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:
THE NOVELS AND LETTERS OF
JANE AUSTEN
Edited by
REGINALD BRIMLEY JOHNSON
with an Introduction by
WILLIAM LYON PHELPS, Ph.D.
Complete in Twelve Volumes
4629 6
STONELEIGH EDITION
This Edition of the Novels and Letters of Jane Austen
is Limited to twelve hundred and fifty numbered and
registered copies of which this is
Copy No. 1092
~
Mb
x CO ¢ : “ BS
4 THE NOVELS AND LETTERS OF
“JANE AUSTEN
R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON
with an Introduction by
PROF. WILLIAM LYON PHELPS, Ph. D.
Lampson Professor of English Literature,
Yale iewginine as
LADY SUSAN
THE WATSONS
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Part I
With Colored Illustrations by
C. E. and H. M. BROCK
;
LL LT TS TE ees ss ment
-The Honse in Hans Place, London.
de FRANK S. HOLBY
‘NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA
% zlogHoagigervste sev0H tous bIO odff
THE NOVELS AND LETTERS OF
JANE AUSTEN
Edited by
R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON
with an Introduction by
PROF. WILLIAM LYON PHELPS, Ph. D.
Lampson Professor of English Literature,
Yale University.
Sn ep ao es
PERLE EFS
A ar
LADY SUSAN
THE WATSONS
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Part I
With Colored Illustrations by
C. E. and H. M. BROCK
.The House in Hans Place, London.
FRANK S. HOLBY
NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA
MCMVI
Prefaces
to
Lady Susan and the Watsons
Copyrighted 1906
by
FRANK S. HOLBY
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Old Manor House Steventon Hants . . Frontismece
PAGE
Jane Austen, after an original family portrait . . ~~ vill
Home in Winchester where Jane Austen died, from a
photograph by Mrs. Wm. Lyon Philps, September,
1900... i ; : : ‘ : 5 : : cue LOS
North Aisle of Winchester Cathedral; Burial Place of Jane
Austen ‘ é p : : 5 2 z . . 196
PREFACE
JANE AUSTEN left two incomplete novels, “ Lady
Susan” and “The Watsons.” Miss Austen did
not give “ Lady Susan ” to the world and would
have earnestly deprecated its publication. Be-
fore her death she removed from Chawton to
Winchester for medical advice, leaving her pa-
pers in Chawton, so that she could hardly have
had an opportunity in her last moments of de-
stroying those papers she did not intend should
see the light.
“Lady Susan” is a novelette in the form of
letters. The date of its having been written is
not known, but it is believed to have been a very
early production. It is a mere exercise, which,
when her taste had improved, was laid aside. It
is complete after a fashion. The story, which
it briefly and not very clearly tells, is that of a
worthless, though clever and fascinating, woman
who carries on two love intrigues at once, one
with a married man, while in the case of the
other she is eventually supplanted in her lover’s
affections by her own daughter. All this time
she is cruelly ill-treating her daughter and trying
to force upon her a husband whom she hates. In
PREFACE
the end her two intrigues clash and are wrecked
in the collision. ‘“ Lady Susan” ultimately takes
herself up by marrying the man she intended her
daughter to marry. Her daughter marries the
man her mother hoped to secure for herself. The
plot is worthy of a French novel. Although the
theme is to a degree repulsive, the reader feels
that the writer has a moral reason in showing
deceit captured in its own snare. The cold-
ness of the narrative precludes any imputation
against the extreme respectability of the author.
Being merely an exercise, the characters are little
better than lay figures, but are described with
that minute observation, shrewd sagacity and in-
sight that the author devotes to all of her sternly
practical heroes and heroines.
“Sense and Sensibility,” like “ Lady Susan,”
was at first composed in the form of letters.
Jane Austen was doubtless following the exam-
ple of Richardson, whom she regarded with un-
bounded admiration. One of the defects of this
method, in addition to its awkwardness for nar-
ration, is illustrated by “ Lady Susan,” in which
the wicked woman is made to write letters reveal-
ing her own character and designs with an open-
ness which, under a paternal government, might
get her into trouble.
LADY SUSAN
Lee oh el a ee
gen
:
ay)
eh
iy
shai Neri fa AG
Lady Susan
%
i
L230
Lady Susan Ve ernon to Mr. Vernon
Lancrorp, Dec.
Y DEAR BROTHER,—I can no
longer refuse myself the pleasure of
profiting by your kind invitation when
we last parted of spending some weeks with
with you at Churchhill, and therefore, if quite
convenient to you and Mrs. Vernon to receive
me at present, I shall hope within a few days to
be introduced to a sister whom I have so long
desired to be acquainted with. My kind friends
here are most affectionately urgent with me to
prolong my stay, but their hospitable and cheer-
ful dispositions lead them too much into society
for my present situation and state of mind; and
I impatiently look forward to the hour when I
shall be admitted into your delightful retirement.
I long to be made known to your dear little
children, in whose hearts I shall be very eager to
secure an interest. I shall soon have need for
[3]
LADY, SUSAN
all my fortitude, as I am on the point of separa-
tion from my own daughter. The long illness
of her dear father prevented my paying her that
attention which duty and affection equally dic-
tated, and I have too much reason to fear that
the governess to whose care I consigned her was
unequal to the charge. I have therefore resolved
on placing her at one of the best private schools
in town, where I shall have an opportunity of
leaving her myself in my way to you. I am de-
termined, you see, not to be denied admittance
at Churchhill. It would indeed give me most
painful sensations to know that it were not in
your power to receive me.
Your most obliged and affectionate sister,
S. VERNON.
II
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson
LanarorD
You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in sup-
posing me fixed at this place for the rest of the
winter: it grieves me to say how greatly you
were mistaken, for I have seldom spent three
months more agreeably than those which have
just flown away. At present, nothing goes
smoothly; the females of the family are united
against me. You foretold how it would be when
[4]
LADY SUSAN
I first came to Langford, and Mainwaring is so
uncommonly pleasing that I was not without ap-
prehensions for myself. I remember saying to
myself, as I drove to the house, “ I like this man,
pray Heaven no harm come of it!” But I was
determined to be discreet, to bear in mind my
being only four months a widow, and to be as
quiet as possible: and I have been so, my dear
creature; I have admitted no one’s attentions but
Mainwaring’s. I have avoided all general flirta-
tion whatever; I have distinguished no creature
besides, of all the numbers resorting hither, ex-
cept Sir James Martin, on whom I bestowed a
little notice, in order to detach him from Miss
Mainwaring; but if the world could know my
motive there they would honour me. I have been
called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred
impulse of maternal affection, it was the advan-
tage of my daughter that led me on; and if that
daughter were not the greatest simpleton on
earth, I might have been rewarded for my exer-
tions as I ought.
Sir James did make proposals to me for Fred-
erica; but Frederica, who was born to be the tor-
. ment of my life, chose to set herself so violently
against the match that I thought it better to lay
aside the scheme for the present. JI have more
than once repented that I did not marry him my-
self; and were he but one degree less contempti-
[5]
LADY SUSAN
bly weak, I certainly should: but I must own
myself rather romantic in that respect, and that
riches only will not satisfy me. The event of all
this is very provoking: Sir James is gone, Maria
highly incensed, and Mrs. Mainwaring insup-
portably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so
enraged against me, that, in the fury of her
temper, I should not be surprised at her appeal-
ing to her guardian, if she had the liberty of
addressing him: but there your husband stands
my friend; and the kindest, most amiable action
of his life was his throwing her off forever on her
marriage. Keep up his resentment, therefore,
I charge you. We are now in a sad state; no
house was ever more altered: the whole party
are at war, and Mainwaring scarcely dares speak
to me. It is time for me to be gone: I have
therefore determined on leaving them, and shall
spend, I hope, a comfortable day with you in
town within this week. If I am as little in favour
with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must come to me
at 10 Wigmore Street; but I hope this may not
be the case, for as Mr. Johnson, with all his
faults, is a man to whom that great word “ re-
spectable ” is always given, and I am known to —
be so intimate with his wife, his slighting me has
an awkward look.
I take London in my way to that insupport-
able spot, a country village; for I am really go-
[6]
LADY SUSAN
ing to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend,
it is my last resource. Were there another placer
in England open to me, I would prefer it.
Charles Vernon is my aversion, and I am afraid
of his wife. At Churchhill, however, I must re-
main till I have something better in view. My
young lady accompanies me to town, where IL
shall deposit her under the care of Miss Sum-
mers, in Wigmore Street, till she becomes a litile
more reasonable. She will make good connec-
tions there, as the girls are all of the best fam-
ilies. ‘The price is immense, and much beyond
what I can ever attempt to pay.
Adieu, I will send you a line as soon as I ar-
rive in town.
Yours ever, S. VERNON.
III
* Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CHURCHHILL.
My pear MoruHer,—I am very sorry to tell
you that it will not be in our power to keep our
promise of spending our Christmas with you;
and we were prevented that happiness by a cir-
cumstance which is not likely to make us any
amends. Lady Susan, in a letter to her brother-
in-law, has declared her intention of visiting us
L7]
LADY as US Aw
almost immediately; and as such a visit is in all
probability merely an affair of convenience, it
is impossible to conjecture its length. I was by
no means prepared for such an event, nor can I
now account for her Jadyship’s conduct; Lang-
ford appeared so exactly the place for her in
every respect, as well from the elegant and ex-
pensive style of living there, as from her particu-
lar attachment to Mr. Mainwaring, that I was
very far from expecting so speedy a distinction,
though I always imagined from her increasing
friendship for us since her husband’s death that
we should, at some future period, be obliged to
receive her. Mr. Vernon, I think, was a great
deal too kind to her when he was in Stafford-
shire; her behaviour to him, independent of her
general character, has been so inexcusably artful
and ungenerous since our marriage was first in
agitation that no one less amiable and mild than
himself could have overlooked it all; and though,
as his brother’s widow, and in narrow circum-
stances, it was proper to render her pecuniary as-
sistance, I cannot help thinking his pressing in-
vitation to her to visit us at Churchhill perfectly
unnecessary. Disposed, however, as he always
is to think the best of every one, her display of
grief, and professions of regret, and general
resolutions of prudence were sufficient to soften
his heart, and make him really confide in her
[8]
al
LADY SUSAN
sincerity; but as for myself, I am still uncon-
vineced, and plausibly as her ladyship has now
written, I cannot make up my mind till I better
understand her real meaning in coming to us.
-You may guess, therefore, my dear madam, with
what feelings I look forward to her arrival. She
will have occasion for all those attractive powers
for which she is celebrated to gain any share of
my regard; and [I shall certatnly endeavour to
guard myself against their influence, if not ac-
companied by something more substantial. She
expresses a most eager desire of being ac-
quainted with me, and makes very gracious men-
tion of my children, but I am not quite weak
enough to suppose a woman who has behaved
with inattention, if not with unkindness to her
own child, should be attached to any of mine.
Miss Vernon is to be placed at a school in Lon-
don before her mother comes to us, which I am
glad of, for her sake and my own. It must be
to her advantage to be separated from her
mother, and a girl of sixteen who has received
so wretched an education could not be a very
desirable companion here. Reginald has long
wished, I know, to see the captivating Lady
Susan, and we shall depend on his joining our
party soon. I am glad to hear that my father
continues so well; and am, with best love, etc.,
CATHERINE VERNON.
[9]
LADY SUSAN
IV
Mr. De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon
PARKLANDS.
My pear Sister,—lI congratulate you and
Mr. Vernon on being about to receive into your
family the most accomplished coquette in Eng-
land. As a very distinguished flirt I have al-
ways been taught to consider her, but it has
lately fallen in my way to hear some particulars
of her conduct at Langford, which prove that
she does not confine herself to that sort of hon-
est flirtation which satisfies most people, but
aspires to the more delicious gratification of
making a whole family miserable. By her be-
haviour to Mr. Mainwaring she gave jealousy
and wretchedness to his wife, and by her atten-
tions to a young man previously attached to Mr.
Mainwaring’s sister deprived an amiable girl of
her lover.
I learnt all this from Mr. Smith, now in this
neighbourhood (I have dined with him, at Hurst
and Wilford), who is just come from Langford,
where he was a fortnight with her ladyship, and
who is therefore well qualified to make the
communication.
What a woman she must be! I long to see
her, and shall certainly accept your kind invita-
[10]
LADY SUSAN
tion, that I may form some idea of those be-
witching powers which can do so much—engag-
ing at the same time, and in the same house, the
affections of two men, who were neither of them
at liberty to bestow them—and all this without
the charm of youth! I am glad to find Miss
Vernon does not accompany her mother to
Churchhill, as she has not even manners to
recommend her; and according to Mr. Smith’s
account, is equally dull and proud. Where pride
and stupidity unite there can be no dissimulation
worthy notice, and Miss Vernon shall be con-
signed to unrelenting contempt; but by all that
I can gather Lady Susan possesses a degree of
captivating deceit which it must be pleasing to
witness and detect. I shall be with you very
soon, and am ever
Your affectionate brother,
R. DE Courcy.
V
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson
CHURCHHILL,
‘I RECEIVED your note, my dear Alicia, just
before I left town, and rejoice to be assured that
Mr. Johnson suspected nothing of your engage-
ment the evening before. It is undoubtedly bet-
_ ter to deceive him entirely, and since he will be
[11]
LADY SUSAN
‘stubborn he must be tricked. I arrived here in
safety, and have no reason to complain of my re-
ception from Mr. Vernon; but I confess myself
not equally satisfied with the behaviour of his
lady. She is perfectly well-bred, indeed, and has
the air of a woman of fashion, but her manners
are not such as can persuade me of her being
prepossessed in my favour. I wanted her to be
delighted at seeing me. I was as amiable as pos-
sible on the occasion, but all in vain. She does
not like me. To be sure, when we consider that
I did take some pains to prevent my brother-in-
law’s marrying her, this want of cordiality is not
very surprising, and yet it shows an illiberal and
vindictive spirit to resent a project which in-
fluenced me six years ago, and which never suc-
ceeded at last.
I am sometimes disposed to repent that I did
not let Charles buy Vernon Castle, when we
were obliged to sell it; but it was a trying cir-
cumstance, especially as the sale took place ex-
actly at the time of his marriage; and everybody
ought to respect the delicacy of those feelings
which could not endure that my husband’s dig-
nity should be lessened by his younger brother’s
having possession of the family estate. Could
matters have been so arranged as to prevent the
necessity of our leaving the castle, could we have
lived with Charles and kept him single, I should
[12]
PADDY SUSAN
have been very far from persuading my husband
to dispose of it elsewhere; but Charles was on
the point of marrying Miss De Courcy, and the
event has justified me. Here are children in
abundance, and what benefit could have accrued
to me from his purchasing Vernon? My having
prevented it may perhaps have given his wife
an unfavourable impression; but where there is
a disposition to dislike, a motive will never be
wanting; and as to money matters it has not
withheld him from being very useful to me. I
really have a regard for him, he is so easily im-
posed upon! The house is a good one, the furni-
ture fashionable, and everything announces
plenty and elegance. Charles is very rich, I am
sure; when a man has once got his name in a
banking-house, he rolls in money; but they do
not know what to do with it, keep very little com-
pany, and never go to London but on business.
