Preface and Chapter 1 of Memoir of Jane Austen. 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 periodical 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 narrative is somewhat enlarged and a few more letters are added, with the short specimen of her childish stories. The cancelled chapter of persuasion is given, and compliance with wishes both publicly and privately expressed. A fragment of a story entitled The Watson's is printed, and extracts are given from a novel which she had begun a few months before her death. But the chief edition is a short tale never before published called Lady Susan. I regret that the little which I have been able to add cannot appear in my first edition, as much of it was either unknown to me or not 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. CHAPTER I Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775 at the Parsonage House of Steventon in Hampshire. Her father, the Reverend George Austen, was of a family long established in the neighborhood of Tenterton and Seven Oaks in Kent. I believe that early in the 17th century they were clothiers. Hasted in his history of Kent says, quote, The clothing business was exercised by persons who possessed most of the landed property in the wailed, and so much that almost all of the ancient families of these parts, now of largest states and gentile 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, end quote. In his list of families hasted places the Austen's 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 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. George 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 Tenbridge, 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 Tenbridge School where he obtained a scholarship and subsequently a fellowship as St. John's College Oxford. In 1764 he came into possession of the two adjoining rectories of Dean and Steventon and 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 population scarcely amounted to three hundred. In the same year he married Cassandra, the youngest daughter of the reverend Thomas Lee, of the family of Lees of Warwickshire, who having been a fellow of all souls, held the college living of Harpston, near Henley upon Thames. Mr. Thomas Lee was the younger brother of Dr. Theophelius Lee, 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 Master's Ship of Bedeliel College 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 intended. He was a fellow of Corpus, and the story is that the Bedeliel men, unable to agree in electing one of their own number to the Master's Ship, chose him, partly under the idea that he was in weak health and likely soon to cause another vacancy. It was afterward said that his long incumbency had been a judgment on the society for having elected an out-college man. I imagine that the front of Bedeliel towards Broad Street, which had recently been pulled down, must have been built, or at least restored while he was Master. For the Lee 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. Mr. Allen a letter to Dr. Johnson writes thus, Are you acquainted with Dr. Lee, the Master of Bedeliel College, and are you not delighted with his gaiety of manners and youthful vivacity, now that he is eighty-six years of age? I never heard a more perfect or excellent pun than his. When someone told him how, in a late dispute among the privy counselors, 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 travelers of every class, saying rather pompously, This doctor I call my study. The doctor glancing his eye around the room in which no books were to be seen replied. I am very well named too, sir, for you know Pope tells us, the proper study of mankind is man. When my father went to Oxford he was honored with an invitation to dine with this dignified cousin. Being a raw undergraduate unaccustomed to the habits of the university, he was about to take off his gown as if it were a great coat when the old man, then considerably turned eighty, said, with a grim smile, Young man, you need not strip, we are not going to fight. This human remained in him so strongly till the last that he might almost have supplied Pope with another instance of the ruling passion strong in death. For only three days before he expired, being told that an old acquaintance was lately married, having recovered from a long illness by eating eggs, and that the wits said that had been egged on to matrimony, he immediately trumped the joke saying, They made the yoke sit easy on him. I do not know from what common ancestor the master of Baleul and his great niece Jane Austen with some others of the family may have derived the keen sense of humor which they certainly possessed. Mr. and Mrs. George Austen resided first at Dean, but removed in 1771 to Stephenton, 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 Hastings, who had been committed to the care of Mr. Austen before his marriage. Only through the influence of his sister, Mrs. Hancock, whose husband at that time held some office under Hastings in India. Mr. Gleag in his life of Hastings says that his son George, the offspring of his first marriage, was sent to England in 1761 for his education, but that he had never been able to ascertain to whom his precious charge was entrusted, 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 Mipford, Dr. Russell, was rector of the adjoining parish of Ash, so that the parents of two popular female writers must have been intimately acquainted with each other. As my subject carries me back about a hundred years, it will afford occasions for absorbing many changes gradually affected in the manners and habits of society, which I may think it worthwhile 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 article 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 necessities and matters, of course, were unknown to their grandfathers and grandmothers. The lane between Dean and Steventon has long been as smooth as the best term Pike Road, but when the family removed from 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. Austin, who was not then in strong health, performed a long journey on a featherbed, placed upon some soft articles of furniture 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 the ruts and holes and 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 neighbouring squire, a man of many acres, referred the following difficulty to Mr. Austin's decision, quote, You know all of these sorts of things, do tell us, is Paris in France or France in Paris? For my wife has been disputing with me about it, end quote. The same gentleman, narrating some conversation which he had heard between the rector and his wife, represented the latter as being her reply to her husband with a round oath, and when his daughter called him to task, reminding him that Mrs. Austin 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, end quote. London 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 the higher section of country gentlemen who went into parliament and mixed in London's 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 their 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 of the aristocrats of his own parish, and there was probably a greater difference in man or refinement between this class and that immediately above them, than can now be found between any two persons who rank as gentlemen. 