 
 set out, and the fish and counters, with a tolerably 
 clean pack brought forward from the buffet by 
 Miss Watson, the general voice was so urgent with 
 him to join their party that he agreed to allow him- 
 self another quarter of an hour. Even Emma was 
 pleased that he would stay, for she was beginning 
 to feel that a family party might be the worst of 
 all parties; and the others were delighted. 
 
 "What's your game? " cried he, as they stood 
 round the table. 
 
 ' ' Speculation, I believe, " said Elizabeth. < ' My 
 sister recommends it, and I fancy we all like it. I 
 know you do, Tom." 
 
 " It is the only round game played at Croydon 
 now," said Mrs. Robert; " we never think of any 
 other. I am glad it is a favorite with you." 
 
 " Oh, me! " said Tom. " Whatever you decide 
 on will be a favorite with me. I have had some 
 pleasant hours at speculation in my time; but I 
 have not been in the way of it for a long while. 
 Vingt-un is the game at Osborne Castle. I have 
 played nothing but vingt-un of late. You would 
 be astonished to hear the noise we make there 
 the fine old lofty drawing-room rings again. Lady 
 11 
 
162 THE WATSONS. 
 
 Osborne sometimes declares she cannot hear herself 
 speak. Lord Osborne enjoys it famously, and he 
 makes the best dealer without exception that I ever 
 beheld, such quickness and spirit, he lets nobody 
 dream over their cards. I wish you could see him 
 overdraw himself on both his own cards. It is 
 worth anything in the world! " 
 
 "Dear me! " cried Margaret, "why should not 
 we play vingt-un? I think it is a much better 
 game than speculation. I cannot say I am very 
 fond of speculation." 
 
 Mrs. Robert offered not another word in support 
 of the game. She was quite vanquished, and the 
 fashions of Osborne Castle carried it over the 
 fashions of Croydon. 
 
 "Do you see much of the parsonage family at 
 the castle, Mr. Musgrave? " said Emma, as they 
 were taking their seats. 
 
 "Oh yes; they are almost always there. Mrs. 
 Blake is a nice little good-humored woman; she 
 and I are sworn friends; and Howard ; s a very gen- 
 tlemanlike, good sort of fellow. You are not for- 
 gotten, I assure you, by any of the party. I fancy 
 you must have a little cheek-glowing now and 
 then, Miss Emma. Were not you rather warm last 
 Saturday about nine or ten o'clock in the evening? 
 I will tell you how it was, I see you are dying 
 to know. Says Howard to Lord Osborne " 
 
 At this interesting moment he was called on by 
 the others to regulate the game, and determine 
 some disputable point j and his attention was so to- 
 tally engaged in the business, and afterward by 
 the course of the game, as never to revert to what 
 
THE WATSONS. 163 
 
 he had been saying before; and Emma, though 
 suffering a good deal from curiosity, dared not re- 
 mind him. 
 
 He proved a very useful addition at their table. 
 Without him it would have been a party of such very 
 near relations as could have felt little interest, and 
 perhaps maintained little complaisance; but his 
 presence gave variety and secured good manners. 
 He was, in fact, excellently qualified to shine at a 
 round game, and few situations made him appear 
 to greater advantage. He played with spirit, and 
 had a great deal to say; and, though no wit him- 
 self, could sometimes make use of the wit of an 
 absent friend, and had a lively way of retailing a 
 common-place or saying a mere nothing, that had 
 great effect at a card-table. The ways and good 
 jokes of Osborne Castle were now added to his or- 
 dinary means of entertainment. He repeated the 
 smart sayings of one lady, detailed the oversights 
 of another, and indulged them even with a copy of 
 Lord Osborne's overdrawing himself on both cards. 
 
 The clock struck nine while he was thus agree- 
 ably occupied; and when Nanny came in with her 
 master's basin of gruel, he had the pleasure of ob- 
 serving to Mr. Watson that he should leave him 
 at supper while he went home to dinner himself. 
 The carriage was ordered to the door, and no en- 
 treaties for his staying longer could now avail ; for 
 he well knew that if he stayed he would have 
 to sit down to supper in less than ten minutes, 
 which to a man whose heart had been long fixed on 
 calling his next meal a dinner, was quite insup- 
 portable. On finding him determined to go, Mar- 
 
164 THE WATSONS. 
 
 garet began to wink and nod at Elizabeth to ask 
 him to dinner for the following day, and Elizabeth 
 at last, not able to resist hints which her own hos- 
 pitable social temper more than half seconded, 
 gave the invitation: "Would he give Eobert the 
 meeting, they should be very happy? " 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure, " was his first re- 
 ply. In a moment afterwards, " That is, if I can 
 possibly get here in time; but I shoot with Lord 
 Osborne, and therefore must not engage. You 
 will not think of me unless you see me. " And so 
 he departed, delighted in the uncertainty in which 
 he had left it. 
 
 Margaret, in the joy of her heart, under circum- 
 stances which she chose to consider as peculiarly 
 propitious, would willingly have made a confidante 
 of Emma when they were alone for a short time the 
 next morning, and had proceeded so far as to say, 
 "The J 7 oung man who was here last night, my dear 
 Emma, and returns to-day, is more interesting to 
 me than perhaps you may be aware; " but Emma, 
 pretending to understand nothing extraordinary in 
 the words, made some very inapplicable reply, and 
 jumping up, ran away from a subject which was 
 odious to her. As Margaret would not allow a 
 doubt to be repeated of Musgrave's coming to din- 
 ner, preparations were made for his entertainment 
 much exceeding what had been deemed necessary 
 the day before; and taking the office of superin- 
 tendence entirely from her sister, she was half the 
 morning in the kitchen herself, directing and 
 scolding. 
 
THE WATSONS. 165 
 
 After a great deal of indifferent cooking and 
 anxious suspense, however, they were obliged to 
 sit down without their guest. Tom Musgrave 
 never came ; and Margaret was at no pains to con- 
 ceal her vexation under the disappointment, or re- 
 press the peevishness of her temper. The peace of 
 the party for the remainder of that day and the 
 whole of the next, which comprised the length of 
 Robert and Jane's visit, was continually invaded 
 by her fretful displeasure and querulous attacks. 
 Elizabeth was the usual object of both. Margaret 
 had just respect enough for her brother's and 
 sister's opinion to behave properly by them, but 
 Elizabeth and the maids could never do right ; and 
 Emma, whom she seemed no longer to think about, 
 found the continuance of the gentle voice beyond 
 calculation short. Eager to be as little among 
 them as possible, Emma was delighted with the 
 alternative of sitting above with her father, and 
 warmly entreated to be his constant companion 
 each evening; and as Elizabeth loved company of 
 any kind too well not to prefer being below at all 
 risks ; as she had rather talk of Croydon with Jane, 
 with every interruption of Margaret's perverseness, 
 than sit with only her father, who frequently could 
 not endure talking at all, the affair was so set- 
 tled, as soon as she could be persuaded to believe it 
 no sacrifice on her sister's part. To Emma the 
 change was most acceptable and delightful. Her 
 father, if ill, required little more than gentleness 
 and silence, and being a man of sense and educa- 
 tion, was, if able to converse, a welcome com- 
 panion. In his chamber Emma was at peace from 
 
166 THE WATSONS. 
 
 the dreadful mortifications of unequal society and 
 family discord; from the immediate endurance of 
 hard-hearted prosperity, low-minded conceit, and 
 wrong-headed folly, engrafted on an untoward dis- 
 position. She still suffered from them in the con- 
 templation of their existence, in memory and in 
 prospect, but for the moment she ceased to be tor- 
 tured by their effects. She was at leisure; she 
 could read and think, though her situation was 
 hardly such as to make reflection very soothing. 
 The evils arising from the loss of her uncle were 
 neither trifling nor likely to lessen; and when 
 thought had been freely indulged in contrasting 
 the past and the present, the employment of mind 
 and dissipation of unpleasant ideas, which only 
 reading could produce, made her thankfully turn 
 to a book. 
 
 The change in her home society and style of life, 
 in consequence of the death of one friend and the 
 imprudence of another, had indeed been striking. 
 From being the first object of hope and solicitude 
 to an uncle who had formed her mind with the care 
 of a parent, and of tenderness to an aunt whose ami- 
 able temper had delighted to give her every indul- 
 gence; from being the life and spirit of a house 
 where all had been comfort and elegance, and the 
 expected heiress of an easy independence, she was 
 become of importance to no one, a burden on those 
 whose affections she could not expect, an addition 
 in a house already overstocked, surrounded by infe- 
 rior minds, with little chance of domestic comfort, 
 and as little hope of future support. It was well for 
 her that she was naturally cheerful, for the change 
 
THE WATSONS. 167 
 
 had been such as might have plunged weak spirits 
 in despondence. 
 
 She was very much pressed by Robert and Jane 
 to return with them to Croydon, and had some diffi- 
 culty in getting a refusal accepted, as they thought 
 too highly of their own kindness and situation to 
 suppose the offer could appear in less advantageous 
 light to anybody else. Elizabeth gave them her 
 interest, though evidently against her own, in pri- 
 vately urging Emma to go. 
 
 "You do not know what 'you refuse, Emma/' 
 said she, "nor what you have to bear at home. I 
 would advise you by all means to accept the invita- 
 tion ; there is always something lively going on at 
 Croydon. You will be in company almost every 
 day, and Robert and Jane will be very kind to you. 
 As for me, I shall be no worse off without you than 
 I have been used to be ; but poor Margaret's disa- 
 greeable ways are new to you, and they would vex 
 you more than you think for, if you stay at home.'* 
 
 Emma was of course uninfluenced, except to 
 greater esteem for Elizabeth, by such representa- 
 tions, and the visitors departed without her. 
 
 "When the author's sister, Cassandra, showed the 
 manuscript of this work to some of her nieces, she 
 also told them something of the intended story ; for 
 with this dear sister though, I believe, with no 
 one else Jane seems to have talked freely of any 
 work that she might have in hand. Mr. Watson 
 was soon to die; and Emma to become dependent 
 
168 THE WATSONS. 
 
 for a home on her narrow-minded sister-in-law and 
 brother. She was to decline an offer of marriage 
 from Lord Osborne, and much of the interest of the 
 tale was to arise from Lady Osborne's love for Mr. 
 Howard, and his counter affection for Emma, whom 
 he was finally to marry. 
 
A MEMOIR. 
 
" He knew of no one but himself who was inclined to the 
 work. This is no uncommon motive. A man sees something 
 to be done, knows of no one who will do it but himself, and 
 so is driven to the enterprise." 
 
 HELPS'S Life of Columbus, ch. i. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE MEMOIR of my aunt, JANE AUSTEN, has 
 been received with more favor than I had ventured 
 to expect. The notices taken of it in the periodi- 
 cal press, as well as letters addressed to me by 
 many with whom I am not personally acquainted, 
 show that an unabated interest is still taken in 
 every particular that can be told about her. I am 
 thus encouraged not only to offer a Second Edition 
 of the Memoir, but also to enlarge it with some 
 additional matter which I might have scrupled to 
 intrude on the public if they had not thus seemed 
 to call for it. In the present Edition, the narra- 
 tive is somewhat enlarged, and a few more letters 
 are added; with a short specimen of her childish 
 stories. The cancelled chapter of " Persuasion " 
 is given, in compliance with wishes both publicly 
 and privately expressed. A fragment of a story 
 entitled "The Watsons " is printed; and extracts 
 are given from a novel which she had begun a few 
 months before her death ; but the chief addition is 
 a short tale, never before published, called "Lady 
 Susan." I regret that the little which I have 
 
172 PREFACE. 
 
 been able to add could not appear in my First 
 Edition ; as much of it was either unknown to me, 
 or not at my command, when I first published; 
 and I hope that I may claim some indulgent 
 allowance for the difficulty of recovering little 
 facts and feelings which had been merged half a 
 century deep in oblivion. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS BIRTH or JANE AUSTEN HEB 
 FAMILY CONNECTIONS THEIR INFLUENCE ON HER 
 WRITINGS. 
 
 )R,E than half a century has passed away 
 since I, the youngest of the mourners, 1 
 attended the funeral of my dear aunt 
 Jane in Winchester Cathedral; and 
 now, in my old age, I am asked whether my 
 memory will serve* to rescue from oblivion any 
 events of her life or any traits of her character to 
 satisfy the inquiries of a generation of readers who 
 have been born since she died. Of events her life 
 was singularly barren: few changes and no great 
 crisis ever broke the smooth current of its course. 
 Even her fame may be said to have been posthu- 
 mous : it did not attain to any vigorous life till she 
 had ceased to exist. Her talents did not introduce 
 
 1 I went to represent my father, who was too unwell fro 
 attend himself, and thus I was the only one of my generation 
 present. 
 
174 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 her to the notice of other writers, or connect her 
 with the literary world, or in any degree pierce 
 through the obscurity of her domestic retirement. 
 I have therefore scarcely any materials for a de- 
 tailed life of my aunt ; but I have a distinct recol- 
 lection of her person and character; and perhaps 
 many may take an interest in a delineation, if any 
 such can be drawn, of that prolific mind whence 
 sprung the Dashwoods and Bennets, the Bertrams 
 and Woodhouses, the Thorpes and Musgroves, who 
 have been admitted as familiar guests to the fire- 
 sides of so many families, and are known there as 
 individually and intimately as if they were living 
 neighbors. Many may care to know whether the 
 moral rectitude, the correct taste, and the warm 
 affections with which she invested her ideal char- 
 acters, were really existing in the native source 
 whence those ideas flowed, and were actually ex- 
 hibited by her in the various relations of life. I 
 can indeed bear witness that there was scarcely a 
 charm in her most delightful characters that was 
 not a true reflection of her own sweet temper and 
 loving heart. I was young when we lost her; but 
 the impressions made on the young are deep, and 
 though in the course of fifty years I have forgotten 
 much, T have not forgotten that "Aunt Jane" 
 was the delight of all her nephews and nieces. 
 We did not think of her as being clever, still less 
 as being famous ; but we valued her as one always 
 kind, sympathizing, and amusing. To all this I 
 am a living witness, but whether I can sketch out 
 such a faint outline of this excellence as shall be 
 perceptible to others may be reasonably doubted. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 175 
 
 Aided, however, by a few survivors 1 who knew her, 
 I will not refuse to make the attempt. I am the 
 more inclined to undertake the task from a convic- 
 tion that, however little I may have to tell, no one 
 else is left who could tell so much of her. 
 
 Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775, at 
 the Parsonage House of Steventon in Hampshire. 
 Her father, the Eev. George Austen, was of a 
 family long established in the neighborhood of 
 Tenterden and Sevenoaks in Kent. I believe that 
 early in the seventeenth century they were cloth- 
 iers. Hasted, in his History of Kent, says : " The 
 clothing business was exercised by persons who 
 possessed most of the landed property in the 
 Weald, insomuch that almost all the ancient 
 families of these parts, now of large estates and 
 genteel rank in life, and some of them ennobled by 
 titles, are sprung from ancestors who have used 
 this great staple manufacture, now almost unknown 
 here." In his list of these families Hasted places 
 the Austens, and he adds that these clothiers 
 " were usually called the Gray Coats of Kent; and 
 were a body so numerous and united that at county 
 elections whoever had their vote and interest was 
 
 1 My chief assistants have been my sisters, Mrs. B. Lefroy 
 and Miss Austen, whose recollections of our aunt are, on 
 some points, more vivid than my own. I have not only been 
 indebted to their memory for facts, but have sometimes used 
 their words. Indeed some passages towards the end of the 
 work were entirely written by the latter. 
 
 I have also to thank some of my cousins, and especially the 
 daughters of Admiral Charles Austen, for the use of letters 
 and papers which had passed into their hands, without which 
 this Memoir, scanty as it is, could not have been written. 
 
176 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 almost certain of being elected." The family still 
 retains a badge of this origin; for their livery is of 
 that peculiar mixture of light blue and white, 
 called Kentish gray, which forms the facings of 
 the Kentish militia. 
 
 Mr. G-eorge Austen had lost both his parents 
 before he was nine years old. He inherited no 
 property from them; but was happy in having a 
 kind uncle, Mr. Francis Austen, a successful 
 lawyer at Tunbridge, the ancestor of the Austens 
 of Kippington, who, though he had children of his 
 own, yet made liberal provision for his orphan 
 nephew. The boy received a good education at 
 Tunbridge School, whence he obtained a scholar- 
 ship, and subsequently a fellowship, at St. John's 
 College, Oxford. In 1764 he came into possession 
 of the two adjoining Rectories of Deane and Ste- 
 venton in Hampshire; the former purchased for 
 him by his generous uncle Francis, the latter 
 given by his cousin, Mr. Knight. This was no 
 very gross case of plurality, according to the ideas 
 of that time; for the two villages were little more 
 than a mile apart, and their united populations 
 scarcely amounted to three hundred. In the same 
 year he married Cassandra, youngest daughter of 
 the Rev. Thomas Leigh, of the family of Leighs 
 of Warwickshire, who, having been a fellow of 
 All Souls, held the College living of Harpsden, 
 near Henley -upon-Thames. Mr. Thomas Leigh 
 was a younger brother of Dr. Theophilus Leigh, a 
 personage well known at Oxford in his day, and 
 his day was not a short one, for he lived to be 
 ninety, and held the Mastership of Balliol College 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 177 
 
 for above half a century. He was a man more 
 famous for his sayings than his doings, overflowing 
 with puns and witticisms and sharp retorts; but 
 his most serious joke was his practical one of 
 living much longer than had been expected or in- 
 tended. He was a fellow of Corpus, and the story 
 is that the Balliol men, unable to agree in elect- 
 ing one of their own number to the Mastership, 
 chose him, partly under the idea that he was in 
 weak health and likely soon to cause another 
 vacancy. It was afterwards said that his long in- 
 cumbency had been a judgment on the Society for 
 having elected an Out-College-Man l I imagine 
 that the front of Balliol towards Broad Street 
 which has recently been pulled down must have 
 been built, or at least restored, while he was 
 Master, for the Leigh arms were placed under the 
 cornice at the corner nearest to Trinity gates. 
 The beautiful building lately erected has destroyed 
 this record, and thus " monuments themselves 
 memorials need." 
 
 His fame for witty and agreeable conversation 
 extended beyond the bounds of the University. 
 Mrs. Thrale, in a letter to Dr. Johnson, writes 
 thus: "Are you acquainted with Dr. Leigh, 2 the 
 Master of Balliol College, and are you not de- 
 lighted with his gayety of manners and youthful 
 vivacity, now that he is eighty-six years of age? 
 
 1 There seems to have been some doubt as to the validity 
 of this election ; for Hearne says that it was referred to the 
 Visitor, who confirmed it. (Hearne's " Diaries," v. 2.) 
 
 2 Mrs. Thrale writes Dr. Lee, but there can be no doubt of 
 the identity of person. 
 
 12 
 
178 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 I never heard a more perfect or excellent pun than 
 his, when some one told him how, in a late dispute 
 among the Privy Councillors, the Lord Chancellor 
 struck the table with such violence that he split it. 
 "No, no, no," replied the Master; " I can hardly 
 persuade myself that he split the table, though I 
 believe he divided the Board." 
 
 Some of his sayings of course survive in family 
 tradition. He was once calling on a gentleman 
 notorious for never opening a book, who took him 
 into a room overlooking the Bath Road, which was 
 then a great thoroughfare for travellers of every 
 class, saying rather pompously, " This, Doctor, I 
 call my study." The Doctor, glancing his eye 
 round the room, in which no books were to be 
 seen, replied, "And very well named too, sir, for 
 you know Pope tells us, ' The proper study of 
 mankind is Man. 1 " When my father went to 
 Oxford, he was honored with an invitation to dine 
 with this dignified cousin. Being a raw under- 
 graduate, unaccustomed to the habits of the Uni- 
 versity, he was about to take off his gown, as if it 
 were a great-coat, when the old man, then consid- 
 erably turned eighty, said, with a grim smile, 
 "Young man, you need not strip: we are not 
 going to fight. " This humor remained in him so 
 strongly to the last that he might almost have 
 supplied Pope with another instance of ' ' the rul- 
 ing passion strong in death; " for only three days 
 before he expired, being told that an old acquaint- 
 ance was lately married, having recovered from a 
 long illness by eating eggs, and that the wits said 
 that he had been egged on to matrimony, he im- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 179 
 
 mediately trumped the joke, saying, "Then may 
 the yoke sit easy on him." I do not know from 
 what common ancestor the Master of Balliol and 
 his great-niece, Jane Austen, with some others of 
 the family, may have derived the keen sense of hu- 
 mor which they certainly possessed. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. George Austen resided first at 
 Deane, but removed in 1771 to Steventon, which 
 was their residence for about thirty years. They 
 commenced their married life with the charge of a 
 little child, a son of the celebrated Warren Hast- 
 ings, who had been committed to the care of Mr. 
 Austen before his marriage, probably through the 
 influence of his sister, Mrs. Hancock, whose hus- 
 band at that time held some office under Hastings 
 in India. Mr. Gleig, in his "Life of Hastings," 
 says that his son George, the offspring of his first 
 marriage, was sent to England in 1761 for his edu- 
 cation, but that he had never been able to ascer- 
 tain to whom this precious charge was intrusted, 
 nor what became of him. I am able to state, from 
 family tradition, that he died young, of what was 
 then called putrid sore throat; and that Mrs. 
 Austen had become so much attached to him that 
 she always declared that his death had been as 
 great a grief to her as if he had been a child of 
 her own. 
 
 About this time, the grandfather of Mary 
 Russell Mitford, Dr. Russell, was rector of the 
 adjoining parish of Ashe; so that the parents of 
 two popular female writers must have been inti- 
 mately acquainted with each other. 
 
 As my subject carries me back about a hundred 
 
180 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 years, it will afford occasions for observing many 
 changes gradually effected in the manners and 
 habits of society, which I may think it worth 
 while to mention. They may be little things ; but 
 time gives a certain importance even to trifles, as 
 it imparts a peculiar flavor to wine. The most 
 ordinary articles of domestic life are looked on 
 with some interest, if they are brought to light 
 after being long buried; and we feel a natural 
 curiosity to know what was done and said by our 
 forefathers, even though it may be nothing wiser 
 or better than what we are daily doing or saying 
 ourselves. Some of this generation may be little 
 aware how many conveniences, now considered to 
 be necessaries and matters of course, were un- 
 known to their grandfathers and grandmothers. 
 The lane between Deane and Steventon has long 
 been as smooth as the best turnpike road; but 
 when the family removed from the one residence 
 to the other in 1771, it was a mere cart track, so 
 cut up by deep ruts as to be impassable for a light 
 carriage. Mrs. Austen, who was not then in 
 strong health, performed the short journey on a 
 feather-bed, placed upon some soft articles of furni- 
 ture in the wagon which held their household 
 goods. In those days it was not unusual to set 
 men to work with shovel and pickaxe to fill up ruts 
 and holes in roads seldom used by carriages, on 
 such special occasions as a funeral or a wedding. 
 Ignorance and coarseness of language also were 
 still lingering even upon higher levels of society 
 than might have been expected to retain such 
 mists. About this time, a neighboring squire, a 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 181 
 
 man of many acres, referred the following difficulty 
 to Mr. Austen's decision: " You know all about 
 these sort of things. Do tell us. Is Paris in 
 France, or France in Paris? for my wife has been 
 disputing with me about it." The same gentle- 
 man, narrating some conversation which he had 
 heard between the rector and his wife, represented 
 the latter as beginning her reply to her husband 
 with a round oath; and when his daughter called 
 him to task, reminding him that Mrs. Austen 
 never swore, he replied, "Now, Betty, why do 
 you pull me up for nothing? that ? s neither here 
 nor there; you know very well that ? s only my way 
 of telling the story." Attention has lately been 
 called by a celebrated writer to the inferiority of 
 the clergy to the laity of England two centuries 
 ago. The charge no doubt is true, if the rural 
 clergy are to be compared with that higher section 
 of country gentlemen who went into Parliament, 
 and mixed in London society, and took the lead in 
 their several counties; but it might be found less 
 true if they were to be compared, as in all fairness 
 they ought to be, with that lower section with 
 whom they usually associated. The smaller landed 
 proprietors, who seldom went farther from home 
 than their county town, from the squire with his 
 thousand acres to the yeoman who cultivated his 
 hereditary property of one or two hundred, then 
 formed a numerous class, each the aristocrat of 
 his own parish; and there was probably a greater 
 difference in manners and refinement between this 
 class and that immediately above them than could 
 now be found between any two persons who rank 
 
182 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 as gentlemeu. For in the progress of civilization, 
 though all orders may make some progress, yet it 
 is most perceptible in the lower. It is a process 
 of "levelling up;" the rear rank " dressing up," 
 as it were, close to the front rank. When Hamlet 
 mentions, as something which he had "for three 
 years taken note of, " that "the toe of the peasant 
 comes so near the heel of the courtier," it was 
 probably intended by Shakspeare as a satire on 
 his own times ; but it expressed a principle which 
 is working at all times in which society makes any 
 progress. I believe that a century ago the im- 
 provement in most country parishes began with 
 the clergy; and that in those days a rector who 
 chanced to be a gentleman and a scholar, found 
 himself superior to his chief parishioners in infor- 
 mation and manners, and became a sort of centre 
 of refinement and politeness. 
 
 Mr. Austen was a remarkably good-looking man, 
 both in his youth and his old age. During his 
 year of office at Oxford he had been called "the 
 handsome Proctor; " and at Bath, when more than 
 seventy years old, he attracted observation by his 
 fine features and abundance of snow-white hair. 
 Being a good scholar he was able to prepare two of 
 his sons for the University, and to direct the 
 studies of his other children, whether sons or 
 daughters, as well as to increase his income by 
 taking pupils. 
 
 In Mrs. Austen also was to be found the germ 
 of much of the ability which was concentrated in 
 Jane, but of which others of her children had a 
 share. She united strong common sense with a 
 
A MEMOIR OP JANE AUSTEN. 183 
 
 lively imagination, and often expressed herself, 
 both in writing and in conversation, with epi- 
 grammatic force and point. She lived, like many 
 of her family, to an advanced age. During the 
 last years of her life she endured continual pain, 
 not only patiently, but with characteristic cheer- 
 fulness. She once said to me, " Ah, my dear, 
 you find me just where you left me, on the sofa. 
 I sometimes think that God Almighty must have 
 forgotten me; but I dare say he will come for me 
 in his own good time." She died and was buried 
 at Chawton, January, 1827, aged eighty-eight. 
 
 Her own family were so much, and the rest of 
 the world so little, to Jane Austen, that some brief 
 mention of her brothers and sister is necessary, in 
 order to give any idea of the objects which princi- 
 pally occupied her thoughts and filled her heart, 
 especially as some of them, from their characters or 
 professions in life, may be supposed to have had 
 more or less influence on her writings ; though I 
 feel some reluctance in bringing before public no- 
 tice persons and circumstances essentially private. 
 
 Her eldest brother James, my own father, had, 
 when a very young man, at St. John's College, 
 Oxford, been the originator and chief supporter 
 of a periodical paper called "The Loiterer," writ- 
 ten somewhat on the plan of the "Spectator" and 
 its successors, but nearly confined to subjects con- 
 nected with the University. In after life he used 
 to speak very slightingly of this early work, which 
 he had the better right to do, as, whatever may 
 have been the degree of their merits, the best 
 
184 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 papers had certainly been written by himself. He 
 was well read in English literature, had a correct 
 taste, and wrote readily and happily, both in prose 
 and verse. He was more than ten years older than 
 Jane, and had, I believe, a large share in directing 
 her reading and forming her taste. 
 
 Her second brother, Edward, had been a good 
 deal separated from the rest of the family, as he 
 was early adopted by his cousin, Mr. Knight, of 
 Godmershain Park in Kent, and Chawton House in 
 Hampshire; and finally came into possession both 
 of the property and the name. But though a good 
 deal separated in childhood, they were much to- 
 gether in after-life, and Jane gave a large share of 
 her'affections to him and his children. Mr. Knight 
 was not only a very amiable man, kind and indul- 
 gent to all connected with him, but possessed also 
 a spirit of fun and liveliness which made him 
 especially delightful to all young people. 
 
 Her third brother, Henry, had great conversa- 
 tional powers, and inherited from his father an 
 eager and sanguine disposition. He was a very 
 entertaining companion, but had perhaps less steadi- 
 ness of purpose, certainly less success in life, than 
 his brothers. He became a clergyman when mid- 
 dle-aged; and an allusion to his sermons will be 
 found in one of Jane's letters. At one time he 
 resided in London, and was useful in transacting 
 his sister's business with her publishers. 
 
 Her two youngest brothers, Francis and Charles, 
 were sailors during that glorious period of the 
 British navy which comprises the close of the last 
 and the beginning of the present century, when it 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 185 
 
 was impossible for an officer to be almost always 
 afloat, as these brothers were, without seeing ser- 
 vice which, in these days, would be considered 
 distinguished. Accordingly, they were continually 
 engaged in actions of more or less importance, and 
 sometimes gained promotion by their success. Both 
 rose to the rank of Admiral, and carried out their 
 flags to distant stations. 
 
 Francis lived to attain the very summit of his 
 profession, having died, in his ninety-third year, 
 G.C.B. and Senior Admiral of the Fleet, in 1865. 
 He possessed great firmness of character, with a 
 strong sense of duty, whether due from himself 
 to others, or from others to himself. He was con- 
 sequently a strict disciplinarian; but, as he was 
 a very religious man, it was remarked of him (for 
 in those days, at least, it was remarkable) that he 
 maintained this discipline without ever uttering an 
 oath or permitting one in his presence. On one 
 occasion, when ashore in a sea-side town, he was 
 spoken of as "the officer who kneeled at church," 
 a custom which now happily would not be thought 
 peculiar. 
 
 Charles was generally serving in frigates or 
 sloops, blockading harbors, driving the ships of 
 the enemy ashore, boarding gun-boats, and fre- 
 quently making small prizes. At one time he was 
 absent from England on such services for seven 
 years together. In later life he commanded the 
 ' ' Bellerophon " at the bombardment of St. Jean 
 d' Acre in 1840. In 1850 he went out in the " Hast- 
 ings, " in command of the East India and China sta- 
 tion; but on the breaking out of the Burmese war 
 
186 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 he transferred his flag to a steam sloop, for the pur- 
 pose of getting up the shallow waters of the Irra- 
 waddy, on board of which he died of cholera, in 
 1852, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. His 
 sweet temper and affectionate disposition, in which 
 he resembled his sister Jane, had secured to him 
 an unusual portion of attachment, not only from 
 his own family, but from all the officers and com- 
 mon sailors who served under him. One who was 
 with him at his death has left this record of him : 
 "Our good Admiral won the hearts of all by his 
 gentleness and kindness while he was struggling 
 with disease and endeavoring to do his duty as 
 Commander-in-chief of the British naval forces in 
 these waters. His death was a great grief to the 
 whole fleet. I know that I cried bitterly when I 
 found he was dead. " The Order in Council of the 
 Governor-General of India, Lord Dalhousie, ex- 
 presses "admiration of the stanch high spirit 
 which, notwithstanding his age and previous suf- 
 ferings, had led the Admiral to take his part in 
 the trying service which closed his career. " 
 
 These two brothers have been dwelt on longer 
 than the others, because their honorable career 
 accounts for Jane Austen's partiality for the Navy, 
 as well as for the readiness and accuracy with 
 which she wrote about it. She was always very 
 careful not to meddle with matters which she did 
 not thoroughly understand. She never touched up- 
 on politics, law, or medicine, subjects which some 
 novel writers have ventured on rather too boldly, 
 and have treated, perhaps, with more brilliancy 
 than accuracy. But with ships and sailors she 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 187 
 
 felt herself at home, or at least could always trust 
 to ,a brotherly critic to keep her right. I believe 
 that no flaw has ever been found in her sea- 
 manship, either in " Mansfield Park' 7 or in 
 " Persuasion. " 
 
 But dearest of all to the heart of Jane was her 
 sister Cassandra, about three years her senior. 
 Their sisterly affection for each other could 
 scarcely be exceeded. Perhaps it began on Jane's 
 side with the feeling of deference natural to a lov- 
 ing child towards a kind elder sister. Something 
 of this feeling always remained; and even in the 
 maturity of her powers, and in the enjoyment of 
 increasing success, she would still speak of Cas- 
 sandra as of one wiser and better than herself. In 
 childhood, when the elder was sent to the school of 
 a Mrs. Latournelle, in the Forbury at Beading, 
 the younger went with her, not because she was 
 thought old enough to profit much by the instruc- 
 tion there imparted, but because she would have 
 been miserable without her sister; her mother 
 observing that, " if Cassandra were going to have 
 her head cut off, Jane would insist on sharing 
 her fate." This attachment was never interrupted 
 or weakened. They lived in the same home, and 
 shared the same bedroom, till separated by death. 
 They were not exactly alike. Cassandra's was 
 the colder and calmer disposition; she was always 
 prudent and well judging, but with less outward 
 demonstration of feeling and less sunniness of 
 temper than Jane possessed. It was remarked in 
 her family that " Cassandra had the merit of hav- 
 ing her temper always under command, but that 
 
188 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 Jane had the happiness of a temper that never re- 
 quired to be commanded. " When " Sense and 
 Sensibility " came out, some persons, who knew 
 the family slightly, surmised that the two elder 
 Miss Dash woods were intended by the author for 
 her sister and herself; but this could not be the 
 case. Cassandra's character might indeed repre- 
 sent the " sense" of Elinor, but Jane's had little 
 in common with the "sensibility" of Marianne. 
 The young woman who, before the age of twenty, 
 could so clearly discern the failings of Marianne 
 Dashwood, could hardly have been subject to them 
 herself. 
 