We shall be as stupid as possible. I mean to
win my sister-in-law’s heart through the chil-
dren; I know all their names already, and am
going to attach myself with the greatest sensibil-
ity to one in particular, a young Frederic, whom
I take on my lap and sigh over for his dear
uncle’s sake.
Poor Mainwaring! I need not tell you how
much I miss him, how perpetually he is in my
thoughts. I found a dismal letter from him on
[13]
LADY SUSAN
my arrival here, full of complaints of his wife
and sister, and lamentations on the cruelty of his
fate. I passed off the letter as his wife’s, to the
Vernons, and when I write to:him it must be
under cover to you.
Ever yours, S. VERNON.
VI
Mrs. Vernon to Mr. De Courcy
CHURCHHILL.
WELL, my dear Reginald, I have seen this
dangerous creature, and must give you some de-
scription of her, though I hope you will soon be
able to form your own judgment. She is really
excessively pretty; however you may chuse to
question the allurements of a lady no longer
young, I must, for my own part, declare that I
have seldom seen so lovely a woman as Lady
Susan. She is delicately fair, with fine grey eyes
and dark eyelashes; and from her appearance
one would not suppose her more than five and
twenty, though she must in fact be ten years
older. I was certainly not disposed to admire
her, though always hearing she was beautiful;
but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an
uncommon union of symmetry, brilliancy, and
grace. Her address to me was so gentle, frank,
[14]
LADY SUSAN
and even affectionate, that, if I had not known
how much she has always disliked me for mar-
rying Mr. Vernon, and that we had never met
before, I should have imagined her an attached
friend. One is apt, I believe, to connect assur-
ance of manner with coquetry, and to expect
that an impudent address will naturally attend
an impudent mind; at least I was myself pre-
pared for an improper degree of confidence in
Lady Susan; but her countenance is absolutely
sweet, and her voice and manner winningly mild.
I am sorry it is so, for what is this but deceit?
Unfortunately, one knows her too well. She is
clever and agreeable, has all that knowledge of
of the world which makes conversation easy, and
talks very well with a happy command of lan-
guage, which is too often used, I believe, to make
black appear white. She has already almost
persuaded me of her being warmly attached to
her daughter, though I have been so long con-
vinced to the contrary. She speaks of her with
so much "tenderness and anxiety, lamenting so
bitterly the neglect of her education, which she
represents however as wholly unavoidable, that
I am forced to recollect how many successive
springs her ladyship spent in town, while her
daughter was left in Staffordshire to the care of
servants, or a governess very little better, to
prevent my believing what she says.
[15]
LADY SUSAN
If her manners have so great an influence on
my resentful heart, you may judge how much
more strongly they operate on Mr. Vernon’s
generous temper. I wish I could be as well sat-
isfied as he is, that it was really her choice to
leave Langford for Churchhill; and if she had
not stayed there for months before she discov-
ered that her friend’s manner of living did not
suit her situation or feelings, I might have be-
lieved that concern for the loss of such a husband
as Mr. Vernon, to whom her own behaviour was
far from unexceptionable, might for a time
make her wish for retirement. But I cannot
forget the length of her visit to the Mainwar-
ings; and when I reflect on the different mode
of life which she led with them from that to
which she must now submit, I can only suppose
that the wish of establishing her reputation by
following though late the path of propriety, oc-
casioned her removal from a family where she
must in reality have been particularly happy.
Your friend Mr. Smith’s story, however, cannot
be quite correct, as she corresponds regularly
with Mrs. Mainwaring. At any rate it must be
exaggerated. It is scarcely possible that two men
should be so grossly deceived by her at once.
Yours, etc.,
CATHERINE VERNON.
[16]
aby SUS AN
VII
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson
CuHURCHHILL.
My pear AxictaA,—You are very good in tak-
ing notice of Frederica, and I am grateful for
it as a mark of your friendship; but as I cannot
have any doubt of the warmth of your affection,
I am far from exacting so heavy a sacrifice. She
is a stupid girl, and has nothing to recommend
her. I would not, therefore, on my account have
you encumber one moment of your precious time
by sending for her to Edward Street, especially
as every visit is so much deducted from the
grand affair of education, which I really wish
to have attended to while she remains at Miss
Summers’. I want her to play and sing with
some portion of taste and a good deal of assur-
ance, as she has my hand and arm and a tolerable
voice. I was so much indulged in my infant
years that I was never obliged to attend to any-
thing, and consequently am without the accom-
plishments which are now necessary to finish a
pretty woman. Not that I am an advocate for
the prevailing fashion of acquiring a perfect
knowledge of all languages, arts, and sciences.
It is throwing time away to be mistress of
French, Italian, and German: music, singing,
[17]
LADY SUSAN
and drawing, etc., will gain a woman some ap-
plause, but will not add one lover to her list—
grace and manner, after all, are of the greatest
importance. I do not mean, therefore, that Fred-
erica’s acquirements should be more than super-
ficial, and I flatter myself that she will not re-
main long enough at school to understand any-
thing thoroughly. I hope to see her the wife of
Sir James within a twelvemonth. You know on
what I ground my hope, and it is certainly a
good foundation, for school must be very humili-
ating to a girl of Frederica’s age. And by the
by, you had better not invite her any more on
that account, as I wish her to find her situation
as unpleasant as possible. I am sure of Sir
James at any time, and could make him renew
his application by a line. I shall trouble you
meanwhile to prevent his forming any other at-
tachment when he comes to town. Ask him to
your house occasionally, and talk to him of Fred-
erica, that he may not forget her. Upon the
whole, I commend my own conduct in this affair
extremely, and regard it as a very happy in-
stance of circumspection and tenderness. Some
mothers would have insisted on their daughter’s
accepting so good an offer on the first overture;
but I could not reconcile it to myself to force
Frederica into a marriage from which her heart
revolted, and instead of adopting so harsh a
[18]
HAD SUSAN
measure merely propose to make it her own
choice, by rendering her thoroughly uncomfort-
able till she does accept him—But enough of this
tiresome girl. You may well wonder how I con-
trive to pass my time here, and for the first week
it was insufferably dull. Now, however, we be-
gin to mend; our party is enlarged by Mrs.
Vernon’s brother, a handsome young man, who
promises me some amusement. ‘There is some-
thing about him which rather interests me, a sort
of sauciness and familiarity which I shall teach
him to correct. He is lively, and seems clever;
and when I have inspired him with greater re-
spect for me than his sister’s kind offices have
implanted, he may be an agreeable flirt. There
is exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent
spirit, in making a person predetermined to dis-
like, acknowledge one’s superiority. I have dis-
concerted him already by my calm reserve, and
it shall be my endeavour to humble the pride of
these self-important De Courcys still lower, to
convince Mrs. Vernon that her sisterly cautions
have been bestowed in vain, and to persuade
Reginald that she has scandalously belied me.
This project will serve at least to amuse me, and
prevent my feeling so acutely this dreadful sep-
aration from you and all whom [ love.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.
[19]
LADY SUSAN
VIII
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
CHURCHHILL,
My pEar Moruer,—You must not expect
Reginald back again for some time. He desires
me to tell you that the present open weather in-
duced him to accept Mr. Vernon’s invitation to
prolong his stay in Sussex, that they may have
some hunting together. He means to send for
his horses immediately, and it is impossible to
say when you may see him in Kent. I will not
disguise my sentiments on this change from you,
my dear mother, though I think you had better
not communicate them to my father, whose ex-
cessive anxiety about Reginald would subject
him to an alarm which might seriously affect his
health and spirits. Lady Susan has certainly
contrived, in the space of a fortnight, to make
my brother like her. In short I am persuaded
that his continuing here beyond the time origin-
ally fixed for his return is occasioned as much
by a degree of fascination towards her, as by
the wish of hunting with Mr. Vernon, and of
course I cannot receive that pleasure from the
length of his visit which my brother’s company
would otherwise give me. I am, indeed, pro-
voked at the artifice of this unprincipled woman;
[20]
LADY SUSAN
what stronger proof of her dangerous abilities
can be given than this perversion of Reginald’s
judgment, which when he entered the house was
so decidedly against her? In his last letter he
actually gave me some particulars of her be-
haviour at Langford, such as he received from a
gentleman who knew her perfectly well, which,
if true, must raise abhorrence against her, and
which Reginald himself was entirely disposed
to credit. His opinion of her, I am sure, was
as low as of any woman in England; and when
he first came it was evident that he considered
her as one entitled neither to delicacy nor re-
spect, and that he felt she would be delighted
with the attentions of any man inclined to flirt
with her. Her behaviour, I confess, has been cal-
culated to do away with such an idea; I have not
detected the smallest impropriety in it—nothing
of vanity, of pretension, of levity; and she is
altogether so attractive that I should not won-
der at his being delighted with her, had he known
nothing of her previous to this personal ac-
quaintance; but against reason, against convic-
tion, to be so well pleased with her, as I am sure
he is, does really astonish me. His admiration
was at first very strong, but no more than was
natural, and I did not wonder at his being much
struck by the gentleness and delicacy of her
manners; but when he has mentioned her of late
[21]
LADY SUSAN
it has been in terms of more extraordinary
praise; and yesterday he actually said that he
could not be surprised at any effect produced on
the heart of man by such loveliness and such
abilities; and when I lamented, in reply, the bad-
ness of her disposition, he observed that whatever
might have been her errors they were to be im-
puted to her neglected education and early mar-
riage, and that she was altogether a wonderful
woman. This tendency to excuse her conduct,
or to forget it, in the warmth of admiration,
vexes me; and if I did not know that Reginald
is too much at home at Churchhill to need an
invitation for lengthening his visit, I should
regret Mr. Vernon’s giving him any. Lady
Susan’s intentions are of course those of abso-
wute coquetry, or a desire of universal admira-
tion; I cannot for a moment imagine that she has
anything more serious in view; but it mortifies
me to see a young man of Reginald’s sense duped
by her at all. I am, etc.,
CATHERINE VERNON.
IX
Mrs. Johnson to Lady S. Vernon
Epwarp STREET.
My beEareEst FRIEND,—I congratulate you on
Mr. De Courcy’s arrival, and I advise you by all
[22]
LADY SUSAN
means to marry him; his father’s estate is, we
know, considerable, and I believe certainly en-
tailed. Sir Reginald is very infirm, and not
likely to stand in your way long. I hear the
young man well spoken of; and though no one
can really deserve you, my dearest Susan, Mr.
De Courcy may be worth having. Mainwaring
will storm of course, but you may easily pacify
him; besides, the most scrupulous point of honour
could not require you to wait for his emancipa-
tion. I have seen Sir James; he came to town
for a few days last week, and called several
times in Edward Street. I talked to him about
you and your daughter, and he is so far from
having forgotten you that I am sure he would
marry either of you with pleasure. I gave him
hopes of Frederica’s relenting, and told him a
great deal of her improvements. I scolded him
for making love to Maria Mainwaring; he pro-
tested that he had been only in joke, and we
both laughed heartily at her disappointment;
and, in short, were very agreeable. He is as
silly as ever.
Yours faithfully, ALICIA.
[23]
LADY SUSAN
xX
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson
CHURCHHILL,
I am much obliged to you, my dear friend, for
your advice respecting Mr. De Courcy, which I
know was given with the full conviction of its
expediency, though I am not quite determined
on following it. I cannot easily resolve on any-
thing so serious as marriage; especially as I am
not at present in want of money, and might per-
haps, till the old gentleman’s death, be very little
benefited by the match. It is true that I am vain
enough to believe it within my reach. I have
made him sensible of my power, and can now
enjoy the pleasure of triumphing over a mind
prepared to dislike me, and prejudiced against
all my past actions. His sister, too, is, I hope,
convinced how little the ungenerous representa-
tions of any one to the disadvantage of another
will avail when opposed by the immediate in-
fluence of intellect and manner. I see plainly
that she is uneasy at my progress in the good
opinion of her brother, and conclude that noth-
ing will be wanting on her part to counteract
me; but having once made him doubt the justice
of her opinion of me, I think I may defy her.
It has been delightful to me to watch his ad-
[24]
LADY SUSAN
vances towards intimacy, especially to observe his
altered manner in consequence of my repressing
by the cool dignity of my deportment his inso-
lent approach to direct familiarity. My conduct
has been equally guarded from the first, and I
never behaved less like a coquette in the whole
course of my life, though perhaps my desire of
dominion was never more decided. I have sub-
dued him entirely by sentiment and serious con-
versation, and made him, I may venture to say,
at least half in love with me, without the sem-
blance of the most commonplace flirtation. Mrs.
Vernon’s consciousness of deserving every sort
of revenge that it can be in my power to inflict
for her ill-offices could alone enable her to per-
ceive that I am actuated by any design in be-
haviour so gentle and unpretending: Let her
think and act as she chooses, however. I have
never yet found that the advice of a sister could
prevent a young man’s being in love if he chose.
We are advancing now to some kind of confi-
dence, and in short are likely to be engaged in a
sort of platonic friendship. On my side you
may be sure of its never being more, for if I
were not attached to another person as much
as I can be to any one, I should make a point of
not bestowing my affection on a man who had
dared to think so meanly of me. Reginald has
a good figure, and is not unworthy the praise you
[25]
LADY SUSAN
have heard given him, but is still greatly inferior
to our friend at Langford. He is less polished,
less insinuating than Mainwaring, and is com-
paratively deficient in the power of saying those
delightful things which put one in good humour
with oneself and all the world. He is quite
agreeable enough, however, to afford me amuse-
ment, and to make many of those hours pass
very pleasantly which would otherwise be spent
in endeavouring to overcome my sister-in-law’s
reserve, and listening to the insipid talk of her
husband. Your account of Sir James is most
satisfactory, and I mean to give Miss Frederica
a hint of my intentions very soon.
Yours, etc.,
S. VERNON.
XI
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CHURCHHILL,
I REALLY grow quite uneasy, my dearest
mother, about Reginald, from witnessing the
very rapid increase of Lady Susan’s influence.