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 leveling 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 is probably intended by Shakespeare 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 a century ago the improvement in most county parishes began with the clergy, and in those days a rector who chanced to be a gentleman and a scholar found himself superior to his chief parishioners in information and manners, and became a sort of center of refinement and politeness. Mr. Austin was a remarkably good looking man, both in his youth and his old age. During his life of office at Oxford he had been called the handsome proctor, and at Bath when more than seventy years old he attracted observations 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. And Mrs. Austin 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 to share. She united strong common sense with a lively imagination and often expressed herself, both in writing and in conversation, with epigrammatic 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 cheerfulness. She once said to me, Quote, O 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 in the rest of the world so little to Jane Austin that some brief mention of her brothers and sisters is necessary in order to give any idea of the objects which principally 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 notice 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, written somewhat on the plan of the spectator and its successors, but nearly confined to some subjects connected with the university. And after life he used to speak very slightingly of his early work, which he had the better right to do, as whatever may have been the degree of their merits, the best 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 Godmarsham Park in Kent and Charlton 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 together 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 indulgent 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 conversational powers and inherited from his father an eager and sanguine disposition. He was a very entertaining companion, but had perhaps less steadiness of purpose, certainly less success in life than his brothers. He became a clergyman when middle-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 clothes of the last in the beginning of the present century. When it was impossible for an officer to be almost always afloat as these brothers were, without seeing service which, in these days, would be considered distinguished. Accordingly they were continually engaged in actions of more or less important 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 professional having lived in his ninety-third year, GCB, 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 consequently 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 a shore on the seaside 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 gunboats, and frequently making small prizes. At one time he was absent from England on such services for seven years together, and later life he commanded the Bellaroffin at the bombardment of St. Jean de Aker in 1840. In 1850 he went out in the Hastings in command of the East India and China station, but on the breaking out of the Burmese war he transferred his flag to a steam-sloop for the purpose of getting up the shallow waters of the Irawadi 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 has secured him an unusual portion of attachment, not only from his own family, but from all the officers and common 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 until he was struggling with disease, an 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 and Council of the Governor-General of India, Lord Dalhoussi, expresses, admiration of the staunch high spirit, which notwithstanding his age and previous sufferings, had led the admiral to take his part in the trying service which has 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 upon 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 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 seamanship, either in Mansfield Park or in persuasion. The 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 exited. Perhaps it began on Jane's side with the feeling of deference natural to a loving child towards a kind elder sister. Something of this feeling always remained, and even the maturity of her powers and in the enjoyment of increasing success, she would still speak of Cassandra as of one wiser and better than herself. In childhood, when the elder was sent to the school of Mrs. Laternal in the four brewery at Reading, the younger went with her, not because she was thought old enough to profit much by the instruction 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 house 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 sonniness of temper than Jane possessed. It was remarked in her family that, Cassandra had the merit of having her temper always under command, but that Jane had the happiness of a temper that never required to be commanded. When sense and sensibility came out, some persons who knew the family slightly surmised that the two elder Miss Dashwoods were intended by the author for her sister and herself, but this could not be the case. Cassandra's character might indeed represent the sense of Eleanor, 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 her wholesome pleasures, duties, and interests, and beyond which she went very little into society during the last ten years of her life. There is so much that was agreeable and attractive in this party that its members may be excused if they were inclined to live somewhat too exclusively within it. They might see in each other much to love and esteem and something to admire. The family talk had abundance of spirit and vivacity, and was never troubled by a disagreement 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 cannot 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 stage, while the interest is made to revolve around a few actors. It will be seen also that though her circle of society was small, yet she found in her neighborhood persons of good taste and cultivated minds. Her acquaintance, in fact, constituted the very class from which she took her imaginary characters, ranging from the member of parliament, or large landed proprietor, to the young curate or younger midshipman of equally good family. And I think the influence of these early associations may be traced in her writings, especially in two particulars. First, that she was 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. Secondly, that she deals as little with very low as with very high stations of life. She does not go lower than the Miss Steals, Mrs. Elton, and John Thorpe, people of bad taste and underbred manners, such as are actually found sometimes mingling with better society. She has nothing resembling the Bringtons or Mr. Dubster in his friend Tom Hicks with whom Madame de Arblay left to season her stories and to produce striking contrast to her well-bred characters. CHAPTER II Description of Steventon Life at Steventon changes of 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 Haunts, situated in a winding valley about seven miles from Basingstoke. The southwestern railway crosses it by a short embankment, and as it curves round it, presents a good view of it on the left-handed 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 portions of the Vine Hunt. It is certainly not a picturesque country. It presents no grander extensive views, but the features are small rather than 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 with the regular 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 sketchbook. 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 when Jane's mother, a little before her marriage, was shown the scenery of her future home, she should have thought it an 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 surrounded 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 pritally on either side of the road. It was sufficiently commodious to hold pupils in addition to a growing family, and was in those times considered to be above the average of personages, but the rooms were furnished 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 simplicity, covered only by a coat of paint or whitewash. Accordingly it has since been considered unworthy 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 Dean to Popham 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 down the east by one of the thatched mud walls common in that country, and overshadowed by fine alms. 