 This was the small circle, continually enlarged, 
 however, by the increasing families of four of her 
 brothers, within which Jane Austen found hei 
 wholesome pleasures, duties, and interests, and 
 beyond which she went very little into society 
 during the last ten years of her life. There was 
 so much that was agreeable and attractive in this 
 family party that its members may be excused if 
 they were inclined to live somewhat too exclu- 
 sively within it. They might see in each other 
 much to love and esteem, and something to ad- 
 mire. The family talk had abundance of spirit 
 and vivacity, and was never troubled by disagree- 
 ments even in little matters, for it was not their 
 habit to dispute or argue with each other; above 
 all, there was strong family affection and firm 
 union, never to be broken but by death. It can- 
 not be doubted that all this had its influence on 
 the author in the construction of her stories, in 
 which a family party usually supplies the narrow 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 189 
 
 stage, while the interest is made to revolve round 
 a few actors. 
 
 It will be seen also that though her circle of 
 society was small, yet she found in her neighbor- 
 hood persons of good taste and cultivated minds. 
 Her acquaintance, in fact, constituted the very 
 class from which she took her imaginary charac- 
 ters, ranging from the member of Parliament, or 
 large landed proprietor, to the young curate or 
 younger midshipman of equally good family ; and 
 I think that the influence of these early associa- 
 tions may be traced in her writings, especially in 
 two particulars: first, that she is entirely free 
 from the vulgarity, which is so offensive in some 
 novels, of dwelling on the outward appendages 
 of wealth or rank, as if they were things to which 
 the writer was unaccustomed; and, secondly, that 
 she deals as little with very low as with very high 
 stations in life. She does not go lower than the 
 Miss Steeles, Mrs. Elton, and John Thorpe, a peo- 
 ple of bad taste and underbred manners, such as 
 are actually found sometimes mingling with bet- 
 ter society. She has nothing resembling the Brang- 
 tons, or Mr. Dubster and his friend Tom Hicks, 
 with whom Madame D'Arblay loved to season her 
 stories, and to produce striking contrasts to her 
 well-bred characters. 
 
190 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 DESCRIPTION or STEVENTON LIFE AT STEVENTON 
 CHANGES OP HABITS AND CUSTOMS IN THE LAST 
 CENTURY. 
 
 As the first twenty-five years, more than half of 
 the brief life of Jane Austen, were spent in the 
 parsonage of Steventon, some description of that 
 place ought to be given. Steventon is a small 
 rural village upon the chalk hills of north Hants, 
 situated in a winding valley about seven miles 
 from Basingstoke. The South-Western Railway 
 crosses it by a short embankment, and, as it 
 curves round, presents a good view of it on the 
 left-hand to those who are travelling down the 
 line, about three miles before entering the tunnel 
 under Popham Beacon. It may be known to 
 some sportsmen, as lying in one of the best por- 
 tions of the Vine Hunt. It is certainly not a 
 picturesque country, it presents no grand or 
 extensive views ; but the features are small, rather 
 plain. The surface continually swells and sinks, 
 but the hills are not bold, nor the valleys deep; 
 and though it is sufficiently well clothed with 
 woods and hedgerows, yet the poverty of the soil 
 in most places prevents the timber from attaining 
 a large size. Still it has its beauties. The lanes 
 wind along in a natural curve, continually fringed 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 191 
 
 with irregular borders of native turf, and lead to 
 pleasant nooks and corners. One who knew and 
 loved it well very happily expressed its quiet 
 charms, when he wrote, 
 
 True taste is not fastidious, nor rejects, 
 Because they may not come within the rule 
 Of composition pure and picturesque, 
 Unnumbered simple scenes which fill the leaves 
 Of Nature's sketch-book." 
 
 Of this somewhat tame country, Steventon, from 
 the fall of the ground, and the abundance of its 
 timber, is certainly one of the prettiest spots ; yet 
 one cannot be surprised that, when Jane's mother, 
 a little before her marriage, was shown the scenery 
 of her future home, she should have thought it un- 
 attractive, compared with the broad river, the rich 
 valley, and the noble hills which she had been 
 accustomed to behold at her native home near 
 Henley-upon-Thames. 
 
 The house itself stood in a shallow valley, sur- 
 rounded by sloping meadows, well sprinkled with 
 elm trees, at the end of a small village of cottages, 
 each well provided with a garden, scattered about 
 prettily on either side of the road. It was suffi- 
 ciently commodious to hold pupils in addition to a 
 growing family, and was in those times consid- 
 ered to be above the average of parsonages ; but the 
 rooms were finished with less elegance than would 
 now be found in the most ordinary dwellings. No 
 cornice marked the junction of wall and ceiling; 
 while the beams which supported the upper floors 
 projected into the rooms below in all their naked 
 
192 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 simplicity, covered only by a coat of paint or white- 
 wash: accordingly it has since been considered un- 
 worthy of being the rectory house of a family living, 
 and about forty-five years ago it was pulled down for 
 the purpose of erecting a new house in a far better 
 situation on the opposite side of the valley. 
 
 North of the house, the road from Deane to Pop- 
 ham Lane ran at a sufficient distance from the front 
 to allow a carriage-drive, through turf and trees. 
 On the south side the ground rose gently, and was 
 occupied by one of those old-fashioned gardens in 
 which vegetables and flowers are combined, flanked 
 and protected on the east by one of the thatched 
 mud-walls common in that country, and overshad- 
 owed by fine elms. Along the upper or southern 
 side of this garden ran a terrace of the finest turf, 
 which must have been in the writer's thoughts 
 when she described Catherine Morland's childish 
 delight in " rolling down the green slope at the 
 back of the house." 
 
 But the chief beauty of Steventon consisted in 
 its hedgerows. A hedgerow, in that country, does 
 not mean a thin, formal line of quickset, but an ir- 
 regular border of copse-wood and timber, often wide 
 enough to contain within it a winding footpath or 
 a rough cart track. Under its shelter the earliest 
 primroses, anemones, and wild hyacinths were to 
 be found j sometimes, the first bird's-nest; and, 
 now and then, the unwelcome adder. Two such 
 hedgerows radiated, as it were, from the parsonage 
 garden. One, a continuation of the turf terrace, pro- 
 ceeded westward, forming the southern boundary 
 of the home meadows j and was formed into a rustic 
 
A MEMOIK OF JANE AUSTEN. 193 
 
 shrubbery, with occasional seats, entitled "The 
 Wood Walk. 7 ' The other ran straight up the hill, 
 under the name of "The Church Walk," because 
 it led to the parish church, as well as to a fine old 
 manor-house, of Henry VIII.' s time, occupied by 
 a family named Digweed, who have for more than 
 a century rented it, together with the chief farm in 
 the parish. The church itself I speak of it as it 
 then was, before the improvements made by the 
 present rector 
 
 " A little spireless fane, 
 Just seen above the woody lane," 
 
 might have appeared mean and uninteresting to an 
 ordinary observer; but the adept in church archi- 
 tecture would have known that it must have stood 
 there some seven centuries, and would have found 
 beauty in. the very narrow early English windows, 
 as well as in the general proportions of its little 
 chancel; while its solitary position, far from the 
 hum of the village, and within sight of no habita- 
 tion, except a glimpse of the gray manor-house 
 through its circling screen of sycamores, has in it 
 something solemn and appropriate to the last rest- 
 ing-place of the silent dead. Sweet violets, both 
 purple and white, grow in abundance beneath its 
 south wall. One may imagine for how many cen- 
 turies the ancestors of these little flowers have oc- 
 cupied that undisturbed, sunny nook, and may 
 think how few living families can boast of as an- 
 cient a tenure of their land. Large elms protrude 
 their rough branches; old hawthorns shed their 
 annual blossoms over the graves; and the hollow 
 vew-tree must be at least coeval with the church. 
 
 13 
 
194 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 But whatever may be the beauties or defects of 
 the surrounding scenery, this was the residence of 
 Jane Austen for twenty-five years. This was the 
 cradle of her genius. These were the first objects 
 which inspired her young heart with a sense of the 
 beauties of nature. In strolls along those wood- 
 walks thick-coming fancies rose in her mind, and 
 gradually assumed the forms in which they came 
 forth to the world. In that simple church she 
 brought them all into subjection to the piety which 
 ruled her in life, and supported her in death. 
 
 The home at Steventon must have been, for 
 many years, a pleasant and prosperous one. The 
 family was unbroken by death, and seldom visited 
 by sorrow. Their situation had some peculiar 
 advantages beyond those of ordinary rectories. 
 Steventon was a family living. Mr. Knight, the 
 patron, was also proprietor of nearly the whole 
 parish. He never resided there, and consequently 
 the rector and his children came to be regarded in 
 the neighborhood as a kind of representatives of the 
 family. They shared with the principal tenant 
 the command of an excellent manor, and enjoyed, 
 in this reflected way, some of the consideration 
 usually awarded to landed proprietors. They were 
 not rich, but, aided by Mr. Austen's powers of teach- 
 ing, they had enough to afford a good education to 
 their sons and daughters, to mix in the best society 
 of the neighborhood, and to exercise a liberal hospi- 
 tality to their own relations and friends. A car- 
 riage and a pair of horses were kept. This might 
 imply a higher style of living in our days than it 
 did in theirs. There were then no assessed taxes. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 195 
 
 The carriage, once bought, entailed little further ex- 
 pense ; and the horses probably, like Mr. Bennet's, 
 were often employed on farm work. Moreover, it 
 should be remembered that a pair of horses in those 
 days were almost necessary, if ladies were to move 
 about at all ; for neither the condition of the roads 
 nor the style of carriage-building admitted of any 
 comfortable vehicle being drawn by a single horse. 
 When one looks at the few specimens still remain- 
 ing of coach-building in the last century, it strikes 
 one that the chief object of the builders must have 
 been to combine the greatest possible weight with 
 the least possible amount of accommodation. 
 
 The family lived in close intimacy with two 
 cousins, Edward and Jane Cooper, the children of 
 Mrs. Austen's eldest sister, and Dr. Cooper, the 
 vicar of Sonning, near Reading. The Coopers 
 lived for some years at Bath, which seems to have 
 been much frequented in those days by clergymen 
 retiring from work. I believe that Cassandra and 
 Jane sometimes visited them there, and that Jane 
 thus acquired the intimate knowledge of the topog- 
 raphy and customs of Bath, which enabled her to 
 write "Northanger Abbey" long before she re- 
 sided there herself. After the death of their own 
 parents, the two young Coopers paid long visits at 
 Steventon. Edward Cooper did not live undistin- 
 guished. When an undergraduate at Oxford, he 
 gained the prize for Latin hexameters on " Hortus 
 Anglicus " in 1791; and in later life he was 
 known by a work on prophecy, called " The 
 Crisis,' 7 and other religious publications, espe- 
 cially for several volumes of Sermons, much 
 
196 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 preached in many pulpits in my youth. Jane 
 Cooper was married from her uncle's house at 
 Steventon, to Captain, afterwards Sir Thomas, Wil- 
 liams, under whom Charles Austen served in 
 several ships. She was a dear friend of her name- 
 sake, but was fated to become a cause of great 
 sorrow to her, for a few years after the marriage 
 she was suddenly killed by an accident to her 
 carriage. 
 
 There was another cousin closely associated with 
 them at Steventon, who must have introduced 
 greater variety into the family circle. This was 
 the daughter of Mr. Austen's only sister, Mrs. 
 Hancock. This cousin had been educated in 
 Paris, and married to a Count de Feuillade, of 
 whom I know little more than that he perished by 
 the guillotine during the French Re volution. 
 Perhaps his chief offence was his rank; but it was 
 said that the charge of "incivism," under which 
 he suffered, rested on the fact of his having laid 
 down some arable land into pasture, a sure sign 
 of his intention to embarrass the Republican Gov- 
 ernment by producing a famine ! His wife escaped 
 through dangers and difficulties to England, was 
 received for some time into her uncle's family, 
 and finally married her cousin, Henry Austen. 
 During the short peace of Amiens, she and her 
 second husband went to France, in the hope of 
 recovering some of the Count's property, and there 
 narrowly escaped being included amongst the 
 detenus. Orders had been given by Buonaparte's 
 Government to detain all English travellers; but at 
 the post-houses Mrs. Henry Austen gave the neces- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 197 
 
 sary orders herself, and her French was so perfect 
 that she passed everywhere for a native, and her 
 husband escaped under this protection. 
 
 She was a clever woman, and highly accom- 
 plished, after the French rather than the English 
 mode; and in those days, when intercourse with 
 the Continent was long interrupted by war, such 
 an element in the society of a country parsonage 
 must have been a rare acquisition. The sisters 
 may have been more indebted to this cousin than 
 to Mrs. La Tournelle's teaching for the consider- 
 able knowledge of French which they possessed. 
 She also took the principal parts in the private 
 theatricals in which the family several times in- 
 dulged, having their summer theatre in the barn, 
 and their winter one within the narrow limits of 
 the dining-room, where the number of the audience 
 must have been very limited. On these occasions, 
 the prologues and epilogues were written by Jane's 
 eldest brother, and some of them are very vigorous 
 and amusing. Jane was only twelve years old at 
 the time of the earliest of these representations, 
 and not more than fifteen when the last took 
 place. She was, however, an early observer, and 
 it may be reasonably supposed that some of the in- 
 cidents and feelings which are so vividly painted 
 in the Mansfield Park theatricals are due to her 
 recollections of these entertainments. 
 
 Some time before they left Steventon, one great 
 affliction came upon the family. Cassandra was 
 engaged to be married to a young clergyman. He 
 had not sufficient private fortune to permit an 
 immediate union; but the engagement was not 
 
198 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 likely to be a hopeless or a protracted one, for he 
 had a prospect of early preferment from a noble- 
 man with whom he was connected both by birth 
 and by personal friendship. He accompanied this 
 friend to the West Indies, as chaplain to his regi- 
 ment, and there died of yellow-fever, to the great 
 concern of his friend and patron, who afterwards 
 declared that, if he had known of the engagement, 
 he would not have permitted him to go out to 
 such a climate* This little domestic tragedy 
 caused great and lasting grief to the principal 
 sufferer, and could not but cast a gloom over the 
 whole part}'-. The sympathy of Jane was probably, 
 from her age and her peculiar attachment to her 
 sister, the deepest of all. 
 
 Of Jane herself I know of no such definite tale 
 of love to relate. Her reviewer in the " Quar- 
 terly, " of January, 1821, observes, concerning the 
 attachment of Fanny Price to Edmund Bertram: 
 "The silence in which this passion is cherished, 
 the slender hopes and enjoyments by which it is 
 fed, the restlessness and jealousy with which it 
 fills a mind naturally active, contented, and un- 
 suspicious, the manner in which it tinges every 
 event, and every reflection, are painted with a 
 vividness and a detail of which we can scarcely 
 conceive any one but a female, and we should 
 almost add, a female writing from recollection, 
 capable. " This conjecture, however probable, was 
 wide of the mark. The picture was drawn from 
 the intuitive perceptions of genius, not from per- 
 sonal experience. In no circumstance of her life 
 was there any similarity between herself and her 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 199 
 
 heroine in " Mansfield Park." She did not indeed 
 pass through life without being the object of 
 warm affection. In her youth she had declined 
 the addresses of a gentleman who had the recom- 
 mendations of good character and connections and 
 position in life, of everything, in fact, except 
 the subtle power of touching her heart. There is, 
 however, one passage of romance in her history 
 with which I am imperfectly acquainted, and to 
 which I am unable to assign name or date or 
 place, though I have it on sufficient authority. 
 Many years after her death, some circumstances 
 induced her sister Cassandra to break through her 
 habitual reticence and to speak of it. She said 
 that, Avhile staying at some seaside place, they be- 
 came acquainted with a gentleman whose charm 
 of person, mind, and manners was such that Cas- 
 sandra thought him worthy to possess and likely 
 to win her sister's love. When they parted, he 
 expressed his intention of soon seeing them again; 
 and Cassandra felt no doubt as to his motives. But 
 they never again met. Within a short time they 
 heard of his sudden death. I believe that, if Jane 
 ever loved, it was this unnamed gentleman; but 
 the acquaintance had been short, and I am unable 
 to say whether her feelings were of such a nature 
 as to affect her happiness. 
 
 Any description that I might attempt of the 
 family life at Steventon, which closed soon after I 
 was born, could be little better than a fancy-piece. 
 There is no doubt that if we look into the house- 
 holds of the clergy and the small gentry of that 
 period, we should see some things which would 
 
200 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 seem strange to us, and should miss many more to 
 which we are accustomed. Every hundred years, 
 and especially a century like the last, marked by 
 an extraordinary advance in wealth, luxury, and 
 refinement of taste, as well as in the mechanical 
 arts which embellish our houses, must produce a 
 great change in their aspect. These changes are 
 always at work; they are going on now, but so 
 silently that we take no note of them. Men soon 
 forget the small objects which they leave behind 
 them as they drift down the stream of life. As 
 Pope says 
 
 " Nor does life's stream for observation stay ; 
 It hurries all too fast to mark their way." 
 
 Important inventions, such as the applications of 
 steam, gas, and electricity, may find their places 
 in history ; but not so the alterations, great as they 
 may be, which have taken place in the appearance 
 of our dining and drawing rooms. Who can now 
 record the degrees by which the custom prevalent 
 in my youth of asking each other to take wine 
 together at dinner became obsolete? Who will be 
 able to fix, twenty years hence, the date when our 
 dinners began to be carved and handed round by 
 servants, instead of smoking before our eyes and 
 noses on the table? To record such little matters 
 would indeed be "to chronicle small beer.' 7 But, 
 in a slight memoir like this, I may be allowed to 
 note some of those changes in social habits which 
 give a color to history, but which the historian has 
 the greatest difficulty in recovering. 
 
 At that time the dinner-table presented a far 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 201 
 
 less splendid appearance than it does now. It was 
 appropriated to solid food, rather than to flowers, 
 fruits, and decorations. Nor was there much 
 glitter of plate upon it; for the early dinner hour 
 rendered candlesticks unnecessary, and silver folks 
 had not come into general use; while the broad 
 rounded end of the knives indicated the substitute 
 generally used instead of them. 1 
 
 The dinners too were more homely, though not 
 less plentiful and savory; and the bill of fare in 
 one house would not be so like that in another as 
 it is now, for family receipts were held in high 
 estimation. A grandmother of culinary talent 
 could bequeath to her descendant fame for some 
 particular dish, and might influence the family 
 dinner for many generations. 
 
 "Dos est magna parentium 
 Virtus." 
 
 One house would pride itself on its ham, another 
 on its game-pie, and a third on its superior 
 
 1 The celebrated Beau Brummel, who was so intimate with 
 George IV. as to be able to quarrel with him, was born in 
 1771. It is reported that when he was questioned about his 
 parents, he replied that it was long since he had heard of 
 them, but that he imagined the worthy couple must have cut 
 their own throats by that time, because when he last saw 
 them they were eating peas with their knives. Yet Brum. 
 mel's father had probably lived in good society, and was 
 certainly able to put his son into a fashionable regiment, and to 
 leave him 30,000/. 2 Raikes believes that he had been Secre- 
 tary to Lord North. Thackeray's idea that he had been a foot- 
 man cannot stand against the authority of Raikes, who was 
 intimate with the son. 
 
 2 Raikes's Memoirs, vol. ii p. 207. 
 
202 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 furmity, or tausey-pudding. Beer and home-made 
 wines, especially mead, were more largely con- 
 sumed. Vegetables were less plentiful and less 
 various. Potatoes were used, but not so abun- 
 dantly as now ; and there was an idea they were to 
 be eaten only with roast meat. They were novel- 
 ties to a tenant's wife who was entertained at 
 Steventon Parsonage, certainly less than a hundred 
 years ago; and when Mrs. Austen advised her to 
 plant them in her own garden, she replied, "No, 
 no; they are very well for you gentry, but they 
 must be terribly costly to rear." 
 
 But a still greater difference would be found in 
 the furniture of the rooms, which would appear 
 to us lamentably scanty. There was a general 
 deficiency of carpeting in sitting-rooms, bed-rooms, 
 and passages. A pianoforte, or rather a spinnet 
 or harpsichord, was by no means a necessary 
 appendage. It was to be found only where there 
 was a decided taste for music (not so common then 
 as now), or in such great Iftuses as would probably 
 contain a billiard-table. There would often be 
 but one sofa in the house, and that a stiff, angular, 
 uncomfortable article. There were no deep easy- 
 chairs, nor other appliances for lounging; for to 
 lie down, or even to lean back, was a luxury 
 permitted only to old persons or invalids. It was 
 said of a nobleman, a personal friend of George 
 III. and a model gentleman of his day, that he 
 would have made the tour of Europe without ever 
 touching the back of his travelling carriage. 
 But perhaps we should, be most struck with the 
 total absence of those elegant little articles which 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 203 
 
 now embellish and encumber our drawing-room 
 tables. We should miss the sliding bookcases and 
 picture-stands, the letterweighing machines and 
 envelope cases, the periodicals and illustrated 
 newpapers, above all, the countless swarm of 
 photograph books which now threaten to swallow 
 up all space. A small writing-desk, with a 
 smaller work-box, or netting-case, was all that 
 each young lady contributed to occupy the table; 
 for the large family work-basket, though often 
 produced in the parlor, lived in the closet. 
 
 There must have been more dancing throughout 
 the country in those days than there is now ; and it 
 seems to have sprung up more spontaneously, as if 
 it were a natural production, with less fastidious- 
 ness as to the quality of music, lights, and floor. 
 Many country towns had a monthly ball through- 
 out the winter, in some of which the same apart- 
 ment served for dancing and tea room. Dinner 
 parties more frequently ended with an extempore 
 dance on the carpet, to the music of a harpsichord 
 in the house, or a fiddle from the village. This 
 was always supposed to be for the entertainment 
 of the young people; but many who had little 
 pretension to youth were very ready to join in it. 
 There can be no doubt that Jane herself enjoyed 
 dancing, for she attributes this taste to her 
 favorite heroines; in most of her works, a ball 
 or a private dance is mentioned, and made of 
 importance. 
 
 Many things connected with the ball-rooms of 
 those days have now passed into oblivion. The 
 barbarous law which confined the lady to one 
 
204 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 partner throughout the evening must indeed have 
 been abolished before Jane went to balls. It must 
 be observed, however, that this custom was in one 
 respect advantageous to the gentleman, inasmuch 
 as it rendered his duties more practicable. He was 
 bound to call upon his partner the next morning, 
 and it must have been convenient to have only one 
 lady for whom he was obliged 
 
 " To gallop all the country over, 
 The last night's partner to behold, 
 And humbly hope she caught no cold." 
 
 But the stately minuet still reigned supreme; 
 and every regular ball commenced with it. It was 
 a slow and solemn movement, expressive of 
 grace and dignity, rather than of merriment. It 
 abounded in formal bows and courtesies, with meas- 
 ured paces, forwards, backwards, and sideways, and 
 many complicated gyrations. It was executed by 
 one lady and gentleman, amidst the admiration, or 
 the criticism, of surrounding spectators. In its 
 earlier and most palmy days, as when Sir Charles 
 and Lady G-randison delighted the company by 
 dancing it at their own wedding, the gentleman 
 wore a dress sword, and the lady was armed with a 
 fan of nearly equal dimensions. Addison observes 
 that " women are armed with fans, as men with 
 swords, and sometimes do more execution with 
 them." The graceful carriage of each weapon was 
 considered a test of high breeding. The clownish 
 man was in danger of being tripped up by his 
 sword getting between his legs; the fan held 
 clumsily looked more of a burden than an orna- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 205 
 
 ment ; while in the hands of an adept it could be 
 made to speak a language of its own. 1 It was not 
 every one who felt qualified to make this public 
 exhibition, and I have been told that those ladies 
 who intended to dance minuets used to distinguish 
 themselves from others by wearing a particular 
 kind of lappet on their head-dress. I have heard also 
 of another curious proof of the respect in which 
 this dance was held. Gloves immaculately clean 
 were considered requisite for its due performance, 
 while gloves a little soiled were thought good 
 enough for a country dance; and accordingly some 
 prudent ladies provided themselves with two pairs 
 for their several purposes. The minuet expired 
 with the last century ; but long after it had ceased 
 to be danced publicly it was taught to boys and 
 girls, in order to give them a graceful carriage. 
 
 Hornpipes, cotillons, and reels were occasionally 
 danced; but the chief occupation of the evening 
 was the interminable country dance, in which all 
 could join. This dance presented a great show of 
 enjoyment, but it was not without its peculiar 
 troubles. The ladies and gentlemen were ranged 
 apart from each other, in opposite rows, so that the 
 facilities for flirtation, or interesting intercourse, 
 were not so great as might have been desired by 
 
 1 See " Spectator," No. 102, on the Fan Exercise. Old 
 gentlemen who had survived the fashion of wearing swords 
 were known to regret the disuse of that custom, because it 
 put an end to one way of distinguishing those who had, from 
 those who had not, been used to good society. To wear the 
 sword easily was an art which, like swimming and skating, 
 required to be learned in youth. Children could practise it 
 early with their toy swords adapted to their size. 
 
206 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 both parties. Much heart-burning and discontent 
 sometimes arose as to who should stand above 
 whom, and especially as to who was entitled to the 
 high privilege of calling and leading off the first 
 dance; and no little indignation was felt at the 
 lower end of the room when any of the leading 
 couples retired prematurely from their duties, and 
 did not condescend to dance up and down the 
 whole set. We may rejoice that these causes of 
 irritation no longer exist ; and that if such feelings 
 as jealousy, rivalry, and discontent ever touch 
 celestial bosoms in the modern ball-room they must 
 arise from different and more recondite sources. 
 
 I am tempted to add a little about the difference 
 of personal habits. It may be asserted as a general 
 truth, that less was left to the charge and discretion 
 of servants, and more was done, or superintended, 
 by the masters and mistresses. With regard to 
 the mistresses, it is, I believe, generally under- 
 stood, that at the time to which I refer, a hundred 
 years ago, they took a personal part in the higher 
 branches of cookery, as well as in the concoction of 
 home-made wines and distilling of herbs for 
 domestic medicines, which are nearly allied to the 
 same art. Ladies did not disdain to spin the 
 thread of which the household linen was woven. 
 Some ladies liked to wash with their own hands 
 their choice china after breakfast or tea. In one 
 of my earliest child's books, a little girl, the 
 daughter of a gentleman, is taught by her mother 
 to make her own bed before leaving her chamber. 
 It was not so much that they had not servants to 
 do all these things for them, as that they took an 
 
A MEMOIE OF JANE AUSTEN 207 
 
 Interest in such occupations. And it must be 
 borne in mind how many sources of interest 
 enjoyed by this generation were then closed, or 
 very scantily opened, to ladies. A very small 
 minority of them cared much for literature or 
 science. Music was not a very common, and draw- 
 ing was a still rarer, accomplishment ; needlework, 
 in some form or other, was their chief sedentary 
 employment. 
 
 But I doubt whether the rising generation are 
 equally aware how much gentlemen also did for 
 themselves in those times, and whether some things 
 that I can mention will not be a surprise to them. 
 Two homely proverbs were held in higher estima- 
 tion in my early days than they are now: "The 
 master's eye makes the horse fat;" and, "If you 
 would be well served, serve yourself." Some gen- 
 tlemen took pleasure in being their own gardeners, 
 performing all the scientific, and some of the man- 
 ual, work themselves. Well-dressed young men 
 of my acquaintance, who had their coat from a 
 London tailor, would always brush their evening 
 suit themselves, rather than intrust it to the care- 
 lessness of a rough servant, and to the risks of dirt 
 and grease in the kitchen; for in those days ser^ 
 vants' halls were not common in the houses of the 
 clergy and the smaller country gentry. It was 
 quite natural that Catherine Morland should have 
 contrasted the magnificence of the oifices at Nor- 
 thanger Abbey with the few shapeless pantries in 
 her father's parsonage. A young man who expected 
 to have his things packed or unpacked for him by 
 a servant, when he travelled, would have been 
 
208 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 thought exceptionally fine, or exceptionally lazy. 
 When my uncle undertook to teach me to shoot, 
 his first lesson was how to clean my own gun. It was 
 thought meritorious 011 the evening of a hunting 
 day, to turn out after dinner, lantern in hand, 
 and visit the stable, to ascertain that the horse had 
 been well cared for. This was of the more impor- 
 tance, because, previous to the introduction of clip- 
 ping, about the year 1820, it was a difficult and 
 tedious work to make a long-coated hunter dry and 
 comfortable, and was often very imperfectly done. 
 Of course, such things were not practised by those 
 who had gamekeepers, and stud-grooms, and plenty 
 of well-trained servants; but they were practised 
 by many who were unequivocally gentlemen, and 
 whose grandsons, occupying the same position in 
 life, may perhaps be astonished at being told that 
 "such things were." 
 
 I have drawn pictures for which my own expe- 
 rience, or what I heard from others in my youth, 
 have supplied the materials. Of course, they cannot 
 be universally applicable. Such details varied in 
 various circles, and were changed very gradually; 
 nor can I pretend to tell how much of what I have 
 said is descriptive of the family life at Steventon in 
 Jane Austen's youth. I am sure that the ladies 
 there had nothing to do with the mysteries of the 
 stew-pot or the preserving-pan ; but it is probable 
 that their way of life differed a little from ours, 
 and would have appeared to us more homely. It 
 may be that useful articles, which would not now 
 be produced in drawing-rooms, were hemmed, and 
 marked, and darned in the old-fashioned parlor. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 209 
 
 But all this concerned only the outer life; there 
 was as much cultivation and refinement of mind as 
 now, with probably more studied courtesy and cere- 
 mony of manner to visitors; whilst certainly in 
 that family literary pursuits were not neglected. 
 
 I remember to have heard of only two little 
 things different from modern customs. One was 
 that on hunting mornings the young men usually 
 took their hasty breakfast in the kitchen. The 
 early hour at which hounds then met may account 
 for this ; and probably the custom began, if it did 
 not end, when they were boys ; for they hunted at 
 an early age, in a scrambling sort of way, upon 
 any pony or donkey that they could procure, or, in 
 default of such luxuries, on foot. I have been told 
 that Sir Francis Austen, when seven years old, 
 bought on his own account, it must be supposed 
 with his father's permission, a pony for a guinea 
 and a half ; and after riding him with great success 
 for two seasons, sold him for a guinea more. One 
 may wonder how the child could have so much 
 money, and how the animal could have been ob- 
 tained for so little. The same authority informs 
 me that his first cloth suit was made from a scarlet 
 habit, which, according to the fashion of the times, 
 had been his mother's usual morning dress. If all 
 this is true, the future Admiral of the British 
 Fleet must have cut a conspicuous figure in the 
 hunting-field. The other peculiarity was that, 
 when the roads were dirty, the sisters took long 
 walks in pattens. This defence against wet and 
 dirt is now seldom seen. The few that remain are 
 banished from good society, and employed only in 
 14 
 
210 A MEMOIK OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 menial work; but a hundred and fifty years ago 
 they were celebrated in poetry, and considered so 
 clever a contrivance that Gay, in his " Trivia," 
 ascribes the invention to a god stimulated by his 
 passion for a mortal damsel, and derives the name 
 Patten "from "Patty." 
 
 " The patten now supports each frugal dame, 
 Which from the blue-eyed Patty takes the name." 
 
 But mortal damsels have long ago discarded the 
 clumsy implement. First it dropped its iron ring 
 and became a clog; afterwards it was fined down 
 into the pliant galoshe, lighter to wear and more 
 effectual to protect, a no less manifest instance 
 of gradual improvement than Cowper indicates 
 when he traces through eighty lines of poetry his 
 "accomplished sofa" back to the original three- 
 legged stool. 
 
 As an illustration of the purposes which a patten 
 was intended to serve, I add the following epigram, 
 written by Jane Austen's uncle, Mr. Leigh Perrot, 
 on reading in a newspaper the marriage of Captain 
 Foote to Miss Patten : 
 
 " Through the rough paths of life, with a patten your guard, 
 
 May you safely and pleasantly jog ; 
 May the knot never slip, nor the ring press too hard, 
 Nor the Foot find the Patten a clog." 
 