They are now on terms of the most particular
friendship, frequently engaged in long conver-
sations together; and she has contrived by the
most artful coquetry to subdue his judgment to
her own purposes. It is impossible to see the in-
[26]
LADY SUSAN
timacy between them so very soon established
without some alarm, though I can hardly sup-
pose that Lady Susan’s plans extend to mar-
riage. I wish you could get Reginald home
again on any plausible pretence; he is not at all
disposed to leave us, and I have given him as
many hints of my father’s precarious state of
health as common decency will allow me to do
in my own house. Her power over him must
now be boundless, as she has entirely effaced all
his former ill-opinion, and persuaded him not
merely to forget but to justify her conduct. Mr.
Smith’s account of her proceedings at Lang-
ford, where he accused her of having made Mr.
Mainwaring and a young man engaged to Miss
Mainwaring distractedly in love with her, which
Reginald firmly believed when he came here, is
now, he is persuaded, only a scandalous inven-
tion. He has told me so with a warmth of man-
ner which spoke his regret at having believed the
contrary himself. How sincerely do I grieve
that she ever entered this house! I always
looked forward to her coming with uneasiness;
but very far was it from originating in anxiety
for Reginald. I expected a most disagreeable
companion for myself, but could not imagine
that my brother would be in the smallest danger
of being captivated by a woman with whose
principles he was so well acquainted, and whose
[27]
LADY SUSAN
character he so heartily despised. If you can
get him away, it will be a good thing.
Yours, etc.,
CATHERINE VERNON.
XII
Sir Reginald de Courcy to his Son
PaRKLANDS.
I Know that young men in general do not ad-
mit of any inquiry even from their nearest re-
lations into affairs of the heart, but I hope, my
dear Reginald, that you will be superior to such
as allow nothing for a father’s anxiety, and
think themselves privileged to refuse him their
confidence and slight his advice. You must be
sensible that as an only son, and the representa-
tive of an ancient family, your conduct in life
is most interesting to your connections; and in
the very important concern of marriage espe-
cially, there is everything at stake—your own
happiness, that of your parents, and the credit
of your name. I do not suppose that you would
deliberately form an absolute engagement of
that nature without acquainting your mother and
myself, or at least without being convinced that
we should approve of your choice; but I cannot
help fearing that you may be drawn in, by the
[28]
LADY SUSAN
lady who has lately attached you, to a marriage
which the whole of your family, far and near,
must highly reprobate. Lady Susan’s age is
itself a material objection, but her want of char-
acter is one so much more serious that the differ-
ence of even twelve years becomes in comparison
of small amount. Were you not blinded by a
sort of fascination, it would be ridiculous in me
to repeat the instances of great misconduct on
her side so very generally known.
Her neglect of her husband, her encourage-
ment of other men, her extravagance and dissi-
pation, were so gross and notorious that no one
could be ignorant of them at the time, nor can
now have forgotten them. ‘To our family she
has always been represented in softened colours
by the benevolence of Mr. Charles Vernon, and
yet, in spite of his generous endeavours to excuse
her, we know that she did, from the most selfish
motives, take all possible pains to prevent his
marriage with Catherine.
My years and increasing infirmities make me
very desirous of seeing you settled in the world.
To the fortune of a wife, the goodness of my
own will make me indifferent, but her family and
character must be equally unexceptionable.
When your choice is fixed so that no objection
can be made to it, then I can promise you a ready
and cheerful consent; but it is my duty to oppose
[29]
LADY SUSAN
a match which deep art only could render pos-
sible, and must in the end make wretched. It is
possible her behaviour may arise only from van-
ity, or the wish of gaining the admiration of a
man whom she must imagine to be particularly
prejudiced against her; but it is more likely that
she should aim at something further. She is
poor, and may naturally seek an alliance which
must be advantageous to herself; you know your
own rights, and that it is out of my power to
prevent your inheriting the family estate. My
ability of distressing you during my life would
be a species of revenge to which I could hardly
stoop under any circumstances.
I honestly tell you my sentiments and inten-
tions: I do not wish to work on your fears, but
on your sense and affection. It would destroy
every comfort of my life to know that you were
married to Lady Susan Vernon: it would be the
death of that honest pride with which I have
hitherto considered my son; I should blush to
see him, to hear of him, to think of him. I may
perhaps do no good but that of relieving my
own mind by this letter, but I felt it my duty
to tell you that your partiality for Lady Susan
is no secret to your friends, and to warn you
against her. I should be glad to hear your rea-
sons for disbelieving Mr. Smith’s intelligence;
you had no doubt of its authenticity a month
[30]
LADY SUSAN
ago. If you can give me your assurance of hay-
ing no design beyond enjoying the conversation
of a clever woman for a short period, and of
yielding admiration only to her beauty and abili-
ties, without being blinded by them to her faults,
you will restore me to happiness; but if you can-
not do this, explain to me, at least, what has oc-
casioned so great an alteration in your opinion
of her.
I am, etc., etc.,
REGINALD DE Courcy.
XITI
Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon
PARKLANDS.
My pear CAaTHERINE,—Unluckily I was con-
fined to my room when your last letter came, by
a cold which affected my eyes so much as to
prevent my reading it myself, so I could not re-
fuse your father when he offered to read it to
me, by which means he became acquainted, to
my great vexation, with all your fears about
your brother. I had intended to write to Regi-
nald myself as soon as my eyes would let me, to
point out as well as I could the danger of an
intimate acquaintance with so artful a woman as
Lady Susan, to a young man of his age and high
[31]
LADY SUSAN
expectations. I meant, moreover, to have re-
minded him of our being quite alone now, and
very much in need of him to keep up our spirits
these long winter evenings. Whether it would
have done any good can never be settled now,
but I am excessively vexed that Sir Reginald
should know anything of the matter which we
foresaw would make him so uneasy. He caught
all your fears the moment he had read your let-
ter, and I am sure he has not had the business
out of his head since. He wrote by the same
post to Reginald a long letter full of it all, and
particularly asking an explanation of what he
may have heard from Lady Susan to contradict
the late shocking reports. His answer came this
morning, which I shall enclose to you, as I think
you will like to see it. I wish it was more satis-
factory; but it seems written with such a deter-
mination to think well of Lady Susan, that his
assurances as to marriage, etc., do not set my
heart at ease. I say all I can, however, to satisfy
your father, and he is certainly less uneasy since
Reginald’s letter. How provoking it is, my dear
Catherine, that this unwelcome guest of yours
should not only prevent our meeting this Christ-
mas, but be the occasion of so much vexation and
trouble! Kiss the dear children for me.
Your affectionate mother,
C. DE CouRcy.
[32]
LADY SUSAN
XIV
Mr. De Courcy to Sir Reginald
CHURCHHILL,
My pear Sir,—I have this moment received
your letter, which has given me more astonish-
ment than IJ ever felt before. I am to thank my
sister, I suppose, for having represented me in
such a light as to injure me in your opinion, and
give you all this alarm. I know not why she
should choose to make herself and her family
uneasy by apprehending an event which no one
but herself, I can affirm, would ever have
thought possible. 'To impute such a design to
Lady Susan would be taking from her every
claim to that excellent understanding which her
bitterest enemies have never denied her; and
equally low must sink my pretensions to common
sense if I am suspected of matrimonial views in
my behaviour to her. Our difference of age must
be an insuperable objection, and I entreat you,
my dear father, to quiet your mind, and no long-
er harbour a suspicion which cannot be more in-
jurious to your own peace than to our under-
standings. I can have no other view in remain-
ing with Lady Susan, than to enjoy for a short
time (as you have yourself expressed it) the
conversation of a woman of high intellectual
[33]
LADY SUSAN
powers. If Mrs. Vernon would allow something
to my affection for herself and her husband in
the length of my visit, she would do more justice
to us all; but my sister is unhappily prejudiced
beyond the hope of conviction against Lady
Susan. From an attachment to her husband,
which in itself does honour to both, she cannot
forgive the endeavours at preventing their union,
which have been attributed to selfishness in Lady
Susan; but in this case, as well as in many others,
the world has most grossly injured that lady, by
supposing the worst where the motives of her
conduct have been doubtful. Lady Susan had
heard something so materially to the disadvan-
tage of my sister as to persuade her that the hap-
piness of Mr. Vernon, to whom she was always
much attached, would be wholly destroyed by
the marriage. And this circumstance, while it
explains the true motives of Lady Susan’s con-
duct, and removes all the blame which has been
so lavished on her, may also convince us how lit-
tle the general report of any one ought to be
credited; since no character, however upright,
can escape the malevolence of slander. If my sis-
ter, in the security of retirement, with as little
opportunity as inclination to do evil, could not
avoid censure, we must not rashly condemn
those who, living in the world and surrounded
with temptations, should be accused of errors
[34]
EADY SUSAN
which they are known to have the power of
committing.
I blame myself severely for having so easily
believed the slanderous tales invented by Charles
Smith to the prejudice of Lady Susan, as I am
now convinced how greatly they have traduced
her. As to Mrs. Mainwaring’s jealousy it was
totally his own invention, and his account of her
attaching Miss Mainwaring’s lover was scarcely
better founded. Sir James Martin had been
drawn in by that young lady to pay her some
attention; and as he is a man of fortune, it was
easy to see her views extended to marriage. It
is well known that Miss M. is absolutely on the
catch for a husband, and no one therefore can
pity her for losing, by the superior attractions
of another woman, the chance of being able to
make a worthy man completely wretched.
Lady Susan was far from intending such a con-
quest, and on finding how warmly Miss Main-
waring resented her lover’s defection, deter-
mined, in spite of Mr. and Mrs. Mainwaring’s
most urgent entreaties, to leave the family. I
have reason to imagine she did receive serious
proposals from Sir James, but her removing to
Langford immediately on the discovery of his
attachment, must acquit her on that article with
any mind of common candour. You will, I am
sure, my dear Sir, feel the truth of this, and will
[35]
LADY SUSAN
hereby learn to do justice to the character of a
very injured woman. I know that Lady Susan
in coming to Churchhill was governed only by
the most honourable and amiable intentions; her
prudence and economy are exemplary, her re-
gard for Mr. Vernon equal even to his deserts;
and her wish of obtaining my sister’s good opin-
ion merits a better return than it has received.
As a mother she is unexceptionable; her solid
affection for her child is shown by placing her
in hands where her education will be properly
attended to; but because she has not the blind
and weak partiality of most mothers, she is ac-
cused of wanting maternal tenderness. Every
person of sense, however, will know how to
value and commend her well-directed affection,
and will join me in wishing that Frederica Ver-
non may prove more worthy than she has yet
done of her mother’s tender care. I have now,
my dear father, written my real sentiments of
Lady Susan; you will know from this letter how
highly I admire her abilities, and esteem her
character; but if you are not equally convinced
by my full and solemn assurance that your fears
have been most idly created, you will deeply
mortify and distress me.
I am, etc., etc.,
R. DE Courcy.
[36]
a —
ee
LADY SUSAN
XV,
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CHURCHHILL.
My prear Motuer,—I return you Reginald’s
letter, and rejoice with all my heart that my
father is made easy by it: tell him so, with my
congratulations; but between ourselves, I must
own it has only convinced me of my brother’s
having no present intention of marrying Lady
Susan, not that he is in no danger of doing so
three months hence. He gives a very plausible
account of her behaviour at Langford; I wish it
may be true, but his intelligence must come from
herself, and I am less disposed to believe it than
to lament the degree of intimacy subsisting be-
tween them implied by the discussion of such a
subject. I am sorry to have incurred his dis-
pleasure, but can expect nothing better while
he is so very eager in Lady Susan’s justification.
He is very severe against me indeed, and yet I
hope I have not been hasty in my judgment of
her. Poor woman! though I have reasons
enough for my dislike, I cannot help pitying
her at present, as she is in real distress, and with
too much cause. She had this morning a letter
from the lady with whom she has placed her
daughter, to request that Miss Vernon might be
[37]
LADY SUSAN
immediately removed, as she had been detected
in an attempt to run away. Why, or whither
she intended to go, does not appear; but as her
situation seems to have been unexceptionable,
it is a sad thing, and of course highly distressing
to Lady Susan. Frederica must be as much as
sixteen, and ought to know better; but from
what her mother insinuates, I am afraid she is a
perverse girl. She has been sadly neglected,
however, and her mother ought to remember it.
Mr. Vernon set off for London as soon as she
had determined what should be done. He is,
if possible, to prevail on Miss Summers to let
Frederica continue with her; and if he cannot
succeed, to bring her to Churchhill for the pres-
ent, till some other situation can be found for
her. Her ladyship is comforting herself mean-
while by strolling along the shrubbery with
Reginald, calling forth all his tender feelings, I
suppose, on this distressing occasion. She has
been talking a great deal about it to me. She
talks vastly well; I am afraid of being ungener-
ous, or I should say too well to feel so very
deeply; but I will not look for faults; she may
be Reginald’s wife! Heaven forbid it! but why
should I be quicker-sighted than any one else?
Mr. Vernon declares that he never saw deeper
distress than hers, on the receipt of the letter;
and is his judgment inferior to mine? She was
[38]
LADY SUSAN
very unwilling that Frederica should be allowed
to come to Churchhill, and justly enough, as it
seems a sort of reward to behaviour deserving
very differently; but it was impossible to take
her anywhere else, and she is not to remain here
long. “It will be absolutely necessary,” said
she, “‘as you, my dear sister, must be sensible, to
treat my daughter with some severity while she
is here; a most painful necessity, but I will en-
deavour to submit to it. I am afraid I have often
been too indulgent, but my poor Frederica’s
temper could never bear opposition well: you
must support and encourage me; you must urge
the necessity of reproof if you see me too len-
ient.” All this sounds very reasonably. Regi-
nald is so incensed against the poor silly girl!
Surely it is not to Lady Susan’s credit that he
should be so bitter against her daughter; his
idea of her must be drawn from the mother’s
description. Well, whatever may be his fate,
we have the comfort of knowing that we have
done our utmost to save him. We must commit
the event to a higher power.
Yours ever, etc.
CATHERINE VERNON.
[39]
LADY SUSAN
XVI
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson
CHURCHHILL,
NEVER, my dearest Alicia, was I so provoked in
my life as by a letter this morning from Miss
Summers. That horrid girl of mine has been
trying to run away. I had not a notion of her
being such a little devil before, she seemed to
have all the Vernon milkiness; but on receiving
the letter in which I declared my intention about
Sir James, she actually attempted to elope; at
least, I cannot otherwise account for her doing
it. She meant, I suppose, to go to the Clarkes in
Staffordshire, for she has no other acquaint-
ances. But she shall be punished, she shall have
him. I have sent Charles to town to make mat-
ters up if he can, for I do not by any means want
her here. If Miss Summers will not keep her,
you must find me out another school, unless we
can get her married immediately. Miss S.
writes word that she could not get the young
lady to assign any cause for her extraordinary
conduct, which confirms me in my own previous
explanation of it. Frederica is too shy, I think,
and too much in awe of me to tell tales; but if
the mildness of her uncle should get anything
out of her, I am not afraid. I trust I shall be
[40]
LADY SUSAN
able to make my story as good as hers. If I
am vain of anything, it is of my eloquence.