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 her 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 in a regular border of copswood and timber, often wide enough to contain within it a winding foot path or a rough cart track. Under its shelter the earliest prume roses, anemones, and wild hyacinths were to be found, sometimes 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 proceeded westward, forming the southern boundary of the home meadows, and was formed into a rustic shrubbery with occasional seats entitled the Woodwalk. The other ran straight up the hill under the name of the Church Walk, because it led to the Paris Church, as well as to a fine old manor house of Henry VIII's occupied by a family named Digweed, who half 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 spiralist feign just seen above the woody lane—might have appeared mean and uninteresting to an ordinary observer, but the adept in church architecture 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 home of the village and within sight of no habitation except a glimpse of the grey manor house through its circling screen of sycamores, has in it something solemn and appropriate to the last resting place at the silent dead. Sweet violets, both purple and white, grow in abundance beneath its south wall. One may imagine for how many centuries the ancestors of those little flowers have occupied that undisturbed sunny nook, and might think how few living families can boast of as ancient a tenure of their land. Large elms protrude their rough branches. Old hawthorns shed their annual blossoms over the graves, and the hollow yew tree must be at least co-evil with the church. 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 the 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 wasn't broken by death and seldom visited by sorrow. Their situation had some peculiar advantages beyond those of ordinary rectuaries. Steventon was a family living. Mr. Knight, the patron, was also a 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 kind of representatives of the family. They shared with the principal tenant the command of an excellent manner, and enjoyed, in this reflected way, some of the consideration usually awarded to landed proprietors. They were not rich, but, aided by Mr. Austin's power of teaching, 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 hospitality to their own relations and friends. A carriage 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. The carriage once bought, entailed little further expense, 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 remaining 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. Austin's eldest sister, and Dr. Cooper, the vicar of Sunning near Redding. 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 topography and customs of Bath, which enabled her to write Northanger Abbey long before she recited there herself. After the death of their own parents, the two young Coopers paid long visits at Steventon. Edward Cooper did not live undistinguished. 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, and other religious publications, especially for several volumes of sermons much preached in many pulpits in my youth. Jane Cooper was married from her uncle's house at Steventon to Captain, afterwards Sir, Thomas Williams, under whom Charles Austin served in several ships. She was a dear friend of her namesake, 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. Austin's only sister, Mrs. Hancock. This cousin had been educated in Paris, and married to a count of the Foyade, of whom I know a little more than that he perished by the guillotine during the French Revolution. Perhaps his chief offence was his rank, but it was said that the charge of insivism under which he suffered rested on the fact of his having laid down some arable land into pasture, a sign of his intention to embarrass the Republican government by producing a famine. His wife escaped through the dangers and difficulties to England, was received for some time into her uncle's family, and finally married her cousin Henry Austin. During the short piece of amie, 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 detainue. Orders had been given by Bonaparte's government to detain all English travellers, but at the post-houses Mrs. Henry Austin gave the necessary orders herself, and her French was so perfect that she passed everywhere for a native, and her husband escaped under her hideous protection. She was the clever woman and highly accomplished after the French rather than the English mode, and in those days when intercourse with the continent was long interrupted by a war, such an element in the society of a country personage must have been a rare acquisition. The sisters may have been more indebted to this cousin than to Mrs. La Tornelle's teaching for the considerable knowledge of French which they possessed. She also took the principal parts in the private theatricles in which the family several times indulged. Having their summer theatre in the barn, and their winter one within the narrow limits of the dining-room, were 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 incidents and feelings which were so vividly painted in the Mansfield Park theatricles 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 likely to be a hopeless or a protracted one, for he had the prospect of an early preferment from a nobleman with whom he was connected both by birth and by personal friendship. He accompanied this friend to the West Indies as chaplain to his regiment, and there died of yellow fever, to the great concern of his friend in 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 party. 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 Quarterly 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 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 conceived 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 personal experience. In no circumstance of her life was there any similarity between herself and her heroine in Mansfield Park. She did not indeed pass through life without being the subject of warm affection. In her youth she had declined the addresses of a gentleman who had the recommendations of good character and connections and position of 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 while staying at some seaside place they became acquainted with a gentleman whose charm of person, mind and manners was such that Cassandra 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 a 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 such of a nature as to affect her happiness. Any description that I might attempt at 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 could look into the households of the clergy in the small gentry of that period we should see some things which would 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 observations 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 one 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 manners would indeed be to chronicle small beer. But in a slight memoir like this I may be allowed to note some of those changes in social habits which give a colour to history, but which the historian has the greatest difficulty in recovering. At that time the dinner table presented a far 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 forks had not come into general use while the broad rounded end of the knives indicated the substitute generally used instead of them. The dinners, too, were more homely, though not less plentiful in savoury, 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 vertus. One house would pride itself on its ham, another on its game-pie, and a third on its superior firmity, or tansy pudding. Beer and homemade wines, especially mead, were more largely consumed. Vegetables were less plentiful and less various. Potatoes were used, but not so abundantly as now, and there was an idea that they were to be eaten only with roast meat. There were novelties to a tenant's wife who was entertained at Stephenton Parsonage, certainly less than a hundred years ago, and when Mrs. Austin 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, bedrooms, and passages. A piano forte, or rather, a spinet or hops accord, 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 houses 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 now embellish and encumber our drawing-room tables. We should miss the sliding bookcases and picture stands, the letter weighing machines and envelope cases, the periodicals and illustrated newspapers. Above all, the countless swarm of photograph books which now threaten to swallow up all that 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 fastidiousness as to the quality of music, lights, and floor. Many country towns had a monthly ball throughout the winter, in some of which the same apartment served for dancing and tea-room. Dinner parties more frequently ended with an extempore dancing 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. 