 At the time when Jane Austen lived at Steven- 
 ton, a work was carried on in the neighboring cot- 
 tages which ought to be recorded, because it has 
 long ceased to exist. 
 
 Up to the beginning of the present century, poor 
 
A MEMOIE OF JANE AUSTEN. 211 
 
 women found profitable employment in spinning 
 flax or wool. This was a better occupation for 
 them than straw-plaiting, inasmuch as it was 
 carried on at the family hearth, and did not admit 
 of .gadding and gossiping about the village. The 
 implement used was a long, narrow machine of 
 wood, raised on legs, furnished at one end with a 
 large wheel, and at the other with a spindle, on 
 which the flax or wool was loosely wrapped, con- 
 nected together by a loop of string. One hand 
 turned the wheel, while the other formed the 
 thread. The outstretched arms, the advanced foot, 
 the sway of the whole figure backwards and for- 
 wards, produced picturesque attitudes, and dis- 
 played whatever of grace or beauty the work-woman 
 might possess. 1 Some ladies were fond of spin- 
 ning; but they worked in a. quieter manner, sitting 
 at a neat little machine of varnished wood, like 
 Timbridge ware, generally turned by the foot, with 
 a basin of water at hand to supply the moisture re- 
 quired for forming the thread, which the cottager 
 took by a more direct and natural process from her 
 own mouth. I remember two such elegant little 
 wheels in our own family. 
 
 It may be observed that this hand-spinning ia 
 the most primitive of female accomplishments, and 
 can be traced back to the earliest times. Ballad 
 poetry and fairy-tales are full of allusions to it. 
 The term " spinster " still testifies to its hav- 
 ing been the ordinary employment of the Eng- 
 lish young woman. It was the labor assigned to 
 
 1 Mrs. Gaskell, in her tale of " Sylvia's Lovers," declares that 
 this hand-spinning rivalled harp-playing in its gracefulness. 
 
212 A MEMOIK OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 the ejected nuns by the rough earl who said, " Go 
 spin, ye jades, go spin. 7 ' It was the employment 
 at which Roman matrons and Grecian princesses 
 presided amongst their handmaids. Heathen my- 
 thology celebrated it in three Fates spinning and 
 measuring out the thread of human life. Holy 
 Scripture honors it in those " wise-hearted women " 
 who " did spin with their hands, and brought that 
 which they had spun " for the construction of the 
 Tabernacle in the wilderness ; and an old English 
 proverb carries it still farther back to the time 
 "when Adam delved and Eve span." But, at 
 last, this time-honored domestic manufacture is 
 quite extinct amongst us, crushed by the power 
 of steam, overborne by a countless host of spinning- 
 jennies, and I can only just remember some of 
 its last struggles for existence in the Steventon 
 cottages. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 21$ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EARLY COMPOSITIONS FRIENDS AT ASHE AVERT OLD 
 LETTER LINES ON THE DBATH OF Mrs. LEFROY 
 OBSERVATIONS ON JANE AUSTEN'S LETTER-WRITING -* 
 LETTERS. 
 
 I KNOW little of Jane Austen's childhood. Her 
 mother followed a custom, not unusual in those 
 days, though it seems strange to us, of putting out 
 her babies to be nursed in a cottage in the village. 
 The infant was daily visited by one or both of its 
 parents, and frequently brought to them at the 
 parsonage ; but the cottage was its home, and must 
 have remained so till it was old enough to run 
 about and talk; for I know that one of them, in 
 after life, used to speak of his foster-mother as 
 " Movie," the name by which he had called her 
 in his infancy. It may be that the contrast be- 
 tween the parsonage house and the best class of 
 cottages was not quite so extreme then as it would 
 be now, that the one was somewhat less luxurious, 
 and the other less squalid. It would certainly 
 seem from the results that it was a wholesome and 
 invigorating system; for the children were all 
 strong and healthy. Jane was probably treated 
 like the rest in this respect. In childhood every 
 available opportunity of instruction was made use 
 of. According to the ideas of the time, she was 
 
214 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 well educated, though not highly accomplished, 
 and she certainly enjoyed that important element 
 of mental training, associating at home with per- 
 sons of cultivated intellect. It cannot he doubted 
 that her early years were bright and happy, liv- 
 ing as she did with indulgent parents, in a cheerful 
 home, not without agreeable variety of society. To 
 these sources of enjoyment must be added the first 
 stirrings of talent within her, and the absorbing in- 
 terest of original composition. It is impossible to 
 say at how an early age she began to write. There 
 are copy-books extant containing tales, some of 
 which must have been composed while she was a 
 young girl, as they had amounted to a considerable 
 number by the time she was sixteen. Her earli- 
 est stories are of a slight and flimsy texture, and 
 are generally intended to be nonsensical; but the 
 nonsense has much spirit in it. They are usually 
 preceded by a dedication of mock solemnity to 
 some one of her family. It would seem that the 
 grandiloquent dedications prevalent in those days 
 had not escaped her youthful penetration. Per- 
 haps the most characteristic feature in these early 
 productions is that, however puerile the matter, 
 they are always composed in pure simple English, 
 quite free from the over-ornamented style which 
 might be expected from so young a writer. One 
 of her juvenile effusions is given as a specimen 
 of the kind of transitory amusement which Jane 
 was continually supplying to the family party. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 215 
 
 THE MYSTEEY. 
 
 AN UNFINISHED COMEDY. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 To THE REV. GEORGE AUSTEN. 
 
 SIR, I humbly solicit your patronage to the following 
 Comedy, which, though an unfinished one, is, I flatter 
 myself, as complete a Mystery as any of its kind. 
 I am, Sir, your most humble Servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 THE MYSTEEY; A COMEDY. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Men. 
 
 COL ELLIOTT. 
 OLD HUMBUG. 
 YOUNG HUMBUG. 
 SIR EDWARD SPANGLE, 
 and 
 
 COBYDON. 
 
 Women. 
 
 FANNY ELLIOTT. 
 MRS. HUMBUG, 
 
 and 
 DAPHNE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A Garden. 
 
 Enter COKYDON. 
 
 Corydon. But hush : I am interrupted. [Exit 
 CORYDON. 
 
216 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 Enter OLD HUMBUG and hit SON, talking. 
 
 Old Hum. It is for that reason that 1 wish you to fol- 
 low my advice. Are you convinced of its propriety ? 
 
 Young Hum. 1 am, sir, and will certainly act in the 
 manner you have pointed out to me. 
 
 Old Hum. Then let us return to the house. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A parlor in HUMBUG'S house. Mrs. 
 HUMBUG and FANNY discovered at work. 
 
 Mrs. Hum. You understand me, my love ? 
 
 Fanny. Perfectly, ma'am; pray continue your 
 narration. 
 
 Mrs. Hum. Alas ! it is nearly concluded ; for I have 
 nothing more to say on the subject. 
 
 Fanny. Ah, here is Daphne. 
 
 Enter DAPHNE. 
 
 Daphne. My dear Mrs. Humbug, how d* ye do ? Oh, 
 Fanny ! it is all over. 
 
 Fanny. Is it indeed? 
 
 Mrs. Hum. I'm very sorry to hear it. 
 
 Fanny. Then 't was to no purpose that I 
 
 Daphne. None upon earth. 
 
 Mrs. Hum. And what is to become of ? 
 
 Daphne. Oh I 'tis all settled. [Whispers Mrs. 
 HUMBUG.] 
 
 Fanny. And how is it determined ? 
 
 Daphne. I'll tell you. [Whispers FANNY.] 
 
 Mrs. Hum. And is he to ? 
 
 I ^a/tine. I '11 tell you all I know of the matter. [ Whis, 
 ptrx Mrs. HUMBUG and FANNY.] 
 
 Fanny. Well, now I know everything about it, I '11 go 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Hum. I 
 
 Daphne. I And 9 ^ L [Exeunt. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 217 
 
 SCENE Til. The curtain rises, and discovers Sir 
 EDWARD SPANGLE reclined in an elegant attitude on a 
 sofa, fast asleep. 
 
 Enter Col. ELLIOTT. 
 
 Col E. My daughter is not here, I see. There lies 
 Sir Edward. Shall I tell him the secret? No, he'll 
 certainly blab it. But he 's asleep, and won't hear me ; 
 so I '11 e'en venture. [Goes up to Sir EDWARD, whispers 
 him, and exit. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT. 
 FINIS. 
 
 Her own mature opinion of the desirableness of 
 such an early habit of composition is given in the 
 following words of a niece : 
 
 "As I grew older, my aunt would talk to me 
 more seriously of my reading and my amusements. 
 I had taken early to writing verses and stories, 
 and I am sorry to think how I troubled her with 
 reading them. She was very kind about it, and 
 always had some praise to bestow; but at last she 
 warned me against spending too much time upon 
 them. She said how well I recollect it ! that 
 she knew writing stories was a great amusement, 
 and she thought a harmless one, though many peo- 
 ple, she was aware, thought otherwise; but that at 
 my age it would be bad for me to be much taken 
 up with my own compositions. Later still it 
 was after she had gone to Winchester she sent 
 me a message to this effect, that if I would take 
 her advice, I should cease writing till I was six- 
 teen; that she had herself often wished she had 
 read more and written less in the corresponding 
 
218 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 years of her own life " As this niece was only 
 twelve years old at the time of her aunt's death, 
 these words seem to imply that the juvenile tales 
 to which I have referred had, some of them at 
 least, been written in her childhood. 
 
 But between these childish effusions and the 
 composition of her living works there intervened 
 another stage of her progress, during which she 
 produced some stories, not without merit, but 
 which she never considered worthy of publication. 
 During this preparatory period her mind seems to 
 have been working in a very different direction 
 from that into which it ultimately settled. In- 
 stead of presenting faithful copies of nature, these 
 tales were generally burlesques, ridiculing the im- 
 probable events and exaggerated sentiments which 
 she had met with in sundry silly romances. Some- 
 thing of this fancy is to be found in "Northanger 
 Abbey ;" but she soon left it far behind in her sub- 
 sequent course. It would seem as if she were first 
 taking note of all the faults to be avoided, and curi- 
 ously considering how she ought not to write before 
 she attempted to put forth her strength in the 
 right direction. The family have, rightly, I think, 
 declined to let these early works be published. 
 Mr. Shortreed observed very pithily of Walter 
 Scott's early rambles on the borders, "He was 
 makin' himsell a' the time; but he didna ken, 
 may be, what he was about till years had passed. 
 At first he thought of little, I dare say, but the 
 queerness and the fun." And so, in a humbler 
 way. Jane Austen was "makin' hersell, " little 
 thinking of future fame, but caring only for "the 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 219 
 
 queerness and the fun; " and it would be as unfair 
 to expose this preliminary process to the world as 
 it would be to display all that goes on behind the 
 curtain of the theatre before it is drawn up. 
 
 It was, however, at Steventon that the real 
 foundations of her fame were laid. There some of 
 her most successful writing was composed, at such 
 an early age as to make it surprising that so young 
 a woman could have acquired the insight into 
 character and the nice observation of manners 
 which they display. " Pride and Prejudice, " 
 which some consider the most brilliant of her 
 novels, was the first finished, if not the first begun. 
 She began it in October, 1796, before she was 
 twenty-one years old, and completed it in about 
 ten months, in August, 1797. The title then in- 
 tended for it was " First Impressions." " Sense 
 and Sensibility" was begun, in its present form, 
 immediate!}- after the completion of the former, in 
 November, 1797; but something similar in story 
 and character had been written earlier under the 
 title of " Elinor and Marianne; 7 ' and if, as is 
 probable, a good deal of this earlier production was 
 retained, it must form the earliest specimen of her 
 writing that has been given to the world. " Kor- 
 thanger Abbey," though not prepared for the press 
 till 1803, was certainly first composed in 1798. 
 
 Amongst the most valuable neighbors of the 
 Austens were Mr. and Mrs. Lefroy and their 
 family. He was rector of the adjoining parish of 
 Ashe; she was sister to Sir Egerton Brydges, to 
 whom we are indebted for the earliest notice of 
 Jane Austen that exists. In his autobiography, 
 
220 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 speaking of his visits at Ashe, he writes thus; 
 4 ' The nearest neighbors of the Lef roys were the 
 Austens of Steventon. I remember Jane Austen, 
 the novelist, as a little child. She was very inti- 
 mate with Mrs. Lefroy, and much encouraged by 
 her. Her mother was a Miss Leigh, whose pater- 
 nal grandmother was sister to the first Duke of 
 Chandos. Mr. Austen was of a Kentish family, 
 of which several branches have been settled in the 
 Weald of Kent, and some are still remaining 
 there. When I knew Jane Austen, I never sus- 
 pected that she was an authoress; but my eyes 
 told me that she was fair and handsome, slight 
 and elegant, but with cheeks a little too full.'* 
 One may wish that Sir Egerton had dwelt rather 
 longer on the subject of these memoirs, instead of 
 being drawn away by his extreme love for genealo- 
 gies to her great-grandmother and ancestors. That 
 great-grandmother, however, lives in the family 
 records as Mary Brydges, a daughter of Lord 
 Cbandos, married in Westminster Abbey to The- 
 ophilus Leigh of Addlestrop in 1698. When a 
 girl she had received a curious letter of advice and 
 reproof, written by her mother from Constanti- 
 nople. Mary, or "Poll," was remaining in Eng- 
 land with her grandmother, Lady Bernard, who 
 seems to have been wealthy and inclined to be too 
 indulgent to her granddaughter. This letter is 
 given. Any such authentic document, two hun- 
 dred years old, dealing with domestic details, must 
 possess some interest. This is remarkable, not 
 only as a specimen of the homely language in 
 which ladies of rank then expressed themselves, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 221 
 
 but from the sound sense which it contains. 
 Forms of expression vary; but good sense and 
 right principles are the same in the nineteenth 
 that they were in the seventeenth century. 
 
 My DEARES POLL, Y r letters by Cousin 
 Bobbert Serle arrived here not before the 27 th of 
 Aprill, yett were they hartily wellcome to us, 
 bringing y e joyful news which a great while we 
 had longed for of my most dear Mother & all other 
 relations & friends good health which I beseech 
 God continue to you all, & as I observe in y rs to 
 y r Sister Betty y e extraordinary kindness of (as I 
 may truly say) the best Moth 1 & G nd Moth r in the 
 world in pinching herself to make you fine, so I 
 cannot but admire her great good Housewifry in 
 affording you so very plentifull an allowance, & 
 yett to increase her Stock at the rate I find she 
 hath done; & think I can never sufficiently mind 
 you how very much it is y r duty on all occasions 
 to pay her y r gratitude in all humble submission 
 & obedience to all her commands soe long as you 
 live. I must tell you 't is to her bounty & care in 
 y e greatest measure you are like to owe y r well 
 living in this world, & as you cannot be very sen- 
 sible you are an extraordinary charge to her so it 
 behoves you to take particular heed th* in y* whole 
 course of y r life, you render her a proportionable 
 comfort, especially since 't is y e best way you can 
 ever hope to make her such amends as God requires 
 of y* hands. But Poll! it grieves me a little & 
 y* I am forced to take notice of & reprove you 
 for some vai'ne expressions in y r lett" to y r Sister 
 
222 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 you say concerning y r allowance "you aime to 
 bring y r bread & cheese even " in this I do not 
 discommend you, for a foule shame indeed it 
 would be should you out run the Constable having 
 soe liberall a provision made you for y r mainte- 
 nance but y reason you give for y r resolution I 
 cannot at all approve for you say "to spend more 
 you can't " thats because you have it not to spend, 
 otherwise it seems you would. So y* 't is y r Grand- 
 moth 1 " 8 discretion & not yours th* keeps you from 
 extravagancy, which plainly appears in y e close of 
 y r sentence, saying y* you think it simple covet- 
 ousness to save out of y rs but J t is my opinion if 
 you lay all on y r back ? t is ten tymes a greater sin 
 & shame th n to save some what out of soe large an 
 allowance in y r purse to help you at a dead lift. 
 Child, we all know our beginning, but who knows 
 his end? Y e best use th* can be made of fair 
 weath r is to provide against foule & 't is great dis- 
 cretion & of noe small commendations for a young 
 woman betymes to shew herself housewifly & frugal. 
 Y r Mother neither Maide nor wife ever yett be- 
 stowed forty pounds a yeare on herself & yett if 
 you never fall und r a worse reputation in y e world 
 tli u she (I thank God for it) hath hitherto done, 
 you need not repine at it, & you cannot be igno- 
 rant of y e difference th* was between my fortune 
 what you are to expect. You ought likewise to 
 consider th 1 you have seven brothers sisters & 
 you are all one man's children & therefore it is 
 very unreasonable that one should expect to be 
 preferred in finery soe much above all y e rest for 
 His impossible you should soe much mistake 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 223 
 
 y r ffather's condition as to fancy he is able to 
 allow every one of you forty pounds a yeare a 
 piece, for such an allowance with the charge of 
 their diett over and above will amount to at least 
 five hundred pounds a yeare, a sum y r poor ffather 
 can ill spare, besides doe but bethink y r self what a 
 ridiculous sight it will be when y r grandmoth 1 & 
 you come to us to have noe less th n seven waiting 
 gentlewomen in one house, for what reason can 
 you give why every one of y r Sist r8 should not have 
 every one of y m a Maide as well as you, & though 
 you may spare to pay y r maide's wages out of 
 y r allowance yett you take no care of y e unneces- 
 sary charge you put y r ffath r to in y r increase of 
 his family, whereas if it were not a piece of pride 
 to have y e name of keeping y r maide she y* waits 
 on y r good Grandmother might easily doe as for- 
 merly you know she hath done, all y e business you 
 have for a maide unless as you grow old r you grow 
 a veryer Foole which God forbid ! 
 
 Poll, you live in a place where you see great 
 plenty & splendor, but let not y e allurements of 
 earthly pleasures tempt you to forget or neglect 
 y e duty of a good Christian in dressing y r bett r part 
 which is y r soule, as will best please God. I am 
 not against y r going decent & neate as becomes 
 y r ffathers daughter but to clothe y r self rich be 
 running into every gaudy fashion can never be- 
 come y r circumstances & instead of doing you 
 creditt & getting you a good prefer nt it is y e readi- 
 est way you can take to fright all sober men from 
 ever thinking of matching th m selves with women 
 
224 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 that live above thy r fortune, & if this be a wise 
 way of spending money judge you ! & besides, doe 
 but reflect what an od sight it will be to a stranger 
 that conies to our house to see y r Grandmoth r 
 y r Moth r & all y r Sisters in a plane dress & you 
 only trick d up like a bartlemewbabby you know 
 what sort of people those are th* can't faire well 
 but they must cry rost meate now what effect 
 could you imagine y r writing in such a high 
 straine to y r Sisters could have but eithe' to pro- 
 voke th m to envy you or murmur against us. I 
 must tell you neith' of y r Sisters have ever had 
 twenty pounds a yeare allowance from us yett, & 
 yett they* dress hath not disparaged neith r th m nor 
 us & without incurring y e censure of simple covet- 
 ousness they will have some what to shew out of 
 their saving that will doe th m creditt & I expect 
 y* you th* are theyr elder Sister sh d rather sett 
 th m examples of y e like nature th n tempt th* 1 from 
 treading in y e steps of their good Grandmoth* & 
 poor Moth r . This is not half what might be saide 
 on this occasion but believing thee to be a very 
 good natured dutyfull child I sh di have thought it 
 a great deal too much but y 1 having in my coming 
 hither past through many most desperate dangers 
 I cannot forbear thinking & preparing myself for 
 all events, & therefore not knowing how it may 
 please God to dispose of us I conclude it my duty 
 to God & thee my d r child to lay this matter as 
 home to thee as I could, assuring you my daily 
 prayers are not nor shall not be wanting that God 
 may give you grace always to remember to make a 
 right use of this truly affectionate counsell of 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 225 
 
 y r poor Moth r . & though I speak very plaine down- 
 right english to you yett I would not have you 
 doubt but that I love you as hartily as any child 
 I have & if you serve God and take good courses I 
 promise you my kindness to you shall be accord- 
 ing to y* own hart's desire, for you may be certain 
 I can aime at nothing in what I have now writ 
 but y r real good which to promote shall be y e study 
 & care day & night 
 
 Of my dear Poll 
 thy truly affectionate Moth r . 
 
 ELIZA CHANDOS. 
 Pera of Galata, May y e 6th 1686. 
 
 P. S. Thy ffath' & I send thee our blessing, 
 & all thy broth & sist" they' service. Our harty 
 & affectionate service to my broth 1 & sist r Childe & 
 all my dear cozens. When you see my Lady 
 Worster & cozen Rowlands pray present th m my 
 most humble service. 
 
 This letter shows that the wealth acquired by 
 trade was already manifesting itself in contrast 
 with the straitened circumstances of some of the 
 nobility. Mary Brydges's "poor ffather," in 
 whose household economy was necessary, was the 
 King of England's ambassador at Constantinople; 
 the grandmother, who lived in " great plenty and 
 splendor," was the widow of a Turkey merchant. 
 But then, as now, it would seem, rank had the 
 power of attracting and absorbing wealth. 
 
 At Ashe also Jane became acquainted with a 
 member of the Lefroy family, who was still living 
 when I began these memoirs, a few months ago; 
 15 
 
226 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 the Eight Hon. Thomas Lefroy, late Chief Justice 
 of Ireland. One must look back more than seventy 
 years to reach the time when these two bright 
 young persons were, for a short time, intimately 
 acquainted with each other, and then separated on 
 their several courses, never to meet again ; both des- 
 tined to attain some distinction in their different 
 ways, one to survive the other for more than half 
 a century, yet in his extreme old age to remember 
 and speak, as he sometimes did, of his former com- 
 panion as one to be much admired, and not easily 
 forgotten by those who had ever known her. 
 
 Mrs. Lefroy herself was a remarkable person. 
 Her rare endowments of goodness, talents, grace- 
 ful person, and engaging manners, were sufficient 
 to secure her a prominent place in any society into 
 which she was thrown; while her enthusiastic 
 eagerness of disposition rendered her especially 
 attractive to a clever and lively girl. She was 
 killed by a fall from her horse on Jane's birthday, 
 Dec. 16, 1804. The following lines to her memory 
 were written by Jane four years afterwards, when 
 she was thirty-three years old. They are given, 
 not for their merits as poetry, but to show how 
 deep and lasting was the impression made by the 
 elder friend on the mind of the younger : 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. LEFROY. 
 1. 
 
 The day returns again, my natal day ; 
 
 What mix'd emotions in mj mind arise ! 
 Beloved Friend ; four years have passed away 
 
 Since thou wert snatched for ever from our eyes. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 227 
 
 2. 
 
 The day commemorative of my birth, 
 Bestowing life and light and hope to me, 
 
 Brings back the hour which was thy last on earth. 
 Oh, bitter pang of torturing memory ! 
 
 3. 
 Angelic woman ! past my power to praise 
 
 In language meet thy talents, temper, mind, 
 Thy solid worth, thy captivating grace, 
 
 Thou friend and ornament of human kind. 
 
 4. 
 But come, fond Fancy, thou indulgent power ; 
 
 Hope is desponding, chill, severe, to thee : 
 Bless thou this little portion of an hour ; 
 
 Let me behold her as she used to be. 
 
 5. 
 I see her here with all her smiles benign, 
 
 Her looks of eager love, her accents sweet, 
 That voice and countenance almost divine, 
 
 Expression, harmony, alike complete. 
 
 6. 
 Listen ! It is not sound alone, J t is sense, 
 
 'T is genius, taste, and tenderness of soul : 
 'T is genuine warmth of heart without pretence, 
 
 And purity of mind that crowns the whole. 
 
 7. 
 She speaks ! 'T is eloquence, that grace of tongue, 
 
 So rare, so lovely, never misapplied 
 By her, to palliate vice, or deck a wrong : 
 
 She speaks and argues but on virtue's side. 
 
 8. 
 
 Hers is the energy of soul sincere : 
 Her Christian spirit, ignorant to feign, 
 
228 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 Seeks but to comfort, heal, enlighten, cheer, 
 Confer a pleasure or prevent a pain. 
 
 9. 
 Can aught enhance such goodness '* yes, to me 
 
 Her partial favor from my earliest years 
 Consummates all : ah, give me but to see 
 
 Her smile of love ! The vision disappears. 
 
 10. 
 
 Tis past and gone. We meet no more below. 
 
 Short is the cheat of Fancy o'er the tomb. 
 Oh, might I hope to equal bliss to go, 
 
 To meet thee, angel, in thy future home ! 
 
 11. 
 
 Fain would I feel an union with thy fate : 
 Fain would I seek to draw an omen fair 
 
 From this connection in our earthly date. 
 
 Indulge the harmless weakness. Reason, spare. 
 
 The loss of their first home is generally a great 
 grief to young persons of strong feeling and lively 
 imagination j and Jane was exceedingly unhappy 
 when she was told that her father, now seventy 
 years of age, had determined to resign his duties 
 to his eldest son, who was to be his successor in 
 the rectory of Steventon, and to remove with his 
 wife and daughters to Bath. Jane had been absent 
 from home when this resolution was taken; and, 
 as her father was always rapid both in forming his 
 resolutions and in acting on them, she had little 
 time to reconcile herself to the change. 
 
 A wish has sometimes been expressed that some 
 of Jane Austen's letters should be published. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 229 
 
 Some entire letters, and many extracts, will be 
 given in this Memoir; but the reader must be 
 warned not to expect too much from them. With 
 regard to accuracy of language, indeed every word 
 of them might be printed without correction. The 
 style is always clear, and generally animated, 
 while a vein of humor continually gleams through 
 the whole; but the materials may be thought 
 inferior to the execution, for they treat only of the 
 details of domestic life. There is in them no 
 notice of politics or public events; scarcely any 
 discussions on literature, or other subjects of 
 general interest. They may be said to resemble 
 the nest which some little bird builds of the 
 materials nearest at hand, of the twigs and mosses 
 supplied by the tree in which it is placed, curi- 
 ously constructed out of the simplest matters. 
 
 Her letters have very seldom the date of the 
 year, or the signature of her Christian name at full 
 length ; but it has been easy to ascertain their dates, 
 either from the post-mark or from their contents. 
 
 The two following letters are the earliest that I 
 have seen. They were both written in November, 
 1800, before the family removed from Steventon. 
 Some of the same circumstances are referred to in 
 both. 
 
 The first is to her sister Cassandra, who was 
 then staying with their brother Edward at Godmer- 
 sham Park, Kent : 
 
 STEVENTON, Saturday evening, Nov. 8th. 
 MY DEAR CASSANDRA, I thank you for so 
 speedy a return to my two last, and particularly 
 
230 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 thank you for your anecdote of Charlotte Graham 
 and her cousin, Harriet Bailey, which has very 
 much amused both my mother and myself. If you 
 can learn anything farther of that interesting 
 affair, I hope you will mention it. I have two 
 messages; let me get rid of them, and then my 
 paper will be my own. Mary fully intended 
 writing to you by Mr. Chute's frank, and only 
 happened entirely to forget it, but will write soon ; 
 and my father wishes Edward to send him a 
 memorandum of the price of the hops. The tables 
 are come, and give general contentment. I had 
 not expected that they would so perfectly suit the 
 fancy of us all three, or that we should so well 
 agree in the disposition of them; but nothing 
 except their own surface can have been smoother. 
 The two ends put together form one constant table 
 for everything, and the centrepiece stands exceed- 
 ingly well under the glass, and holds a great deal 
 most commodiously, without looking awkwardly. 
 They are both covered with green baize, and send 
 their best love. The Pembroke has got its desti- 
 nation by the sideboard, and my mother has great 
 delight in keeping her money and papers locked 
 up. The little table which used to stand there has 
 most conveniently taken itself off into the best bed- 
 room ; and we are now in want only of the chiffon- 
 niere, is neither finished nor come. So much for 
 that subject; I now come to another, of a very 
 different nature, as other subjects are very apt to 
 be. Earle Harwood has been again giving uneasi- 
 ness to his family and talk to the neighborhood : in 
 the present instance, however, he is only unfortu- 
 nate, and not in fault. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 231 
 
 About ten days ago, in cocking a pistol in the 
 guard-room at Marcau, he accidentally shot him- 
 self through the thigh. Two young Scotch sur- 
 geons in the island were polite enough to propose 
 taking off the thigh at once, but to that he would 
 not consent ; and accordingly in his wounded state 
 was put on board a cutter and conveyed to Haslar 
 Hospital, at Gosport, where the bullet was ex- 
 tracted, and where he now is, I hope, in a fair way of 
 doing well. The surgeon of the hospital wrote to 
 the family on the occasion, and John Harwood 
 went down to him immediately, attended by James, 1 
 whose object in going was to be the means of 
 bringing back the earliest intelligence to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Harwood, whose anxious sufferings, particu- 
 larly those of the latter, have of course been dread- 
 ful. They went down on Tuesday, and James 
 came back the next day, bringing such favorable 
 accounts as greatly to lessen the distress of the 
 family at Deane, though it will probably be a long 
 while before Mrs. Harwood can be quite at ease. 
 One most material comfort, however, they have, 
 the assurance of its being really an accidental 
 wound, which is not only positively declared by 
 Earle himself, but is likewise testified by the 
 particular direction of the bullet. Such a wound 
 could not have been received in a duel. At present 
 he is going on very well, but the surgeon will not 
 declare him to be in no danger. 2 Mr. Heathcote 
 met with a genteel little accident the other day in 
 hunting. He got off to lead his horse over a 
 
 1 James, the writer's eldest brother. 
 
 2 The limb was saved. 
 
232 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 hedge, or a house, or something, and his horse in 
 his haste trod upon his leg, or rather ankle, I 
 believe, and it is not certain whether the small 
 bone is not broke. Martha has accepted Mary's 
 invitation for Lord Portsmouth's ball. He has 
 not yet sent out his own invitations, but that does 
 not signify; Martha comes, and a ball there is to 
 be. I think it will be too early in her mother's 
 absence for me to return with her. 
 
 Sunday Evening. We have had a dread- 
 ful storm of wind in the fore part of this day, 
 which has done a great deal of mischief among our 
 trees. I was sitting alone in the dining-room 
 when an odd kind of crash startled me; in a 
 moment afterwards it was repeated. I then went 
 to the window, which I reached just in time to see 
 the last of our two highly valued elms descend into 
 the Sweep ! ! ! ! ! The other, which had fallen, I 
 suppose, in the first crash and which was the nearest 
 to the pond, taking a more easterly direction, sunk 
 among our screen of chestnuts and firs, knocking 
 down one spruce-fir, beating off the head of 
 another, and stripping the two corner chestnuts 
 of several branches in its fall. This is not all. 
 One large elm, out of the two on the left-hand aide 
 as you enter what I call the elm-walk, was likewise 
 blown down; the maple bearing the weathercock 
 was broke in two; and what I regret more than all 
 the rest is, that all the three elms which grew in 
 Hall's meadow, and gave such ornament to it, are 
 gone; two were blown down, and the other so 
 much injured that it cannot stand. I am happy 
 to add, however, that no greater evil than the 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 233 
 
 loss of trees has been the consequence of the 
 storm in this place, or in our immediate neighbor- 
 hood. We grieve, therefore, in some comfort. 
 
 I am yours ever, J. A. 
 
 The next letter, written four days later than the 
 former, was addressed to Miss Lloyd, an intimate 
 friend, whose sister (my mother) was married to 
 Jane's eldest brother: 
 
 STEVENTON, Wednesday evening, Nov. 12th. 
 MY DEAR MARTHA, I did not receive your 
 note yesterday till after Charlotte had left Deane, 
 or I would have sent my answer by her, instead of 
 being the means, as I now must be, of lessening 
 the elegance of your new dress for the Hurstbourne 
 ball by the value of 3d. You are very good in 
 wishing to see me at Ibthorp so soon, and I am 
 equally good in wishing to come to you. I believe 
 our merit in that respect is much upon a par, our 
 self-denial mutually strong. Having paid this 
 tribute of praise to the virtue of both, I shall here 
 have done with panegyric, and proceed to plain mat- 
 ter of fact. In about a fortnight's time I hope to be 
 with you. I have two reasons for not being able 
 to come before. I wish so to arrange my visit as 
 to spend some days with you after your mother's 
 return. In the 1st place, that I may have the 
 pleasure of seeing her, and in the 2nd, that I may 
 have a better chance of bringing you back with me. 
 Your promise in my favor was not quite absolute ; 
 but if your will is not perverse, you and I will do 
 all in our power to overcome your scruples of con- 
 
234 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 science. I hope we shall meet next week to talk 
 all this over, till we have tired ourselves with the 
 very idea of my visit hefore my visit begins. Our 
 invitations for the 19th are arrived, and very curi- 
 ously are they worded. 1 Mary mentioned to you yes- 
 terday poor Earle's unfortunate accident, I dare say. 
 He does not seem to be going on very well. The 
 two or three last posts have brought less and less 
 favorable accounts of him. John Harwood has 
 gone to Gosport again to-day. We have two fami- 
 lies of friends now who are in a most anxious state ; 
 for though by a note from Catherine this morning 
 there seems now to be a revival of hope at Many- 
 down, its continuance may be too reasonably 
 doubted. Mr. Heathcote, 2 however, who has 
 broken the small bone of his leg, is so good as to 
 be going on very well. It would be really too 
 much to have three people to care for. 
 