Consideration and esteem as surely follow com-
mand of language as admiration waits on
beauty, and here I have opportunity enough for
the exercise of my talent, as the chief of my time
is spent in conversation.
Reginald is never easy unless we are by our-
selves, and when the weather is tolerable, we pace
the shrubbery for hours together. I like him on
the whole very well; he is clever and has a good
deal to say, but he is sometimes impertinent and
troublesome. There is a sort of ridiculous deli-
cacy about him which requires the fullest expla-
nation of whatever he may have heard to my
disadvantage, and is never satisfied till he thinks
he has ascertained the beginning and end of
everything. ‘This is one sort of love, but I con-
fess it does not particularly recommend itself
tome. JI infinitely prefer the tender and liberal
spirit of Mainwaring, which, impressed with the
deepest conviction of my merit, is satisfied that
whatever I do must be right; and look with a
degree of contempt on the inquisitive and doubt-
ful fancies of that heart which seems always de-
bating on the reasonableness of its emotions.
Mainwaring is indeed, beyond all compare, su-
perior to Reginald—superior in everything but
the power of being with me! Poor fellow! he
[41]
LADY SUSAN
is much distracted by jealousy, which I am not
sorry for, as I know no better support of love.
He has been teasing me to allow of his coming
into this country, and lodging somewhere near
imcog.; but I forbade everything of the kind.
Those women are inexcusable who forget what
is due to themselves, and the opinion of the
world.
‘Yours ever,
S. VERNON,
XVII
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CHURCHHILL,
My pear Moruer,—Mr. Vernon returned on
Thursday night, bringing his niece with him.
Lady Susan had received a line from him by
that day’s post, informing her that Miss Sum-
mers had absolutely refused to allow of Miss
Vernon’s continuance in her academy; we were
therefore prepared for her arrival, and expected
them impatiently the whole evening. They
came while we were at tea, and I never saw any
creature look so frightened as Frederica when
she entered the room. Lady Susan, who had
been shedding tears before, and showing great
agitation at the idea of the meeting, received
her with perfect self-command, and without be-
[42]
ADP YS US AN,
traying the least tenderness of spirit. She
hardly spoke to her, and on Frederica’s bursting
into tears as soon as we were seated, took her
out of the room, and did not return for some
time. When she did, her eyes looked very red,
and she was as much agitated as before. We
saw no more of her daughter. Poor Reginald
was beyond measure concerned to see his fair
friend in such distress, and watched her with
so much tender solicitude, that I, who occa-
sionally caught her observing his countenance
with exultation, was quite out of patience. This
pathetic representation lasted the whole even-
ing, and so ostentatious and artful a display has
entirely convinced me that she did in fact feel
nothing. I am more angry with her than ever
since I have seen her daughter; the poor girl
looks so unhappy that my heart aches for her.
Lady Susan is surely too severe, for Frederica
does not seem to have the sort of temper to make
severity necessary. She looks perfectly timid,
dejected, and penitent. She is very pretty,
though not so handsome as her mother, nor at all
like her. Her complexion is delicate, but neither
so fair nor so blooming as Lady Susan’s, and
she has quite the Vernon cast of countenance,
the oval face and mild dark eyes, and there is
peculiar sweetness in her look when she speaks
either to her uncle or me, for as we behave
[43]
LADY SUSAN
kindly to her we have of course engaged her
gratitude.
Her mother has insinuated that her temper is
intractable, but I never saw a face less indicative
of any evil disposition than hers; and from what
I can see of the behaviour of each to the other,
the invariable severity of Lady Susan and the
silent dejection of Frederica, I am led to believe
as heretofore that the former has no real love
for her daughter, and has never done her jus-
tice or treated her affectionately. I have not
been able to have any conversation with my
niece; she is shy, and I think I can see that some
pains are taken to prevent her being much with
me. Nothing satisfactory transpires as to her
reason for running away. Her kind-hearted
uncle, you may be sure, was too fearful of dis-
tressing her to ask many questions as they trav-
elled. I wish it had been possible for me to fetch
her instead of him. I think I should have dis-
covered the truth in the course of a thirty-mile
journey. The small pianoforte has been re-
moved within these few days, at Lady Susan’s
request, into her dressing-room, and Frederica
spends great part of the day there, practising,
as it is called; but I seldom hear any noise when
I pass that way; what she does with herself there
I do not know. There are plenty of books, but
it is not every girl who has been running wild
[44]
LADY SUSAN
the first fifteen years of her life, that can or will
read. Poor creature! the prospect from her
window is not very instructive, for that room
overlooks the lawn, you know, with the shrub-
bery on one side, where she may see her mother
walking for an hour together in earnest conver-
sation with Reginald. A girl of Frederica’s age
must be childish indeed, if such things do not
strike her. Is it not inexcusable to give such
an example to a daughter? Yet Reginald still
thinks Lady Susan the best of mothers, and still
condemns Frederica as a worthless girl! He is
convinced that her attempt to run away pro-
ceeded from no justifiable cause, and had no
provocation. I am sure I cannot say that it had,
but while Miss Summers declares that Miss Ver-
non showed no signs of obstinacy or perverse-
ness during her whole stay in Wigmore Street,
till she was detected in this scheme, I cannot so
readily credit what Lady Susan has made him,
and wants to make me believe, that it was merely
an impatience of restraint and a desire of escap-
ing from the tuition of masters which brought
on the plan of an elopement. O Reginald, how
is your judgment enslaved! He scarcely dares
even allow her to be handsome, and when I speak
of her beauty, replies only that her eyes have no
brilliancy! Sometimes he is sure she is deficient
in understanding, and at others that her temper
[45]
LADY SUSAN
only is in fault. In short, when a person is al-
ways to deceive, it is impossible to be consistent.
Lady Susan finds it necessary that Frederica
should be to blame, and probably has sometimes
judged it expedient to excuse her of ill-nature
and sometimes to lament her want of sense.
Reginald is only repeating after her ladyship.
I remain, etc., ete.,
CATHERINE VERNON.
XVIII
. From the same to the same
CHURCHHILL,
My pear Moruer,—TI am very glad to find
that my description of Frederica Vernon has in-
terested you, for I do believe her truly deserving
of your regard; and when I have communicated
a notion which has recently struck me, your kind
impressions in her favour will, I am sure, be
heightened. I cannot help fancying that she is
growing partial to my brother. I so very often
- see her eyes fixed on his face with a remarkable
expression of pensive admiration. He is cer-
tainly very handsome; and yet more, there is an
openness in his manner that must be highly pre-
possessing, and I am sure she feels it so.
Thoughtful and pensive in general, her counte-
[46]
LADY SUSAN
nance always brightens into a smile when Regi-
nald says anything amusing; and, let the subject
be ever so serious that he may be conversing on,
I am much mistaken if a syllable of his uttering
escapes her. I want to make him sensible of all
this, for we know the power of gratitude on such
a heart as his; ard could Frederica’s artless af-
fection detach him from her mother, we might
bless the day which brought her to Churchhill.
I think, my dear mother, you would not disap-
prove of her as a daughter. She is extremely
young, to be sure, has had a wretched education,
and a dreadful example of levity in her mother;
but yet I can pronounce her disposition to be
excellent, and her natural abilities very good.
Though totally without accomplishments, she is
by no means so ignorant as one might expect to
~ find her, beng fond of books and spending the
chief of her time in reading. Her mother leaves
her more to herself than she did, and I have her
with me as much as possible, and have taken
great pains to overcome her timidity. We are
very good friends, and though she never opens
her lips before her mother, she talks enough
when alone with me to make it clear that, if
properly treated by Lady Susan, she would al-
ways appear to much greater advantage. There
cannot be a more gentle, affectionate heart; or
more obliging manners. when acting without re-
[47]
LADY 1S UisauN
straint; and her little cousins are all very fond
of her.
Your affectionate daughter,
C. VERNON.
XIX
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson
CHURCHHILL.
You will be eager, I know, to hear something
further of Frederica, and perhaps may think me
negligent for not writing before. She arrived
with her uncle last Thursday fortnight, when, of
course, I lost no time in demanding the cause of
her behaviour; and soon found myself to have
been perfectly right in attributing it to my own
letter. The prospect of it frightened her so
thoroughly that, with a mixture of true girlish
perverseness and folly, she resolved on getting
out of the house and proceeding directly by the
stage to her friends, the Clarkes; and had realiy
got as far as the length of two streets in her
journey when she was fortunately missed, pur-
sued, and overtaken. Such was the first distin-
guished exploit of Miss Frederica Vernon; and
if we consider that it was achieved at the tender
age of sixteen, we shall have room for the most
flattering prognostics of her future renown. I
am excessively provoked, however, at the parade
[48]
BADY SUSAN
of propriety which prevented Miss Summers
from keeping the girl; and it seems so extraor-
dinary a piece of nicety, considering my daugh-
ter’s family connections, that I can only suppose
the lady to be governed by the fear of never get-
ting her money. Be that as it may, however,
T’rederica is returned on my hands; and having
nothing else to employ her, is busy in pursuing
the plan of romance begun at Langford. She
is actually falling in love with Reginald de
Courcy! To disobey her mother by refusing an
unexceptionable offer is not enough; her affec-
tions must also be given without her mother’s
approbation. I never saw a girl of her age bid
fairer to be the sport of mankind. Her feelings
are tolerably acute, and she is so charmingly art-
less in their display as to afford the most reason-
able hope of her being ridiculous, and despised
by every man who sees her.
Artlessness will never do in love matters; and
that girl is born a simpleton who has it either
by nature or affectation. I am not yet certain
that Reginald sees what she is about, nor is it of
much consequence. She is now an object of in-
difference to him, and she would be one of con-
tempt were he to understand her emotions. Her
beauty is much admired by the Vernons, but it
has no effect on him. She is in high favour with
her aunt altogether, because she is so little like
[49]
LADY SUSAN
myself, of course. She is exactly the companion
for Mrs. Vernon, who dearly loves to be first,
and to have all the sense and all the wit of the
conversation to herself: Frederica will never
eclipse her. When she first came I was at some
pains to prevent her seeing much of her aunt;
but I have relaxed, as I believe I may depend
on her observing the rules I have laid down for
their discourse. But do not imagine that with
all this lenity I have for a moment given up my
plan of her marriage. No; I am unalterably
fixed on this point, though I have not yet quite
decided on the manner of bringing it about. I
should not choose to have the business brought
on here, and canvassed by the wise heads of Mr.
and Mrs. Vernon; and I cannot just now afford
to go to town. Miss Frederica must therefore
wait a little.
Yours ever, S. VERNON.
xX
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CuuRCHHILL.
We have a very unexpected guest with us at
present, my dear mother: he arrived yesterday.
I heard a carriage at the door, as I was sitting
with my children while they dined; and suppos-
[50]
LADY SUSAN
ing I should be wanted, left the nursery soon
afterwards, and was half-way downstairs, when
Frederica, as pale as ashes, came running up,
and rushed by me into her own room. [I in-
stantly followed, and asked her what was the
matter. “Oh!” said she, “he is come—Sir
James is come, and what shall I do!” This was
no explanation; I begged her to tell me what she
meant. At that moment we were interrupted
by a knock at the door: it was Reginald, who
came, by Lady Susan’s direction, to call Fred-
erica down. .“ It is Mr. De Courcy!”’ said she,
colouring violently. ‘“ Mamma has sent for me;
I must go.” We all three went down together;
and I saw my brother examining the terrified
face of Frederica with surprise. In the break-
fast-room we found Lady Susan, and a young
man of gentlemanlike appearance, whom she
introduced by the name of Sir James Martin—
the very person, as: you may remember, whom it
was said she had been at pains to detach from
Miss Mainwaring; but the conquest, it seems,
was not designed for herself, or she has since
transferred it to her daughter; for Sir James is
now desperately in love with Frederica, and
with full encouragement from mamma. The
poor girl, however, I am sure, dislikes him; and
though his person and address are very well, he
appears, both to Mr. Vernon and me, a very
[51]
LADY SUSAN
weak young man. Frederica looked so shy, so
confused, when we entered the room, that I felt
for her exceedingly. Lady Susan behaved with
great attention to her visitor; and yet I thought
I could perceive that she had no particular pleas-
ure in seeing him. Sir James talked a great
deal, and made many civil excuses to me for the
liberty he had taken in coming to Churchhill—
mixing more frequent laughter with his dis-
course than the subject required—said many
things over and over again, and told Lady
Susan three times that he had seen Mrs. John-
son a few evenings before. He now and then
addressed Frederica, but more frequently her
mother. The poor girl sat all this time without
opening her lips—her eyes cast down, and her
colour varying every instant; while Reginald ob-
served all that passed in perfect silence. At
length Lady Susan, weary, I believe, of her
situation, proposed walking; and we left the two
‘gentlemen together, to put on our pelisses. As
we went upstairs Lady Susan begged permis-
sion to attend me for a few moments in my
dressing-room, as she was anxious to speak with
me in private. I led her thither accordingly, and
as soon as the door was closed, she said: “ I was
never more surprised in my life than by Sir
James’s arrival, and the suddenness of it requires
some apology to you, my dear sister; though to
[52]
RADY SUSAN
me, as a mother, it is highly flattering. He is so
extremely attached to my daughter that he
could not exist longer without seeing her. Sir
James is a young man of an amiable disposition
and excellent character; a little too much of the
rattle, perhaps, but a year or two will rectify
that: and he is in other respects so very eligible
a match for Frederica, that I have always ob-
served his attachment with the greatest pleas-
ure; and am persuaded that you and my brother
will give the alliance your hearty approba-
tion. I have never before mentioned the likeli-
hood of its taking place to any one, because I
thought that whilst Frederica continued at
school it had better not be known to exist; but
now, as I am convinced that Frederica is too
old ever to submit to school confinement, and
have therefore begun to consider her union with
Sir James as not very distant, I had intended
within a few days to acquaint yourself and Mr.
Vernon with the whole business. I am sure,
my dear sister, you will excuse my remaining
silent so long, and agree with me that such cir-
cumstances, while they continue from any cause
in suspense, cannot be too cautiously concealed.
When you have the happiness of bestowing your
sweet little Catherine, some years hence, on a
man who in connection and character is alike
unexceptionable, you will know what I feel
[53]
“LADY SUSAN
now; though, thank Heaven, you cannot have
all my reasons for rejoicing in such an event.