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 ballrooms of those days have now passed into oblivion. The barbarous law which confined the lady to one 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, in as much 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 curtsies, with measured 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 early and most palmy days, as when Sir Charles and Lady Grandison 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 the 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 ornament, while in the hands of an adept it could be made to speak a language of its own. It was not everyone who felt qualified to make this public exhibition, and I have been told that those ladies who intended to dance minuettes used to distinguish themselves from others by wearing a particular kind of lappette on their headdress. I have heard also of another curious proof of their 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, cattillions, 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 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 of such feelings as jealousy, rivalry, and discontent ever touched celestial bosoms in the modern ballroom, they must arise from different and more reckoned 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 understood 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 homemade 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, was 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 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 open to ladies. A very small minority of them cared much for literature or science. Music was not very common, and drawing was still rarer accomplishment. Needlework in some other 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 for them. Two homely proverbs were held in high estimation in my earliest days than they are now. The master's eye makes the horse fat, and, if you would be well-served, serve yourself. Some gentlemen took pleasure in being their own gardeners, performing all the scientific and some of the manual 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 entrust it to the carelessness of a rough servant, and to the risks of dirt and grease in the kitchen, for in those days servant's halls were not common in the houses of the clergy in the smaller country gentry. It was quite natural that Catherine Morland should have contrasted the magnificence of the offices at Northanger 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 traveled would have been thought exceptionally fine, or exceptionally lazy. When my uncle undertook to teach me to shoot, his first lesson was how to clean my gun. It was thought meritorious on 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 importance because, previous to the introduction of clipping 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 practiced by those who had gamekeepers and stud grooms and plenty of well-trained servants, but they were practiced 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 experience, 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 stoop-pot or the preserving-pan, but it is probable that their way of life differed a little from ours, and would have been 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. But all of this concerned only the outer life. There was as much cultivation and refinement of mind as now, with probably more studied courtesy and ceremony of manner to visitors, while 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 to their hasty breakfast in the kitchen. The early hour at which hounds then met and may account for this, and probably the custom began if 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 and 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 obtained 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 walk in patents. This defiance against wet and dirt is now seldom seen. The few that remain are banished from good society and employed only in menial work. But a hundred and fifty years ago they were celebrated in poetry, and considered so clever a contrivance that Gay, and his trivia, ascribes the invention to a god stimulated by his passion for immortal damsel, and derives the name Patton from Patti. The Patton now supports each frugal dame, which from the blue-eyed Patti 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 galash, lighter to wear and more effectual to protect. A no less manifest instance of gradual improvement than copper 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 Patton was intended to serve, I add the following epigram, written by Jane Austen's uncle, Mr. Lee Perot, on reading in a newspaper the marriage of Captain Foot to Miss Patton. Through the rough paths of life with a Patton in your guard may you safely and pleasantly jog, may the knot never slip, nor the ring press too hard, nor the Foot find the Patton a clog. At the time when Jane Austen lived at Staventon, a work was carried on in the neighboring cottages which ought to be recorded because it is long ceased to exist. Up to the beginning of the present century, poor women found profitable employment in spinning flax or wool. This was a better occupation for them than straw plating, and as much as it was carried out at the family hearth, and did not admit of gadding and gossiping about the village. The implement used was the 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, connected 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 forwards, produced picturesque attitudes and displayed whatever of grace or beauty the work woman might possess. Some ladies were fond of spinning, but they worked in quieter manner, sitting at a neat little machine of varnished wood like turnbridge wear, generally turned by the foot with a basin of water at hand to supply the moisture required 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 whales in our own family. It may be observed that this hand spinning is the most primitive of female accomplishments, and can be traced back to the earliest times. Ballad poetry and fairy tales are full of illusions to it. The term spinster still testifies to its having been the ordinary enjoyment of the English young woman. It was the labor assigned to the ejected nuns by the rough earl who said, Go spin, ye jades, go spin. It was the enjoyment at which Roman matrons and Grecian princesses presided amongst their handmaids. Heathen mythology celebrated it in the 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 manufacturer is quite extinct amongst us, crushed by the power of steam, overborn by a countless host of spinning jennies, and I can only just remember some of its last struggles for the existence in the Steventon cottages. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of memoir of Jane Austen. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Memoir of Jane Austen by James Edward Austen Lee. Chapter 3 Early compositions. Friends at Ash. A very old letter. Lines on the death 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 afterlife, 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 between 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 well educated, though not highly accomplished, and she certainly enjoyed that important element of mental training associating at home with persons of cultivated intellect. It cannot be doubted that her early years were bright and happy, living 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 interest of original composition. It is impossible to say at how early in 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 earliest 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 grand eloquent dedications prevalent in those days had not escaped her youthful penetration. Perhaps the most characteristic feature in these early productions is that, however purile 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. The mystery, an unfinished comedy, to the Reverend 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 mystery, a comedy. Dramatis persona, men, Colonel Elliot, old Humbug, young Humbug, Sir Edward Spangle, and Corridan, women, Fanny Elliot, Mrs. Humbug, and Daphne. Act I, scene I, a garden, enter Corridan. Corridan, but hush, I am interrupted. Exit Corridan, enter old Humbug and his son, talking. Old Hum, it is for that reason that I wish you to follow my advice. Are you convinced of its propriety? Young Hum, I am, sir, and will certainly act in the manner you have pointed out to me. Old Hum, then let us come to the house. Exit. 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 do you do? Fanny. Is it indeed? Mrs. Hum, I am very sorry to hear it. Fanny. Then it was no purpose that I— Daphne. None upon Earth. Mrs. Hum. And what is to become of Daphne? Oh, to all settles whispers to Mrs. Humbug. Fanny. And how is it determined? Daphne. I'll tell you whispers, Fanny. Mrs. Hum. An easy to Daphne. I'll tell you whispers to Mrs. Humbug and Fanny. Fanny. Well, now I know everything about it. I'll go away. Mrs. Hum and Daphne. And so will I. Excellent. Scene 3 The curtain rises and discovers Sir Edward Spangle reclined in an elegant attitude on a sofa fast to sleep. Enter Colonel Elliot. Colonel E. My daughter is not here, I see. There lies Sir Edward. Shall I tell him the secret? No, I'll even venture. Goes up to Sir Edward, whispers to him, and exits. End of the first act. Fanny. 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. 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 recollected that she knew writing stories was a great amusement and she thought a harmless one, though many people 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 I should cease writing till I was sixteen that she herself often wished she had read more and written less in the corresponding years of her own life. As this neath was only twelve years old at the time of her aunt's death these words seem to imply that the juvenile tales to which 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 her 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. Instead of presenting faithful copies of nature these tales were generally burlesque ridiculing the improbable events and exaggerated sentiments which she had met with in sundry silly romances. Something of this fancy is to be found in Northanger Abbey far behind in her subsequent course. It would seem as if she were first taking note of all the faults to be avoided and curiously 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. Short Read observed very pithily of Walter Scott's early rambles on the past. At first he thought of little, I dare say, but the queerness and the fun. And so in a humbler way Jane Austen was making herself little thinking of future fame but caring only for the 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, successful writing was composed as 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 titled then intended for it was first impressions. Sense and sensibility was begun in its present form immediately 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 and if as is probable a good deal of this earlier production was retained it must form the earliest and most prepared for the press till 1803 was certainly first composed in 1798. Amongst the most valuable neighbors of the Austins were Mr. and Mrs. LaFroy and their family he was rector of the adjoining parish of Ash she was sister to Sir Edgerton Bridges to whom we are indebted I remember Jane Austen the novelist as a little child she was very intimate with Mrs. LaFroy and much encouraged by her her mother was a miss Lee whose paternal grandmother was a sister to the first Duke of Chandos Mr. Austen was of a Kentish family of which several branches have been settled in the will of Kent and some are still remaining there and elegant but with cheeks a little too full one may wish that Sir Edgerton had dwelt rather longer on the subject of these memories instead of being drawn away by his extreme love for genealogies to her great grandmother and ancestors that great grandmother however lives in the family records as Mary Bridges a daughter of Lord Chandos married in Winchester and reproof written by her mother from Constantinople Mary or Paul was remaining in England 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 200 years old dealing with domestic details must possess some interest this is remarkable not only as a specimen of the only language in which one sense which it contains forms of expression vary but good sense and right principles are the same in the 19th century than they were in the 17th century my dearest Paul your letters by cousin Robert Searle arrived here not before the 27th of April yet were they heartily welcome to us bringing a joyful news which a great while we had longed for of my most dear mother and all other you all and as I observe in yours to your sister Betty your extraordinary kindness of as I may truly say the best mother and grandmother in the world in pinching herself to make you so fine I cannot but admire her great good house wifery in affording you so very plentiful and allowance and yet to increase her stock at the rate I find she has done and I think I can never sufficiently mind her your gratitude in all humble submissions and obedience to her commands so long as you live I must tell you her bounty and care in your greatest measure that you are likely to owe your well living in this world and as you cannot help but be very sensible you are an extraordinary charge to her so it behooves you to take particular heed that in the whole course of your life you render her a way you can ever hope to make her such amends as God requires of your hands but Paul it grieves me a little yet I am forced to take notice and reprove you for some vain expressions in your letters to your sister you say concerning your allowance you aim to bring your bread and cheese even in this I do not dis commend you for a foul shame indeed it would be should you run out the constable having so liberal a provision made you for your resolution I cannot at all approve for you to say to spend more than you can't that's because you have it not to spend otherwise it seems you would so yet tis your grandmother's discretion and not yours that keeps you from extravagancy which plainly appears in the close of your sentence saying yet you think it's simple covetousness to save out of yours but tis my opinion if you lay all on your back tis ten times a greater sin than to save somewhat out of so large an allowance in your purse to help you at a dead lift child we all know our beginning but who knows his end the best use that can be made out of fair weather is to provide against foul and his great discretion and of no small commendations for a young woman betimes to show herself how and yet if you never fall under a worse reputation in the world than she I thank God for it hath hitherto done you need not repine at it and you cannot be ignorant of the difference that was between my fortune and what you are to expect you ought likewise to consider that you have seven brothers and sisters and you are all one man's children and therefore it is all the rest for it is impossible you should so much mistake your father's condition as to fancy he is able to allow every one of