 You distress me cruelly by your request about 
 books. I cannot think of any to bring with me, 
 nor have I any idea of our wanting them. I come 
 to you to be talked to, not to read or hear reading; 
 I can do that at home ; and indeed I am now lay- 
 ing in a stock of intelligence to pour out on you as 
 
 1 The invitation, the ball dress, and some other things in 
 this and the preceding letter refer to a ball annually given at 
 Hurstbourne Park, on the anniversary of the Earl of Ports- 
 mouth's marriage with his first wife. He was the Lord Ports- 
 mouth whose eccentricities afterwards became notorious ; and 
 the invitations, as well as other arrangements about these 
 balls, were of a peculiar character. 
 
 * The father of Sir William Heathcote, of Hursley, who 
 was married to a daughter of Mr. Bigg Wither, of Manydowii. 
 and lived in the neighborhood. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 235 
 
 my share of the conversation. I am reading 
 Henry's History of England, which I will repeat to 
 you in any manner you may prefer, either in a loose, 
 desultory, unconnected stream, or dividing my re- 
 cital, as the historian divides it himself, into seven 
 parts: The Civil and Military; Religion; Con- 
 stitution ; Learning and Learned Men ; Arts and 
 Sciences; Commerce, Coins, and Shipping; and 
 Manners. So that for every evening in the week 
 there will be a different suhject. The Friday's lot 
 Commerce, Coins, and Shipping you will find 
 the least entertaining; but the next evening's por- 
 tion will make amends. With such a provision on 
 my part, if you will do yours by repeating the 
 French Grammar, and Mrs. Stent l will now and 
 then ejaculate some wonder about the cocks and 
 hens, what can we want? Farewell for a short 
 time. We all unite in best love, and I am your 
 very affectionate 
 
 J. A. 
 
 The two next letters must have been written 
 early in 1801, after the removal from Steventon had 
 been decided on, but before it had taken place. 
 They refer to the two brothers who were at sea, 
 and give some idea of a kind of anxieties and un- 
 certainties to which sisters are seldom subject in 
 these days of peace, steamers, and electric tele- 
 graphs. At that time ships were often windbound 
 or becalmed, or driven wide of their destination; 
 and sometimes they had orders to alter their course 
 for some secret service; not to mention the chance 
 of conflict with a vessel of superior power, no im- 
 
 1 A very dull old lady, then residing with Mrs. Lloyd. 
 
236 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 probable occurrence before the battle of Trafalgar. 
 Information about relatives on board men-of-war 
 was scarce and scanty, and often picked up by hear- 
 say or chance means; and every scrap of intelli- 
 gence was proportionably valuable: - 
 
 MY DEAR CASSANDRA, I should not have 
 thought it necessary to write to you so soon, but for 
 the arrival of a letter from Charles to myself. It 
 was written last Saturday from off the " Start," and 
 conveyed to Popham Lane by Captain Boyle on his 
 way to Midgham. He came from Lisbon in the 
 "Endymion." I will copy Charles's account of 
 his conjectures about Frank: "He has not seen 
 my brother lately, nor does he expect to find him 
 arrived, as he met Captain Inglis at Rhodes, going 
 up to take command of the ' Petrel, ' as he was com- 
 ing down; but supposes he will arrive in less than 
 a fortnight from this time, in some ship which is 
 expected to reach England about that time with 
 despatches from Sir Ralph Abercrombie. " The 
 event must show what sort of a conjuror Captain 
 Boyle is. The " Endymion " has not been plagued 
 with any more prizes. Charles spent three pleasant 
 days in Lisbon. 
 
 They were very well satisfied with their royal 
 passenger, 1 whom they found jolly and affable, 
 who talks of Lady Augusta as his wife, and seems 
 much attached to her. 
 
 When this letter was written, the "Endy- 
 mion " was becalmed, but Charles hoped to reach 
 
 1 The Duke of Sussex, son of George III., married, with- 
 out royal consent, to the Lady Augusta Murray. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 237 
 
 Portsmouth by Monday or Tuesday. He received 
 my letter, communicating our plans, before he 
 left England; was much surprised, of course, but 
 is quite reconciled to them, and means to come to 
 Steventon once more while Steventon is ours. 
 
 From a letter written later in the same year : 
 
 ' l Charles has received 301. for his share of the 
 privateer, and expects 10Z. more; but of what 
 avail is it to take prizes if he lays out the produce 
 in presents to his sisters? He has been buying 
 gold chains and topaz crosses for us. He must be 
 well scolded. The ' Endymion ' has already re- 
 ceived orders for taking troops to Egypt, which I 
 should not like at all if I did not trust to Charles 
 being removed from her somehow or other before 
 she sails. He knows nothing of his own destina- 
 tion, he says, but desires me to write directly, as 
 the ' Endymion ' will probably sail in three or 
 four days. He will receive my yesterday's letter, 
 and I shall write again by this post to thank and 
 reproach him. We shall be unbearably fine. " 
 
238 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 REMOVAL FROM STEVENTON RESIDENCES AT BATH AND 
 AT SOUTHAMPTON SETTLING AT CHAWTON. 
 
 THE family removed to Bath in the spring of 
 1801, where they resided, first at No. 4 Sydney 
 Terrace, and afterwards in Green Park Buildings. 
 I do not know whether they were at all attracted 
 to Bath by the circumstance that Mrs. Austen's 
 only brother, Mr. Leigh Perrot, spent part of 
 every year there. The name of Perrot, together 
 with a small estate at Northleigh in Oxfordshire, 
 had been bequeathed to him by a great-uncle. I 
 must devote a few sentences to this very old and 
 now extinct branch of the Perrot family ; for one 
 of the last survivors, Jane Perrot, married to a 
 Walker, was Jane Austen's great-grandmother, from 
 whom she derived her Christian name. The Per- 
 rots were settled in Pembrokeshire, at least as early 
 as the thirteenth century. They were probably 
 some of the settlers whom the policy of our Planta- 
 genet kings placed in that county, which thence 
 acquired the name of "England beyond Wales," 
 for the double purpose of keeping open a communi- 
 cation with Ireland from Milford Haven, and of 
 overawing the Welsh. One of the family seems 
 to have carried out this latter purpose very vigor- 
 ously; for it is recorded of him that he slew 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 239 
 
 twenty-six men of Kemaes, a district of Wales, 
 and one wolf. The manner in which the two 
 kinds of game are classed together, and the dis- 
 proportion of numbers, are remarkable; but proba- 
 bly at that time the wolves had been so closely 
 killed down, that lupicide was become a more rare 
 and distinguished exploit than homicide. The 
 last of this family died about 1778, and their 
 property was divided between Leighs and Mus- 
 graves, the larger portion going to the latter. 
 Mr. Leigh Perrot pulled down the mansion, and 
 sold the estate to the Duke of Marlborough ; and 
 the name of these Perrots is now to be found only 
 on some monuments in the church of Northleigh. 
 
 Mr. Leigh Perrot was also one of several cousins 
 to whom a life interest in the Stoneleigh property 
 in Warwickshire was left, after the extinction of 
 the earlier Leigh peerage ; but he compromised his 
 claim to the succession in his lifetime. He mar- 
 ried a niece of Sir Montague Cholmeley of Lin- 
 colnshire. He was a man of considerable natural 
 power, with much of the wit of his uncle, the Mas- 
 ter of Balliol, and wrote clever epigrams and rid- 
 dles, some of which, though without his name, 
 found their way into print j but he lived a very 
 retired life, dividing his time between Bath and 
 his place in Berkshire called Scarlets. Jane's 
 letters from Bath make frequent mention of this 
 uncle and aunt. 
 
 The unfinished story now published under the 
 title of "The Watsons " must have been written 
 during the author's residence in Bath. In the 
 autumn of 1804 she spent some weeks at Lyme, 
 
240 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 and became acquainted with the Cobb, which she 
 afterwards made memorable for the fall of Louisa 
 Musgrove. In February, 1805, her father died at 
 Bath, and was buried at Walcot Church. The 
 widow and daughters went into lodgings for a few 
 months, and then removed to Southampton. The 
 only records that I can find about her during those 
 four years are the three following letters to her 
 sister, one from Lyme, the others from Bath. 
 They show that she went a good deal into society, 
 in a quiet way, chiefly with ladies; and that her 
 eyes were always open to minute traits of character 
 in those with whom she associated : 
 
 Extract from a Letter from Jane Austen to her Sister. 
 
 LYME, Friday, Sept 14 (1804). 
 MY DEAR CASSANDRA, I take the first 
 sheet of fine striped paper to thank you for your 
 letter from Weymouth, and express my hopes of 
 your being at Ibthorp before this time. I expect 
 to hear that you reached it yesterday evening, 
 being able to get as far as Blandford on Wednes- 
 day. Your account of Weymouth contains nothing 
 which strikes me so forcibly as there being no ice 
 in the town. For every other vexation I was in 
 some measure prepared, and particularly for your 
 disappointment in not seeing the Royal Family go 
 on board on Tuesday, having already heard from 
 Mr. Crawford that he had seen you in the very 
 act of being too late. But for there being no ice, 
 what could prepare me? You found my letter at 
 Andover, I hope, yesterday, and have now for 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 241 
 
 many hours been satisfied that your kind anxiety 
 on my behalf was as much thrown away as kind 
 anxiety usually is. I continue quite well; in 
 proof of which I have bathed again this morning. 
 It was absolutely necessary that I should have the 
 little fever and indisposition which I had; it has 
 been all the fashion this week in Lyme. We are 
 quite settled in our lodgings by this time, as you 
 may suppose, and everything goes on in the usual 
 order. The servants behave very well, and make 
 no difficulties, though nothing certainly can exceed 
 the inconvenience of the offices, except the general 
 dirtiness of the house and furniture and all its in- 
 habitants. I endeavor, as far as I can, to supply 
 your place, and be useful, and keep things in order. 
 I detect dirt in the water decanters as fast as I 
 can, and keep everything as it was under your ad- 
 ministration. . . . The ball last night was pleas- 
 ant, but not full for Thursday. My father stayed 
 contentedly till half-past nine (we went a little 
 after eight), and then walked home with James 
 and a lantern, though I believe the lantern was 
 not lit, as the moon was up; but sometimes this 
 lantern may be a great convenience to him. My 
 mother and I stayed about an hour later. Nobody 
 asked me the two first dances; the two next I 
 danced with Mr. Crawford, and had I chosen to 
 stay longer might have danced with Mr. Gran- 
 ville, Mrs. Granville's son, whom my dear friend 
 Miss A. introduced to me, or with a new odd-look- 
 ing man who had been eying me for some time, 
 and at last, without any introduction, asked me if 
 I meant to dance again. I think he must be Irish 
 16 
 
242 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 by his ease, and because I imagine him to belong 
 to the hon bl B.'s, who are son and son's wife of an 
 Irish viscount, bold, queer-looking people, just fit 
 to be quality at Lyme. I called yesterday morn- 
 ing (ought it not in strict propriety to be termed 
 jester-morning?) on Miss A., and was introduced 
 to her father and mother. Like other young ladies, 
 she is considerably genteeler than her parents. 
 Mrs. A. sat darning a pair of stockings the whole 
 of my visit. But do not mention this at home, 
 lest a warning should act as an example. We 
 afterwards walked together for an hour on the 
 Cobb; she is very conversable in a common way; 
 I do not perceive wit or genius, but she has sense 
 and some degree of taste, and her manners are 
 very engaging. She seems to like people rather 
 too easily. 
 
 Yours affect 1 ?, 
 
 J. A. 
 
 Letter from Jane Austen to her sister Cassandra 
 at Tbthorp, alluding to the sudden death of Mrs. 
 Lloyd at that place: 
 
 25 GAY STREET (BATH), Monday, 
 April 8, 1805, 
 
 MY DEAR CASSANDRA, Here is a day for 
 you. Did Bath or Ibthorp ever see such an 8th 
 of April? It is March and April together, the 
 glare of the one and the warmth of the other. We 
 do nothing but walk about. As far as your means 
 will admit, I hope you profit by such weather too. 
 I dare say you are already the better for change of 
 place. We were out again last night. Miss Irvine 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 243 
 
 invited us, when I met her in the Crescent, to 
 drink tea with them, but I rather declined it, hav- 
 ing no idea that my mother would he disposed for 
 another evening visit there so soon; but when I 
 gave her the message, I found her very well in- 
 clined to go; and accordingly, on leaving chapel, 
 ^ye walked to Lansdown. This morning we have 
 been to see Miss Chamberlaine look hot on horse- 
 back. Seven years and four months ago we went 
 to the same riding-house to see Miss Lefroy's per- 
 formance ! 1 What a different set are we now mov- 
 ing in ! But seven years, I suppose, are enough to 
 change every pore of one's skin and every feeling 
 of one's mind. We did not walk long in the 
 Crescent yesterday. It was hot and not crowded 
 enough; so we went into the field, and passed close 
 by S. T. and Miss S. 2 again. I have not yet seen 
 her face, but neither her dress nor air have any- 
 thing of the dash or stylishness which the Browns 
 talked of, quite the contrary ; indeed, her dress 
 is not even smart, and her appearance very quiet. 
 Miss Irvine says she is never speaking a word. 
 Poor wretch! I am afraid she is en penitence. 
 Here has been that excellent Mrs. Coulthart call- 
 ing while my mother was out and I was believed 
 to be so. I always respected her as a good-hearted, 
 friendly woman. And the Browns have been here ; 
 I find their affidavits on the table. The " Ambus- 
 cade " reached Gibraltar on the 9th of March, and 
 found all well; so say the papers. We have had 
 
 1 Here is evidence that Jane Austen was acquainted with 
 Bath before it became her residence in 1801. See p. 195. 
 
 2 A gentleman and lady lately engaged to be married. 
 
244 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 no letters from anybody, but we expect to hear 
 from Edward to-morrow, and from you soon after- 
 wards. How happy they are at Godmersham now ! 
 I shall be very glad of a letter from Ibthorp, that 
 I may know how you all are, but particularly your- 
 self. This is nice weather for Mrs. J. Austen's 
 going to Speen, and I hope she will have a pleasant 
 visit there. I expect a prodigious account of the 
 christening dinner; perhaps it brought you at last 
 into the company of Miss Dundas again. 
 
 Tuesday. I received your letter last night, 
 and wish it may be soon followed by another to 
 say that all is over; but I cannot help thinking 
 that nature will struggle again, and produce a re- 
 vival. Poor woman! May her end be peaceful 
 and easy as the exit we have witnessed I And I 
 dare say it will. If there is no revival, suffering 
 must be all over; even the consciousness of exist- 
 ence, I suppose, was gone when you wrote. The 
 nonsense I have been writing in this and in my last 
 letter seems out of place at such a time, but I will 
 not mind it; it will do you no harm, and nobody 
 else will be attacked by it. 1 am heartily glad 
 that you can speak so comfortably of your own 
 health and looks, though I can scarcely compre- 
 hend the latter being really approved. Could 
 travelling fifty miles produce such an immediate 
 change? You were looking very poorly here, and 
 everybody seemed sensible of it. Is there a charm 
 in a hack post-chaise? But if there were, Mrs. 
 Craven's carriage might have undone it all. I am 
 much obliged to you for the time and trouble you 
 have bestowed on Mary's cap, and am glad it 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 245 
 
 pleases her; but it will prove a useless gift at pres- 
 ent, I suppose. Will not she leave Ibthorp on her 
 mother's death? As a companion you are all that 
 Martha can be supposed to want; and in that light, 
 under these circumstances, your visit will indeed 
 have been well timed. 
 
 , Thursday. I was not able to go on yesterday ; 
 all my wit and leisure were bestowed on letters to 
 Charles and Henry. To the former I wrote in con- 
 sequence of my mother's having seen in the papers 
 that the " Urania" was waiting at Portsmouth for 
 the convoy for Halifax. This is nice, as it is only 
 three weeks ago that you wrote by the " Camilla." 
 I wrote to Henry because I had a letter from him 
 in which he desired to hear from me very soon. 
 His to me was most affectionate and kind, as well 
 as entertaining; there is no merit to him in that; he 
 cannot help being amusing. He offers to meet us 
 on the sea-coast, if the plan of which Edward gave 
 him some hint takes place. Will not this be mak- 
 ing the execution of such a plan more desirable, and 
 delightful than ever? He talks of the rambles we 
 took together last summer with pleasing affection. 
 Yours ever, 
 
 J. A. 
 
 From the Same to the Same. 
 
 GAY ST., Sunday Evening, 
 April 21 (1805). 
 
 MY DEAR CASSANDRA, I am much obliged to 
 you for writing to me again so soon; your letter 
 yesterday was quite an unexpected pleasure. Poor 
 Mrs. Stent! it has been her lot to be always in the 
 
246 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 way; but we must be merciful, for perhaps in time 
 we may come to be Mrs. Stents ourselves, unequal 
 to anything, and unwelcome to everybody. . . . 
 My morning engagement was with the Cookes, and 
 our party consisted of George and Mary, a Mr. L., 
 Miss B., who had been with us at the concert, and 
 the youngest Miss W. Not Julia, we have done 
 with her; she is very ill, but Mary. Mary W. 7 s 
 turn is actually come to be grown up, and have a 
 fine complexion, and wear great square muslin 
 shawls. I have not expressly enumerated myself 
 among the party; but there I was, and my cousin 
 George was very kind, and talked sense to me 
 every now and then, in the intervals of his more 
 animated fooleries with Miss B., who is very young 
 and rather handsome, and whose gracious manners, 
 ready wit, and solid remarks put me somewhat in 
 mind of my old acquaintance L. L. There was a 
 monstrous deal of stupid quizzing and common- 
 place nonsense talked, but scarcely any wit; all 
 that bordered on it or on sense came from my 
 cousin George, whom altogether I like very well. 
 Mr. B. seems nothing more than a tall young man. 
 My evening engagement and walk was with Miss 
 A., who had called on me the day before, and 
 gently upbraided me in her turn with a change of 
 manners to her since she had been in Bath, or at 
 least of late. Unlucky me ! that my notice should 
 be of such consequence, and my manners so bad! 
 She was so well disposed and so reasonable that I 
 soon forgave her, and made this engagement with 
 her in proof of it. She is really an agreeable girl, 
 so I think I may like her; and her great want of a 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 247 
 
 companion at home, which may well make any 
 tolerable acquaintance important to her, gives her 
 another claim on my attention. I shall endeavor 
 as much as possible to keep my intimacies in their 
 proper place, and prevent their clashing. Among 
 so many friends, it will be well if I do not get 
 into a scrape; and now here is Miss Blashford 
 come. I should have gone distracted if the Bullers 
 had stayed. . . . When I tell you I have been vis- 
 iting a countess this morning, you will imme- 
 diately, with great justice but no truth, guess 
 it to be Lady Koden. No: it is Lady Leven, 
 the mother of Lord Balgonie. On receiving a 
 message from Lord and Lady Leven through the 
 Mackays, declaring their intention of waiting on 
 A is, we thought it right to go to them. I hope we 
 lave not done too much ; but the friends and 
 admirers of Charles must be attended to. They 
 seem very reasonable, good sort of people, very 
 civil, and full of his praise. 1 We were shown at 
 first into an empty drawing-room; and presently in 
 came his lordship, not knowing who we were, to 
 apologize for the servant's mistake, and to say 
 himself what was untrue, that Lady Leven was not 
 within. He is a tall, gentlemanlike-looking man, 
 with spectacles, and rather deaf. After sitting 
 with him ten minutes, we walked away ; but Lady 
 Leven coming out of the dining-parlor as we passed 
 the door, we were obliged to attend her back to it, 
 and pay our visit over again. She is a stout 
 
 1 It seems that Charles Austen, then first-lieutenant of the 
 " Endymion," had had an opportunity of showing attention 
 and kindness to some of Lord Leven's family. 
 
248 A MEMOIK OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 woman, with a very handsome face. By this 
 means we had the pleasure of hearing Charles's 
 praises twice over. They think themselves exces- 
 sively obliged to him, and estimate him so highly 
 as to wish Lord Balgonie, when he is quite 
 recovered, to go out to him. There is a pretty 
 little Lady Marianne of the party, to be shaken 
 hands with, and asked if she remembered Mr. 
 Austen. . . 
 
 I shall write to Charles by the next packet, 
 unless you tell me in the mean time of your 
 intending to do it. 
 
 Believe me, if you chuse, 
 
 Y r af* e Sister. 
 
 Jane did not estimate too highly the " Cousin 
 George " mentioned in the foregoing letter, who 
 might easily have been superior in sense and wit 
 to the rest of the party. He was the Rev. George 
 Leigh Cooke, long known and respected at Oxford, 
 where he held important offices, and had the pri- 
 vilege of helping to form the minds of men more 
 eminent than himself. As Tutor in Corpus Christi 
 College, he became instructor to some of the most 
 distinguished undergraduates of that time ; amongst 
 others to Dr. Arnold, the Rev. John Keble, and 
 Sir John Coleridge. The latter has mentioned 
 him in terms of affectionate regard, both in his 
 Memoir of Keble, and in a letter which appears in 
 Dean Stanley's "Life of Arnold. 7 ' Mr. Cooke 
 was also an impressive preacher of earnest, awak- 
 ening sermons. I remember to have heard it 
 observed by some of my undergraduate friends that, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 249 
 
 after all, there was more good to be got from 
 George Cooke's plain sermons than from much of 
 the more labored oratory of the University pulpit. 
 He was frequently Examiner in the schools, and 
 occupied the chair of the Sedleian Professor of 
 Natural Philosophy, from 1810 to 1853. 
 . Before the end of 1805, the little family party 
 removed to Southampton. They resided in a com- 
 modious old-fashioned house in a corner of Castle 
 Square. 
 
 I have no letters of my aunt, nor any other 
 record of her, during her four years' residence at 
 Southampton ; and though I now began to know, 
 and, what was the same thing, to love her myself, 
 yet my observations were only those of a young 
 boy, and were not capable of penetrating her char- 
 acter or estimating her powers. I have, however, 
 a lively recollection of some local circumstances at 
 Southampton, and as they refer chiefly to things 
 which have been long ago swept away, I will 
 record them. My grandmother's house had a 
 pleasant garden, bounded on one side by the old 
 city walls; the top of this wall was sufficiently 
 wide to afford a pleasant walk, with an extensive 
 view, easily accessible to ladies by steps. This 
 must have been a part of the identical walls which 
 witnessed the embarkation of Henry V. before the 
 battle of Agincourt, and the detection of the con- 
 spiracy of Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, which 
 Shakspeare has made so picturesque ; when, accord- 
 ing to the chorus in Henry V., the citizens saw 
 
 " The well-appointed King at Hampton Pier 
 Embark his royalty." 
 
250 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 Among the records of the town of Southampton, 
 they have a minute and authentic account, drawn 
 up at that time, of the encampment of Henry V. 
 near the town, before his embarkment for France. 
 It is remarkable that the place where the army 
 was encamped, then a low level plain, is now 
 entirely covered by the sea, and is called West- 
 port. 1 At that time Castle Square was occupied 
 by a fantastic edifice, too large for the space in 
 which it stood, though too small to accord well 
 with its castellated style, erected by the second 
 Marquis of Lansdowne, half-brother to the well- 
 known statesman, who succeeded him in the title. 
 The Marchioness had a light phaeton, drawn by 
 six, and sometimes by eight, little ponies, each 
 pair decreasing in size, and becoming lighter in 
 color, through all the grades of dark brown, light 
 brown, bay, and chestnut, as it was placed farther 
 away from the carriage. The two leading pairs 
 were managed by two boyish postilions, the two 
 pairs nearest to the carriage were driven in hand. 
 It was a delight to me to look down from the win- 
 dow and see this fairy equipage put together ; for 
 the premises of this castle were so contracted that 
 the whole process went on in the little space that 
 remained of the open square. Like other fairy 
 works, however, it all proved evanescent. Not 
 only carriage and ponies, but castle itself, soon 
 vanished away, "like the baseless fabric of a 
 vision. 77 On the death of the Marquis, in 1809, 
 the castle was pulled down. Few probably remem- 
 ber its existence} and any one who might visit the 
 1 See Wharton's note to Johnson and Steevens's Shakspeare. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 251 
 
 place now would wonder how it ever could have 
 stood there. 
 
 In 1809 Mr. Knight was able to offer hi mother 
 the choice of two houses on his property, one near 
 his usual residence at Godmersham Park in Kent; 
 the other near Chawton House, his occasional resi- 
 dence in Hampshire. The latter was chosen ; and 
 in that year the mother and daughters, together 
 with Miss Lloyd, a near connection who lived 
 with them, settled themselves at Chawton Cottage. 
 
 Chawton may be called the second, as well as 
 the last home of Jane Austen; for during the 
 temporary residences of the party at Bath and 
 Southampton she was only a sojourner in a strange 
 land; but here she found a real home amongst her 
 own people. It so happened that during her resi- 
 dence at Chawton circumstances brought several 
 of her brothers and their families within easy 
 distance of the house. Chawton must also be con- 
 sidered the place most closely connected with her 
 career as a writer; for there it was that, in the 
 maturity of her mind, she either wrote or rear- 
 ranged and prepared for publication the books by 
 which she has become known to the world. This 
 was the home where, after a few years, while still 
 in the prime of life, she began to droop and wither 
 away, and which she left only in the last stage of 
 her illness, yielding to the persuasion of friends 
 hoping against hope. 
 
 This house stood in the village of Chawton, 
 about a mile from Alton, on the right-hand side, 
 just where the road to Winchester branches off 
 from that to Gosport. It was so close to the road 
 
252 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 that the front door opened upon it; while a very 
 narrow enclosure, paled in on each side, protected 
 the building from danger of collision with any 
 runaway vehicle. I believe it had been originally 
 built for an inn, for which purpose it was certainly 
 well situated. Afterwards it had been occupied 
 by Mr. Knight's steward; but by some additions 
 to the house, and some judicious planting and 
 screening, it was made a pleasant and commodious 
 abode. Mr. Knight was experienced and adroit 
 at such arrangements, and this was a labor of love 
 to him. A good-sized entrance and two sitting- 
 rooms made the length of the house, all intended 
 originally to look upon the road, but the large 
 drawing-room window was blocked up and turned 
 into a bookcase, and another opened at the side 
 which gave to view only turf and trees, as a high 
 wooden fence and hornbeam hedge shut out the 
 Winchester road, which skirted the whole length 
 of the little domain. Trees were planted each side 
 to form a shrubbery walk, carried round the en- 
 closure, which gave a sufficient space for ladies' 
 exercise. There was a pleasant irregular mixture 
 of hedgerow and gravel walk and orchard, and 
 long grass for mowing, arising from two or three 
 little enclosures having been thrown together. 
 The house itself was quite as good as the generality 
 of parsonage-houses then were, and much in the 
 same style; and was capable of receiving other 
 members of the family as frequent visitors. It 
 was sufficiently well furnished; everj'thing inside 
 and out was kept in good repair, and it was alto- 
 gether a comfortable and ladylike establishment, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 253 
 
 though the means which supported it were not 
 large. 
 
 I give this description because some interest is 
 generally taken in the residence of a popular 
 writer. Cowper's unattractive house in the street 
 of Olney has been pointed out to visitors, and has 
 even attained the honor of an engraving in 
 Southey's edition of his works; but I cannot re- 
 commend any admirer of Jane Austen to under- 
 take a pilgrimage to this spot. The building 
 indeed still stands, but it has lost all that gave it 
 its character. After the death of Mrs. Cassandra 
 Austen, in 1845, it was divided into tenements 
 for laborers, and the grounds reverted to ordi- 
 nary uses. 
 
254 A MEMOffi OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF JANE AUSTEN'S PERSON, CHARACTER, 
 AND TASTES. 
 
 As my memoir has now reached the period when 
 I saw a great deal of my aunt, and was old enough 
 to understand something of her value, I will here 
 attempt a description of her person, mind, arid 
 habits. In person she was very attractive; her 
 figure was rather tall and slender, her step light 
 and firm, and her whole appearance expressive of 
 health and animation. In complexion she was a 
 clear hrunette with a rich color ; she had full 
 round cheeks, with mouth and nose small and well 
 formed, bright hazel eyes, and brown hair forming 
 natural curls close round her face. If not so regu- 
 larly handsome as her sister, yet her countenance 
 had a peculiar charm of its own to the eyes of 
 most beholders. At the time of which I am now 
 writing, she never was seen, either morning or even- 
 ing, without a cap; I believe that she and her sister 
 were generally thought to have taken to the garb 
 of middle age earlier than their years or their 
 looks required ; and that, though remarkably neat in 
 their dress as in all their ways, they were scarcely 
 sufficiently regardful of the fashionable or the 
 becoming. 
 
 She was not highly accomplished according to 
 the present standard. Her sister drew well, and 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 255 
 
 it is from a drawing of hers that the likeness pre- 
 fixed to this volume has been taken. Jane herself 
 was fond of music, and had a sweet voice, both in 
 singing and in conversation; in her youth she had 
 received some instruction on the pianoforte; and 
 at Chawton she practised daily, chiefly before 
 breakfast. I believe she did so partly that she 
 might not disturb the rest of the party, who were 
 less fond of music. In the evening she would 
 sometimes sing, to her own accompaniment, some 
 simple old songs, the words and airs of which, 
 now never heard, still linger in my memory. 
 
 She read French with facility, and knew some- 
 thing of Italian. In those days German was 
 no more thought of than Hindostanee, as part of 
 a lady's education. In history she followed the 
 old guides, Goldsmith, Hume, and Robertson. 
 Critical inquiry into the usually received state- 
 ments of the old historians was scarcely begun. 
 The history of the early kings of Home had not 
 yet been dissolved into legend. Historic charac- 
 ters lay before the reader's eyes in broad light or 
 shade, not much broken up by details. The vir- 
 tues of King Henry VIII. were yet undiscovered, 
 nor had much light been thrown on the inconsist- 
 encies of Queen Elizabeth; the one was held to be 
 an unmitigated tyrant and an embodied Blue 
 Beard, the other a perfect model of wisdom and 
 policy. Jane, when a girl, had strong political 
 opinions, especially about the affairs of the six- 
 teenth and seventeenth centuries. She was a ve- 
 hement defender of Charles I. and his grandmother 
 Mary ; but I think it was rather from an impulse of 
 
256 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 feeling than from any inquiry into the evidences 
 by which they must be condemned or acquitted. 
 As she grew up, the politics of the day occupied 
 very little of her attention; but ahe probably 
 shared the feeling of moderate Toryism which 
 prevailed in her family. She was well acquainted 
 with the old periodicals from the ' ' Spectator ' ? 
 downwards. Her knowledge of Richardson's 
 works was such as no one is likely again to ac- 
 quire, now that the multitude and the merits of 
 our light literature have called off the attention of 
 readers from that great master. Every circum- 
 stance narrated in "Sir Charles Grandison," all 
 that was ever said or done in the cedar parlor, 
 was familiar to her; and the wedding days 
 of Lady L. and Lady G. were as well remem- 
 bered as if they had been living friends. Amongst 
 her favorite writers, Johnson in prose, Crabbe in 
 verse, and Cowper in both, stood high. It is well 
 that the native good taste of herself and of those 
 with whom she lived, saved her from the snare 
 into which a sister novelist had fallen, of imitat- 
 ing the grandiloquent style of Johnson. She 
 thoroughly enjoyed Crabbe, perhaps on account of 
 a certain resemblance to herself in minute and 
 highly finished detail; and would sometimes say, 
 in jest, that if she ever married at all, she could 
 fancy being Mrs. Crabbe, looking on the author 
 quite as an abstract idea, and ignorant and regard- 
 less what manner of man he might be. Scott 7 s 
 poetry gave her great pleasure ; she did not live to 
 make much acquaintance with his novels. Only 
 three of them were published before her death; 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 257 
 
 but it will be seen by the following extract from 
 one of her letters, that she was quite prepared to 
 admit the merits of " Waver ley ;" and it is re- 
 markable that, living, as she did, far apart from 
 the gossip of the literary world, she should even 
 then have spoken so confidently of his being the 
 author of it : 
 
 "Walter Scott has no business to write novels, 
 especially good ones. It is not fair. He has fame 
 and profit enough as a poet, and ought not to be 
 taking the bread out of other people's mouths. I 
 do not mean to like < Waverley,' if I can help it, 
 but I fear I must. I am quite determined, how- 
 ever, not to be pleased with Mrs. 's, should 
 
 I ever meet with it, which I hope I may not. I 
 think I can be stout against anything written by 
 her. I have made up my mind to like no novels 
 really, but Miss Edgeworth's, E.'s, and my own/' 
 
 It was not, however, what she knew, but what 
 she was, that distinguished her from others. I 
 cannot better describe the fascination which she 
 exercised over children than by quoting the words 
 of two of her nieces. One says : 
 
 " As a very little girl, I was always creeping up 
 to Aunt Jane, and following her whenever I could, 
 in the house and out of it. I might not have re- 
 membered this but for the recollection of my 
 mother's telling me privately, that I must not be 
 troublesome to my aunt. Her first charm to children 
 was great sweetness of manner : she seemed to love 
 you, and you loved her in return. This, as well as I 
 can now recollect, was what I felt in my early 
 days, before I was old enough to be amused by her 
 
258 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 cleverness. But soon came the delight of her 
 playful talk. She could make everything amus- 
 ing to a child. Then, as I got older, when cousins 
 came to share the entertainment, she would tell 
 us the most delightful stories, chiefly of Fairyland, 
 and her fairies had all characters of their own. 
 The tale was invented, I am sure, at the moment, 
 and was continued for two or three days, if occa- 
 sion served.' 7 
 
 Again: "When staying at Chawton, with two 
 of her other nieces, we often had amusements in 
 which my aunt was very helpful. She was the 
 one to whom we always looked for help. She 
 would furnish us with what we wanted from her 
 wardrobe; and she would be the entertaining 
 visitor in our make-believe house. She amused 
 us in various ways. Once, I remember, in giving 
 a conversation as between myself and my two 
 cqusins, supposing we were all grown up, the day 
 after a ball.' 7 
 
 Very similar is the testimony of another niece : 
 "Aunt Jane was the general favorite with chil- 
 dren ; her ways with them being so playful, and her 
 long circumstantial stories so delightful. These 
 were continued from time to time, and were begged 
 for on all possible and impossible occasions ; woven, 
 as she proceeded, out of nothing but her own happy 
 talent for invention. Ah, if but one of them could 
 be recovered! And again, as I grew older, when 
 the original seventeen years between our ages 
 seemed to shrink to seven, or to nothing, it comes 
 back to me now how strangely I missed her. It had 
 become so much a habit with me to put by things 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 259 
 
 in my mind with a reference to her, and to say to 
 myself, I shall keep this for Aunt Jane." 
 