Catherine will be amply provided for, and not,
like my Frederica, indebted to a fortunate
establishment for the comforts of life.” She
concluded by demanding my congratulations.
I gave them somewhat awkwardly, I believe;
for, in fact, the sudden disclosure of so impor-
tant a matter took from me the power of speak-
ing with any clearness. She thanked me, how-
ever, most affectionately, for my kind concern
in the welfare of herself and daughter; and then
said: “I am not apt to deal in professions, my
dear Mrs. Vernon, and I never had the conven-
ient talent of affecting sensations foreign to my
heart; and therefore I trust you will believe me
when I declare that much as I had heard in
your praise before I knew you, I had no idea
that I should ever love you as I now do; and I
must further say that your friendship towards
me is more particularly gratifying because I
have reason to believe that some attempts were
made to prejudice you against me. I only wish
that they, whoever they are to whom I am in-
debted for such kind intentions, could see the
terms on which we now are together, and under-
stand the real affection we feel for each other;
but I will not detain you any longer. God bless
you for your goodness to me and my girl, and
[54]
LADY SUSAN
continue to you all your present happiness.”
What can one say of such a woman, my dear
mother? Such earnestness, such solemnity of
expression! and yet I cannot help suspecting the
truth of everything she says. As for Reginald,
I believe he does not know what to make of the
matter. When Sir James came, he appeared
all astonishment and perplexity; the folly of the
young man and the confusion of Frederica en-
tirely engrossed him; and though a little private
discourse with Lady Susan has since had its
effect, he is still hurt, I am sure, at her allowing
of such a man’s attentions to her daughter. Sir
James invited himself with great composure to
remain here a few days—hoped we would not
think it odd, was aware of its being very imper-
tinent, but he took the liberty of a relation; and
concluded by wishing, with a laugh, that he
might be really one very soon. Even Lady
Susan seemed a little disconcerted by this for-
wardness; in her heart I am persuaded she sin-
cerely wished him gone. But something must
be done for this poor girl, if her feelings are
such as both I and her uncle believe them to be.
She must not be sacrificed to policy or ambition,
and she must not be left to suffer from the
dread of it. The girl whose heart can distin-
guish Reginald de Courcy deserves, however he
may slight her, a better fate than to be Sir
[55]
LADY) SUS Ass;
James Martin’s wife. As soon as I can get
her alone, I will discover the real truth; but she
seems to wish to avoid me. I hope this does not
proceed from anything wrong, and that I shall
not find out I have thought too well of her. Her
behaviour to Sir James certainly speaks the
greatest consciousness and embarrassment, but
I see nothing in it more like encouragement.
Adieu, my dear mother.
Yours, etc.
C. VERNON.
XXI
Miss Vernon to Mr. De Courcy
Sir,—I hope you will excuse this liberty; I
am forced upon it by the greatest distress, or I
should be ashamed to trouble you. I am very
miserable about Sir James Martin, and have no
other way in the world of helping myself but
by writing to you, for I am forbidden even
speaking to my uncle and aunt on the subject;
and this being the case, I am afraid my apply-
ing to you will appear no better than equivoca-
tion, and as if I attended to the letter and not
the spirit of mamma’s commands. But if you
do not take my part and persuade her to break
it off, I shall be half distracted, for I cannot
[56]
i es
LADY SUSAN
bear him. No human being but you could have
any chance of prevailing with her. If you will,
therefore, have the unspeakably great kindness
of taking my part with her, and persuading her
to send Sir James away, I shall be more obliged
to you than it is possible for me to express. I
always disliked him from the first: it is not a
sudden fancy, I assure you, sir; I always
thought him silly and impertinent and disagree-
able, and now he is grown worse than ever. I
would rather work for my bread than marry
him. I do not know how to apologize enough
for this letter; I know it is taking so great a
liberty. I am aware how dreadfully angry it
will make mamma, but I remember the risk.
I am, Sir, your most humble servant,
PSV
XXII
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson
CHURCHHILL.
Tuis is insufferable! My dearest friend, I
was never so enraged before, and must relieve
myself by writing to you, who I know will enter
into all my feelings. Who should come on Tues-
day but Sir James Martin! Guess my astonish-
ment and vexation—for, as you well know, IL
never wished him to be seen at Churchhill.
[57]
LADY SUSAN
What a pity that you should not have known his
intentions! Not content with coming, he ac-
tually invited himself to remain here a few days.
I could have poisoned him! I made the best of
it, however, and told my story with great success
to Mrs. Vernon, who, whatever might be her real
sentiments, said nothing in opposition to mine.
I made a point also of Frederica’s behaving
civilly to Sir James, and gave her to understand
that I was absolutely determined on her marry-
ing him. She said something of her misery, but
that was all. I have for some time been more
particularly resolved on the match from seeing
the rapid increase of her affection for Reginald,
and from not feeling secure that a knowledge
of such affection might not in the end awaken
a return. Contemptible as a regard founded
only on compassion must make them both in my
eyes, I felt by no means assured that such might
not be the consequence. It is true that Regi-
nald had not in any degree grown cool towards
me; but yet he has lately mentioned Frederica
spontaneously and unnecessarily, and once said
something in praise of her person. He was all
astonishment at the appearance of my visitor,
and at first observed Sir James with an attention
which I was pleased to see not unmixed with
jealousy; but unluckily it was impossible for
me really to torment him, as Sir James, though
[58]
LADY SUSAN
extremely gallant to me, very soon made the
whole party understand that his heart was de-
voted to my daughter. I had no great difficulty
in convincing De Courcy, when we were alone,
that I was perfectly justified, all things consid-
ered, in desiring the match; and the whole busi-
ness seemed most comfortably arranged. They
could none of them help perceiving that Sir
James was'no Solomon; but I had positively
forbidden Frederica complaining to Charles
Vernon or his wife, and they had therefore no
pretence for interference; though my imperti-
nent sister, I believe, wanted only opportunity
for doing so. Everything, however, was going
on calmly and quietly; and though I counted
the hours of Sir James’s stay, my mind was en-
tirely satisfied with the posture of affairs.
Guess, then, what I must feel at the sudden
disturbance of all my schemes; and that, too,
from a quarter where I had least reason to ex-
pect it. Reginald came this morning into my
dressing-room with a very unusual solemnity of
countenance, and after some preface informed
me in so many words that he wished to reason
with me on the impropriety and unkindness of
allowing Sir James Martin to address my
daughter contrary to her inclinations. I was all
amazement. When I found that he was not to
be laughed out of his design, I calmly begged
[59]
LADY SUSAN
an explanation, and desired to know by what he
was impelled, and by whom commissioned to
reprimand me. He then told me, mixing in his
speech a few insolent compliments and ill-timed
expressions of tenderness, to which I listened
with perfect indifference, that my daughter had
acquainted him with some circumstances con-
cerning herself, Sir James, and me which had
given him great uneasiness. In short, I found
that she had in the first place actually written
to him to request his interference, and that, on
receiving her letter, he had conversed with her
on the subject of it, in order to understand the
particulars, and to assure himself of her real
wishes. I have not a doubt but that the girl took
this opportunity of making downright love to
him. I am convinced of it by the manner in
which he spoke of her. Much good may such
love do him! I shall ever despise the man who
can be gratified by the passion which he never
wished to inspire, nor solicited the avowal of.
I shall always detest them both. He can have
no true regard for me, or he would not have lis-
tened to her; and she, with her little rebellious
heart and indelicate feelings, to throw herself
into the protection of a young man with whom
she has scarcely ever exchanged two words be-
fore! I am equally confounded at her impu-
dence and his credulity. How dared he believe
[60]
LADY SUSAN
wnat she told him in my disfavour! Ought he
not to have felt assured that I must have unan-
swerable motives for all that I had done? Where
was his reliance on my sense and goodness then?
Where the resentment which true love would
have dictated against the person defaming me,
—that person, too, a chit, a child, without talent
or education, whom he had been always taught
to despise? I was calm for some time; but the
greatest degree of forbearance may be overcome,
and I hope I was afterwards sufficiently keen.
He endeavoured, long endeavoured, to soften my
resentment; but that woman is a fool indeed
who, while insulted by accusation, can be
worked on by compliments. At length he left
me, as deeply provoked as myself; and he
showed his anger more. I was quite cool, but
he gave way to the most violent indignation; I
may therefore expect it will the sooner subside,
and perhaps his may be vanished forever, while
mine will be found still fresh and implacable.
He is now shut up in his apartment, whither I
heard him go on leaving mine. How unpleas-
ant, one would think, must be his reflections! but
some people’s feelings are incomprehensible. I
have not yet tranquillised myself enough to see
Frederica. She shall not soon forget the occur-
rences of this day; she shall find that she has
poured forth her tender tale of love in vain, and
[61]
LADY SUSAN
exposed herself forever to the contempt of the
whole world, and the severest resentment of her
injured mother.
Your affectionate S. VERNON.
XXIII
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CHURCHHILL,
Let me congratulate you, my dearest mother!
The affair which has given us so much anxiety
is drawing to a happy conclusion. Our prospect
is most delightful; and since matters have now
taken so favourable a turn, I am quite sorry that
I ever imparted my apprehensions to you; for
the pleasure of learning that the danger is over
is perhaps dearly purchased by all that you have
previously suffered. I am so much agitated by
delight that I can scarcely hold a pen; but am
determined to send you a few short lines by
James, that you may have some explanation of
what must so greatly astonish you as that Regi-
nald should be returning to Parklands. I was
sitting about half an hour ago with Sir James
in the breakfast-parlour, when my brother called
me out of the room. I instantly saw that some-
thing was the matter; his complexion was raised,
and he spoke with great emotion; you know his
eager manner, my dear mother, when his mind
[62]
EADY) SUSAN
>
is interested. “Catherine,” said he, “I am go-
ing home to-day; I am sorry to leave you, but T
must go: it is a great while since I have seen my
father and mother. I am going to send James
forward with my hunters immediately; if you
have any letter, therefore, he can take it. I shall
not be at home myself till Wednesday or Thurs-
day, as I shall go through London, where I have
business; but before I leave you,” he continued,
speaking in a lower tone, and with still greater
energy, “I must warn you of one thing,—do
not let Frederica Vernon be made unhappy by
that Martin. He wants to marry her; her
mother promotes the match, but she cannot en-
dure the idea of it. Be assured that I speak
from the fullest conviction of the truth of what
I say; I know that Frederica is made wretched
by. Sir James’ continuing here. She is a sweet
girl, and deserves a better fate. Send him
away immediately; he is only a fool: but what
her mother can mean, Heaven only knows!
Good-bye,” he added, shaking my hand with ear-
nestness, “I do not know when you will see me
again; but remember what I tell you of Fred-
erica; you must make it your business to see jus-
tice done her. She is an amiable girl, and has a
very superior mind to what we have given her
credit for.” He then left me, and ran upstairs.
I would not try to stop him, for I know what his
[63]
LADY SUSAN
feelings must be. The nature of mine, as I lis-
tened to him, I need not attempt to describe; for
a minute or two I remained in the same spot,
overpowered by wonder of a most agreeable sort
indeed; yet it required some consideration to be
tranquilly happy. In about ten minutes after
my return to the parlour Lady Susan entered the
room. I concluded, of course, that she and
Reginald had been quarrelling, and looked with
anxious curiosity for a confirmation of my be-
lef in her face. Mistress of deceit, however, she
appeared perfectly unconcerned, and after
chatting on indifferent subjects for a short time,
said to me, “I find from Wilson that we are
going to lose Mr. De Courcy,—is it true that he
leaves Churchhill this morning?” I replied that
it was. “He told us nothing of all this last
night,” said she, laughing, “or even this morn-
ing at breakfast; but perhaps he did not know it
himself. Young men are often hasty in their
resolutions, and not more sudden in forming
than unsteady in keeping them. I should not
be surprised if he were to change his mind at
last, and not go.” She soon afterwards left the
room. I trust, however, my dear mother, that
we have no reason to fear an alteration of his
present plan; things have gone too far. ‘They
must have quarrelled, and about Frederica too.
Her calmness astonishes me. What delight will
[64] }
LADY SUSAN
be yours in seeing him again, in seeing him still
worthy of your esteem, still capable of forming
your happiness! When I next write I shall be
able to tell you that Sir James is gone, Lady
Susan vanquished, and Frederica at peace. We
have much to do, but it shall be done. I am all
impatience to hear how this astonishing change
was effected. I finish as I began with the warm-
est congratulations.
Yours ever, etc., CaTH. VERNON.
XXIV
From the same to the same
CHURCHHILL.
Litt1E did I imagine, my dear mother, when
I sent off my last letter, that the delightful per-
turbation of spirits I was then in would undergo
so speedy, so melancholy a reverse. I never can
sufficiently regret that I wrote to you at all.
Yet who could have foreseen what has hap-
pened? My dear mother, every hope which
made me so happy only two hours ago has van-
ished. The quarrel between Lady Susan and
Reginald is made up, and we are all as we were
before. One point only is gained. Sir James
Martin is dismissed. What are we now to look
forward to? I am indeed disappointed; Regi-
[65]
LADY SUSAN
nald was all but gone, his horse was ordered and
all but brought to the door; who would not have
felt safe? For half an hour I was in momentary
expectation of his departure. After I had sent
off my letter to you, I went to Mr. Vernon, and
sat with him in his room talking over the whole
matter, and then determined to look for Fred-
erica, whom I had not seen since breakfast. I
met her on the stairs, and saw that she was cry-
ing. “My dear aunt,” said she, “he is gong—
Mr. De Courcy is going, and it is all my fault.
I am afraid you will be very angry with me, but
indeed I had no idea it would end so.” “My
love,” I replied, “do not think it necessary to
apologize to me on that account. I shall feel
myself under an obligation to any one who is
the means of sending my brother home, be-
cause,” recollecting myself, “I know my father
wants very much to see him. But what is it you
have done to occasion all this?” She blushed
deeply as she answered: ‘“‘I was so unhappy
about Sir James that I could not help—I have
done something very wrong, I know; but you
have not an idea of the misery I have been in:
and mamma has ordered me never to speak to you
or my uncle about it, and—” “ You therefore
spoke to my brother to engage his interference,”
said I, to save her the explanation. “No; but
I wrote to him,—I did indeed, I got up this
[66]
LADY SUS AN
morning before it was light, and was two hours
about it; and when my letter was done I thought
I never should have courage to give it. After
breakfast, however, as I was going to my room,
I met him in the passage, and then, as I knew
that everything must depend on that moment, I
forced myself to give it. He was so good as to
take it immediately. I dared not look at him,
and ran away directly. I was in such a fright
I could hardly breathe. My dear aunt, you do
not know how miserable I have been.” “ Fred-
erica,’ said I, “you ought to have told me all
your distresses. You would have found in me
a friend always ready to assist you. Do you
think that your uncle or I should not have
espoused your cause as warmly as my brother?”