you 40 pounds a year a piece for such an allowance with the charge of their diet over and above will amount to at least 500 pounds a year a sum your poor father can ill spare besides do but think yourself what a ridiculous living gentlewoman in one house for what reason can you give why every one of your sisters should not have every one of them a maid as well as you and though you may spare to pay your maid's wages out of your allowance yet you take no care of the unnecessary charge you put your father to in your increase of his family whereas you can all the business you have for a maid unless as you grow older you grow a very or fool which God forbid Paul you live in a place where you see great plenty and splendor but let not the allurements of earthly pleasures tempt you to forget or neglect the duty of a good Christian in dressing cloth yourself rich and be running into every gaudy fashion can never become your circumstances and instead of doing you credit and getting you a good preferment it is the readiest way you can take to fright all sober men from ever thinking of matching themselves with women that live above their fortune and if this be a wise way your mother your mother and all your sisters in a plain dress and you only tricked up like a Bartholomew baby you know what sort of people those are that can't fare well but they must cry roast meat now what effect could you imagine you're riding in such a high strain to your sisters could have but either to provoke them the goddess hath not disparaged neither them nor us without incurring the censure of simple covetousness they will have some what to show out of their savings that will do them credit and I expect yet you that their elder sister should rather set them examples of the like nature then tempt them from trading in the steps of their good grandmother and poor mother to be a very good natured dutiful child, I should have thought it a great deal too much. But yet, having in my coming hither, passed through many most desperate dangers, I cannot forbear thinking and preparing myself for all events. And therefore, not knowing how it may please God to dispose of us, I concluded my duty to God and thee, my dear child, to lay this matter as home to thee as I could, assuring you, my daily prayers, are not, nor shall be, wanting, that God may give thee grace always to remember to make a right use of this truly affectionate counsel of your poor mother.  For you may be certain I can aim at nothing in what I have now writ, but your real good, which to promote shall be the study and care day and night. Of my dear Paul, thy truly affectionate mother, Eliza Chandus, para of Galata, May the sixth, sixteen eighty-six, post script, thy father and I send thee our blessing and all thy brothers and sisters their service, our hearty and affectionate service to my brother and sister, child, and all, my dear cousins, when you see my lady Worcester and cousin Howland's, pray present them my most humble service. This letter shows that the wealth acquired by trade was already manifesting itself in contrast with the straightened circumstances of some of the nobility. Mary Bridges' poor father, in whose household economy was necessary, was the king of England's ambassador at Constantinople. The grandmother, who lived in great Plenian 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 Ash also Jane became acquainted with a member of the LeFroy family, who was still living when I began these memoirs a few months ago, the right Honourable Thomas LeFroy, the 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 destined 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 companion, 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, graceful 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, December 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. The day returns again, my natal day, what mixed emotions in my mind arise. Beloved friend, four years have passed away, since thou were it snatched forever from our eyes. 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. 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 humankind. 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. 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. Listen, it is not sound alone, to his sense, to his genius taste and tenderness of soul, to his genuine warmth of heart without pretense, and purity of mind that crowns the whole. She speaks, to his eloquence, that grace of tongue, so rare, so lovely, never misapplied, by her to palliate vice or deco wrong. She speaks and argues, but on virtue's side.  Can ought enhance such goodness? Yes, to me her partial favour from my earliest years consummates all. Ah, give me but to see her smile of love, the vision disappears, to his past and gone, we meet no more below, short is the cheat of fancy or the tomb. Oh, might I hope to equal bliss to go, to meet the angel in thy future home. Feign, would I feel and union with thy fate, feign 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, 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. 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. Whereas 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, curiously constructed out of the simplest matters. Her letters have 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 postmark 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 Gondrisham Park, Kent. Steventon Saturday evening, November 8th. My dear Cassandra, I thank you for so speedy a return to my two last, and particularly 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. We fully intended, writing to you by Mr. Chutes 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 centerpiece stands most exceedingly well under the glass, and holds a great deal most commodiously without looking awkwardly. They are both covered with green bays and send their best love. The pembroke has got its destination 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 bedroom, and we are now in want only of the chiffonière, which 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. Earl Harwood has been again giving uneasiness to his family and talked to the neighborhood. In the present instance, however, he is only unfortunate and not in fault. About ten days ago, in cocking a pistol in the guard room at Marseille, he accidentally shot himself through the thigh. Two young Scotch surgeons 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 Hasler Hospital at Gosport, where the bullet was extracted 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, whose objecting going was to be the means of bringing back the earliest intelligence to Mr. and Mrs. Harwood, whose anxious sufferings, particularly those of the latter, have, of course, been dreadful. 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 Dean, though it will probably be a long while before Mrs. Harwood can be quite at ease. Even most material comfort, however, they have, the assurance of its being really an accidental wound which is not only positively declared by Earl 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. Mr. Heathcote met with a genteel little accident the other day in hunting.  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. Monday evening. We have had a dreadful storm of wind in the four 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 furs, 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 side, as you enter, what I call the elm walk, was likewise blown down. The maple bearing the weather crook was broken, too, and what I regret more than all the rest is, that the three elms which grew in Hall's meadow and gave such ornament to it are gone, too blown down and the others so much injured that it cannot stand. I am happy to add, however, that no greater evil than the loss of trees has been the consequence of the storm in this place or in our immediate neighborhood. 