 A nephew of hers used to observe that his visits 
 to Ghawton, after the death of his Aunt Jane, were 
 always a disappointment to him. From old asso- 
 ciations he could not help expecting to be particu- 
 larly happy in that house; and never till he got 
 there could he realize to himself how all its pecu- 
 liar charm was gone. It was not only that the chief 
 light in the house was quenched, but that the loss 
 of it had cast a shade over the spirits of the sur- 
 vivors. Enough has been said to show her love 
 for children, and her wonderful power of entertain- 
 ing them; but her friends of all ages felt her en- 
 livening influence. Her unusually quick sense of 
 the ridiculous led her to play with all the common- 
 places of everyday life, whether as regarded persons 
 or things; but she never played with its serious 
 duties or responsibilities, nor did she ever turn in- 
 dividuals into ridicule. With all her neighbors 
 in the village she was on friendly, though not on 
 intimate, terms. She took a kindly interest in 
 all their proceedings, and liked to hear about 
 them. They often served for her amusement ; but 
 it was her own nonsense that gave zest to the gos- 
 sip. She was as far as possible from being cen- 
 sorious or satirical. She never abused them or 
 quizzed them, that was the word of the day ; an 
 ugly word, now obsolete; and the ugly practice 
 which it expressed is much less prevalent now than 
 it was then. The laugh which she occasionally 
 raised was by imagining for her neighbors, as she 
 was equally ready to imagine for her friends or 
 
260 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 herself, impossible contingencies, or by relating in 
 prose or verse some trifling anecdote colored to her 
 own fancy, or in writing a fictitious history of 
 what they were supposed to have said or done, 
 which could deceive nobody. 
 
 The following specimens may be given of the live- 
 liness of mind which imparted an agreeable flavor 
 both to her correspondence and her conversation : 
 
 ON READING IN THE NEWSPAPERS THE MARRIAGE OF 
 MR. GELL, TO Miss GILL, OF EASTBOURNE. 
 
 At Eastbourne Mr. Gell, From being perfectly well, 
 Became dreadfully ill, For love of Miss Gill. 
 So he said, with some sighs, I 'm the slave of your Us ; 
 Oh, restore, if you please, By accepting my ees ! 
 
 ON THE MARRIAGE OF A MIDDLE-AGED FLIRT WITH A MR. 
 WAKE, WHOM, IT WAS SUPPOSED, SHE WOULD SCARCELY 
 
 HAVE ACCEPTED IN HER YOUTH. 
 
 Maria, good-humored and handsome and tall, 
 For a husband was at her last stake ; 
 
 And having in vain danced at many a ball, 
 Is now happy to jump at a Wake. 
 
 Jane Austen was successful in everything that 
 she attempted with her fingers. None of us could 
 throw spilikins in so perfect a circle, or take them 
 off with so steady a hand. Her performances with 
 cup and ball were marvellous. The one used 
 at Chawton was an easy one, and she has been 
 known to catch it on the point above an hundred 
 times in succession, till her hand was weary. She 
 sometimes found a resource in that simple game, 
 when unable, from weakness in her eyes, to read 
 or write long together. Happy would the com- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 261 
 
 positors for the press be if they had always so legi- 
 ble a manuscript to work from. But the writ- 
 ing was not the only part of her letters which 
 showed superior handiwork. In those days there 
 was an art in folding and sealing. No adhesive 
 envelopes made all easy. Some people's letters 
 always looked loose and untidy ; but her paper was 
 sure to take the right folds, and her sealing-wax 
 to drop into the right place. Her needlework, both 
 plain and ornamental, was excellent, and might al- 
 most have put a sewing-machine to shame. She 
 was considered especially great in satin stitch. 
 She spent much time in these occupations, and 
 some of her merriest talk was over clothes which 
 she and her companions were making, sometimes 
 for themselves, and sometimes for the poor. There 
 still remains a curious specimen of her needlework 
 made for a sister-in-law, my mother. In a very 
 small bag is deposited a little rolled-up housewife, 
 furnished with minikin needles and fine thread. 
 In the housewife is a tiny pocket, and in the 
 pocket is enclosed a slip of paper, on which, writ- 
 ten as with a crow-quill, are these lines : 
 
 " This little bag, I hope, will prove 
 
 To be not vainly made ; 
 For should you thread and needles want, 
 It will afford you aid. 
 
 " And, as we are about to part, 
 
 'T will serve another end ; 
 For when you look upon this bag, 
 You '11 recollect your friend." 
 
 It is the kind of article that some benevolent fairy 
 might be supposed to give as a reward to a diligent 
 
262 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 little girl. The whole is of flowered silk, and 
 having been never used and carefully preserved, 
 it is as fresh and bright as when it was first made, 
 seventy years ago ; and shows that the same hand 
 which painted so exquisitely with the pen could 
 work as delicately with the needle. 
 
 I have collected some of the bright qualities 
 which shone, as it were, on the surface of Jane 
 Austen's character, and attracted most notice; but 
 underneath them there lay the strong foundations 
 of sound sense and judgment, rectitude of princi- 
 ple, and delicacy of feeling, qualifying her equally 
 to advise, assist, or amuse. She was, in fact, as 
 ready to comfort the unhappy or to nurse the sick 
 as she was to laugh and jest with the light-hearted. 
 Two of her nieces were grown up, and one of them 
 was married, before she was taken away from them. 
 As their minds became more matured, they were 
 admitted into closer intimacy with her, and learned 
 more of her graver thoughts; they know what a 
 sympathizing friend and judicious adviser they 
 found her to be in many little difficulties and 
 doubts of early womanhood. 
 
 I do not venture to speak of her religious prin- 
 ciples : that is a subject on which she herself was 
 more inclined to think and act than to talk, and I 
 shall imitate her reserve; satisfied to have shown 
 how much of Christian love and humilit} 7 abounded 
 in her heart, without presuming to lay bare the 
 roots whence those graces grew. Some little in- 
 sight, however, into these deeper recesses of the 
 heart must be given, when we come to speak of 
 her death. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 263 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SECLUSION FROM THE LITERARY WORLD NOTICE FROM THE 
 PRINCE REGENT CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. CLARKE 
 SUGGESTIONS TO ALTER HER STYLE OF WRITING. 
 
 JANE AUSTEN lived in entire seclusion from the 
 literary world : neither hy correspondence nor by 
 personal intercourse was she known to any contem- 
 porary authors. It is probable that she never was 
 in company with any person whose talents or whose 
 celebrity equalled her own; so that her powers 
 never could have been sharpened by collision with 
 superior intellects, nor her imagination aided by 
 their casual suggestions. Whatever she produced 
 was a genuine home-made article. Even during 
 the last two or three years of her life, when her 
 works were rising in the estimation of the public, 
 they did not enlarge the circle of her acquaintance. 
 Few of her readers knew even her name, and none 
 knew more of her than her name. I doubt whether 
 it would be possible to mention any other author 
 of note whose personal obscurity was so complete. 
 I can think of none like her, but of many to con- 
 trast with her in that respect. Fanny Burney, 
 afterwards Madame D'Arblay, was at an early age 
 petted by Dr. Johnson, and introduced to the wits 
 and scholars of the day at the tables of Mrs. Thrale 
 and Sir Joshua Reynolds. Anna Seward, in her 
 
264 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 self-constituted shrine at Lichfield, would have 
 been miserable, had she not trusted that the eyes 
 of all lovers of poetry were devoutly fixed 011 her. 
 Joanna Baillie and Maria Edge worth were indeed 
 far from courting publicity; they loved the pri- 
 vacy of their own families, one with hor brother 
 and sister in their Hampstead villa, the other in 
 her more distant retreat in Ireland; but fame pur- 
 sued them, and they were the favorite correspon- 
 dents of Sir Walter Scott. Crabbe, who was usually 
 buried in a country parish, yet sometimes visited 
 London, and dined at Holland House, and was re- 
 ceived as a fellow-poet by Campbell, Moore, and 
 Kogers; and on one memorable occasion he was 
 Scott's guest at Edinburgh, and gazed with won- 
 dering eyes on the incongruous pageantry with 
 which George IV. was entertained in that city. 
 Even those great writers who hid themselves 
 amongst lakes and mountains associated with each 
 other, and, though little seen by the world, were so 
 much in its thoughts that a new term, " Lakers, " 
 was coined to designate them. The chief part of 
 Charlotte Bronte's life was spent in a wild solitude 
 compared with which Steventon and Chawton 
 might be considered to be in the gay world; and 
 yet she attained to personal distinction which 
 never fell to Jane's lot. When she visited her 
 kind publisher in London, literary men and women 
 were invited purposely to meet her; Thackeray be- 
 stowed upon her the honor of his notice ; and once 
 in Willis's Kooms, 1 she had to walk shy and trem- 
 bling through an avenue of lords and ladies, drawn 
 1 See Mrs. Gaskell's " Life of Miss Bronte," vol. ii. p. 215. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 265 
 
 up for the purpose of gazing at the author of "Jane 
 Eyre." Miss Mitford, too, lived quietly in " Our 
 Village," devoting her time and talents to the 
 benefit of a father scarcely worthy of her; but she 
 did not live there unknown. Her tragedies gave 
 her a name in London. She numbered Milman and 
 Talfourd amongst her correspondents; and her 
 works were a passport to the society of many who 
 would not otherwise have sought her. Hundreds 
 admired Miss Mitford on account of her writings 
 for one who ever connected the idea of Miss Aus- 
 ten with the press. A few years ago, a gentle- 
 man visiting Winchester Cathedral desired to be 
 shown Miss Austen's grave. The verger, as he 
 pointed it out, asked, " Pray, sir, can you tell me 
 whether there was anything particular about that 
 lady? so many people want to know where she was 
 buried! " During her life the ignorance of the ver- 
 ger was shared by most people; few knew that 
 " there was anything particular about that lady." 
 It was not till towards the close of her life, when 
 the last of the works that she saw published was 
 in the press, that she received the only mark of 
 distinction ever bestowed upon her; and that was 
 remarkable for the high quarter whence it ema- 
 nated rather than for any actual increase of fame 
 that it conferred. It happened thus. In the 
 autumn of 1815 she nursed her brother Henry 
 through a dangerous fever and slow convalescence 
 at his house in Hans Place. He was attended by 
 one of the Prince Regent's physicians. All at- 
 tempts to keep her name secret had at this time 
 ceased, and though it had never appeared on a title- 
 
266 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 page, all who cared to know might easily learn it; 
 and the friendly physician was aware that his pa- 
 tient's nurse was the author of " Pride and Preju- 
 dice." Accordingly he informed her one day that 
 the Prince was a great admirer of her novels ; that he 
 read them often, and kept a set in every one of his 
 residences; that he himself therefore had thought 
 it right to inform his Royal Highness that Miss 
 Austen was staying in London, and that the Prince 
 had desired Mr. Clarke, the librarian of Carlton 
 House, to wait upon her. The next day Mr. Clarke 
 made his appearance, and invited her to Carlton 
 House, saying that he had the Prince's instructions 
 to show her the library and other apartments, and 
 to pay her every possible attention. The invita- 
 tion was of course accepted, and during the visit 
 to Carlton House Mr. Clarke declared himself com- 
 missioned to say that if Miss Austen had any other 
 novel forthcoming she was at liberty to dedicate it 
 to the Prince. Accordingly such a dedication was 
 immediately prefixed to "Emma," which was at 
 that time in the press. 
 
 Mr. Clarke was the brother of Dr. Clarke, the 
 traveller and mineralogist, whose life has been 
 written by Bishop Otter. Jane found in him not 
 only a very courteous gentleman, but also a warm 
 admirer of her talents ; though it will be seen by 
 his letters that he did not clearly apprehend the 
 limits of her powers, or the proper field for their 
 exercise. The following correspondence took place 
 between them. 
 
 Feeling some apprehension lest she should make 
 a mistake in acting on the verbal permission which 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 267 
 
 she had received from the Prince, Jane addressed 
 the following letter to Mr. Clarke: 
 
 Nov. 15, 1815. 
 
 SIR, I must take the liberty of asking you a 
 question. Among the many flattering attentions 
 which I received from you at Carlton House on 
 Monday last was the information of my being at 
 liberty to dedicate any future work to His Royal 
 Highness the Prince Regent, without the necessity 
 of any solicitation on my part. Such, at least, I 
 believed to be your words ; but as I am very anxious 
 to be quite certain of what was intended, I entreat 
 you to have the goodness to inform me how such a 
 permission is to be understood, and whether it is 
 incumbent on me to show my sense of the honor 
 by inscribing the work now in the press to His 
 Royal Highness ; I should be equally concerned to 
 appear either presumptuous or ungrateful. 
 
 The following gracious answer was returned by 
 Mr. Clarke, together with a suggestion which 
 must have been received with some surprise : 
 
 CARLTON HOUSE, Nov. 16, 1815. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, It is certainly not incum- 
 bent on you to dedicate your work now in the press 
 to His Royal Highness; but if you wish to do the 
 Regent that honor either now or at any future 
 period I am happy to send you that permission, 
 which need not require any more trouble or solici- 
 tation on your part. 
 
 Your late works, Madam, and in particular 
 
268 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 " Mansfield Park," reflect the highest honor on 
 your genius and your principles. In every new 
 work your mind seems to increase its energy and 
 power of discrimination. The Regent has read 
 and admired all your publications. 
 
 Accept my best thanks for the pleasure your 
 volumes have given me. In the perusal of them I 
 felt a great inclination to write and say so. And 
 I also, dear Madam, wished to be allowed to ask 
 you to delineate in some future work the habits of 
 life, and character, and enthusiasm of a clergyman 
 who should pass his time between the metropolis 
 and the country, who should be something like 
 Beattie's Minstrel, 
 
 Silent when glad, affectionate tho' shy, 
 
 And in his looks was most demurely sad ; 
 And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why. 
 
 Neither Goldsmith, nor La Fontaine in his " Ta- 
 bleau de Famille," have in my mind quite deline- 
 ated an English clergyman, at least of the present 
 day, fond of and entirely engaged in literature, no 
 man's enemy but his own. Pray, dear Madam, 
 think of these things. 
 
 Believe me at all times with sincerity and respect, 
 Your faithful and obliged servant, 
 
 J. S. CLARKE, Librarian. 
 
 The following letter, written in reply, will show 
 how unequal the author of " Pride and Prejudice " 
 felt herself to delineating an enthusiastic clergy- 
 man of the present day, who should resemble 
 Beattie's Minstrel : 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 269 
 
 Dec. 11. 
 
 DEAR SIR, My "Emma" is now so near 
 publication that I feel it right to assure you of my 
 not having forgotten your kind recommendation of 
 an early copy for Carlton House, and that I have 
 Mr. Murray's promise of its being sent to His 
 Royal Highness, under cover to you, three days 
 previous to the work being really out. I must 
 make use of this opportunity to thank you, dear 
 Sir, for the very high praise you bestow on my 
 other novels. I am too vain to wish to convince 
 you that you have praised them beyond their 
 merits. My greatest anxiety at present is that 
 this fourth work should not disgrace what was 
 good in the others. But on this point I will do 
 myself the justice to declare that, whatever may 
 be my wishes for its success, I am strongly 
 haunted with the idea that to those readers who 
 have preferred " Pride and Prejudice" it will ap- 
 pear inferior in wit, and to those who have pre- 
 ferred "Mansfield Park 77 inferior in good sense. 
 Such as it is, however, I hope you will do me the 
 favor of accepting a copy. Mr. Murray will have 
 directions for sending one. I am quite honored 
 by your thinking me capable of drawing such a 
 clergyman as you gave the sketch of in your note 
 of Nov. 16th. But I assure you I am not. The 
 comic part of the character I might be equal to, 
 but not the good, the enthusiastic, the literary. 
 Such a man's conversation must at times be on 
 subjects of science and philosophy, of which I 
 know nothing; or at least be occasionally abundant 
 in quotations and allusions which a woman who, 
 
270 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 like me, knows only her own mother tongue, and 
 has read little in that, would be totally without 
 the power of giving. A classical education, or at 
 any rate a very extensive acquaintance with Eng- 
 lish literature, ancient and modern, appears to me 
 quite indispensable for the person who would do 
 any justice to your clergyman; and I think I may 
 boast myself to be, with all possible vanity, the 
 most unlearned and uninformed female who ever 
 dared to be an authoress. 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and faithful hum bl Ser*, 
 
 JANE AUSTEN. l 
 
 Mr. Clarke, however, was not to be discouraged 
 from proposing another subject. He had recently 
 been appointed chaplain and private English secre- 
 tary to Prince Leopold, who was then about to be 
 united to the Princess Charlotte; and when he 
 again wrote to express the gracious thanks of the 
 Prince Regent for the copy of " Emma " which had 
 been presented, he suggests that "an historical 
 romance illustrative of the august House of Cobourg 
 would just now be very interesting," and might 
 very properly be dedicated to Prince Leopold. 
 This was much as if Sir William Ross had been 
 set to paint a great battle-piece ; and it is amusing 
 to see with what grave civility she declined a 
 
 1 It was her pleasure to boast of greater ignorance than 
 she had any just claim to. She knew more than her mother 
 tongue, for she knew a good deal of French and a little of 
 Italian. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 271 
 
 proposal which must have struck her as ludicrous, 
 in the following letter : 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, I am honored by the Prince's 
 thanks, and very much obliged to yourself for the 
 kind manner in which you mention the work. I 
 have also to acknowledge a former letter forwarded 
 to me from Hans Place. I assure you I felt very 
 grateful for the friendly tenor of it, and hope my 
 silence will have been considered, as it was truly 
 meant, to proceed only from an unwillingness to 
 tax your time with idle thanks. Under every in- 
 teresting circumstance which your own talents and 
 literary labors have placed you in, or the favor 
 of the Kegent bestowed, you have my best wishes. 
 Your recent appointments, I hope, are a step to 
 something still better. In my opinion, the ser- 
 vice of a court can hardly be too well paid, for 
 immense must be the sacrifice of time and feeling 
 required by it. 
 
 You are very kind in your hints as to the sort 
 of composition which might recommend me at 
 present, and I am fully sensible that an historical 
 romance, founded on the House of Saxe Cobourg, 
 might be much more to the purpose of profit or 
 popularity than such pictures of domestic life in 
 country villages as I deal in. But I could no 
 more write a romance than an epic poem. I could 
 not sit seriously down to write a serious romance 
 under any other motive than to save my life ; and 
 if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and 
 never relax into laughing at myself or at other 
 people, I am sure I should be hung before I had 
 
272 A MEMOIK OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 finished the first chapter. No, I must keep to my 
 own style and go on in my own way ; and though 
 I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced 
 that I should totally fail in any other. 
 I remain, my dear Sir, 
 Your very much obliged and sincere friend, 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 CHAWTON, near ALTON, April 1, 1816. 
 
 Mr. Clarke should have recollected the warning 
 of the wise man, " Force not the course of the 
 river. " If you divert it from the channel in 
 which nature taught it to flow, and force it into 
 one arbitrarily cut by yourself, you will lose its 
 grace and beauty. 
 
 But when his free course is not hindered, 
 
 He makes sweet music with the enamelled stones, 
 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays 
 
 With willing sport. 
 
 All writers of fiction who have genius strong 
 enough to work out a course of their own resist 
 every attempt to interfere with its direction. No 
 two writers could be more unlike each other than 
 Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte, so much so 
 that the latter was unable to understand why the for- 
 mer was admired, and confessed that she herself 
 " should hardly like to live with her ladies and 
 gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses ; J> 
 but each writer equally resisted interference with 
 her own natural style of composition. Miss 
 Bronte, in reply to a friendly critic, who had 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 273 
 
 warned her against being too melodramatic, and 
 had ventured to propose Miss Austen's works to 
 her as a study, writes thus : 
 
 ' i Whenever I do write another book, I think I 
 will have nothing of what you call ( melodrama. ' 
 I think so, but I am not sure. I think, too, I will 
 endeavor to follow the counsel which shines out of 
 , Miss Austen's 'mild eyes,' to finish more, and 
 be more subdued; but neither am I sure of that. 
 When authors write best, or at least when they 
 write most fluently, an influence seems to waken 
 in them which becomes their master, which will 
 have its way, putting out of view all behests but 
 its own, dictating certain words, and insisting on 
 their being used, whether vehement or measured 
 in their nature, new-moulding characters, giving 
 unthought-of turns to incidents, rejecting carefully 
 elaborated old ideas, and suddenly creating and 
 adopting new ones. Is it not so? And should 
 we try to counteract this influence? Can we 
 indeed counteract it?" 1 
 
 The playful raillery with which the one parries 
 an attack on her liberty, and the vehement elo- 
 quence of the other in pleading the same cause and 
 maintaining the independence of genius, are very 
 characteristic of the minds of the respective 
 writers. 
 
 The suggestions which Jane received as to the 
 sort of story that she ought to write were, how- 
 ever, an amusement to her, though they were not 
 likely to prove useful ; and she has left amongst 
 her papers one entitled * ' Plan of a novel accord- 
 
 1 Mrs. GaskelTs " Life of Miss Bronte," vol. ii. p. 53. 
 18 
 
274 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 ing to hints from various quarters. " The names of 
 some of those advisers are written on the mar- 
 gin of the manuscript, opposite to their respective 
 suggestions. 
 
 " Heroine to be the daughter of a clergyman, 
 who after having lived much in the world had 
 retired from it, and settled on a curacy with a 
 very small fortune of his own. The most excel- 
 lent man that can he imagined, perfect in charac- 
 ter, temper, and manner, without the smallest 
 drawback or peculiarity to prevent his being the 
 most delightful companion to his daughter from 
 one year's end to the other. Heroine faultless in 
 character, beautiful in person, and possessing 
 every possible accomplishment. Book to open 
 with father and daughter conversing in long 
 speeches, elegant language, and a tone of high 
 serious sentiment. The father induced, at his 
 daughter's earnest request, to relate to her the 
 past events of his life. Narrative to reach 
 through the greater part of the first volume; as, 
 besides all the circumstances of his attachment to 
 her mother, and their marriage, it will compre- 
 hend his going to sea as chaplain to a distin- 
 guished naval character about the court; and his 
 going afterwards to court himself, which involved 
 him in many interesting situations, concluding 
 with his opinion of the benefits of tithes being 
 done away with. . . . From this outset the story 
 will proceed, and contain a striking variety of 
 adventures. Father an exemplary parish priest, 
 and devoted to literature; but heroine and father 
 never above a fortnight in one place, he being 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 275 
 
 driven from his curacy by the vile arts of some 
 totally unprincipled and heartless 3 r oung man, 
 desperately in love with the heroine, and pursu- 
 ing her with unrelenting passion, No sooner set- 
 tled in one country of Europe than they are 
 compelled to quit it and retire to another, always 
 making new acquaintance, and always obliged to 
 leave them. This will of course exhibit a wide 
 variety of character. The scene will be forever 
 shifting from one set of people to another, but 
 there will be no mixture ; all the good will be un- 
 exceptionable in every respect. There will be no 
 foibles or weaknesses but with the wicked, who 
 will be completely depraved and infamous, hardly 
 a resemblance of humanity left in them. Early in 
 her career the heroine must meet with the hero: 
 all perfection, of course, and only prevented from 
 paying his addresses to her by some excess of re- 
 finement. Wherever she goes, somebody falls in 
 love with her, and she receives repeated offers of 
 marriage, which she refers wholly to her father, 
 exceedingly angry that he should not be the first 
 applied to. Often carried away by the anti-hero, 
 but rescued either by her father or the hero. 
 Often reduced to support herself and her father by 
 her talents, and work for her bread; continually 
 cheated, and defrauded of her hire ;. worn down to 
 a skeleton, and now and then starved to death. 
 At last, hunted out of civilized society, denied 
 the poor shelter of the humblest cottage, they are 
 compelled to retreat into Kamtschatka, where the 
 poor father, quite worn down, finding his end ap- 
 proaching, throws himself on the ground, and 
 
276 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 after four or five hours of tender advice and pa- 
 rental admonition to his miserable child, expires 
 in a fine burst of literary enthusiasm, intermin- 
 gled with invectives against the holders of tithes. 
 Heroine inconsolable for some time, but after- 
 wards crawls back towards her former country, 
 having at least twenty narrow escapes of falling 
 into the hands of anti-hero; and at last, in the 
 very nick of time, turning a corner to avoid him, 
 runs into the arms of the hero himself, who, hav- 
 ing just shaken off the scruples which fettered him 
 before, was at the very moment setting off in 
 pursuit of her. The tenderest and completest 
 eclaircissement takes place, and they are happily 
 united. Throughout the whole work heroine to 
 be in the most elegant society, and living in high 
 style. 77 
 
 Since the first publication of this memoir, Mr. 
 Murray of Albemarle Street has very kindly sent 
 to me copies of the following letters, which his 
 father received from Jane Austen, when engaged 
 in the publication of "Emma." The increasing 
 cordiality of the letters shows that the author felt 
 that her interests were duly cared for, and was 
 glad to find herself in the hands of a publisher 
 whom she could consider as a friend. 
 
 Her brother had addressed to Mr. Murray a 
 strong complaint of the tardiness of a printer : 
 
 23 HANS PLACE, Thursday, November 23 (1815). 
 SIB, My brother's note last Monday has 
 been so fruitless that I am afraid there can be 
 but little chance of my writing to any good effect; 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 277 
 
 but yet I am so very much disappointed and 
 vexed by the delays of the printers, that I cannot 
 help begging to know whether there is no hope of 
 their being quickened. Instead of the work being 
 ready by the end of the present month, it will 
 hardly, at the rate we now proceed, be finished by 
 the end of the next; and as I expect to leave 
 London early in December, it is of consequence 
 that no more time should be lost. Is it likely 
 that the printers will be influenced to greater de- 
 spatch and punctuality by knowing that the work 
 is to be dedicated, by permission, to the Prince 
 Regent? If you can make that circumstance oper- 
 ate, I shall be very glad. My brother returns 
 " Waterloo " with many thanks for the loan of it. 
 We have heard much of Scott's account of Paris. 1 
 If it be not incompatible with other arrangements, 
 would you favor us with it, supposing you have 
 any set already opened? You may depend upon 
 its being in careful hands. 
 
 I remain, Sir, your ob' humble Se*, 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 
 HANS PLACE, December 11 (1815). 
 
 DEAR SIR, As I find that "Emma" is ad- 
 vertised for publication as early as Saturday next, 
 I think it best to lose no time in settling all that 
 remains to be settled on the subject, and adopt 
 this method as involving the smallest tax on your 
 time. 
 
 In the first place, I beg you to understand 
 
 1 This must have been " Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk." 
 
278 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 that I leave the terms on which the trade should 
 be supplied with the work entirely to your judg- 
 ment, entreating you to be guided in every such 
 arrangement by your own experience of what is 
 most likely to clear off the edition rapidly. I 
 shall be satisfied with whatever you feel to be best. 
 The titlepage must be "Emma, dedicated by 
 permission to H. R. H. the Prince Regent." 
 And it is my particular wish that one set should 
 be completed and sent to H. R. H. two or three 
 days before the work is generally public. It 
 should be sent under cover to the Rev. J. S. 
 Clarke, Librarian, Carlton House. I shall sub- 
 join a list of those persons to whom I must trouble 
 you to forward also a set each, when the work is 
 out; all unbound, with "From the Authoress" 
 in the first page. 
 
 I return you, with very many thanks, the 
 books you have so obligingly supplied me with. 
 I ain very sensible, I assure you, of the attention 
 you have paid to my convenience and amusement. 
 I return also "Mansfield Park," as ready for a 
 second edition, I believe, as I can make it. I am 
 in Hans Place till the 16th. From that day in- 
 clusive, my direction will be Chawton, Alton, 
 Hants. 
 
 I remain, dear Sir, 
 
 Y r faithful humb. Serv 1 , 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 
 I wish you would have the goodness to send a 
 line by the bearer, stating the day on which the 
 set will be ready for the Prince Regent. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 279 
 
 HANS PLACE, December 11, 1815. 
 DEAR SIR, I am much obliged by yours, and 
 very happy to feel everything arranged to our 
 mutual satisfaction. As to my direction about 
 the titlepage, it was arising from my ignorance 
 only, and from my having never noticed the proper 
 place for a dedication. I thank you for putting 
 me right. Any deviation from what is usually 
 done in such cases is the last thing I should wish 
 for. I feel happy in having a friend to save me 
 from the ill effect of my own blunder. 
 Yours, dear Sir, etc., 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAWTON, April 1, 1816. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I return you the " Quarterly Re- 
 view " with many thanks. The Authoress of 
 "Emma" has no reason, I think, to complain of 
 her treatment in it, except in the total omission of 
 " Mansfield Park.' 7 I cannot but be sorry that so 
 clever a man as the Keviewer of "Emma" should 
 consider it as unworthy of being noticed. You 
 will be pleased to hear that I have received the 
 Prince's thanks for the handsome copy I sent him 
 of "Emma." Whatever he may think of my 
 share of the work, yours seems to have been quite 
 right. 
 
 In consequence of the late event in Henrietta 
 Street, I must request that if you should at any 
 time have anything to communicate by letter, you 
 will be so good as to write by the post, directing 
 to me (Miss J. Austen), Chawton, near Alton; 
 and that for anything of a larger bulk, you will 
 
280 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 add to the same direction, by Collier's Southamp- 
 ton coach. 
 
 I remain, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours very faithfully, 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 
 About the same time the following letters passed 
 between the Countess of Morley and the writer of 
 "Emma." I do not know whether they were 
 personally acquainted with each other, nor in what 
 this interchange of civilities originated: 
 
 The Countess of Morley to Miss J. Austen. 
 
 SALTRAM, December 27 (1815). 
 
 MADAM, I have been most anxiously waiting 
 for an introduction to "Emma," and am infinitely 
 obliged to you for your kind recollection of me, 
 which will procure me the pleasure of her acquaint- 
 ance some days sooner than I should otherwise 
 have had it. I am already become intimate with 
 the Woodhouse family, and feel that they will not 
 amuse and interest me less than the Bennets, 
 Bertrams, Norrises, and all their admirable prede- 
 cessors. I can give them no higher praise. 
 I am, Madam, your much obliged 
 
 F. MORLEY. 
 
 Miss J. Austen to the Countess of Morley. 
 