“Indeed, I did not doubt your kindness,” said
she, colouring again, “but I thought Mr. De
Courcy could do anything with my mother; but
I was mistaken: they have had a dreadful quar-
rel about it, and he is going away. Mamma will
never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than
ever 7 No: you shall not,” FT replied: “im
such a point as this your mother’s prohibition
ought not to have prevented your speaking to
me on the subject. She has no right to make
you unhappy, and she shall not do it. Your ap-
plying, however, to Reginald can be productive
only of good to all parties. I believe it is best
L67]
s
LADY SUSAN
as it is. Depend upon it that you shall not be
made unhappy any longer.” At that moment
how great was my astonishment at seeing Regi-
nald come out of Lady Susan’s dressing-room.
My heart misgave me instantly. His confusion
at seeing me was very evident. Frederica im-
mediately disappeared. “Are you going?” I
said; “you will find Mr. Vernon in his own
room.’ “No, Catherine,” he replied, > ius
not going. Will you let me speak to you a mo-
ment?” We went into my room. “I find,” he
continued, his confusion increasing as he spoke,
“that I have been acting with my usual foolish
impetuosity. I have entirely misunderstood
Lady Susan, and was on the point of leaving the
house under a false impression of her conduct.
There has been some very great mistake: we have
been all mistaken, I fancy. Frederica does not
know her mother. Lady Susan means nothing
but her good, but she will not make a friend of
her. Lady Susan does not always know, there-
fore, what will make her daughter happy. Be-
sides, I could have no right to interfere. Miss
Vernon was mistaken in applying to me. In
short, Catherine, everything has gone wrong,
but it is now all happily settled. Lady Susan, I
believe, wishes to speak to you about it, if you
are at leisure.” ‘Certainly,’ I replied, deeply
sighing at the recital of so lame a story. I made
[68]
DADY SUSAN
no comments, however, for words would have
been vain.
Reginald was glad to get away; and I went
to Lady Susan, curious, indeed, to hear her ac-
count of it. “Did I not tell you,” said she, with
a smile, “that your brother would not leave us
after all?” “You did, indeed,” replied I, very
gravely; “but I flattered myself you would be
mistaken.” “I should not have hazarded such
an opinion,” returned she, “if it had not at that
moment occurred to me that his resolution of
going might be occasioned by a conversation in
which we had been this morning engaged, and
which had ended very much to his dissatisfac-
tion, from our not rightly understanding each
other’s meaning. ‘This idea struck me at the mo-
ment, and I instantly determined that an acci-
dental dispute, in which I might probably be as
much to blame as himself, should not deprive
you of your brother. If you remember, I left
the room almost immediately. I was resolved to
lose no time in clearing up those mistakes as far
as I could. The case was this—F'rederica had
set herself violently against marrying Sir
James.” “ And can your ladyship wonder that
she should?” cried I, with some warmth; “ Fred-
erica has an excellent understanding, and Sir
James has none.” “TI am at least very far from
regretting it, my dear sister,” said she; “on the
[69]
LADY SUSAN
contrary, I am grateful for so favourable a sign
of my daughter’s sense. Sir James is certainly
below par (his boyish manners make him appear
worse); and had Frederica possessed the pene-
tration and the abilities which I could have
wished in my daughter, or had I even known her
to possess as much as she does, I should not have
been anxious for the match.” “It is odd that
you should alene be ignorant of your daughter’s
sense!” ‘“ Frederica never does justice to her-
self; her manners are shy and childish, and be-
sides she is afraid of me. During her poor
father’s life she was a spoilt child; the severity
which it has since been necessary for me to show
has alienated her affection; neither has she any of
that brilliancy of intellect, that genius or vigour
of mind which will force itself forward.” “Say
rather that she has been unfortunate in her edu-
cation!” “ Heaven knows, my dearest Mrs. Ver-
non, how fully I am aware of that; but I would
wish to forget every circumstance that might
throw blame on the memory of one whose name
is sacred with me.” Here she pretended to cry;
I was out of patience with her. “ But what,”
said I, “was your ladyship going to tell me
about your disagreement with my brother?”
“It originated in an action of my daughter’s
which equally marks her want of judgment and
the unfortunate dread of me I have been men-
[70]
LADY SUSAN
tioning,—she wrote to Mr. De Courcy.” “I
know she did; you had forbidden her speaking
to Mr. Vernon or to me on the cause of her dis-
tress; what could she do, therefore, but apply
to my brother?” “Good God!” she exclaimed,
“what an opinion you must have of me! Can
you possibly suppose that I was aware of her
unhappiness, that it was my object to make my
own child miserable, and that I had forbidden
her speaking to you on the subject from fear of
your interrupting the diabolical scheme? Do
you think me destitute of every honest, every
natural feeling? Am I capable of consigning
her to everlasting misery whose welfare it is my
first earthly duty to promote? The idea is hor-
rible!” “ What, then, was your intention when
you insisted on her silence?” “Of what use,
my dear sister, could be any application to you,
however the affair might stand? Why should I
subject you to entreaties which I refused to at-
tend to myself? Neither for your sake nor for
hers nor for my own, could such a thing be de-
sirable. When my own resolution was taken, I
could not wish for the interference, however
friendly, of another person. I was: mistaken, it
is true, but I believed myself right.” “ But what
was this mistake to which your ladyship so often
alludes? from whence arose so astonishing a mis-
conception of your daughter’s feelings? Did
[71]
LADY SUSAN
you not know that she disliked Sir James?” “TJ
knew that he was not absolutely the man she
would have chosen, but I was persuaded that her
objections to him did not arise from any percep-
tion of his deficiency. You must not question
me, however, my dear sister, too minutely on this
point,” continued she, taking me affectionately
by the hand; “I honestly own that there is
something to conceal. Frederica makes me very
unhappy! Her applying to Mr. De Courcy
hurt me particularly.” “ What is it you mean
to infer,” said I, “ by this appearance of mys-
tery? If you think your daughter at all at-
tached to Reginald, her objecting to Sir James
could not less deserve to be attended to than if
the cause of her objecting had been a conscious-
ness of his folly; and why should your ladyship,
at any rate, quarrel with my brother for an
interference which you must know it is not
in his nature to refuse when urged in such a
manner?”
“ His disposition, you know, is warm, and he
came to expostulate with me; his compassion
all alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in dis-
tress! We misunderstood each other: he _ be-
lieved me more to blame than I really was; I
considered his interference less excusable than
I now find it. I have a real regard for him, and
was beyond expression mortified to find it, as
L72]
LADY SUSAN
I thought, so ill bestowed. We were both warm,
and of course both to blame. His resolution of
leaving Churchhill is consistent with his general
eagerness. When I understood his intention,
however, and at the same time began to think
that we had been perhaps equally mistaken in
each other’s meaning, I resolved to have an ex-
planation before it was too late. For any mem-
ber of your family I must always feel a degree
of affection, and I own it would have sensibly
hurt me if my acquaintance with Mr. De Courcy
had ended so gloomily. I have now only to say,
further, that as I am convinced of Frederica’s
having a reasonable dislike to Sir James, I shall
instantly inform him that he must give up all
hope of her. I reproach myself for having
even, though innocently, made her unhappy on
that score. She shall have all the retribution in
my power to make; if she value her own happi-
ness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, and
command herself as she ought, she may now be
easy. Excuse me, my dearest sister, for thus
trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own
character; and after this explanation I trust I
am in no danger of sinking in your opinion.” I
could have said, ‘‘ Not much, indeed!” but I left
her almost in silence. It was the greatest stretch
of forbearance I could practise. I could not
have stopped myself had I begun. Her assur-
[73]
LADY SUSAN
ance! her deceit! but I will not allow myself to
dwell on them; they will strike you sufficiently.
My heart sickens within me. As soon as I was
tolerably composed I returned to the parlour.
Sir James’s carriage was at the door, and he,
merry as usual, soon afterwards took his leave.
Efow easily does her ladyship encourage or dis-
miss a lover! In spite of this release, Frederica
still looks unhappy: still fearful, perhaps, of her
mother’s anger; and though dreading my
brother’s departure, jealous, it may be, of his
staying. I see how closely she observes him and
Lady Susan, poor girl! I have now no hope for
her. There is not a chance of her affection be-
ing returned. He thinks very differently of her
from what he used to do; he does her some jus-
tice, but his reconciliation with her mother pre-
cludes every dearer hope. Prepare, my dear
mother, for the worst! The probability of their
marrying is surely heightened! He is more se-
curely hers than ever. When that wretched
event takes place, Frederica must belong wholly
to us. I am thankful that my last letter will
precede this by so little, as every moment that
you can be saved from feeling a joy which leads
only to disappointment is of consequence.
Yours ever, etc.,
CATHERINE VERNON.
LADY SUSAN
XXV
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson
CHuRCHHILL.
I cau on you, dear Alicia, for congratula-
tions: I am my own self, gay and triumphant!
When I wrote to you the other day I was, in
truth, in high irritation, and with ample cause.
Nay, I know not whether I ought to be quite
tranquil now, for I have had more trouble in re-
storing peace than I ever intended to submit to,
—a, spirit, too, resulting from a fancied sense
of superior integrity, which is peculiarly inso-
lent! I shall not easily forgive him, I assure
you. He was actually on the point of leaving
Churchhill! I had scarcely concluded my last,
when Wilson brought me word of it. I found,
therefore, that something must be done; for I
did not choose to leave my character at the
mercy of a man whose passions are so violent
and so revengeful. It would have been trifling
with my reputation to allow of his departing
with such an impression in my disfavour; in this
light, condescension was necessary. I sent Wil-
son to say that I desired to speak with him be-
fore he went; he came immediately. The angry
emotions which had marked every feature when
we last parted were partially subdued. He
[75]
LADY SUSAN
seemed astonished at the summons, and looked
as if half wishing and half fearing to be soft-
ened by what I might say. If my countenance
expressed what I aimed at, it was composed and
dignified, and yet with a degree of pensiveness
which might convince him that I was not quite
happy. “I beg your pardon, sir, for the liberty
I have taken in sending for you,” said I; “ but
as I have just learnt your intention of leav-
ing this place to-day, I feel it my duty to entreat
that you will not on my account shorten your
visit here even an hour. I am perfectly aware
that after what has passed between us it would
ill suit the feelings of either to remain longer in
the same house: so very great, so total a change
from the intimacy of friendship must render
any future intercourse the severest punishment;
and your resolution of quitting Churchhill is un-
doubtedly in unison with our situation, and with
those lively feelings which I know you to pos-
sess. But at the same time it is not for me to
suffer such a sacrifice as it must be to leave rela-
tions to whom you are so much attached and are
so dear. My remaining here cannot give that
pleasure to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon which your
society must; and my visit has already perhaps
been too long. My removal, therefore, which
must at any rate take place soon, may with per-
fect convenience he hastened; and I make it my
[76]
LADY SUSAN
particular request that I may not in any way be
instrumental in separating a family so affec-
tionately attached to each other. Where I go is
of no consequence to any one; of very little to
myself; but you are of importance to all your
connections.” Here I concluded, and I hope
you will be satisfied with my speech. Its effect
on Reginald justifies some portion of vanity,
for it was no less favourable than instantaneous.
Oh, how delightful it was to watch the varia-
tions of his countenance while I spoke,—to see
the struggle between returning tenderness and
the remains of displeasure! 'There is something
agreeable in feelings so easily worked on; not
that I envy him their possession, nor would, for
the world, have such myself; but they are very
convenient when one wishes to influence the pas-
sions of another. And yet this Reginald, whom
a very few words from me softened at once into
the utmost submission, and rendered more trac-
table, more attached, more devoted than ever,
would have left me in the first angry swelling of
his proud heart without deigning to seek an ex-
planation. Humbled as he now is, I cannot for-
give him such an instance of pride, and am
doubtful whether I ought not to punish him by
dismissing him at once after this reconcilia-
tion, or by marrying and teasing him forever.
But these measures are each too violent to be
[77]
LADY'S Us AWN
adopted without some deliberation; at present
my thoughts are fluctuating between various
schemes. I have many things to compass:
I must punish Frederica, and pretty severely
too, for her application to Reginald; I must
punish him for receiving it so favourably, and for
the rest of his conduct. I must torment my sis-
ter-in-law for the insolent triumph of her look
and manner since Sir James has been dismissed;
for in reconciling Reginald to me, I was not
able to save that ill-fated young man; and I
must make myself amends for the humiliation
to which I have stooped within these few days.
To effect all this I have various plans. I have
also an idea of being soon in town; and whatever
may be my determination as to the rest, I shall
probably put that project in execution; for
London will always be the fairest field of action,
however my views may be directed; and at any
rate I shall there be rewarded by your society,
and _a little dissipation, for a ten weeks’ penance
at Churchhill. I believe I owe it to my character
to complete the match between my daughter and
Sir James after having so long intended it. Let
me know your opinion on this point. Flexibility
of mind, a disposition easily biassed by others, is
an attribute which you know I am not very de-
sirous of obtaining; nor has Frederica any claim
to the indulgence of her notions at the expense
[78]
LADY SUSAN
of her mother’s inclinations. Her idle love for
Reginald, too! It is surely my duty to discour-
age such romantic nonsense. All things consid-
ered, therefore, it seems incumbent on me to
take her to town and marry her immediately to
Sir James. When my own will is effected con-
trary to his, I shall have some credit in being on
good terms with Reginald, which at present, in
fact, I have not; for though he is still in my
power, I have given up the very article by which
our quarrel was produced, and at best the honour
of victory is doubtful. Send me your opinion
on all these matters, my dear Alicia, and let me
know whether you can get lodgings to suit me
within a short distance of you.
Your most attached
S. VERNON.
XXVI
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan
Epwarp STREET.
I am gratified by your reference, and this is
my advice: that you come to town yourself,
without loss of time, but that you leave Fred-
erica behind. It would surely be much more to
the purpose to get yourself well established by
marrying Mr. De Courcy, than to irritate him
and the rest of his family by making her marry
[79]
LADY SUSAN
Sir James. You should think more of yourself
and less of your daughter. She is not of a dis-~
position to do you credit in the world, and seems
precisely in her proper place at Churchhill, with
the Vernons. But you are fitted for society,
and it is shameful to have you exiled from it.
Leave Frederica, therefore, to punish herself
for the plague she has given you, by indulging
that romantic tender-heartedness which will al-
ways insure her misery enough, and come to
London as soon as you can. I have another rea-
son for urging this: Mainwaring came to town
last week, and has contrived, in spite of Mr.
Johnson, to make opportunities of seeing me.