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, November twelfth. My dear Martha, I did not receive your note yesterday till after Charlotte had left Dean, 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 hearstorn ball by the value of three pints. You are very good in wishing to see me at Ibb Thorpe 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 hear have done with a panegyric and proceed to plain matter 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 to so arrange my visit as to spend some days with you after your mother's return. In the first place, that I may have the pleasure of seeing her, and in the second, that I may have a better chance of bringing you back with me. Your promise in my favour 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 conscience. I hope we shall meet next week to talk this all over till we have tired ourselves with the very idea of my visit before my visit begins. Our invitations for the nineteenth are arrived, and very curiously are they worded. He mentioned you yesterday, poor Earl'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 favourable accounts of him. John Harwood has gone to Gosport again today. We have two families 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 continuous may be too reasonably doubted. Sir Heathcote, 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 distrust 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 laying in a stock of intelligence to pour out on you as 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, dulcetory, unconnected stream, or dividing my recitals as the historian divides it himself into seven parts. The civil and military, religion, constitution, 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 subject. The Friday slot, commerce, coins and shipping, you will find the least entertaining, but the next evening's portion will make amends. With such a provision on my part, if you will do yours by repeating the French grammar, and Mrs. Stint 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 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 the kind of anxieties and uncertainties to which sisters are seldom subject in these days of peace, steamers and electric telegraphs. 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 the vessel of superior power, no improbable occurrence before the Battle of Trafalgar. Information about relatives on board men of war was scarce and scanty, and often picked up by hearsay or chance means, and every scrap of intelligence 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 endimion. I will copy Charles an 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 English at Rhodes, going up to take command of the Petrel, as he was coming down, but suppose he will arrive in less than a fortnight from this time in some ship which is expected to reach England about that time, with dispatches from Sir Ralph Abercrombie. The event must show what sort of a conjurer Captain Boyle is. The endimion has not been played with any more prizes. Charles spent three pleasant days in Lisbon. They were very well satisfied with their royal passenger, 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 endimion was becalmed, but Charles hoped to reach 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. Charles has received thirty pounds for his share of the privateer, and expects ten pounds more, but of what avail is it to take prizes if he lays out the produce in presence to his sisters? He has been buying gold chains and topaz crosses for us. He must be well scalded. The endimion has already received orders for taking troops to Egypt, which I should not at all like if I did not trust to Charles being removed from her somehow or other before she sails. He knows nothing of his own destination, he says, but desires me to write directly, as the endimion 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. Presidences at Bath and at Southampton Settling at Chowton The family removed to Bath in the spring of 1801, where they resided first at number four 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. Lee Parrott, spent part of every year there. The name of Parrott, together with a small estate at Northley 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 Parrott family, for one of the last survivors, Jane Parrott, married to a walker, was Jane Austen's great-grandmother, from whom she derived her Christian name. The Parrott's were settled in Pembrokeshire at least as early as the thirteenth century. They were probably some of the settlers whom the policy of our Plantagenet Kings placed in that county, which then once acquired the name of England beyond Wales, for the double purpose of keeping open a communication with Ireland from Milford Haven, and of over-awing the Welsh. One of the family seems to have carried out this latter purpose very vigorously, for it is recorded of him that he slew twenty-six men of Chémées, a district of Wales, and one wolf. The manner in which the two kinds of game are classed together, and the disproportion of numbers are remarkable, but probably 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 seventeen eighty-eight, and their property was divided between Lees and Musgraves, the larger portion going to the latter. Mr. Lea Parrott pulled down the mansion and sold the estate to the Duke of Marlborough, and the name of these parrots is now to be found only on some monuments in the Church of Northley. Mr. Lea Parrott was also one of several cousins to whom a life interest in the stone-lea property in Warwickshire was left after the extinction of the earlier Lea peerage, but he compromised his claim to the secession in his lifetime. He married a niece of Sir Montague Chalmlee of Lincolnshire. He was a man of considerable natural power, with much of the wit of his uncle, the master of Baleol, and wrote clever epigrams and riddles, some of which, though without his name, found their way into print, but he lived a very retired life, dividing his time between Bath and his place in Berkshire called Scarlet's. 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 eighteen-oh-four she spent some weeks at Lime, and became acquainted with the cob, which she afterwards made memorable for the fall of Louisa Musgrove. In February eighteen-oh-five her father died at Bath, and was buried at Walcott 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 these four years are the three following letters to her sister, one from Lime, 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 my new traits of character in those with whom she associated. Extract from a letter from Jane Austen to her sister. Lime. Friday, September 14th, eighteen-oh-four. 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 Ibbthorpe before this time. I expect to hear that you reached it yesterday evening being able to get as far as Blandford on Wednesday. Our count 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 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 line. 