 MADAM, Accept my thanks for the honor of 
 your note, and for your kind disposition in favor 
 of "Emma." In my present state of doubt as to 
 her reception in the world, it is particularly grati- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 281 
 
 fying to me to receive so early an assurance of 
 your Ladyship's approbation. It encourages me 
 to depend on the same share of general good 
 opinion which " Emma's" predecessors have ex- 
 perienced, and to believe that I have not yet, as 
 almost every writer of fancy does sooner or later, 
 overwritten myself. 
 
 I am, Madam, 
 
 Your obliged and faithful Serv*, 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 
 December 31, 1815. 
 
282 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SLOW GROWTH OF HER FAME ILL SUCCESS OF FIRST 
 ATTEMPTS AT PUBLICATION Two REVIEWS OF HER 
 
 WORKS CONTRASTED. 
 
 SELDOM has any literary reputation been of such 
 slow growth as that of Jane Austen. Readers of 
 the present day know the rank that is generally 
 assigned to her. They have been told by Arch- 
 bishop Whately, in his review of her works, and 
 by Lord Macaulay, in his review of Madame 
 D'Arblay's, the reason why the highest place is to 
 be awarded to Jane Austen, as a truthful drawer 
 of character, and why she is to be classed with 
 those who have approached nearest, in that respect, 
 to the great master Shakspeare. They see her 
 safely placed, by such authorities, in her niche, 
 not indeed amongst the highest orders of genius, 
 but in one confessedly her own, in our British 
 temple of literary fame; and it may be difficult 
 to make them believe how coldly her works were at 
 first received, and how few readers had any appre- 
 ciation of their peculiar merits. Sometimes a 
 friend or neighbor, who chanced to know of our 
 connection with the author, would condescend to 
 speak with moderate approbation of " Sense and 
 Sensibility" or " Pride and Prejudice;" but if 
 they had known that we, in our secret thoughts, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 283 
 
 classed her with Madame D'Arblay or Miss Edge- 
 worth, or even with some other novel-writers of the 
 day whose names are now scarcely remembered, 
 they would have considered it an amusing instance 
 of family conceit. To the multitude her works ap- 
 peared tame and commonplace, 1 poor in coloring, 
 and sadly deficient in incident and interest. It is 
 true that we were sometimes cheered by hearing 
 that a different verdict had been pronounced by 
 more competent judges : we were told how some great 
 statesman or distinguished poet held these works 
 in high estimation; we had the satisfaction of 
 believing that they were most admired by the best 
 judges, and comforted ourselves with Horace's 
 " satis est Equitem mihi plaudere." So much was 
 this the case, that one of the ablest men of my 
 acquaintance 2 said, in that kind of jest which has 
 much earnest in it, that he had established it in 
 his own mind as a new test of ability, whether 
 people could or could not appreciate Miss Austen's 
 merits. 
 
 But though such golden opinions were now and 
 
 1 A greater genius than my aunt shared with her the impu- 
 tation of being commonplace. Leckhart, speaking of the low 
 estimation in which Scott's conversational powers were held 
 in the literary and scientific society of Edinburgh, says : " I 
 think the epithet most in vogue concerning it was ' common- 
 place.' " He adds, however, that one of the most eminent of 
 that society was of a different opinion, "who, when some 
 glib youth chanced to echo in his hearing the consolatory 
 tenet of local mediocrity, answered quietly, ' 1 have the mis- 
 fortune to think differently from you. In my humble opin- 
 ion Walter Scott's sense is a still more wonderful thing than 
 his genius.'" LOCKHART'S Life of Scott, vol. iv. chap. v. 
 
 2 The late Mr. K. H. Cheney. 
 
284 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 then gathered in, yet the wide field of public taste 
 yielded no adequate return either in praise or 
 profit. Her reward was not to be the quick return of 
 the cornfield, but the slow growth of the tree which 
 is to endure to another generation. Her first at- 
 tempts at publication were very discouraging. In 
 November, 1797, her father wrote the following 
 letter to Mr. Cadell: 
 
 SIR, I have in my possession a manuscript 
 novel, comprising 3 vols., about the length of Miss 
 Burney's "Evelina." As I am well aware of what 
 consequence it is that a work of this sort sh d make 
 its first appearance under a respectable name, I 
 apply to you. I shall be much obliged therefore if 
 you will inform me whether you choose to be con- 
 cerned in it, what will be the expense of publishing 
 it at the author's risk, and what you will venture to 
 advance for the property of it, if on perusal it is 
 approved of. Should you give any encouragement, 
 I will send you the work. 
 
 I am, Sir, your humble Servant, 
 
 GEORGE AUSTEN. 
 
 STEVENTON, NEAR OVERTON, HANTS, 
 1st Nov., 1797. 
 
 This proposal was declined by return of post! 
 The work thus summarily rejected must have been 
 " Pride and Prejudice." 
 
 The fate of "Northaiiger Abbey " was still more 
 humiliating. It was sold, in 1803, to a publisher 
 in Bath, for ten pounds; but it found so little 
 fa^or in his eyes that he chose to abide by his 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 285 
 
 first loss rather than risk further expense by pub- 
 lishing such a work. It seems to have lain for 
 many years unnoticed in his drawers ; somewhat as 
 the first chapters of " Waverley" lurked forgotten 
 amongst the old fishing-tackle in Scott's cabinet. 
 
 Tilneys, Thorpes, and Morlands consigned ap- 
 parently to eternal oblivion ! But when four novels 
 of steadily increasing success had given the writer 
 some confidence in herself, she wished to recover 
 the copyright of this early work. One of her 
 brothers undertook the negotiation. He found the 
 purchaser very willing to receive back his money, 
 and to resign all claim to the copyright. When 
 the bargain was concluded and the money paid, 
 but not till then, the negotiator had the satisfac- 
 tion of informing him that the work which had 
 been so lightly esteemed was by the author of 
 " Pride and Prejudice." I do not think that she 
 was herself much mortified by the want of early suc- 
 cess. She wrote for her own amusement. Money, 
 though acceptable, was not necessary for the mod- 
 erate expenses of her quiet home. Above all, she 
 was blessed with a cheerful, contented disposition 
 and an humble mind; and so lowly did she esteem 
 her own claims, that when she received 150. from 
 the sale of " Sense and Sensibility," she con- 
 sidered it a prodigious recompense for that which 
 had cost her nothing. It cannot be supposed, how- 
 ever, that she was altogether insensible to the 
 superiority of her own workmanship over that of 
 some contemporaries who were then enjoying a 
 brief popularity. Indeed a few touches in the fol- 
 lowing extracts from two of her letters show that 
 
286 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 she was as quick-sighted to absurdities in compo- 
 sition as to those in living persons. 
 
 "Mr. C.'s opinion is gone down in my list; but 
 as my paper relates only to ' Mansfield Park, ' I 
 may fortunately excuse myself from entering Mr. 
 D.'s. I will redeem my credit with him by writ- 
 ing a close imitation of ' Self-Control, ' as soon as 
 I can. I will improve upon it. My heroine shall 
 not only be wafted down an American river in a 
 boat by herself; she shall cross the Atlantic in 
 the same way, and never stop till she reaches 
 Gravesend. 
 
 "We have got 'Rosanne' in our Society, and 
 find it much as you describe it; very good and 
 clever, but tedious. Mrs. Hawkins' great excel- 
 lence is on serious subjects. There are some very 
 delightful conversations and reflections on religion : 
 but on lighter topics I think she falls into many 
 absurdities; and, as to love, her heroine has very 
 comical feelings. There are a thousand improba- 
 bilities in the story. Do you remember the two 
 Miss Ormsdens introduced just at last? Very flat 
 and unnatural. Mad eUe Cossart is rather my 
 passion." 
 
 Two notices of her works appeared in the 
 "Quarterly Review," one in October, 1815, and 
 another, more than three years after her death, in 
 January, 1821. The latter article is known to 
 have been from the pen of Whately, afterwards 
 Archbishop of Dublin. 1 They differ much from 
 
 1 Lockhart had supposed that this article had been written 
 by Scott, because it exactly accorded with the opinions which 
 Scott had often been heard to express, but he learned after- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 287 
 
 each other in the degree of praise which they 
 award, and I think also it may be said, in the 
 ability with which they are written. The first 
 bestows some approval, but the other expresses the 
 warmest admiration. One can scarcely be satisfied 
 with the critical acumen of the former writer, who, 
 in treating of " Sense and Sensibility," takes no 
 notice whatever of the vigor with which many of 
 the characters are drawn, but declares that " the 
 interest and merit of the piece depends altogether 
 upon the behavior of the elder sister ! " Nor is he 
 fair when, in " Pride and Prejudice, " he repre- 
 sents Elizabeth's change of sentiments towards 
 Darcy as caused by the sight of his house and 
 grounds. But the chief discrepancy between the 
 two reviewers is to be found in their appreciation 
 of the commonplace and silly characters to be 
 found in these novels. On this point the differ- 
 ence almost amounts to a contradiction, such as 
 one sometimes sees drawn up in parallel columns, 
 when it is desired to convict some writer or some 
 statesman of inconsistency. The Eeviewer in 
 1815 says: "The faults of these works arise from 
 the minute detail which the author's plan compre- 
 hends. Characters of folly or simplicity, such as 
 those of old Woodhouse and Miss Bates, are ridicu- 
 lous when first presented, but if too often brought 
 
 wards that it had been written by Whately ; and Lockhart, 
 who became the Editor of the Quarterly, must have had the 
 means of knowing the truth. (See Lockhart's " Life of Sir 
 Walter Scott," vol. v. p. 158.) I remember that, at the time 
 when the review came out, it was reported in Oxford that 
 Whately had written the article at the request of the lady 
 whom he afterwards married. 
 
288 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 forward, or too long dwelt on, their prosing is apt 
 to become as tiresome in fiction as in real society." 
 The Keviewer in 1821, on the contrary, singles 
 out the fools as especial instances of the writers 
 abilities, and declares that in this respect she 
 shows a regard to character hardly exceeded by 
 Shakspeare himself. These are his words: " Like 
 him (Shakspeare) she shows as admirable a discrim- 
 ination in the character of fools as of people of 
 sense, a merit which is far from common. To 
 invent indeed a conversation full of wisdom or of 
 wit requires that the writer should himself possess 
 ability ; but the converse does not hold good, it is 
 no fool that can describe fools well ; and many who 
 have succeeded pretty well in painting superior 
 characters have failed in giving individuality to 
 those weaker ones which it is necessary to intro- 
 duce in order to give a faithful representation of 
 real life: they exhibit to us mere folly in the 
 abstract, forgetting that to the eye of the skilful 
 naturalist the insects on a leaf present as wide 
 differences as exist between the lion and the ele- 
 phant. Slender, and Shallow, and Aguecheek, as 
 Shakspeare has painted them, though equally fools, 
 resemble one another no more than Kichard, and 
 Macbeth, and Julius Csesar; and Miss Austen's l 
 Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Rushworth, and Miss Bates are 
 no more alike than her Darcy, Knightley, and 
 Edmund Bertram. Some have complained indeed 
 of finding her fools too much like nature, and con- 
 sequently tiresome. There is no disputing about 
 
 1 In transcribing this passage I have taken the liberty so 
 far to correct it as to spell her name properly with an " e." 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 289 
 
 tastes; all we can say is, that such critics must 
 (whatever deference they may outwardly pay to 
 received opinions) find the ( Merry Wives of 
 Windsor ' and ' Twelfth Night ' very tiresome ; 
 and that those who look with pleasure at Wilkie's 
 picture, or those of the Dutch school, must admit 
 that excellence of imitation may confer attraction 
 on that which would be insipid or disagreeable in 
 the reality. Her minuteness of detail has also 
 been found fault with ; but even where it produces, 
 at the time, a degree of tediousness, we know not 
 whether that can justly be reckoned a blemish 
 which is absolutely essential to a very high excel- 
 lence. Now it is absolutely impossible, without 
 this, to produce that thorough acquaintance with 
 the characters which is necessary to make the 
 reader heartily interested in them. Let any one 
 cut out from the ' Iliad ' or from Shakspeare's 
 plays everything (we are far from saying that 
 either might not lose some parts with advantage, 
 but let him reject everything) which is absolutely 
 devoid of importance and interest in itself; and he 
 will find that what is left will have lost more than 
 half its charms. We are convinced that some 
 writers have diminished the effect of their works 
 by being scrupulous to admit nothing into them 
 which had not some absolute and independent 
 merit. They have acted like those who strip off 
 the leaves of a fruit tree, as being of themselves 
 good for nothing, with the view of securing more 
 nourishment to the fruit, which in fact cannot 
 attain its full maturity and flavor without them." 
 The world, I think, has endorsed the opinion of 
 19 
 
290 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 the later writer; but it would not be fair to set 
 down the discrepancy between the two entirely to 
 the discredit of the former. The fact is that, in 
 the course of the intervening five years, these 
 works had been read and reread by many leaders 
 in the literary world. The public taste was form- 
 ing itself all this time, and "grew by what it fed 
 on." These novels belong to a class which gain 
 rather than lose by frequent perusals, and it is 
 probable that each Reviewer represented fairly 
 enough the prevailing opinions of readers in the 
 year when each wrote. 
 
 Since that time the testimonies in favor of Jane 
 Austen's works have been continual and almost 
 unanimous. They are frequently referred to as mod- 
 els : nor have they lost their first distinction of be- 
 ing especially acceptable to minds of the highest 
 order. I shall indulge myself by collecting into 
 the next chapter instances of the homage paid to 
 her by such persons. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 291 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OPINIONS EXPRESSED BY EMINENT PERSONS OPINIONS OF 
 OTHERS OP LESS EMINENCE OPINION OF AMERICAN 
 READERS. 
 
 INTO this list of the admirers of my aunt's works 
 I admit those only whose eminence will be uni- 
 versally acknowledged. No doubt the number 
 might have been increased. 
 
 Southey, in a letter to Sir Egerton Brydges, 
 says: "You mention Miss Austen. Her novels 
 are more true to nature, and have, for my sympa- 
 thies, passages of finer feeling than any others of 
 this age. She was a person of whom I have heard 
 so well and think so highly that I regret not hav- 
 ing had an opportunity of testifying to her the 
 respect which I felt for her/' 
 
 It may be observed that Southey had probably 
 heard from his own family connections of the 
 charm of her private character. A friend of hers, 
 the daughter of Mr. Bigge Wither, of Manydown 
 Park near Basingstoke, was married to Southey ? s 
 uncle, the Eev. Herbert Hill, who had been useful 
 to his nephew in many ways, and especially in 
 supplying him with the means of attaining his 
 extensive knowledge of Spanish and Portuguese 
 literature. Mr. Hill had been Chaplain to the 
 British Factory at Lisbon, where Southey visited 
 him and had the use of a library in those languages 
 which his uncle had collected. Southey himself 
 
292 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 continually mentions his Uncle Hill in terms of 
 respect and gratitude. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge would sometimes burst out into 
 high encomiums of Miss Austen's novels as being, 
 " in their way, perfectly genuine and individual 
 productions. " 
 
 I remember Miss Mitford's saying tome: "I 
 would almost cut off one of my hands, if it would 
 enable me to write like your aunt with the other." 
 
 The biographer of Sir J. Mackintosh says: 
 " Something recalled to his mind the traits of 
 character which are so delicately touched in Miss 
 Austen's novels. ... He said that there was genius 
 in sketching out that new kind of novel. . . . He 
 was vexed for the credit of the < Edinburgh Ke- 
 view ' that it had left her unnoticed. 1 . . . ' The 
 Quarterly ' had done her more justice. ... It was 
 impossible for a foreigner to understand fully the 
 merit of her works. Madame de Stael, to whom 
 he had recommended one of her novels, found no 
 interest in it-, and in her note to him in reply 
 said it was ' vulgaire;' and yet, he said, nothing 
 could be more true than what he wrote in answer : 
 * There is no book which that word would so lit- 
 tle suit.' , . . Every village could furnish matter 
 for a novel to Miss Austen. She did not need the 
 common materials for a novel, strong emotions or 
 strong incidents." 2 
 
 It was not, however, quite impossible for a for- 
 
 1 Incidentally she had received high praise in Lord 
 Macaulay's Review of Madame D'Arblay's Works in the 
 " Edinburgh." 
 
 2 Life of Sir J. Mackintosh, vol. ii. p. 472, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 293 
 
 eigner to appreciate these works; forMons. Guizot 
 writes thus: "I am a great novel-reader, but I sel- 
 dom read German or French novels. The charac- 
 ters are too artificial. My delight is to read Eng- 
 lish novels, particularly those written hy women. 
 ' C'est toute une 4cole de morale.' Miss Austen, 
 Miss Ferrier, etc., form a school which in the 
 excellence and profusion of its productions re- 
 semhles the cloud of dramatic poets of the great 
 Athenian age." 
 
 In the " Keepsake " of 1825 the following lines 
 appeared, written by Lord Morpeth, afterwards 
 seventh Earl of Carlisle, and Lord-Lieutenant of 
 Ireland, accompanying an illustration of a lady 
 reading a novel : 
 
 Beats thy quick pulse o'er Inchbald's thrilling leaf, 
 
 Brunton's high moral, Opie's deep-wrought grief ? 
 
 Has the mild chaperon claimed thy yielding heart, 
 
 Carroll's dark page, Trevelyan's gentle art ? 
 
 Or is it thou, all-perfect Austen ? Here 
 
 Let one poor wreath adorn thy early bier, 
 
 That scarce allowed thy modest youth to claim 
 
 Its living portion of thy certain fame ! 
 
 Oh ! Mrs. Bennet ! Mrs. Norris too ! 
 
 While memory survives we '11 dream of you. 
 
 And Mr. Woodhouse, whose abstemious lip 
 
 Must thin, but not too thin, his gruel sip. 
 
 Miss Bates, our idol, though the village bore ; 
 
 And Mrs. Elton, ardent to explore. 
 
 While the dear style flows on without pretence, 
 
 With unstained purity, and unmatched sense : 
 
 Or, if a sister e'er approached the throne, 
 
 She called the rich " inheritance " her own. 
 
 The admiration felt by Lord Macaulay would 
 probably have taken a very practical form, if his 
 
294 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 life had been prolonged. I have the authority of 
 his sister, Lady Trevelyan, for stating that he had 
 intended to undertake the task upon which I have 
 ventured. He purposed to write a memoir of Miss 
 Austen, with criticisms on her works, to prefix it to 
 a new edition of her novels, and from the proceeds 
 of the sale to erect a monument to her memory in 
 Winchester Cathedral. Oh that such an idea had 
 been realized! That portion of the plan in which 
 Lord Macaulay's success would have been most 
 certain might have been almost sufficient for his 
 object. A memoir written by him would have 
 been a monument. 
 
 I am kindly permitted by Sir Henry Holland 
 to give the following quotation from his printed 
 but unpublished recollections of his past life: 
 
 "I have the picture still before me of Lord 
 Holland lying on his bed, when attacked with 
 gout, his admirable sister, Miss Fox, beside him 
 reading aloud, as she always did on these occa- 
 sions, some one of Miss Austen's novels, of which 
 he was never wearied. I well recollect the time 
 when these charming novels, almost unique in 
 their style of humor, burst suddenly on the world. 
 It was sad that their writer did not live to witness 
 the growth of her fame." 
 
 My brother-in-law, Sir Denis Le Marchant, has 
 supplied me with the following anecdotes from 
 his own recollections : 
 
 "When I was a student at Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, Mr. Whewell, then a Fellow and after- 
 wards Master of the College, often spoke to me 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 295 
 
 with admiration of Miss Austen's novels. On one 
 occasion I said that I had found ' Persuasion ' 
 rather dull. He quite fired up in defence of it, 
 insisting that it was the most beautiful of her 
 works. This accomplished philosopher was deeply 
 versed in works of fiction. I recollect his writing 
 to me from Caernarvon, where he had the charge 
 of some pupils, that he was weary of his stay, 
 for he had read the circulating library twice 
 through. 
 
 "During a visit I paid to Lord Lansdowne, at 
 Bowood, in 1846, one of Miss Austen's novels be- 
 came the subject of conversation and of praise, 
 especially from Lord Lansdowne, who observed 
 that one of the circumstances of his life which he 
 looked back upon with vexation was that Miss 
 Austen should once have been living some weeks 
 in his neighborhood without his knowing it. 
 
 " I have heard Sydney Smith, more than once, 
 dwell with eloquence on the merits of Miss Aus- 
 ten's novels. He told me he should have enjoyed 
 giving her the pleasure of reading her praises in 
 the l Edinburgh Eeview. ' ' Fanny Price ' was 
 one of his prime favorites." 
 
 I close this list of testimonies, this long " Ca- 
 tena Patrum," with the remarkable words of Sir 
 Walter Scott, taken from his diary for March 14, 
 1826: * "Read again, for the third time at least, 
 Miss Austen's finely written novel of t Pride and 
 Prejudice. ' That young lady had a talent for de- 
 scribing the involvements and feelings and charac- 
 ters of ordinary life, which is to me the most 
 1 Lockhart's " Life of Scott," vol. vi. chap. vii. 
 
296 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 wonderful I ever met with. The big Bow- Wow 
 strain I can do myself like any now going ; but 
 the exquisite touch which renders ordinary com- 
 monplace things and characters interesting from 
 the truth of the description and the sentiment is 
 denied to me. What a pity such a gifted creat- 
 ure died so early! " The well-worn condition of 
 Scott's own copy of these works attests that they 
 were much read in his family. When I visited 
 Abbotsford, a few years after Scott's death, I was 
 permitted, as an unusual favor, to take one of 
 these volumes in my hands. One cannot suppress 
 the wish that she had lived to know what such 
 men thought of her powers, and how gladly they 
 would have cultivated a personal acquaintance 
 with her. I do not think that it would at all 
 have impaired the modest simplicity of her charac- 
 ter; or that we should have lost our own dear 
 "Aunt Jane " in the blaze of literary fame. 
 
 It may be amusing to contrast with these 
 testimonies from the great, the opinions expressed 
 by other readers of more ordinary intellect. The 
 author herself has left a list of criticisms which 
 it had been her amusement to collect, through 
 means of her friends. This list contains much of 
 warm-hearted sympathizing praise, interspersed 
 with some opinions which may be considered 
 surprising. 
 
 One lady could say nothing better of " Mans- 
 field Park " than that it was " a mere novel." 
 
 Another owned that she thought "Sense and 
 Sensibility" and "Pride and Prejudice 7 ' down- 
 right nonsense; but expected to like "Mansfield 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 297 
 
 Park" better, and having finished the first vol- 
 ume, hoped that she had got through the worst. 
 
 Another did not like " Mansfield Park. " Noth- 
 ing interesting in the characters. Language poor. 
 
 One gentleman read the first and last chapters 
 of "Emma," but did not look at the rest, because 
 he had been told that it was not interesting. 
 
 The opinions of another gentleman about 
 ' ' Emma ' ' were so bad that they could not be 
 reported to the author. 
 
 " Quot homines, tot sententise." 
 
 Thirty-five years after her death there came 
 also a voice of praise from across the Atlantic. 
 In 1852 the following letter was received by her 
 brother, Sir Francis Austen: 
 
 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS. U. S. A., 
 6th Jan., 1852. 
 
 Since high critical authority has pronounced the 
 delineations of character in the works of Jane 
 Austen second only to those of Shakspeare, transat- 
 lantic admiration appears superfluous; yet it may 
 not be uninteresting to her family to receive an as- 
 surance that the influence of her genius is exten- 
 sively recognized in the American Republic, even 
 by the highest judicial authorities. The late Mr. 
 Chief Justice Marshall, of the Supreme Court of 
 the United States, and his associate Mr. Justice 
 Story, highly estimated and admired Miss Austen, 
 and to them we owe our introduction to her so- 
 ciety. For many years her talents have bright- 
 ened our daily path, and her name and those of 
 her characters are familiar to us as * ' household 
 
298 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 words." We have long wished to express to some 
 of her family the sentiments of gratitude and 
 affection she has inspired, and request more infor- 
 mation relative to her life than is given in the 
 brief memoir prefixed to her works. 
 
 Having accidental!}' heard that a brother of 
 Jane Austen held a high rank in the British Navy, 
 we have obtained his address from our friend 
 Admiral Wormley, now resident in Boston, and 
 we trust this expression of our feeling will be re- 
 ceived by her relations with the kindness and 
 urbanity characteristic of Admirals of her creation. 
 Sir Francis Austen, or one of his family, would 
 confer a great favor by complying with our request. 
 The autograph of his sister, or a few lines in her 
 handwriting, would be placed among our chief 
 treasures. 
 
 The family who delight in the companionship 
 of Jane Austen, and who present this petition, are 
 of- English origin. Their ancestor held a high 
 rank among the first emigrants to New England, 
 and his name and character have been ably repre- 
 sented by his descendants in various public sta- 
 tions of trust and responsibility to the present 
 time in the colony and State of Massachusetts. A 
 letter addressed to Miss Quincy, care of the 
 Hon ble Josiah Quincy, Boston, Massachusetts, 
 would reach its destination. 
 
 Sir Francis Austen returned a suitable reply to 
 this application; and sent a long letter of his 
 sister's, which, no doubt, still occupies the place 
 of honor promised by the Quincy family. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 299 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON THE NOVELS. 
 
 IT is not the object of these memoirs to attempt 
 a criticism on Jane Austen's novels. Those partic- 
 ulars only have been noticed which could be illus- 
 trated by the circumstances of her own life; but 
 I now desire to offer a few observations on them, 
 and especially on one point, on which my age ren- 
 ders me a competent witness, the fidelity with 
 which they represent the opinions and manners of 
 the class of society in which the author lived, early 
 in this century. They do this the more faithfully 
 on account of the very deficiency with which they 
 have been sometimes charged, namely, that they 
 make no attempt to raise the standard of human 
 life, but merely represent it as it was. They cer- 
 tainly were not written to support any theory or 
 inculcate any particular moral, except indeed the 
 great moral which is to be equally gathered from 
 an observation of the course of actual life, 
 namely, the superiority of high over low princi- 
 ples, and of greatness over littleness of mind. 
 These writings are like photographs, in which no 
 feature is softened; no ideal expression is intro- 
 duced, all is the unadorned reflection of the natural 
 object; and the value of such a faithful likeness 
 must increase as time gradually works more and 
 
300 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN, 
 
 more changes in the face of society itself. A re- 
 markable instance of this is to be found in her 
 portraiture of the clergy. She was the daughter 
 and the sister of clergymen, who certainly were 
 not low specimens of their order, and she has 
 chosen three of her heroes from that profession; 
 but no one in these days can think that either 
 Edmund Bertram or Henry Tilney had adequate 
 ideas of the duties of a parish minister. Such, 
 however, were the opinions and practice then prev- 
 alent among respectable and conscientious clergy- 
 men before their minds had been stirred, first by 
 the Evangelical and afterwards by the High- 
 Church movement which this century has wit- 
 nessed. The country may be congratulated which, 
 on looking back to such a fixed landmark, can find 
 that it has been advancing instead of receding 
 from it. 
 
 The long interval that elapsed between the com- 
 pletion of "Northanger Abbey " in 1798 and the 
 commencement of " Mansfield Park 7 ' in 1811 
 may sufficiently account for any difference of style 
 which may be perceived between her three earlier 
 and her three later productions. If the former 
 showed quite as much originality and genius, they 
 may perhaps be thought to have less of the fault- 
 less finish and high polish which distinguish the 
 latter. The characters of the John Dashwoods, 
 Mr. Collins, and the Thorpes stand out from the 
 canvas with a vigor and originality which cannot 
 be surpassed; but I think that in her last three 
 works are to be found a greater refinement of taste, 
 a more nice sense of propriety, and a deeper in- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 301 
 
 sight into the delicate anatomy of the human 
 heart, marking the difference between the brilliant 
 girl and the mature woman. Far from being one 
 of those who have over-written themselves, it may 
 be affirmed that her fame would have stood on a 
 narrower and less firm basis if she had not lived 
 to resume her pen at Chawton. 
 
 Some persons have surmised that she took her 
 characters from individuals with whom she had 
 been acquainted. They were so lifelike that it 
 was assumed that they must once have lived, and 
 have been transferred bodily, as it were, into her 
 pages. But surely such a supposition betrays an 
 ignorance of the high prerogative of genius to 
 create out of its own resources imaginary charac- 
 ters, who shall be true to nature and consistent in 
 themselves. Perhaps, however, the distinction 
 between keeping true to nature and servilely 
 copying any one specimen of it is not always 
 clearly apprehended. It is indeed true, both of 
 the writer and of the painter, that he can use only 
 such lineaments as exist, and as he has observed 
 to exist, in living objects; otherwise he would pro- 
 duce monsters instead of human beings; but in 
 both it is the office of high art to mould these 
 features into new combinations, and to place them 
 in the attitudes and impart to them the expressions 
 which may suit the purposes of the artist; so that 
 they are nature, but not exactly the same nature 
 which had come before his eyes; just as honey can 
 be obtained only from the natural flowers which 
 the bee has sucked; yet it is not a reproduction of 
 the odor or flavor of any particular flower, but be- 
 
302 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 comes something different when it has gone 
 through the process of transformation which that 
 little insect is able to effect. Hence, in the case 
 of painters, arises the superiority of original com- 
 positions over portrait-painting. Reynolds was 
 exercising a higher faculty when he designed 
 Comedy and Tragedy contending for Garrick, than 
 when he merely took a likeness of that actor. The 
 same difference exists in writings between the 
 original conceptions of Shakspeare and some other 
 creative geniuses, and such full-length likenesses 
 of individual persons, "The Talking Gentleman" 
 for instance, as are admirably drawn by Miss 
 Mitford. Jane Austen's powers, whatever may be 
 the degree in which she possessed them, were cer- 
 tainly of that higher order. She did not copy 
 individuals, but she invested her own creations 
 with individuality of character. A reviewer in the 
 "Quarterly" speaks of an acquaintance who, ever 
 since the publication of "Pride and Prejudice," 
 had been called by his friends Mr. Bennet, but the 
 author did not know him. Her own relations 
 never recognized any individual in her characters; 
 and I can call to mind several of her acquaintance, 
 whose peculiarities were very tempting and easy to 
 be caricatured, of whom there are no traces in her 
 pages. She herself, when questioned on the sub- 
 ject by a friend, expressed a dread of what she 
 called such an "invasion of social proprieties." 
 She said that she thought it quite fair to note 
 peculiarities and weaknesses, but that it was her 
 desire to create, not to reproduce; "besides," she 
 added, "I am too proud of my gentlemen to admit 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 303 
 
 that they were only Mr. A. or Colonel B." She 
 did not, however, suppose that her imaginary 
 characters were of a higher order than are to he 
 found in nature; for she said, when speaking of 
 two of her great favorites, Edmund Bertram and 
 Mr. Knightley : ' ' They are very far from heing 
 what I know English gentlemen often are." 
 
 She certainly took a kind of parental interest in 
 the beings whom she had created, and did not dis- 
 miss them from her thoughts when she had finished 
 her last chapter. We have seen, in one of her let- 
 ters, her personal affection for Darcy and Elizabeth ; 
 and when sending a copy of "Emma" to a friend 
 whose daughter had been lately born, she wrote 
 thus: "I trust you will be as glad to see my 
 'Emma ' as I shall be to see your Jemima." She 
 was very fond of Emma, but did not reckon on 
 her being a general favorite; for, when commenc- 
 ing that work, she said, "I am going to take a 
 heroine whom no one but myself will much like." 
 She would, if asked, tell us many little particulars 
 about the subsequent career of some of her people. 
 In this traditionary way we learned that Miss Steele 
 never succeeded in catching the Doctor ; that Kitty 
 Bennet was satisfactorily married to a clergyman 
 near Pemberley, while Mary obtained nothing 
 higher than one of her uncle Philip's clerks, and 
 was content to be considered a star in the society 
 of Meriton; that the " considerable sum" given 
 by Mrs. Norris to William Price was one pound; 
 that Mr. Woodhouse survived his daughter's mar- 
 riage, and kept her and Mr. Knightley from set- 
 tling at Donwell, about two years; and that the 
 
304 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 letters placed by Frank Churchill before Jane Fair- 
 fax, which she swept away unread, contained the 
 word " pardon." Of the good people in " North- 
 anger Abbey" and "Persuasion" we know noth- 
 ing more than what is written; for before those 
 works were published their author had been taken 
 away from us, and all such amusing communica- 
 tions had ceased forever. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 305 
 
 CHAPTEB X. 
 
 DECLINING HEALTH OP JANE AUSTEN ELASTICITY OF 
 HER SPIRITS HER RESIGNATION AND HUMILITY HER 
 DEATH. 
 