He is absolutely miserable about you, and jeal-
ous to such a degree of De Courcy that it would
be highly unadvisable for them to meet at pres-
ent. And yet, if you do not allow him to see
you here, I cannot answer for his not commit-
ting some great imprudence,—such as going to
Churehhill, for instance, which would be dread-
ful! Besides, if you take my advice, and resolve
to marry De Courcy, it will be indispensably
necessary to you to get Mainwaring out of the
way; and you only can have influence enough to
send him back to his wife. I have still another
motive for your coming: Mr. Johnson leaves
London next Tuesday; he is going for his health
to Bath, where, if the waters are favourable to
[80]
LADY SUSAN
his constitution and my wishes, he will be laid
up with the gout many weeks. During his ab-
sence we shall be able to choose our own society,
and to have true enjoyment. I would ask you
to Edward Street, but that once he forced from
me a kind of promise never to invite you to my
house; nothing but my being in the utmost dis-
tress for money should have extorted it from
me. I can get you, however, a nice drawing-
room apartment in Upper Seymour Street, and
we may be always together there or here; for I
consider my promise to Mr. Johnson as compre-
hending only (at least in his absence) your not
sleeping in the house. Poor Mainwaring gives
me such histories of his wife’s jealousy. Silly
woman to expect constancy from so charming a
man! but she always was silly—intolerably so in
marrying him at all, she the heiress of a large
fortune and he without a shilling: one title, I
know, she might have had, besides baronets.
Her folly in forming the connection was so
great that though Mr. Johnson was her guar-
dian, and I do not in general share his feelings,
I never can forgive her.
Adieu. Yours ever,
ALICIA.
[81]
LADY (SUSAN
XXVIT
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CHURCHHILL,
Turis letter, my dear mother, will be brought
you by Reginald. His long visit is about to be
concluded at last, but I fear the separation takes
place too late to do us any good. She is going
to London to see her particular friend, Mrs.
Johnson. It was at first her intention that
Frederica should accompany her, for the benefit
of masters, but we overruled her there. Fred-
erica was wretched in the idea of going, and I
could not bear to have her at the mercy of her
mother; not all the masters in London could
compensate for the ruin of her comfort. I
should have feared, too, for her health, and for
everything but her principles,—there I believe
she is not to be injured by her mother, or her
mother’s friends; but with those friends she
must have mixed (a very bad set, I doubt not),
or have been left in total solitude, and I can
hardly tell which would have been worse for her.
If she is with her mother, moreover, she must,
alas! in all probability be with Reginald, and
that would be the greatest evil of all. Here we
shall in time be in peace; and our regular em-
ployments, our books and conversations, with
[82]
LADY SUSAN
exercise, the children, and every domestic pleas-
ure in my power to procure her, will, I trust,
gradually overcome this youthful attachment.
I should not have a doubt of it were she slighted
for any other woman in the world than her own
mother. How long Lady Susan will be in town,
or whether she returns here again, I know not.
I could not be cordial in my invitation; but if
she chooses to come, no want of cordiality on
my part will keep her away. I could not help
asking Reginald if he intended being in London
this winter, as soon as I found her ladyship’s
steps would be bent thither; and though he pro-
fessed himself quite undetermined, there was
something in his look and voice as he spoke
which contradicted his words. JI have done with
lamentation; I look upon the event as so far de-
cided that I resign myself to it in despair. If
he leaves you soon for London, everything will
be concluded.
Your affectionate, etc.,
C. VERNON.
XXVIII
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan
Epwarp STREET.
My pbeEaArEst F'RIEND,—I write in the greatest
distress; the most unfortunate event has just
[83 |
LADY SUSAN
taken place. Mr. Johnson has hit on the most
effectual manner of plaguing us all. He had
heard, I imagine, by some means or other, that
you were soon to be in London, and immediately
contrived to have such an attack of the gout as
must at least delay his journey to Bath, if not
wholly prevent it. I am persuaded the gout is
brought on or kept off at pleasure; it was the
same when I wanted to join the Hamiltons to
the Lakes; and three years ago, when I had a
fancy for Bath, nothing could induce him to
have a gouty symptom.
I am pleased to find that my letter had so
much effect on you, and that De Courcy is cer-
tainly your own. Let me hear from you as soon
as you arrive, and in particular tell me what you
mean to do with Mainwaring. It is impossible
to say when I shall be able to come to you; my
confinement must be great. It is such an abom-
inable trick to be ill here instead of at Bath
that I can scarcely command myself at all. At
Bath his old aunts would have nursed him, but
here it all falls upon me; and he bears pain with
such patience that I have not the common ex-
cuse for losing my temper.
Yours ever,
ALICIA.
[84]
LADY SUSAN
XXIX
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson
Urrer Seymour STREET.
My pear Aricra,—There needed not this last
fit of the gout to make me detest Mr. Johnson,
but now the extent of my aversion is not to be
estimated. 'To have you confined as nurse in
his apartment! My dear Alicia, of what a mis-
take were you guilty in marrying a man of his
age! just old enough to be formal, ungovern-
able, and to have the gout; too old to be agree-
able, too young to die. I arrived last night
about five, had scarcely swallowed my dinner
when Mainwaring made his appearance. I will
not dissemble what real pleasure his sight af-
forded me, nor how strongly I felt the contrast
between his person and manners and those of
Reginald, to the infinite disadvantage of the
latter. For an hour or two I was even stag-
gered in my resolution of marrying him, and
though this was too idle and nonsensical an idea
to remain long on my mind, I do not feel very
eager for the conclusion of my marriage, nor
look forward with much impatience to the time
when Reginald, according to our agreement, is
to be in town. I shall probably put off his ar-
rival under some pretence or other. He must
[85]
LADY SUSAN
not come till Mainwaring is gone. I am still
doubtful at times as to marrying; if the old man
would die I might not hesitate, but a state of de-
pendence on the caprice of Sir Reginald will not
suit the freedom of my spirit; and if I resolve
to wait for that event, I shall have excuse
enough at present in having been scarcely ten
months a widow. I have not given Mainwaring
any hint of my intention, or allowed him to con-
sider my acquaintance with Reginald as more
than the commonest flirtation, and he is toler-
ably appeased. Adieu, till we meet; I am en-
chanted with my lodgings.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.
XXX
Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. De Courcy
Upper SEymMour STREET.
I HAVE received your letter, and though I do
not attempt to conceal that I am gratified by
your impatience for the hour of meeting, I yet
feel myself under the necessity of delaying that
hour beyond the time originally fixed. Do not
think me unkind for such an exercise of my
power, nor accuse me of instability without first
hearing my reasons. In the course of my jour-
ney from Churchhill I had ample leisure for re-
[86]
LADY SUSAN
flection on the present state of our affairs, and
every review has served to convince me that they
require a delicacy and cautiousness of conduct
to which we have hitherto been too little atten-
tive. We have been hurried on by our feelings
to a degree of precipitation which ill accords
with the claims of our friends or the opinion of
the world. We have been unguarded in form-
ing this hasty engagement, but we must not
complete the imprudence by ratifying it while
there is so much reason to fear the connection
would be opposed by those friends on whom you
depend. It is not for us to blame any expecta-
tions on your father’s side of your marrying to
advantage; where possessions are so extensive
as those of your family, the wish of increasing
them, if not strictly reasonable, is too common
to excite surprise or resentment. . He has a right
to require a woman of fortune in his daughter-
in-law, and I am sometimes quarrelling with
myself for suffering you to form a connection
so imprudent; but the influence of reason is
often acknowledged too late by those who feel
like me. I have now been but a few months a
widow, and, however little indebted to my hus-
band’s memory for any happiness derived from
him during a union of some years, I cannot for-
get that the indelicacy of so early a second mar-
riage must subject me to the censure of the
[87]
LADY SUSAN
world, and incur, what would be still more in-
supportable, the displeasure of Mr. Vernon. I
might perhaps harden myself in time against
the injustice of general reproach, but the loss of
his valued esteem I am, as you well know, ill-
fitted to endure; and when to this may be added
the consciousness of having injured you with
your family, how am I to support myself?
With feelings so poignant as mine, the convic-
tion of having divided the son from his parents
would make me, even with you, the most miser-
able of beings. It will surely, therefore, be ad-
visable to delay our union—to delay it till ap-
pearances are more promising—till affairs have
taken a more favourable turn. To assist us in
such a resolution I feel that absence will be
necessary. .We must not meet. Cruel as this
sentence may appear, the necessity of pronounc-
ing it, which can alone reconcile it to myself,
will be evident to you when you have considered
our situation in the light in which I have found
myself imperiously obliged to place it. You
may be—you must be—well assured that noth-
ing but the strongest conviction of duty could
induce me to wound my own feelings by urging
a lengthened separation, and of insensibiiity te
yours you will hardly suspect me. Again, there-
fore, I say that we ought not, we must not, yet
meet. By a removal for some months from
[88]
LADY SUSAN
each other we shall tranquillise the sisterly fears
of Mrs. Vernon, who, accustomed herself to the
enjoyment of riches, considers fortune as neces-
sary everywhere, and whose sensibilities are not
of a nature to comprehend ours. Let me hear
from you soon—very soon. ‘Tell me that you
submit to my arguments, and do not reproach
me for using such. I cannot bear reproaches:
my spirits are not so high as to need being re-
pressed. I must endeavour to seek amusement,
and fortunately many of my friends are in
town; amongst them the Mainwarings; you
know how sincerely I regard both husband and
wife.
I am, very faithfully yours,
S. VERNON.
XXXI
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson
Uprer SEYMouR STREET.
My pear Frienp,—That tormenting crea-
ture, Reginald, is here. My letter, which was
intended to keep him longer in the country, has
hastened him to town. Much as I wish him
away, however, I cannot help being pleased with
such a proof of attachment. He is devoted to
me, heart and soul. He will carry this note
himself, which is to serve as an introduction to
[89]
LADY SUsAm
you, with whom he longs to be acquainted. Al-
low him to spend the evening with you, that I
may be in no danger of his returning here. I
have told him that I am not quite well, and must
be alone; and should he call again there might
be confusion, for it is impossible to be sure of
servants. Keep him, therefore, I entreat you,
in Edward Street. You will not find him a
heavy companion, and I allow you to flirt with
him as much as you like. At the same time do
not forget my real interest; say all that you can
to convince him that I shall be quite wretched
if he remains here; you know my reasons,—pro-
priety, and so forth. I would urge them more
myself, but that I am impatient to be rid of him,
as Mainwaring comes within half an _ hour.
Adieu!
S. VERNON.
XXXIT
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan
EpwarpD STREET.
My prar CrEATURE,—I am in agonies, and
know not what to do. Mr. De Courcy arrived
just when he should not. Mrs. Mainwaring
had that instant entered the house, and forced
herself into her guardian’s presence, though I
did not know a syllable of it till afterwards, for
[90]
LADY SUSAN
I was out when both she and Reginald came,
or I should have sent him away at all events; but
she was shut up with Mr. Johnson, while he
waited in the drawing-room for me. She ar-
rived yesterday in pursuit of her husband, but
perhaps you know this already from himself.
She came to this house to entreat my husband’s
interference, and before I could be aware of it,
everything that you could wish to be concealed
was known to him, and unluckily she had
wormed out of Mainwaring’s servant that he had
visited you every day since your being in town,
and had just watched him to your door herself!
What could I do? Facts are such horrid things!
All is by this time known to De Courcy, who is
now alone with Mr. Johnson. Do not accuse
me; indeed, it was impossible to prevent it. Mr.
Johnson has for some time suspected De
Courcy of intending to marry you, and would
speak with him alone as soon as he knew him to
be in the house. That detestable Mrs. Main-
waring, who, for your comfort, has fretted her-
self thinner and uglier than ever, is still here,
and they have been all closeted together. What
can be done? At any rate, I hope he will plague
his wife more than ever. With anxious wishes,
Yours faithfully,
/ALICIA.
[91]
LADY SUSAN
XXXII
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson
Upper Seymour STREET.
Tus éclaircissement is rather provoking.
How unlucky that you should have been from
home! I thought myself sure of you at seven!
I am undismayed, however. Do not torment
yourself with fears on my account; depend on
it, I can make my story good with Reginald.
Mainwaring is just gone; he brought me the
news of his wife’s arrival. Silly woman, what
does she expect by such manceuvres? Yet I
wish she had stayed quietly at Langford. Regi-
nald will be a little enraged at first, but by to-
morrow’s dinner everything will be well again.
Adieu! S: Vv.
XXXIV,
Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan
—— Horet.
I write only to bid you farewell, the spell is
removed; I see you as you are. Since we parted
yesterday, I have received from indisputable
authority such a history of you as must bring
the most mortifying conviction of the imposi-
[92]
LADY SUSAN
tion I have been under, and the absolute neces-
sity of an immediate and eternal separation
from you. You cannot doubt to what I allude.
Langford! Langford! that word will be suffi-
cient. I received my information in Mr. John-
son’s house, from Mrs. Mainwaring herself.
You know how I have loved you; you can inti-
mately judge of my present feelings, but I am
not so weak as to find indulgence in describing
them to a woman who will glory in having ex-
cited their anguish, but whose affection they
have never been able to gain.
R. DE Courcy.
XXXV,
Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy
Upper SEYMOUR STREET.
I wit not attempt to describe my astonish-
ment in reading the note this moment received
from you. I am bewildered in my endeavours to
form some rational conjecture of what Mrs.
Mainwaring can have told you to occasion so
extraordinary a change in your sentiments.
Have I not explained everything to you with
respect to myself which could bear a doubtful
meaning, and which the ill-nature of the world
had interpreted to my discredit? What can you
now have heard to stagger your esteem for me?
[93]
LADY SUSAN
Have I ever had a concealment from you?
Reginald, you agitate me beyond expression. I
cannot suppose that the old story of Mrs. Main-
waring’s jealousy can be revived again, or at
least be listened to again. Come to me imme-
diately, and explain what is at present abso-
lutely incomprehensible. Believe me, the single
word of Langford is not of such potent intelli-
gence as to supersede the necessity of more. If
we are to part, it will at least be handsome to
take your personal leave—but I have little heart
to jest; in truth, I am serious enough; for to be
sunk, though but for an hour, in your esteem is
a humiliation to which I know not how to
submit. I shall count every minute till your
arrival, WD iy
XXXVI
Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan
—— Hort.