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 inhabitants. I endeavour as far as I can to supply your place and be useful, and keep things in order. I detect dirt in the water to canters as fast as I can, and keep everything as it was under your administration. The ball last night was pleasant, 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 first two dances, the next two I danced with Mr. Crawford, and had I chosen to stay longer might have danced with Mr. Granville, Mrs. Granville's son, whom my dear friend Miss A. introduced me, or with a new odd-looking man who had been eyeing me for some time, and at last, without any introduction, asked me if I meant to dance again. I think he must be Irish by his ease, and because I imagine him to belong to the honourable Bees, who are son and son's wife of an Irish by-count, bold, queer-looking people just fit to be quality at Lyme. I called yesterday morning, odd it not in strict propriety be termed, yesterday morning, on Miss A. and was introduced to her father and mother. Like other young ladies she is considerably gentler 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 cob. She is very conversable in a common way. I do not perceive wit or genius, but she has some sense and some degree of taste, and her manners are very engaging. She seems to like people rather too easily. Yours affectionately, Jane Austen. Letter from Jane Austen to her sister Cassandra at Ibbthorpe, 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 Ibbthorpe ever see such an Eighth 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 a change of pace. We were out again last night. Miss Irvine invited us, when I meant her in the Crescent, to drink tea with them, but I rather declined it, having no idea that my mother would be disposed for another evening visit there so soon. When I gave her the message, I found her very well inclined to go, and accordingly, on leaving Chapel, we walked to Lansdowne. This morning we have been to see Miss Chamberlain look hot on horseback. Seven years and four months ago we went to the same riding-house to see Miss LeFroy's performance. What a different set we are now moving 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. again. I have not yet seen her face, but neither her dress nor air have anything 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 the excellent Mrs. Colthart calling, 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 God reached Gibraltar on the ninth of March, and found all well, so say the papers. We have had no letters from anybody, but we expect to hear from Edward to-morrow, and from you soon afterwards. How happy they are at Goddarshom now! I shall be very glad of a letter from Ibbthort, that I may know how you all are, but particularly yourself. This is nice weather for Mrs. J. Austen's going to Spine, 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 revival. Poor woman! May her end be peaceful and easy as the exit we have witnessed. And I dare say it will. If there is no revival, suffering must be all over, even the consciousness of existence, 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. I am heartily glad that you can speak so comfortably of your own health and looks, though I can scarcely comprehend the latter being really improved. Could traveling 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-chase? 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 I am glad it pleases her, but it will prove a useless gift at present, I suppose. Will she not leave Ibn Thorpe 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. In the former I wrote in consequence of my mother's having seen in the papers that the uranium was wading 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 in 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 making 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, Jane Austen. From the same to the same. Gay Street, Sunday evening, April 21st, 1805. My dear Cassandra, I much obliged 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 way, but we must be merciful, for perhaps in time we may come to be Mrs. Stent's ourselves, unequal to anything and unwelcome to everybody. My morning engagement was with the cooks, 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'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 foolories with Miss B, who is very young, and rather handsome, and whose gracious manners, ready wit, and solid remarks put me someone in mind of my old acquaintance, L. L.  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 up-braided 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 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 visiting a Countess this morning, you will immediately, with great justice, but no truth, guess it to be Lady Rodin. No, it is Lady Levin, the mother of Lord Balgoni. On receiving a message from Lord and Lady Levin through the McKays, declaring their intention of waiting on us, we thought it right to go to them. I hope we have not done too much, but the friends and admirers of Charles must be attended to. They seemed very reasonable, good sort of people, very civil and full of his praise. 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 Levin was not within. He is a tall, gentleman-like-looking man with spectacles, and rather deaf. After sitting with him ten minutes we walked away, but Lady Levin, 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 woman with a very handsome face. By this means we had the pleasure of hearing Charles's praises twice over. They think themselves excessively obliged to him, and estimate him so highly as to wish Lord Balgoni, when he is quite recovered, to go out to him. There is a pretty little Lady Marion 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 meantime of your intending to do it. Believe me, if you choose, your affectionate 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 Reverend George Lee Cook, long known and respected at Oxford, where he held important offices, and had the privilege 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 Reverend John Kable, and Sir John Colridge. The latter has mentioned him in terms of affectionate regard, both in his memoir of Kable, and in a letter which appears in Dean Stanley's Life of Arnold. Mr. Cook was also an impressive preacher of earnest awakening sermons. I remember to have heard it observed by some of my undergraduate friends that, after all, there was more good to be got from George Cook'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 commodious 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 character 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 conspiracy of Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray, which Shakespeare has made so picturesque, when, according to the chorus in Henry V, the citizen saw the well-appointed king at Hampton Pier embark his royalty. 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 embartement 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 Westport. 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 marquee of Landsdown, half-brother to the well-known statesman who succeeded him in the title. The Marchioness had a light faton, drawn by six, and sometimes by eight little ponies, each pair decreasing in size and becoming lighter in color, through all the shades 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 postillons. The two pairs nearest to the carriage were driven in hand. It was a delight to me to look down from the window and see this very 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. On the death of the marquee in 1809 the castle was pulled down. Few probably remember its existence, and anyone who might visit the place now would wonder how it ever could have stood there. In 1809 Mr. Knight was able to offer his mother the choice of two houses on his property, one near his usual residence at Godmarsham Park in Kent, the other near Chauton House, his occasional residence 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 Chauton College. Chauton 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 residence at Chauton circumstances brought several of her brothers and their families with an easy distance of the house. Chauton must also be considered 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 rearranged 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 Chauton, 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 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 book case, and another opened at the side which gave to view only turf and trees, as a high wooden fence and horn-beam head shut out the Winchester Road, which skirted the whole length of the little domain. Trees were planted to each side to form a shrubbery walk, carried round the enclosure, 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, everything inside and out was kept in good repair, and it was all together a comfortable and ladylike establishment, 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 rider. 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 Suthie's edition of his works, but I cannot recommend any admirer of Jane Austen to undertake 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 ordinary uses.