 EARLY in the year 1816 some family troubles dis- 
 turbed the usually tranquil course of Jane Austen's 
 life; and it is probable that the inward malady, 
 which was to prove ultimately fatal, was already 
 felt by her; for some distant friends, 1 whom she 
 visited in the spring of that year, thought that 
 her health was somewhat impaired, and observed 
 that she went about her old haunts and recalled 
 old recollections connected with them in a particu- 
 lar manner, as if she did not expect ever to see 
 them again. It is not surprising that, under these 
 circumstances, some of her letters were of a graver 
 tone than had been customary with her, and ex- 
 pressed resignation rather than cheerfulness. In 
 reference to these troubles in a letter to her brother 
 Charles, after mentioning that she had been laid up 
 with an attack of bilious fever, she says: "I live 
 upstairs for the present, and am coddled. I am 
 the only one of the party who has been so silly, 
 but a weak body must excuse weak nerves/' And 
 again to another correspondent: "But I am get- 
 ting too near complaint; it has been the appoint- 
 ment of God, however secondary causes may have 
 
 1 The Fowles, of Kintbury, in Berkshire. 
 20 
 
306 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 operated." But the elasticity of her spirits soon 
 recovered their tone. It was in the latter half of 
 that year that she addressed the two following 
 lively letters to a nephew, one while he was at 
 Winchester School, the other soon after he had 
 left it: 
 
 CHAWTON, July 9, 1816. 
 
 MY DEAR E., Many thanks. A thank for 
 every line, and as many to Mr. W. Digweed for 
 coming. We have been wanting very much to 
 hear of your mother, and are happy to find she 
 continues to mend, but her illness must have been 
 a very serious one indeed. When she is really 
 recovered, she ought to try change of air, and come 
 over to us. Tell your father that I am very much 
 obliged to him for his share of your letter, and 
 most sincerely join in the hope of her being event- 
 ually much the better for her present discipline. 
 She has the comfort, moreover, of being confined in 
 such weather as gives one little temptation to be 
 out. It is really too bad, and has been too bad for 
 a long time, much worse than any one can bear, 
 and I begin to think it will never be fine again. 
 This is a finesse of mine, for I have often observed 
 that if one writes about the weather, it is generally 
 completely changed before the letter is read. I 
 wish it may prove so now, and that when Mr. W. 
 Digweed reaches Steve nton to-morrow, he may 
 find you have had a long series of hot dry weather. 
 We are a small party at present, only grand- 
 mamma, Mary Jane, and myself. Yalden's coach 
 cleared off the rest yesterday. I am glad you 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 307 
 
 recollected to mention your being come home. 1 My 
 heart began to sink within me when I had got so 
 far through your letter without its being men- 
 tioned. I was dreadfully afraid that you might 
 be detained at Winchester by severe illness, con- 
 fined to your bed perhaps, and quite unable to 
 hold a pen, and only dating from Steventon in 
 order, with a mistaken sort of tenderness, to 
 deceive me. But now I have no doubt of your 
 being at home. I am sure you would not say it so 
 seriously unless it actually were so. We saw a 
 countless number of post-chaises full of boys pass 
 by yesterday morning, 2 full of future heroes, legis- 
 lators, fools, and villains. You have never thanked 
 me for my last letter, which went by the cheese. 
 I cannot bear not to be thanked. You will not 
 pay us a visit yet of course; we must not think of 
 it. Your mother must get well first, and you 
 must go to Oxford and not be elected; after that a 
 little change of scene may be good for you, and 
 your physicians, I hope, will order you to the sea, 
 or to a house by the side of a very considerable 
 pond. 3 Oh! it rains again. It beats against the 
 window. Mary Jane and I have been wet through 
 once already to-day; we set off in the donkey- 
 
 1 It seems that her young correspondent, after dating from 
 his home, had been so superfluous as to state in his letter that 
 he was returned home, and thus to have drawn on himself 
 this banter. 
 
 2 The road by which many Winchester boys returned home 
 ran close to Chawton Cottage. 
 
 8 There was, though it exists no longer, a pond close to 
 Chawton Cottage, at the junction of the Winchester and 
 Gosport roads. 
 
308 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 carriage for Farringdon, as I wanted to see the 
 improvement Mr. Woolls is making; but we were 
 obliged to turn back before we got there, but not 
 soon enough to avoid a pelter all the way home. 
 We met Mr. Woolls. I talked of its being bad 
 weather for the hay, and he returned me the com- 
 fort of its being much worse for the wheat. We 
 hear that Mrs. S. does not quit Tangier : why and 
 wherefore? Do you know that our Browning is 
 gone? You must prepare for a William when you 
 come, a good-looking lad, civil and quiet, and 
 seeming likely to do. Good-by. I am sure Mr. 
 W. D. 1 will be astonished at my writing so much, 
 for the paper is so thin that he will be able to 
 count the lines if not to read them. 
 Yours affec ly , 
 
 JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 In the next letter will be found her description 
 of her own style of composition, which has already 
 appeared in the notice prefixed to " Northanger 
 Abbey " and " Persuasion " : 
 
 CHAWTON, Monday, Dec. 16, 1816. 
 MY DEAR E., One reason for my writing to 
 you now is, that I may have the pleasure of direct- 
 ing to you Esq re . I give you joy of having left 
 Winchester. Now you may own how miserable 
 you were there ; now it will gradually all come out, 
 your crimes and your miseries, how often you 
 went up by the Mail to London and threw away 
 
 1 Mr. Digweed, who conveyed the letters to and from 
 Chawton, was the gentleman named, in page 193, as renting 
 the old manor-house and the large farm at Steveuton. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 309 
 
 fifty guineas at a tavern, and how often you were 
 on the point of hanging yourself, restrained only, 
 as some ill-natured aspersion upon poor old Win- 
 ton has it, by the want of a tree within some miles 
 of the city. Charles Knight and his companions 
 passed through Chawton about nine this morning; 
 later than it used to be. Uncle Henry and I had 
 a glimpse of his handsome face, looking all health 
 and good-humor. I wonder when you will come 
 and see us. I know what I rather speculate upon, 
 but shall say nothing. We think Uncle Henry in 
 excellent looks. Look at him this moment, and 
 think so too, if you have not done it before ; and 
 we have the great comfort of seeing decided im- 
 provement in Uncle Charles, both as to health, 
 spirits, and appearance. And they are each of 
 them so agreeable in their different way, and 
 harmonize so well, that their visit is thorough en- 
 joyment. Uncle Henry writes very superior ser- 
 mons. You and I must try to get hold of one or 
 two, and put them into our novels : it would be a 
 fine help to a volume; and we could make our 
 heroine read it aloud on a Sunday evening, just as 
 well as Isabella Wardour, in the " Antiquary/ 7 is 
 made to read the " History of the Hartz Demon " 
 in the ruins of St. Ruth, though I believe, on 
 recollection, Lovell is the reader. By the bye, 
 my dear E., I am quite concerned for the loss your 
 mother mentions in her letter. Two chapters and 
 a half to be missing is monstrous ! It is well that 
 I have not been at Steventon lately, and therefore 
 cannot be suspected of purloining them : two strong 
 twigs and a half towards a nest of my own would 
 
310 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 have been something. I do not think, however, 
 that any theft of that sort would be really very 
 useful to me. What should I do with your strong, 
 manly, vigorous sketches, full of variety and glow? 
 How could I possibly join them on to the little bit 
 (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with 
 so fine a brush as produces little effect after much 
 labor. 
 
 You will hear from Uncle Henry how well 
 Anna is. She seems perfectly recovered. Ben 
 was here on Saturday, to ask Uncle Charles and 
 me to dine with them to-morrow, but I was forced 
 to decline it, as the walk is beyond my strength 
 (though I am otherwise very well), and this is not 
 a season for donkey-carriages; and as we do not 
 like to spare Uncle Charles, he has declined it too. 
 Tuesday. Ah, ah! Mr. E. I doubt your seeing 
 Uncle Henry at Steventon to-day. The weather 
 will prevent your expecting him, I think. Tell 
 your father, with Aunt Cass's love and mine, that 
 the pickled cucumbers are extremely good, and 
 tell him also " tell him what you will." No, 
 don't tell him what you will, but tell him that 
 grandmamma begs him to make Joseph Hall pay 
 his rent, if he can. 
 
 You must not be tired of reading the word 
 uncle, for I have not done with it. Uncle Charles 
 thanks your mother for her letter; it was a great 
 pleasure to him to know that the parcel was 
 received and gave so much satisfaction, and he 
 begs her to be so good as to give three shillings for 
 him to Dame Staples, which shall be allowed for 
 in the payment of her debt here. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 311 
 
 Adieu, Amiable! I hope Caroline 'behaves well 
 
 to you. yours affec*, 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 
 I cannot tell how soon she was aware of the 
 serious nature of her malady. By God's mercy it 
 was not attended with much suffering; so that she 
 was able to tell her friends as in the foregoing 
 letter, and perhaps sometimes to persuade herself, 
 that, excepting want of strength, she was " other- 
 wise very well;" but the progress of the disease 
 became more and more manifest as the year 
 advanced. The usual walk was at first shortened, 
 and then discontinued; and air was sought in a 
 donkey-carriage. Gradually, too, her habits of 
 activity within the house ceased, and she was 
 obliged to lie down much. The sitting-room con- 
 tained only one sofa, which was frequently occu- 
 pied by her mother, who was more than seventy 
 years old. Jane would never use it, even in her 
 mother's absence; but she contrived a sort of 
 couch for herself with two or three chairs, and was 
 pleased to say that this arrangement was more 
 comfortable to her than a real sofa. Her reasons 
 for this might have been left to be guessed, but for 
 the importunities of a little niece, which obliged 
 her to explain that if she herself had shown any 
 inclination to use the sofa, her mother might have 
 scrupled being on it so much as was good for 
 her. 
 
 It is certain, however, that the mind did not 
 share in this decay of the bodily strength. "Per- 
 
312 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 August in that year; and the manner in which it 
 was then completed affords proof that neither the 
 critical nor the creative powers of the author were 
 at all impaired. The hook had been brought to an 
 end in July; and the re-engagement of the hero 
 and heroine effected in a totally different manner 
 in a scene laid at Admiral Croft's lodgings. BUT 
 her performance did not satisfy her. She thought 
 it tame and flat, and was desirous of producing 
 something better. This weighed upon her mind, 
 the more so probably on account of the weak state 
 of her health, so that one night she retired to rest 
 in very low spirits. But such depression was 
 little in accordance with her nature, and was soon 
 shaken off. The next morning she awoke to more 
 cheerful views and brighter inspirations ; the sense 
 of power revived, and imagination resumed its 
 course. She cancelled the condemned chapter, and 
 wrote two others, entirely different, in its stead. 
 The result is that we possess the visit of the Mus- 
 grove party to Bath: the crowded and animated 
 scenes at the White Hart Hotel; and the charming 
 conversation between Captain Harville and Anne 
 Elliot, overheard by Captain Wentworth, by which 
 the two faithful lovers were at last led to under- 
 stand each other's feelings. The tenth and 
 eleventh chapters of " Persuasion," then, rather 
 than the actual winding-up of the story, contain the 
 latest of her printed compositions, her last contribu- 
 tion to the entertainment of the public. Perhaps 
 it may be thought that she has seldom written 
 anything more brilliant; and that independent of 
 the original manner in which the denouement is 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 313 
 
 brought about, the pictures of Charles Mus grove's 
 good-natured boyishness and of his wife's jealous 
 selfishness would have been incomplete without 
 these finishing strokes. The cancelled chapter 
 exists in manuscript. It is certainly inferior to 
 the two which were substituted for it : but it was 
 such as some writers and some readers might have 
 been contented with; and it contained touches 
 which scarcely any other hand could have given, 
 the suppression of which may be almost a matter of 
 regret. 1 
 
 The following letter was addressed to her friend 
 Miss Bigg, then staying at Streatham with her 
 sister, the wife of the Reverend Herbert Hill, 
 uncle of Robert Southey. It appears to have been 
 written three days before she began her last work, 
 which will be noticed in another chapter; and 
 shows that she was not at that time aware of the 
 serious nature of her malady : 
 
 CHAWTON, January 24, 1817. 
 
 MY DEAR ALETHEA, I think it time there 
 should be a little writing between us, though I be- 
 lieve the epistolary debt is on your side, and I hope 
 this will find all the Streatham party well, neither 
 carried away by the flood, nor rheumatic through 
 the damps. Such mild weather is, you know, de- 
 lightful to us, and though we have a great many 
 ponds, and a fine running stream through the mead- 
 ows on the other side of the road, it is nothing but 
 what beautifies us and does to talk of. I have cer- 
 
 1 This cancelled chapter is now printed, in compliance with 
 the requests addressed to me from several quarters. 
 
314 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 tainly gained strength through the winter, and am 
 not far from being well ; and I think I understand 
 my own case now so much better than I did, as to 
 be able by care to keep off any serious return of 
 illness. I am convinced that bile is at the bottom 
 of all I have suffered, which makes it easy to know 
 how to treat myself. You will be glad to hear thus 
 much of me, I am sure. We have just had a few 
 days' visit from Edward, who brought us a good 
 account of his father; and the very circumstance of 
 his coming at all, of his father's being able to spare 
 him, is itself a good account. He grows still, 
 and still improves in appearance, at least in the 
 estimation of his aunts, who love him better and 
 better, as they see the sweet temper and warm 
 affections of the boy confirmed in the young man : 
 I tried hard to persuade him that he must have some 
 message for William, 1 but in vain. . . . This is 
 not a time of year for donkey-carriages, and our 
 donkeys are necessarily having so long a run of 
 luxurious idleness that I suppose we shall find they 
 have forgotten much of their education when we 
 use them again. We do not use two at once, how- 
 ever; don't imagine such excesses. . . . Our own 
 new clergyman a is expected here very soon, per- 
 haps in time to assist Mr. Papillon on Sunday. I 
 shall be very glad when the first hearing is over. 
 It will be a nervous hour for our pew, though we 
 hear that he acquits himself with as much ease and 
 collectedness as if he had been used to it all his 
 
 1 Miss Bigg's nephew, the present Sir William Heathcote, 
 of rlursley. 
 
 2 Her brother Henry, who had been ordained late in life. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 315 
 
 life. We have no chance, we know, of seeing you 
 between Streatham and Winchester, you go the 
 other road and are engaged to two or three houses j 
 if there should be any change, however, you know 
 how welcome you would be. . . . We have been 
 reading the " Poet's Pilgrimage to Waterloo,'' and 
 generally with much approbation. Nothing will 
 please all the world, you know; but parts of it 
 suit me better than much that he has written 
 before. The opening the proem I believe he 
 calls it is very beautiful. Poor man ! one can- 
 ii ot but grieve for the loss of the son so fondly de- 
 scribed. Has he at all recovered it? What do- 
 Mr, and Mrs. Hill know about his present state? 
 Yours afP y , 
 
 J. AUSTEN. 
 
 The real object of this letter is to ask you for 
 a receipt, but I thought it genteel not to let it 
 appear early. We remember some excellent or- 
 ange wine at Many down, made from Seville- 
 oranges entirely or chiefly. I should be very 
 much obliged to you for the receipt, if you can 
 command it within a few weeks. 
 
 On the day before, January 23d, she had 
 written to her niece in the same hopeful tone : "I 
 feel myself getting stronger than I was, and can 
 so perfectly walk to Alton or back again without 
 fatigue, that I hope to be able to do both when 
 summer comes." 
 
 Alas! summer came to her only on her death- 
 bed. March 17th is the last date to be found in 
 
316 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 the manuscript on which she was engaged; and as 
 the watch of the drowned man indicates the time 
 of his death, so does this final date seem to fix the 
 period when her mind could no longer pursue its 
 accustomed course. 
 
 And here I cannot do better than quote the 
 words of the niece to whose private records of 
 her aunt's life and character I have been so of- 
 ten indebted: "I do not know how early the 
 alarming symptoms of her malady came on. It 
 was in the following March that I had the first 
 idea of her being seriously ill. It had been set- 
 tled that about the end of that month or the be- 
 ginning of April I should spend a few days at 
 Chawton, in the absence of my father and mother, 
 who were just then engaged with Mrs. Leigh 
 Perrot in arranging her late husband's affairs ; but 
 Aunt Jane became too ill to have me in the house, 
 and so I went instead to my sister Mrs. Lefroy 
 at Wyards'. The next day we walked over to 
 Chawton to make inquiries after our aunt. She 
 was then keeping her room, but said she would 
 see us, and we went up to her. She was in her 
 dressing-gown, and was sitting quite like an in- 
 valid in an armchair, but she got up and kindly 
 greeted us, and then, pointing to seats which had 
 been arranged for us by the fire, she said, ' There 
 is a chair for the married lady, and a little stool 
 for you, Caroline. 7 1 It is strange, but those 
 trifling words were the last of hers that I can re- 
 member, for I retain no recollection of what was 
 said by any one in the conversation that ensued. 
 
 1 The writer was at that time under twelve years old. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 317 
 
 I was struck by the alteration in herself. She 
 was very pale, her voice was weak and low, and 
 there was about her a general appearance of debil- 
 ity and suffering; but I have been told that she 
 never had much acute pain. She was not equal to 
 the exertion of talking to us, and our visit to the 
 sick-room was a very short one, Aunt Cassandra soon 
 taking us away. I do not suppose we stayed a 
 quarter of an hour; and I never saw Aunt Jane 
 again." 
 
 In May, 1817, she was persuaded to remove to 
 Winchester, for the sake of medical advice from 
 Mr. Lyford. The Lyfords have, for some genera- 
 tions, maintained a high character in Winchester 
 for medical skill, and the Mr. Lyford of that day 
 was a man of more than provincial reputation, in 
 whom great London practitioners expressed confi- 
 dence. Mr. Lyford spoke encouragingly. It was 
 not, of course, his business to extinguish hope in 
 his patient, but I believe that he had, from the 
 first, very little expectation of a permanent cure. 
 All that was gained by the removal from home 
 was the satisfaction of having done the best that 
 could be done, together with such alleviations of 
 suffering as superior medical skill could afford. 
 
 Jane and her sister Cassandra took lodgings in 
 College Street. They had two kind friends liv- 
 ing in the Close, Mrs. Heathcote and Miss Bigg, 
 the mother and aunt of the present Sir Wm. 
 Heathcote, of Hursley, between whose family and 
 ours a close friendship has existed for several 
 generations. These friends did all that they could 
 to promote the comfort of the sisters, during that 
 
318 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 sad sojourn in Winchester, both by their society, 
 and by supplying those little conveniences in 
 which a lodging-house was likely to be deficient. 
 It was shortly after settling in these lodgings 
 that she wrote to a nephew the following charac- 
 teristic letter, no longer, alas! in her former 
 strong, clear hand : 
 
 MRS. DAVID'S, COLLEGE ST., WINTON, 
 Tuesday, May 27th. 
 
 There is no better way, my dearest E., of thank- 
 ing you for your affectionate concern for me during 
 my illness than by telling you myself, as soon as 
 possible, that I continue to get better. I will not 
 boast of my handwriting; neither that nor my face 
 have yet recovered their proper beauty, but in other 
 respects I gain strength very fast. I am now out of 
 bed from nine in the morning to ten at night: 
 upon the sofa, it is true, but I eat my meals with 
 Aunt Cassandra in a rational way, and can employ 
 myself, and walk from one room to another. Mr. 
 Lyford says he will cure me, and if he fails, I 
 shall draw up a memorial and lay it before the 
 Dean and Chapter, and have no doubt of redress 
 from that pious, learned, and disinterested body. 
 Our lodgings are very comfortable. We have a 
 neat little drawing-room with a bow window over- 
 looking Dr. GabelPs garden. 1 Thanks to the kind- 
 ness of your father and mother in sending me 
 their carriage, my journey hither on Saturday was 
 performed with very little fatigue, and had it been 
 
 1 It was the corner house in College Street, at the entrance 
 to Commoners. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 319 
 
 a fine day, I think I should have felt none; but 
 it distressed me to see Uncle Henry and Wm. 
 Knight, who kindly attended us on horseback, rid- 
 ing in the rain almost the whole way. We expect 
 a visit from them to-morrow, and hope they will 
 stay the night; and on Thursday, which is a con- 
 firmation and a holiday, we are to get Charles out 
 to breakfast. We have had but one visit from 
 him, poor fellow, as he is in sick-room, but he 
 hopes to be out to-night. We see Mrs. Heathcote 
 every day, and William is to call upon us soon. 
 God bless you, my dear E. If ever you are ill, 
 may you be as tenderly nursed as I have been. 
 May the same blessed alleviations of anxious, sym- 
 pathizing friends be yours : and may you possess, 
 as I dare say you will, the greatest blessing of 
 all in the consciousness of not being unworthy of 
 their love. I could not feel this. 
 
 Your very affec te Aunt, 
 
 J. A. 
 
 The following extract from a letter which has been 
 before printed, written soon after the former, breathes 
 the same spirit of humility and thankfulness : 
 
 ' ' I will only say further that my dearest sister, my 
 tender, watchful, indefatigable nurse, has not been 
 made ill by her exertions. As to what I owe her, 
 and the anxious affection of all my beloved family 
 on this occasion, I can only cry over it, and pray 
 G-od to bless them more and more." 
 
 Throughout her illness she was nursed by her sis- 
 ter, often assisted by her sister-in-law, my mother. 
 Both were with her when she died. Two of her 
 
320 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 brothers, who were clergymen, lived near enough 
 to Winchester to be in frequent attendance, and 
 to administer the services suitable for a Christian's 
 death-bed. While she used the language of hope 
 to her correspondents, she was fully aware of her 
 danger, though not appalled by it. It is true that 
 there was much to attach her to life. She was 
 happy in her family; she was just beginning to 
 feel confidence in her own success ; and, no doubt, 
 the exercise of her great talents was an enjoyment 
 in itself. We may well believe that she would 
 gladly have lived longer; but she was enabled with- 
 out dismay or complaint to prepare for death. She 
 was a humble, believing Christian. Her life had 
 been passed in the performance of home duties and 
 the cultivation of domestic affections, without any 
 self-seeking or craving after applause. She had al- 
 ways sought, as it were by instinct, to promote the 
 happiness of all who came within her influence, 
 and doubtless she had her reward in the peace of 
 mind which was granted her in her last days. Her 
 sweetness of temper never failed. She was ever 
 considerate and grateful to those who attended 
 on her. At times, when she felt rather better, 
 her playfulness of spirit revived, and she amused 
 them even in their sadness. Once, when she 
 thought herself near her end, she said what she 
 imagined might be her last words to those around 
 her, and particularly thanked her sister-in-law for 
 being with her, saying, " You have always been a 
 kind sister to me, Mary." When the end at last 
 came, she sank rapidly, and on being asked by her 
 attendants whether there was anything that she 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 321 
 
 wanted, her reply was, "Nothing but death." 
 These were her last words. In quietness and 
 peace she breathed her last on the morning of 
 July 18, 1817. 
 
 On the 24th of that month she was buried in 
 Winchester Cathedral, 1 near the centre of the north 
 aisle, almost opposite to the beautiful chantry tomb 
 of William of Wykeham. A large slab of black 
 marble in the pavement marks the place. Her own 
 family only attended the funeral. Her sister re- 
 turned to her desolated home, there to devote her^ 
 self for ten years to the care of her aged mother, 
 and to live much on the memory of her lost sister, 
 till called many years later to rejoin her. Her 
 brothers went back sorrowing to their several 
 homes. They were very fond and very proud of 
 her. They were attached to her by her talents, 
 her virtues, and her engaging manners ; and each 
 loved afterwards to fancy a resemblance in some 
 niece or daughter of his own to the dear sister 
 Jane, whose perfect equal they yet never expected 
 to see. 
 
 1 Inscription on Jane Austen's tomb : 
 JANE AUSTEN, 
 
 KNOWN TO MANY BY HER WRITINGS, ENDEARED TO HEB 
 
 FAMILY BY THE VARIED CHARMS OF HER CHARACTER, 
 
 AND ENNOBLED BY CHRISTIAN FAITH AND PIETY, 
 
 WAS BORN AT STEVENTON IN THE COUNTY 
 
 OF HANTS, DEC r XVI. MDCCLXXV, AND 
 
 BURIED IN THIS CATHEDRAL 
 
 JULY XXIV. MDCCCXVII. 
 
 " She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and in her tongue is the law 
 of kindness." PEOV. xxxi. v. xxvi. 
 21 
 
322 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE CANCELLED CHAPTER (CHAP. X.) OF "PERSUASION." 
 
 WITH all this knowledge of Mr. Elliot and this 
 authority to impart it, Anne left Westgate Build- 
 ings, her mind deeply husy in revolving what she 
 had heard, feeling, thinking, recalling, and fore- 
 seeing everything, shocked at Mr. Elliot, sighing 
 over future Kellynch, and pained for Lady Russell, 
 whose confidence in him had been entire. The 
 embarrassment which must be felt from this hour 
 in his presence ! How to behave to him? How to 
 get rid of him? What to do by any of the party 
 at home? Where to be blind? Where to be ac- 
 tive? It was altogether a confusion of images 
 and doubts a perplexity, an agitation which she 
 could not see the end of. And she was in Gay 
 Street, and still so much engrossed that she started 
 on being addressed by Admiral Croft, as if he were 
 a person unlikely to be met there. It was within 
 a few steps of his own door. 
 
 " You are going to call upon my wife/ 7 said he. 
 " She will be very glad to see you." 
 
 Anne denied it. 
 
 ' i No ! she really had not time, she was in her 
 way home; " but while she spoke the Admiral had 
 stepped back and knocked at the door, calling out : 
 
 " Yes, yes; do go in; she is all alone; go in 
 and rest yourself. " 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 323 
 
 Anne felt so little disposed at this time to be in 
 company of any sort, that it vexed her to be thus 
 constrained, but she was obliged to stop. 
 
 " Since you are so very kind," said she, " I will 
 just ask Mrs. Croft how she does, but I really can- 
 not stay five minutes. You are sure she is quite 
 alone? " 
 
 The possibility of Captain Wentworth had oc- 
 curred; and most fearfully anxious was she to be 
 assured either that he was within or that he 
 was not, which might have been a question. 
 
 "Oh, yes! quite alone, nobody but her mantua- 
 maker with her, and they have been shut up to- 
 gether this half-hour, so it must be over soon." 
 
 "Her mantua-maker ! Then I am sure my 
 calling now would be most inconvenient. Indeed 
 you must allow me to leave my card and be so good 
 as to explain it afterwards to Mrs. Croft. 7 ' 
 
 "No, no, not at all, not at all, she will be 
 very happy to see you. Mind, I will not swear 
 that she has not something particular to say to 
 you, but that will all come out in the right place. 
 I give no hints. Why, Miss Elliot, we begin to 
 hear strange things of you," smiling in her face. 
 ' ' But you have not much the look of it, as grave as 
 a little judge! " 
 
 Anne blushed, 
 
 "Ay, ay, that will do now, it is all right. I 
 thought we were not mistaken. " 
 
 She was left to guess at the direction of his sus- 
 picions; the first wild idea had been of some 
 disclosure from his brother-in-law, but she was 
 ashamed the next moment, and felt how far more 
 
324 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 probable it was that he should be meaning Mr. 
 Elliot. The door was opened, and the man evi- 
 dently beginning to deny his mistress, when the 
 sight of his master stopped him. The Admiral 
 enjoyed the joke exceedingly. Anne thought his 
 triumph over Stephen rather too long. At last, 
 however, he was able to invite her upstairs, and 
 stepping before her said, "I will just go up with 
 you myself and show you in. I cannot stay, 
 because I must go to the Post-Office; but if you 
 will only sit down for five minutes I am sure 
 Sophy will come, and you will find nobody to dis- 
 turb you, there is nobody but Frederick here, " 
 opening the door as he spoke. Such a person to be 
 passed over as nobody to her! After being allowed 
 to feel quite secure, indifferent, at her ease, to have 
 it burst on her that she was to be the next moment 
 in the same room with him! JSTo time for recol- 
 lection! for planning behavior or regulating man- 
 ners! There was time only to turn pale before 
 she had passed through the door, and met the 
 astonished eyes of Captain Wentworth, who was 
 sitting by the fire, pretending to read, and pre- 
 pared for no greater surprise than the Admiral's 
 hasty return. 
 
 Equally unexpected was the meeting on. each 
 side. There was nothing to be done, however, 
 but to stifle feelings, and to be quietly polite ; and 
 the Admiral was too much on the alert to leave any 
 troublesome pause. He repeated again what he 
 had said before about his wife and everybody, in- 
 sisted on Anne's sitting down and being perfectly 
 comfortable, was sorry he must leave her himself, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 325 
 
 but was sure Mrs. Croft would be down very soon, 
 and would go upstairs and give her notice directly. 
 Anne was sitting down; but now she arose, again 
 to entreat him not to interrupt Mrs. Croft, and re- 
 urge the wish of going away and calling another 
 time. But the Admiral would not hear of it; and 
 if she did not return to the charge with uncon- 
 querable perseverance, or did not with a more pas- 
 sive determination walk quietly out of the room 
 (as certainly she might have done), may she not 
 be pardoned? If she had no horror of a few min- 
 utes ' tete-a-tete with Captain Wentworth, may she 
 not be pardoned for not wishing to give him the 
 idea that she had ? She reseated herself, and the 
 Admiral took leave, but on reaching the door, 
 said, 
 
 " Frederick, a word with you if you please." 
 
 Captain Wentworth went to him, and instantly, 
 before they were well out of the room, the Admiral 
 continued, 
 
 " As I am going to leave you together, it is but 
 fair I should give you something to talk of; and 
 so, if you please " 
 
 Here the door was very firmly closed, she could 
 guess by which of the two and she lost entirely 
 what immediately followed, but it was impossible 
 for her not to distinguish parts of the rest, for the 
 Admiral, on the strength of the door's being shut, 
 was speaking without any management of voice, 
 though she could hear his companion trying to 
 check him. She could not doubt their being speak- 
 ing of her. She heard her own name and Kel- 
 lynch repeatedly. She was very much disturbed. 
 
326 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 She knew not what to do or what to expect, and 
 among other agonies felt the possibility of Captain 
 Wentworth's not returning into the room at all, 
 which, after her consenting to stay, would have been 
 too bad for language. They seemed to be talk- 
 ing of the Admiral's lease of Kellynch. She heard 
 him say something of the lease being signed or 
 not signed; that was not likely to be a very agi- 
 tating subject, but then followed, 
 
 * ' I hate to be at an uncertainty. I must know 
 at once, Sophy thinks the same." 
 
 Then in a lower tone Captain Wentworth 
 seemed remonstrating, wanting to be excused, 
 wanting to put something off. 
 
 t( Phoo, phoo, " answered the Admiral, "now is 
 the time; if you will not speak, I will stop and 
 speak myself." 
 
 " Very well, sir, very well, sir," followed with 
 some impatience from his companion, opening the 
 door as he spoke, 
 
 " You will then, you promise you will? " re- 
 plied the Admiral in all the power of his natural 
 voice, unbroken even by one thin door. 
 
 " Yes, sir, yes." And the Admiral was hastily 
 left, the door was closed, and the moment arrived 
 in which Anne was alone with Captain Went- 
 worth. 
 
 She could not attempt to see how he looked, but 
 he walked immediately to a window as if irreso- 
 lute and embarrassed, and for about the space of 
 five seconds she repented what she had done, 
 censured it as unwise, blushed over it as indeli- 
 cate. She longed to be able to speak of the 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 327 
 
 weather or the concert, but could only compass the 
 relief of taking a newspaper in her hand. The 
 distressing pause was over, however; he turned 
 round in half a minute, and coming towards the 
 table where she sat, said in a voice of effort and 
 constraint, 
 
 "You must have heard too much already, 
 Madam, to be in any doubt of my having prom- 
 ised Admiral Croft to speak to you on a particular 
 subject, and this conviction determines me to do 
 so, however repugnant to my to all my sense of 
 propriety to be taking so great a liberty! You 
 will acquit me of impertinence, I trust, by consid- 
 ering me as speaking only for another, and speak- 
 ing by necessity; and the Admiral is a man who 
 can never be thought impertinent by one who 
 knows him as you do. His intentions are always 
 the kindest and the best, and you will perceive 
 he is actuated by none other in the application 
 which I am now, with with very peculiar feel- 
 ings obliged to make." He stopped, but 
 merely to recover breath, not seeming to expect 
 any answer. Anne listened as if her life de- 
 pended on the issue of his speech. He proceeded 
 with a forced alacrity : 
 
 "The Admiral, Madam, was this morning con- 
 fidently informed that you were upon my soul, 
 I am quite at a loss, ashamed," breathing and 
 speaking quickly, "the awkwardness of giving 
 information of this kind to one of the parties 
 you can be at no loss to understand me. It was 
 very confidently said that Mr. Elliot that every- 
 thing was settled in the family for a union be- 
 
328 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 tween Mr. Elliot and yourself. It was added that 
 you were to live at Kellynch, that Kellynch 
 was to be given up. This the Admiral knew 
 could not be correct. But it occurred to him that 
 it might be the wish of the parties. And my 
 commission from him, Madam, is to say, that if 
 the family wish is such, his lease of Kellynch 
 shall be cancelled, and he and my sister will pro- 
 vide themselves with another home, without im- 
 agining themselves to be doing anything which 
 under similar circumstances would not be done 
 for them. This is all, Madam. A very few 
 words in reply from you will be sufficient. That 
 I should be the person commissioned on this sub- 
 ject is extraordinary! and believe me, Madam, it 
 is no less painful. A very few words, however, 
 will put an end to the awkwardness and distress 
 we may both be feeling/ 7 
 
 Anne spoke a word or two, but they were unin- 
 telligible ; and before she could command herself, 
 he added: "If you will only tell me that the 
 Admiral may address a line to Sir Walter, it will 
 be enough. Pronounce only the words, 'He may,' 
 and I shall immediately follow him with your 
 message." 
 
 "No, Sir, 77 said Anne; "there is no message. 
 You are misin the Admiral is misinformed. I 
 do justice to the kindness of his intentions, but he 
 is quite mistaken. There is no truth in any such 
 report. 77 
 
 He was a moment silent. She turned her eyes 
 towards him for the first time since his re-entering 
 the room. His color was varying, and he was look- 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 329 
 
 ing at her with all the power and keenness which 
 she believed no other eyes than his possessed. 
 
 "No truth in any such report? 7 ' he repeated. 
 "No truth in any part of it?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 He had been standing by a chair, enjoying the 
 relief of leaning on it or of playing with it. He 
 now sat down, drew it a little nearer to her, and 
 looked with an expression which had something 
 more than penetration in it, something softer. 
 Her countenance did not discourage. It was a 
 silent but a very powerful dialogue; on his sup- 
 plication, on hers acceptance. Still a little 
 nearer, and a hand taken and pressed; and 
 "Anne, my own dear Anne!" bursting forth in 
 all the fulness of exquisite feeling, and all 
 suspense and indecision were over. They were 
 reunited. They were restored to all that had 
 been lost. They were carried back to the past 
 with only an increase of attachment and confi- 
 dence, and only such a flutter of present delight as 
 made them little fit for the interruption of Mrs. 
 Croft when she joined them not long afterwards. 
 She, probably, in the observations of the next ten 
 minutes saw something to suspect; and though it 
 was hardly possible for a woman of her description 
 to wish the mantua-maker had imprisoned her 
 longer, she might be very likely wishing for some 
 excuse to run about the house, some storm to break 
 the windows above, or a summons to the Ad- 
 miral's shoemaker below. Fortune favored them 
 all, however, in another way, in a gentle, steady 
 rain, just happily set in as the Admiral returned 
 
830 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 and Anne rose to go. She was earnestly invited 
 to stay dinner. A note was despatched to Camden 
 Place, and she stayed, stayed till ten at night; 
 and during that time the husband and wife, either 
 by the wife's contrivance, or by simply going on 
 in their usual way, were frequently out of the 
 room together, gone upstairs to hear a noise, or 
 downstairs to settle their accounts, or upon the 
 landing to trim the lamp. And these precious 
 moments were turned to so good an account that 
 all the most anxious feelings of the past were gone 
 through. Before they parted at night, Anne had 
 the felicity of being assured that in the first place 
 (so far from being altered for the worse), she had 
 gained inexpressibly in personal loveliness; and 
 that as to character, hers was now fixed on his 
 mind as perfection itself, maintaining the just 
 medium of fortitude and gentleness, that he had 
 never ceased to love and prefer her, though it had 
 been only at Uppercross that he had learnt to do 
 her justice, and only at Lyme that he had begun 
 to understand his own feelings ; that at Lyme he 
 had received lessons of more than one kind, the 
 passing admiration of Mr. Elliot had at least 
 roused him, and the scene on the Cobb, and at 
 Captain Harville's, had fixed her superiority. In 
 his preceding attempts to attach himself to Louisa 
 Musgrove (the attempts of anger and pique), he 
 protested that he had continually felt the impossi- 
 bility of really caring for Louisa, though till that 
 day, till the leisure for reflection which followed 
 it, he had not understood the perfect excellence of 
 the mind with which Louisa's could so ill bear 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 331 
 
 comparison; or the perfect, the unrivalled hold it 
 possessed over his own. There he had learnt to 
 distinguish between the steadiness of principle 
 and the obstinacy of self-will, between the dar- 
 ings of heedlessness and the resolution of a col- 
 lected mind; there he had seen everything to 
 exalt in his estimation the woman he had lost, 
 and there had begun to deplore the pride, the 
 folly, the madness of resentment, which had kept 
 him from trying to regain her when thrown in his 
 way. From that period to the present had his 
 penance been the most severe. He had no sooner 
 been free from the horror and remorse attending 
 the first few days of Louisa's accident, no sooner 
 had begun to feel himself alive again, than he 
 had begun to feel himself, though alive, not 
 at liberty. 
 
 He found that he was considered by his friend 
 Harville an engaged man. The Harvilles enter- 
 tained not a doubt of a mutual attachment between 
 him and Louisa; and though this to a degree was 
 contradicted instantly, it yet made him feel that 
 perhaps by her family, by everybody, by herself 
 even, the same idea might be held, and that he 
 was not free in honor, though if such were to be 
 the conclusion, too free, alas! in heart. He had 
 never thought justly on this subject before, and he 
 had not sufficiently considered that his excessive 
 intimacy at Uppercross must have its danger of ill 
 consequence in many ways; and that while trying 
 whether he could attach himself to either of the 
 girls, he might be exciting unpleasant reports if 
 not raising unrequited regard. 
 
332 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 He found too late that he had entangled himself, 
 and that precisely as he became thoroughly satisfied 
 of his not caring for Louisa at all, he must regard 
 himself as bound to her if her feelings for him 
 were what the Harvilles supposed. It determined 
 him to leave Lyme, and await her perfect recovery 
 elsewhere. He would gladly weaken by any fair 
 means whatever sentiment or speculations concern- 
 ing them might exist; and he went therefore into 
 Shropshire, meaning after a while to return to the 
 Crofts at Kellynch, and act as he found requisite. 
 
 He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the 
 blindness of his own pride and the blunders of his 
 own calculations, till at once released from Louisa 
 by the astonishing felicity of her engagement with 
 Benwick. 
 
 Bath Bath had instantly followed in thought, 
 and not long after in fact. To Bath to arrive 
 with hope, to be torn by jealousy at the first sight 
 of Mr. Elliot; to experience all the changes of 
 each at the concert; to be miserable by the morn- 
 ing's circumstantial report, to be now more happy 
 than language could express, or any heart but his 
 own be capable of. 
 
 He was very eager and very delightful in the 
 description of what he had felt at the concert; the 
 evening seemed to have been made up of exquisite 
 moments. The moment of her stepping forward 
 in the octagon room to speak to him, the moment 
 of Mr. Elliot's appearing and tearing her away, 
 and one or two subsequent moments, marked by 
 returning hope or increasing despondency, were 
 dwelt on with energy. 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 333 
 
 " To see you, " cried he, " in the midst of those 
 who could not be my well-wishers; to see your 
 cousin close by you, conversing and smiling, and 
 feel all the horrible eligibilities and proprieties of 
 the match ! To consider it as the certain wish of 
 every being who could hope to influence you! 
 Even if your own feelings were reluctant or indif- 
 ferent, to consider what powerful support would be 
 his! Was it not enough to make the fool of me 
 which I appeared ? How could I look on without 
 agony ? Was not the very sight of the friend who 
 sat behind you; was not the recollection of what 
 had been, the knowledge of her influence, the in- 
 delible, immovable impression of what persuasion 
 had once done, was it not all against me ?" 
 
 "You should have distinguished, " replied 
 Anne. " You should not have suspected me now; 
 the case so different, and my age so different. If 
 I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, re- 
 member it was to persuasion exerted on the side 
 of safety, not of risk. When I yielded, I thought 
 it was to duty; but no duty could be called in aid 
 here. In marrying a man indifferent to me, all 
 risk would have been incurred, and all duty 
 violated. " 
 
 "Perhaps I ought to have reasoned thus," he 
 replied; "but I could not. I could not derive 
 benefit from the late knowledge I had acquired of 
 your character. I could not bring it into play; it 
 was overwhelmed, buried, lost in those earlier 
 feelings which I had been smarting under year 
 after year. I could think of you only as one who 
 had yielded, who had given me up, who had been 
 
334 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 influenced by any one rather than by me. I saw 
 you with the very person who had guided you in 
 that year of misery. I had no reason to believe 
 her of less authority now. The force of habit was 
 to be added." 
 
 "1 should have thought/ 7 said Anne, "that my 
 manner to yourself might have spared you much 
 or all of this." 
 
 "No, no! Your manner might be only the 
 ease which your engagement to another man would 
 give. I left you in this belief; and yet I was 
 determined to see you again. My spirits rallied 
 with the morning, and I felt that I had still a 
 motive for remaining here. The Admiral's news, 
 indeed, was a revulsion; since that moment I have 
 been divided what to do, and had it been confirmed, 
 this would have been my last day in Bath." 
 
 There was time for all this to pass, with such 
 interruptions only as enhanced the charm of the 
 communication, and Bath could hardly contain any 
 other two beings at once so rationally and so rap- 
 turously happy as during that evening occupied the 
 sofa of Mrs. Croft's drawing-room in Gay Street. 
 
 Captain Wentworth had taken care to meet the 
 Admiral as he returned into the house, to satisfy 
 him as to Mr. Elliot and Kellynch ; and the deli- 
 cacy of the Admiral's good-nature kept him from 
 saying another word on the subject to Anne. He 
 was quite concerned lest he might have been giving 
 her pain by touching on a tender part who could 
 say? She might be liking her cousin better than 
 he liked her; and upon recollection, if they had 
 been to marry at all, why should they have waited 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 335 
 
 so long? When the evening closed, it is probable 
 that the Admiral received some new ideas from his 
 wife, whose particularly friendly manner in part- 
 ing with her gave Anne the gratifying persuasion 
 of her seeing and approving. It had been such a 
 day to Anne; the hours which had passed since 
 her leaving Camden Place had done so much! 
 She was almost bewildered almost too happy in 
 looking back. It was necessary to sit up half the 
 night, and lie awake the remainder, to comprehend 
 with composure her present state, and pay for the 
 overplus of bliss by headache and fatigue. 
 
 Then follows Chapter XI., i. e. XII. in the pub- 
 lished book, and at the end is written, 
 
 Finis, July 18, 1816. 
 
336 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 THE LAST WORK. 
 
 JANE AUSTEN was taken from us : how much un- 
 exhausted talent perished with her, how largely 
 she might yet have contributed to the entertain- 
 ment of her readers, if her life had been prolonged, 
 cannot be known; but it is certain that the mine 
 at which she had so long labored was not worked 
 out, and that she was still diligently employed in 
 collecting fresh materials from it. " Persuasion 7; 
 had been finished in August, 1816; some time was 
 probably given to correcting it for the press; but 
 on the 27th of the following January, according to 
 the date on her own manuscript, she began a new 
 novel, and worked at it up to the 17th of March. The 
 chief part of this manuscript is written in her 
 usual firm and neat hand, but some of the latter 
 pages seem to have been first traced in pencil, 
 probably when she was too weak to sit long at her 
 desk, and written over in ink afterwards. The 
 quantity produced does not indicate any decline 
 of power or industry, for in those seven weeks 
 twelve chapters had been completed. It is more 
 difficult to judge of the quality of a work so little 
 advanced. It had received no name; there was 
 scarcely any indication what the course of the story 
 was to be, nor was any heroine yet perceptible, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 337 
 
 who, like Fanny Price or Anne Elliot, might draw 
 round her the sympathies of the reader. Such an 
 unfinished fragment cannot be presented to the pub- 
 lic ; but I am persuaded that some of Jane Austen's 
 admirers will be glad to learn something about the 
 latest creations which were forming themselves in 
 her mind; and therefore, as some of the principal 
 characters were already sketched in with a vigor- 
 ous hand, I will try to give an idea of them, illus- 
 trated by extracts from the work. 
 
 The scene is laid at Sanditon, a village on the 
 Sussex coast, just struggling into notoriety as a 
 bathing-place, under the patronage of the two prin- 
 cipal proprietors of the parish, Mr. Parker and 
 Lady Denham. 
 
 Mr. Parker was an amiable man, with more en- 
 thusiasm than judgment, whose somewhat shallow 
 mind overflowed with the one idea of the prosper- 
 ity of Sanditon, together with a jealous contempt 
 of the rival village of Brinshore, where a similar 
 attempt was going on. To the regret of his much- 
 enduring wife, he had left his family mansion, with 
 all its ancestral comforts of gardens, shrubberies, 
 and shelter, situated in a valley some miles inland, 
 and had built a new residence a Trafalgar House 
 on the bare brow of the hill overlooking Sanditon 
 and the sea, exposed to every \vind that blows; 
 but he will confess to no discomforts nor suffer 
 his family to feel any from the change. The fol- 
 lowing extract brings him before the reader, 
 mounted on his hobby: 
 
 " He wanted to secure the promise of a visit, 
 and to get as many of the family as his own house 
 22 
 
338 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 would hold to follow him to Sanditon as soon as 
 possible ; and, healthy as all the Hey woods unde- 
 niably were, he foresaw that every one of them 
 would be benefited by the sea. He held it indeed 
 as certain that no person, however upheld for the 
 present by fortuitous aids of exercise and spirit in 
 a semblance of health, could be really in a state of 
 secure and permanent health without spending at 
 least six weeks by the sea every year. The sea 
 air and sea-bathing together were nearly infallible : 
 one or other of them being a match for every dis- 
 order of the stomach, the lungs, or the blood. 
 They were anti-spasmodic, anti-pulmonary, anti- 
 bilious, and anti-rheumatic. Nobody could catch 
 cold by the sea; nobody wanted appetite by 
 the sea; nobody wanted spirits; nobody wanted 
 strength. They were healing, softening, relaxing, 
 fortifying, and bracing, seemingly just as was 
 wanted; sometimes one, sometimes the other. If 
 the sea-breeze failed, the sea-bath was the certain 
 corrective; and when bathing disagreed, the sea- 
 breeze was evidently designed by nature for the 
 cure. His eloquence, however, could not prevail. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hey wood never left home. . . . 
 The maintenance, education, and fitting out of 
 fourteen children demanded a very quiet, settled, 
 careful course of life; and obliged them to be 
 stationary and healthy at Willingden. What pru- 
 dence had at first enjoined was now rendered 
 pleasant by habit. They never left home, and 
 they had a gratification in saying so." 
 
 Lady Denham's was a very different character. 
 She was a rich vulgar widow, with a sharp but 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 339 
 
 narrow mind, who cared for the prosperity of 
 Sanditon only so far as it might increase the value 
 of her own property. She is thus described : 
 
 " Lady Denham had been a rich Miss Brereton, 
 born to wealth, but not to education. Her first 
 husband had been a Mr. Hollis, a man of consider- 
 able property in the country, of which a large 
 share of the parish of Sanditon, with manor and 
 mansion-house, formed a part. He had been an 
 elderly man when she married him; her own age 
 about thirty. Her motives for such a match could 
 be little understood at the distance of forty years, 
 but she had so well nursed and pleased Mr. Hollis 
 that at his death he left her everything, all his 
 estates, and all at her disposal. After a widow- 
 hood of some years she had been induced to marry- 
 again. The late Sir Harry Denham, of Denham 
 Park, in the neighborhood of Sanditon, succeeded 
 in removing her and her large income to his own 
 domains ; but he could not succeed in the views of 
 permanently enriching his family which were 
 attributed to him. She had been too wary to put 
 anything out of her own power, and when, on Sir 
 Harry's death, she returned again to her own 
 house at Sanditon, she was said to have made this 
 boast, < that though she had got nothing but her 
 title from the family, yet she had given nothing 
 for it. 7 For the title it was to be supposed that 
 she married. 
 
 " Lady Denham was indeed a great lady, beyond 
 the common wants of society; for she had many 
 thousands a year to bequeath, and three distinct 
 sets of people to be courted by : her own rela- 
 
340 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 tions, who might very reasonably wish for her 
 original thirty thousand pounds among them; the 
 legal heirs of Mr. Hollis, who might hope to be 
 more indebted to her sense of justice than he had 
 allowed them to be to his; and those members of 
 the Denham family for whom her second husband 
 had hoped to make a good bargain. By all these, 
 or by branches of them, she had, no doubt, been 
 long and still continued to be well attacked; and 
 of these three divisions Mr. Parker did not hesitate 
 to say that Mr. Hollis 9 a kindred were the least in 
 favor, and Sir Harry Denham' s the most. The 
 former, he believed, had done themselves irremedi- 
 able harm by expressions of very unwise resent- 
 ment at the time of Mr. Hollis's death : the latter, 
 to the advantage of being the remnant of a con- 
 nection which she certainly valued, joined those 
 of having been known to her from their childhood, 
 and of being always at hand to pursue their in- 
 terests by seasonable attentions. But another 
 claimant was now to be taken into account: a 
 young female relation whom Lady Denham had 
 been induced to receive into her family. After 
 having always protested against any such addition, 
 and often enjoyed the repeated defeat she had given 
 to every attempt of her own relations to introduce 
 'this young lady, or that young lady,' as a com- 
 panion at Sanditon House, she had brought back 
 with her from London last Michaelmas a Miss 
 Clara Brereton, who bid fair to vie in favor with 
 Sir Edward Denham, and to secure for herself and 
 her family that share of the accumulated property 
 which they had certainly the best right to inherit." 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 341 
 
 Lady Denham's character comes out in a con- 
 versation which takes place at Mr. Parker's tea- 
 table. 
 
 "The conversation turned entirely upon Sandi- 
 ton, its present number of visitants, and the 
 chances of a good season. It was evident that 
 Lady Denham had more anxiety, more fears of loss 
 than her coadjutor. She wanted to have the place 
 fill faster, and seemed to have many harassing 
 apprehensions of the lodgings being in some in- 
 stances underlet. To a report that a large board- 
 ing-school was expected she replies, ' Ah, well, 
 no harm in that. They will stay their six weeks, 
 and out of such a number who knows but some 
 may be consumptive, and want asses' milk; and I 
 have two milch asses at this very time. But per- 
 haps the little Misses may hurt the furniture. I 
 hope they will have a good sharp governess to look 
 after them.' But she wholly disapproved of Mr. 
 Parker's wish to secure the residence of a medical 
 man amongst them. 'Why, what should we do 
 with a doctor here? It would only be encouraging 
 our servants and the poor to fancy themselves ill, 
 if there was a doctor at hand. Oh, pray let us 
 have none of that tribe at Sanditon : we go on very 
 well as we are. There is the sea, and the downs, 
 and my milch asses : and I have told Mrs. Whitby 
 that if anybody inquires for a chamber horse, they 
 may be supplied at a fair rate (poor Mr. Hollis's 
 chamber horse, as good as new) ; and what can 
 people want more? I have lived seventy good 
 years in the world, and never took physic, except 
 twice, and never saw the face of a doctor in all my 
 
342 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 life on my own account ; and I really believe if my 
 poor dear Sir Harry had ne,ver seen one neither, he 
 would have been alive now. Ten fees, one after 
 another, did the men take who sent him out of the 
 world. I beseech you, Mr. Parker, no doctors 
 here.'" 
 
 This lady's character comes out more strongly in 
 a conversation with Mr. Parker's guest, Miss 
 Charlotte Heywood. Sir Edward Denham with 
 his sister Esther and Clara Brereton have just 
 left them. 
 
 " Charlotte accepted an invitation from Lady 
 Denham to remain with her on the terrace, when 
 the others adjourned to the library. Lady Denham, 
 like a true great lady, talked, and talked only of 
 her own concerns, and Charlotte listened. Taking 
 hold of Charlotte's arm with the ease of one who 
 felt that any notice from her was a favor, and 
 communicative from the same sense of importance, 
 or from a natural love of talking, she immediately 
 said in a tone of great satisfaction, and with a 
 look of arch sagacity : 
 
 " ' Miss Esther wants me to invite her and her 
 brother to spend a week with me at Sanditon 
 House, as I did last summer, but I sha'n't. She 
 has been trying to get round me every way with 
 her praise of this and her praise of that ; but I saw 
 what she was about. I saw through it all. I am 
 not very easily taken in, my dear.' 
 
 " Charlotte could think of nothing more harm- 
 less to be said than the simple inquiry of, ' Sir 
 Edward and Miss Denham ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, my dear; my young folks, as I call them, 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 343 
 
 sometimes ; for I take them very much by the hand, 
 and had them with me last summer, about this 
 time, for a week, from Monday to Monday, 
 and very delighted and thankful they were. For 
 they are very good young people, my dear. I 
 would not have you think that I only notice them 
 for poor dear Sir Harry's sake. No, no; they are 
 very deserving themselves, or, trust me, they 
 would not be so much in my company. I am not 
 the woman to help anybody blindfold. I always 
 take care to know what I am about and who I 
 have to deal with before I stir a finger. I do not 
 think I was ever overreached in my life ; and that 
 is a good deal for a woman to say that has been 
 twice married. Poor dear Sir Harry (between 
 ourselves) thought at first to have got more, but 
 (with a bit of a sigh) he is gone, and we must not 
 find fault with the dead. Nobody could live 
 happier together than us: and he was a very 
 honorable man; quite the gentleman, of ancient 
 family: and when he died I gave Sir Edward 
 his gold watch.' 
 
 "This was said with a look at her companion 
 which implied its right to produce a great impres- 
 sion; and seeing no rapturous astonishment in 
 Charlotte's countenance, she added quickly, 
 
 " ' He did not bequeath it to his nephew, my 
 dear; it was no bequest; it was not in the will. 
 He only told me, and that but once, that he should 
 wish his nephew to have his watch ; but it need not 
 have been binding, if I had not chose it.' 
 
 " 'Very kind indeed, very handsome!' said 
 Charlotte, absolutely forced to affect admiration. 
 
344 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 " 'Yes, my dear; and it is not the only kind 
 thing I have done by him. I have been a very 
 liberal friend to Sir Edward; and, poor young man, 
 he needs it bad enough. For, though I am only 
 the dowager, my dear, and he is the heir, things 
 do not stand between us in the way they usually 
 -do between those two parties. Not a shilling do I 
 receive from the Denham estate. Sir Edward has 
 no payments to make me. He don't stand upper- 
 most, believe me; it is I that help him.' 
 
 "'Indeed! he is a very fine young man, and 
 particularly elegant in his address.' 
 
 " This was said chiefly for the sake of saying some- 
 thing; but Charlotte directly saw that it was 
 laying her open to suspicion, by Lady Denham's 
 giving a shrewd glance at her, and replying, 
 
 " ' Yes, yes; he 's very well to look at, and it is 
 to be hoped that somebody of large fortune will 
 think so; for Sir Edward must marry for money. 
 He and I often talk that matter over. A handsome 
 young man like him will go smirking and smil- 
 ing about, and paying girls compliments, but 
 he knows he must marry for money. And Sir 
 Edward is a very steady young man, in the main, 
 and has got very good notions.' 
 
 "'Sir Edward Denham,' said Charlotte, 'with 
 such personal advantages, may be almost sure of 
 getting a woman of fortune, if he chooses it.' 
 
 " This glorious sentiment seemed quite to remove 
 suspicion. 
 
 "'Ay, my dear, that is very sensibly said; and 
 if we could but get a young heiress to Sanditon! 
 But heiresses are monstrous scarce ! I do not think 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 345 
 
 we have had an heiress here, nor even a Co., since 
 Sanditon has been a public place. Families come 
 after families, but, as far as I can learn, it is not 
 one in a hundred of them that have any real 
 property, landed or funded. An income, perhaps, 
 but no property. Clergymen, may be, or lawyers 
 from town, or half-pay officers, or widows with 
 only a jointure : and what good can such people do 
 to anybody? Except just as they take our empty 
 houses, and (between ourselves) I think they are 
 great fools for not staying at home. Now, if we 
 could get a young heiress to be sent here for her 
 health, and, as soon as she got well, have her fall 
 in love with Sir Edward ! And Miss Esther must 
 marry somebody of fortune too. She must get a 
 rich husband. Ah! young ladies that have no 
 money are very much to be pitied/ After a short 
 pause: 'If Miss Esther thinks to talk me into 
 inviting them to come and stay at Sanditon House, 
 she will find herself mistaken. Matters are al- 
 tered with me since last summer, you know: I 
 have Miss Clara with me now, which makes a 
 great difference. I should not choose to have my 
 two housemaids' time taken up all the morning in 
 dusting out bedrooms. They have Miss Clara's 
 room to put to rights, as well as mine, every day. 
 If they had hard work, they would want higher 
 wages.' 
 
 "Charlotte's feelings were divided between 
 amusement and indignation. She kept her coun- 
 tenance, and kept a civil silence ; but without at- 
 tempting to listen any longer, and only conscious 
 that Lady Denham was still talking in the same 
 
346 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 way, allowed her own thoughts to form themselves 
 into such meditation as this : ' She is thoroughly 
 mean ; I had no expectation of anything so bad. Mr. 
 Parker spoke too mildly of her. He is too kind- 
 hearted to see clearly, and their very connection 
 misleads him. He has persuaded her to engage in 
 the same speculation, and because they have so far 
 the same object in view, he fancies that she feels like 
 him in other things ; but she is very, very mean. 
 I can see no good in her. Poor Miss Brereton! 
 And it makes everybody mean about her. This 
 poor Sir Edward and his sister! how far nature 
 meant them to be respectable I cannot tell ; but they 
 are obliged to be mean in their servility to her; and 
 I am mean, too, in giving her my attention with the 
 appearance of coinciding with her. Thus it is 
 when rich people are sordid. 7 " 
 
 Mr. Parker has two unmarried sisters of singu- 
 lar character. They live together: Diana, the 
 younger, always takes the lead, and the elder fol- 
 lows in the same track. It is their pleasure to 
 fancy themselves invalids to a degree and in a 
 manner never experienced by others; but, from a 
 state of exquisite pain and utter prostration, 
 Diana Parker can always rise to be officious in 
 the concerns of all her acquaintance, and to make 
 incredible exertions where they are not wanted. 
 
 It would seem that they must be always either 
 very busy for the good of others, or else extremely 
 ill themselves. Some natural delicacy of constitu- 
 tion, in fact, with an unfortunate turn for medi- 
 cine, especially quack medicine, had given them 
 an early tendency at various times to various 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 347 
 
 disorders. The rest of their suffering was from 
 their own fancy, the love of distinction, and the 
 love of the wonderful. They had charitable hearts 
 and many amiable feelings; but a spirit of rest- 
 less activity, and the glory of doing more than 
 anybody else, had a share in every exertion of 
 benevolence, and there was vanity in all they did, 
 as well as in all they endured. 
 
 These peculiarities come out in the following 
 letter of Diana Parker to her brother: 
 
 MY DEAR TOM, We were much grieved at 
 your accident, and if you had not described your- 
 self as having fallen into such very good hands, I 
 should have been with you at all hazards the day 
 after receipt of your letter, though it found me 
 suffering under a more severe attack than usual 
 of my old grievance, spasmodic bile, and hardly 
 able to crawl from my bed to the sofa. But how 
 were you treated? Send me more particulars in 
 your next. If indeed a simple sprain, as you 
 denominate it, nothing would have been so judi- 
 cious as friction friction by the hand alone, 
 supposing it could be applied immediately. Two 
 years ago I happened to be calling on Mrs. Shel- 
 don, when her coachman sprained his foot, as he 
 was cleaning the carriage, and could hardly limp 
 into the house; but by the immediate use of 
 friction alone, steadily persevered in (I rubbed his 
 ankle with my own hands for four hours without 
 intermission), he was well in three days. . . . 
 Pray never run into peril again in looking for an 
 apothecary on our account ; for had you the most 
 
348 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 experienced man in his line settled at Sanditon, it 
 would be no recommendation to us. We have en- 
 tirely done with the whole medical tribe. We 
 have consulted physician after physician in vain, 
 till we are quite convinced that they can do noth- 
 ing for us, and that we must trust to our knowledge 
 of our own wretched constitutions for any relief; 
 but if you think it advisable for the interests of 
 the place to get a medical man there, I will under- 
 take the commission with pleasure, and have no 
 doubt of succeeding. I could soon put the neces- 
 sary irons in the fire. As for getting to Sanditon 
 myself, it is an impossibility. I grieve to say 
 that I cannot attempt it, but my feelings tell me 
 too plainly that in my present state the sea-air 
 would probably be the death of me ; and in truth I 
 doubt whether Susan's nerves would be equal to 
 the effort. She has been suffering much from 
 headache, and six leeches a day, for ten days to- 
 gether, relieved her so little that we thought it 
 right to change our measures; and being con- 
 vinced on examination that much of the evil lay 
 in her gums, I persuaded her to attack the dis- 
 order there. She has accordingly had three teeth 
 drawn, and is decidedly better; but her nerves 
 are a good deal deranged, she can only speak in a 
 whisper, and fainted away this morning on poor 
 Arthur's trying to suppress a cough. 
 
 Within a week of the date of this letter, in spite 
 of the impossibility of moving, and of the fatal 
 effects to be apprehended from the sea-air, Diana 
 Parker was at Sanditon with her sister. She had 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 349 
 
 flattered herself that by her own indefatigable 
 exertions, and by setting at work the agency of 
 many friends, she had induced two large families 
 to take houses at Sanditon. It was to expedite 
 these politic views that she came; and though 
 she met with some disappointment of her expecta- 
 tion, yet she did not suffer in health. 
 
 Such were some of the dramatis personce, ready 
 dressed and prepared for their parts. They are at 
 least original, and unlike any that the author had 
 produced before. The success of the piece must 
 have depended on the skill with which these parts 
 might be played; but few will be inclined to dis- 
 trust the skill of one who had so often succeeded. 
 If the author had lived to complete her work, it is 
 probable that these personages might have grown 
 into as mature an individuality of character, and 
 have taken as permanent a place amongst our 
 familiar acquaintance, as Mr. Bennet, or John 
 Thorpe, Mary Musgrove, or Aunt Norris herself. 
 
350 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 WHEN first I was asked to put together a memoir 
 of my aunt, I saw reasons for declining the at- 
 tempt. It was not only that, having passed the 
 threescore years and ten usually allotted to man's 
 strength, and being unaccustomed to write for pub- 
 lication, I might well distrust my ability to com- 
 plete the work, but that I also knew the extreme 
 scantiness of the materials out of which it must be 
 constructed. The grave closed over my aunt fifty- 
 two years ago ; and during that long period no idea 
 of writing her life had been entertained by any of 
 her family. Her nearest relatives, far from mak- 
 ing provision for such a purpose, had actually de- 
 stroyed many of the letters and papers by which it 
 might have been facilitated. They were influenced, 
 I believe, partly by an extreme dislike to publish- 
 ing private details, and partly by never having 
 assumed that the world would take so strong and 
 abiding an interest in her works as to claim her 
 name as public property. It was therefore neces- 
 sary for me to draw upon recollections rather than 
 on written documents for my materials ; while the 
 subject itself supplied me with nothing striking 
 or prominent with which to arrest the attention of 
 
A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 351 
 
 the reader. It has been said that the happiest in- 
 dividuals, like nations during their happiest pe- 
 riods, have no history. In the case of my aunt, it 
 was not only that her course of life was unvaried, 
 but that her own disposition was remarkably calm 
 and even. There was in her nothing eccentric or 
 angular; no ruggedness of temper; no singularity 
 of manner; none of the morbid sensibility or ex- 
 aggeration of feeling, which not unfrequently ac- 
 companies great talents, to be worked up into a 
 picture. Hers was a mind well balanced on a basis 
 of good sense, sweetened by an affectionate heart, 
 and regulated by fixed principles ; so that she was 
 to be distinguished from many other amiable and 
 sensible women only by that peculiar genius which 
 shines out clearly enough in her works, but of 
 which a biographer can make little use. The mo- 
 tive which at last induced me to make the attempt 
 is exactly expressed in the passage prefixed to 
 these pages. I thought that I saw something to 
 be done : knew of no one who could do it but my- 
 self, and so was driven to the enterprise. I am 
 glad that I have been able to finish my work. 
 As a family record it can scarcely fail to be inter- 
 esting to those relatives who must ever set a high 
 value on their connection with Jane Austen, and 
 to them I especially dedicate it; but as I have 
 been asked to do so, I also submit it to the censure 
 of the public, with all its faults both of deficiency 
 and redundancy. I know that its value in their 
 eyes must depend, not on any merits of its 
 own, but on the degree of estimation in which 
 
352 A MEMOIR OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 my aunt's works may still be held; and indeed I 
 shall esteem it one of the strongest testimonies 
 ever borne to her talents, if for her sake an in- 
 terest can be taken in so poor a sketch as I have 
 been able to draw. 
 
 THE END. 
 
>- P ELDER 
 
 IGAN'SHEPARD.