Wuy would you write to me? Why do you
require particulars? But since it must be so, I
am obliged to declare that all the accounts of
your misconduct during the life and since the
death of Mr. Vernon, which had reached me, in
common with the world in general, and gained
my entire belief before I saw you, but which
you, by the exertion of your perverted abilities,
[94]
LADY SUSAN
had made me resolved to disallow, have been un-
answerably proved to me, nay more, I am as-
sured that a connection of which I had never
before entertained a thought, has for some time
existed, and still continues to exist, between you
and the man whose family you robbed of its
peace in return for the hospitality with which
you were received into it; that you have corre-
sponded with him ever since your leaving Lang-
ford; not with his wife, but with him, and that
he now visits you every day. Can you, dare you
deny it? and all this at the time when I was an
encouraged, an accepted lover! From what
have I not escaped! I have only to be grateful.
Far from me be all complaint, every sigh of re-
gret. My own folly had endangered me, my
preservation I owe to the kindness, the integrity
of another; but the unfortunate Mrs. Mainwar-
ing, whose agonies while she related the past
seemed to threaten her reason,—how is she to
be consoled! After such a discovery as this, you
will scarcely affect further wonder at my mean-
ing in bidding you adieu. My understanding
is at length restored, and teaches no less to ab-
hor the artifices which had subdued me than
to despise myself for the weakness on which
their strength was founded.
R. DE Courcy.
[95]
LADY SUSAN
XXXVIT
Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy
Upper Seymour STREET.
I am satisfied, and will trouble you no more
when these few lines are dismissed. The en-
gagement which you were eager to form a fort-
night ago is no longer compatible with your
views, and I rejoice to find that the prudent ad-
vice of your parents has not been given in vain.
Your restoration to peace will, I doubt not,
speedily follow this act of filial obedience, and I
flatter myself with the hope of surviving my
share in this disappointment.
5. V.
XXXVI
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan Vernon
Epwarp STREET.
I am grieved, though I cannot be astonished,
at your rupture with Mr. De Courcy; he has
just informed Mr. Johnson of it by letter. He
leaves London, he says, to-day. Be assured that
I partake in all your feelings, and do not be
angry if I say that our intercourse, even by let-
ter, must soon be given up. It makes me mis-
erable; but Mr. Johnson vows that if I persist
[96]
LADY SUSAN
in the connection, he will settle in the country
for the rest of his life, and you know it is im-
possible to submit to such an extremity while
any other alternative remains. You have heard
of course that the Mainwarings are to part, and
I am afraid Mrs. M. will come home to us
again; but she is still so fond of her husband,
and frets so much about him, that perhaps she
may not live long. Miss Mainwaring is just
come to town to be with her aunt, and they say
that she declares she will have Sir James Martin |
before she leaves London again. If I were you,
I would certainly get him myself. I had almost
forgot to give you my opinion of Mr. De
Courcy: I am really delighted with him; he is
full as handsome, I think, as Mainwaring, and
with such an open, good-humoured countenance
that one cannot help loving him at first sight.
Mr. Johnson and he are the greatest friends in
the world. Adieu, my dearest Susan, I wish
matters did not go so perversely. That unlucky
visit to Langford! but I dare say you did all for
the best, and ‘there is no defying destiny.
Your sincerely attached,
ALICIA.
[97]
LADY SUSAN
XXXIX
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson
Urrer Seymour STREET.
My pear Aricra,—I yield to the necessity
which parts us. Under circumstances you could
not act otherwise. Our friendship cannot be
impaired by it, and in happier times, when your
situation is as independent as mine, it will unite
us again in the same intimacy as ever. For this
I shall impatiently wait, and meanwhile can
safely assure you that I never was more at ease,
or better satisfied with myself and everything
about me than at the present hour. Your hus-
band I abhor, Reginald I despise, and I am se-
cure of never seeing either again. Have I not
reason to rejoice? Mainwaring is more devoted
to me than ever; and were we at liberty, I doubt
if I could resist even matrimony offered by
him. This event, if his wife live with you, it
may be in your power to hasten. The violence
of her feelings, which must wear her out, may
be easily kept in irritation. I rely on your
friendship for this. I am now satisfied that I
never could have brought myself to marry
Reginald, and am equally determined that
Frederica never shall. To-morrow I shall fetch
her from Churchhill, and let Maria Mainwaring
[98]
LADY SUSAN
tremble for the consequence. Frederica shall
be Sir James’s wife before she quits my house,
and she may whimper, and the Vernons may
storm, I regard them not. I am tired of sub-
mitting my will to the caprices of others; of re-
signing my own judgment in deference to those
to whom I owe no duty, and for whom I feel
no respect; I have given up too much, have been
too easily worked on, but Frederica shall now
feel the difference. Adieu, dearest of friends;
may the next gouty attack be more favourable!
and may you always regard me as unalterably
yours,
S. VERNON.
XL
Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon
My pear CATHERINE,—I have charming
news for you, and if I had not sent off my letter
this morning you might have been spared the
vexation of knowing of Reginald’s being gone
to London, for he is returned. Reginald is re-
turned, not to ask our consent to his marrying
Lady Susan, but to tell us they are parted for-
ever. He has been only an hour in the house,
and I have not been able to learn particulars,
for he is so very low that I have not the heart
to ask questions, but I hope we shall soon know
[99]
LADY) SUSAN
all. This is the most joyful hour he has ever
given us since the day of his birth. Nothing is
wanting but to have you here, and it is our par-
ticular wish and entreaty that you would come
to us as soon as you can. You have owed us a
visit many long weeks; I hope nothing will
make it inconvenient to Mr. Vernon; and pray
bring all my grandchildren; and your dear niece
is included, of course; I long to see her. It has
been a sad, heavy winter hitherto, without Regi-
nald, and seeing nobody from Churchhill. I
never found the season so dreary before; but
this happy meeting will make us young again.
Frederica runs much in my thoughts, and when
Reignald has recoved his usual good spirits (as
I trust he soon will), we will try to rob him of
his heart once more, and I am full of hopes of
seeing their hands joined at no great distance.
Your affectionate mother,
C. DE Courcy.
XLI
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy
CHURCHHILL.
My pesr Mortruer,—Your letter has sur-
prised me beyond measure! Can it be true that
they are really separated—and foreverf I
[100]
LADY: SUSAN
should be overjoyed if I dared depend on it, but
after all that I have seen how can one be secure?
And Reginald really with you! My surprise is
the greater because on Wednesday, the very day
of his coming to Parklands, we had a most un-
expected and unwelcome visit from Lady
Susan, looking all cheerfulness and _ good-
humour, and seeming more as if she were to
marry him when she got to London than as if
parted from him forever. She stayed nearly
two hours, was as affectionate and agreeable as
ever, and not a syllable, not a hint was dropped,
of any disagreement or coolness between them.
I asked her whether she had seen my brother
since his arrival in town; not, as you may sup-
pose, with any doubt of the fact, but merely to
see how she looked. She immediately answered,
without any embarrassment, that he had been
kind enough to call on her on Monday; but she
believed he had already returned home, which
I was very far from crediting. Your kind in-
vitation is accepted by us with pleasure, and on
Thursday next we and our little ones will be
with you. Pray heaven, Reginald may not be
in town again by that time! I wish we could
bring dear Frederica too, but I am sorry to say
that her mother’s errand hither was to fetch her
away; and, miserable as it made the poor girl,
it was impossible to detain her. I was thor-
[101]
LADY SUSAN
oughly unwilling to let her go, and so was her
uncle; and all that could be urged we did urge;
but Lady Susan declared that as she was now
about to fix herself in London for several
months, she could not be easy if her daughter
were not with her for masters, ete. Her man-
ner, to be sure, was very kind and proper, and
Mr. Vernon believes that Frederica will now be
treated with affection. I wish I could think so
too. The poor girl’s heart was almost broke at
taking leave of us. I charged her to write to
me very often, and to remember that if she were
in any distress we should be always her friends.
I took care to see her alone, that I might say all
this, and I hope made her a little more comfort-
able; but I shall not be easy till I can go to town
and judge of her situation myself. I wish there
were a better prospect than now appears of the
match which the conclusion of your letter de-
clares your expectations of. At present it is
not very likely.
Yours ever, etc.,
C. VERNON.
[102]
LADY SUSAN
CONCLUSION
THIs correspondence, by a meeting between
some of the parties, and a separation between
the others, could not, to the great detriment of
the Post-Office revenue, be continued any
longer. Very little assistance to the State could
be derived from the epistolary intercourse of
Mrs. Vernon and her niece; for the former soon
perceived, by the style of Frederica’s letters, that
they were written under her mother’s inspec-
tion! and therefore, deferring all particular in-
quiry till she could make it personally in Lon-
don, ceased writing minutely or often. Having
learnt enough in the meanwhile, from her open-
hearted brother, of what had passed between
him and Lady Susan to sink the latter lower
than ever in her opinion, she was proportionably
more anxious to get Frederica removed from
such a mother, and placed under her own care;
and, though with little hope of success, was re-
solved to leave nothing unattempted that might
offer a chance of obtaining her sister-in-law’s
consent to it. Her anxiety on the subject made
her press for an early visit to London; and Mr.
Vernon, who, as it must ilready have appeared,
[103]
LADY SUSAN
lived only to do whatever he was desired, soon
found some accommodating business to call him
thither. With a heart full of the matter, Mrs.
Vernon waited on Lady Susan shortly after her
arrival in town, and was met with such an easy
and cheerful affection, as made her almost turn
from her with horror. No remembrance of
Reginald, no consciousness of guilt, gave one
look of embarrassment; she was in excellent
spirits, and seemed eager to show at once by
every possible attention to her brother and sister
her sense of their kindness, and her pleasure in
their society. Frederica was no more altered
than Lady Susan; the same restrained manners,
the same timid look in the presence of her
mother as heretofore, assured her aunt of her
situation being uncomfortable, and confirmed
her in the plan of altering it. No unkindness,
however, on the part of Lady Susan appeared.
Persecution on the subject of Sir James was
entirely at an end; his name merely mentioned
to say that he was not in London; and indeed,
in all her conversation she was solicitous only
for the welfare and improvement of her daugh-
ter, acknowledging, in terms of grateful de-
light, that Frederica was now growing every
day more and more what a parent could desire.
Mrs. Vernon, surprised and incredulous, knew
not what to suspect, and, without any change in
[104]
LADY SUSAN
her own views, only feared greater difficulty in
accomplishing them. The first hope of any-
thing better was derived from Lady Susan’s
asking her whether she thought Frederica
looked quite as well as she had done at Church-
hill, as she must confess herself to have some-
times an anxious doubt of London’s perfectly
agreeing with her. Mrs. Vernon, encouraging
the doubt, directly proposed her niece’s return-
ing with them into the country. Lady Susan
was unable to express her sense of such kind-
ness, yet knew not, from a variety of reasons,
how to part with her daughter; and as, though
her own plans were not yet wholly fixed, she
trusted it would ere long be in her power to
take Frederica into the country herself, con-
cluded by declining entirely to profit by such
unexampled attention. Mrs. Vernon perse-
vered, however, in the offer of it; and though
Lady Susan continued to resist, her resistance
in the course of a few days seemed somewhat
less formidable. The lucky alarm of an influ-
enza decided what might not have been decided
quite so soon. lady Susan’s maternal fears
were then too much awakened for her to think
of anything but Frederica’s removal from the
risk of infection; above all disorders in the
world she most dreaded the influenza for her
daughter’s constitution!
[105]
LADY SUSAN
Frederica returned to Churchhill with her
uncle and aunt; and three weeks afterwards,
Lady Susan announced her being married to Sir
James Martin. Mrs. Vernon was then con-
vineed of what she had only suspected before,
that she might have spared herself all the trou-
ble of urging a removal which Lady Susan had
doubtless resolved on from the first. Fred-
erica’s visit was nominally for six weeks; but her
mother, though inviting her to return in one or
two affectionate letters, was very ready to
oblige the whole party by consenting to a pro-
longation of her stay, and in the course of two
months ceased to write of her absence, and in
the course of two more to write to her at all.
Frederica was therefore fixed in the family of
her uncle and aunt till such time as Reignald de
Courcy could be talked, flattered, and finessed
into an affection for her which, allowing leisure
for the conquest of his attachment to her
mother, for his abjuring all future attachments,
and detesting the sex, might be reasonably
looked for in the course of a twelvemonth.
Three months might have done it in general, but
Reginald’s feelings were no less lasting than
lively. Whether Lady Susan was or was not
happy in her second choice, I do not see how it
can ever be ascertained; for who would take her
assurance of it on either side of the question?
[106]
LADY SUSAN
The world must judge from probabilities; she
had nothing against her but her husband and
her conscience. Sir James may seem to have
drawn a harder lot than mere folly merited; I
leave him, therefore, to all the pity that any-
body can give him. For myself, I confess that
I can pity only Miss Mainwaring, who, coming
to town, and putting herself to an expense in
clothes which impoverished her for two years,
on purpose to secure him, was defrauded of her
due by a woman ten years older than herself.
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THE WATSONS
PREFACE
“Tar Watsons” is the name given by those
who published it, to a fragment written by
Jane Austen when living at Bath. It is
in the writer’s mature style and is no girl-
ish composition. It is unelaborated and in-
complete, but promises well, and it is a
regret that the writer did not finish it. Why
she laid it aside is not known; probably it was
interrupted by the pressure of social engage-
ments and she thus lost interest in it when the
thread was broken.
Her nephew expresses the opinion that she be-
came aware of the mistake of having placed her
heroine too low in the social scale, in such a posi-
tion of poverty and obscurity which, though not
necessarily connected with vulgarity, has a sad
tendency to degenerate into it, and therefore,
like a singer who has begun on a wrong key, she
discontinued the strain. Jane Austen was gen-
teel in the meaning of the word in her own day,
not in the obvious meaning of the word at pres-
ent. But the Watsons are gentlefolk: they go to
[111]
PREFACE
balls where they meet the aristocracy, though
they go in a friend’s carriage, not in their own,
and when aristocratic acquaintances call, the
early dinner rather put them to shame.
Emma Watson became the object of attention
to a peer and to another man of independent for-
tune at the same time. It appears from the out-
line of the plot which the author confessed to her
sister, that Emma was to decline an offer of
marriage from a peer and to marry a most eli-
gible clergyman. ‘That the story was carrying
her out of the region of gentility can hardly
have been Jane Austen’s reason for laying it
aside. Nor could it be that “'The Watsons ” was
broken up for the purpose of using the materials
in another fabric. Mrs. Robert Watson, with
her vulgar airs of fashion, bears a strong resem-
blance to Mrs. Elton; Henry Crawford as a gay
breaker of hearts of women has a resemblance to
Tom Musgrave; and the querulous selfishness of
Margaret foreshadows that of Mary Musgrove.
But no other affinities appear. Mr. Watson is,
like Mr. Woodhouse, an invalid, but he is not a
valetudinarian.
The characters of “ The Watsons,” like those
of the entire Austen repertory, move, live, and
have their being. in an atmosphere of sancti-
monious gentility. Love and marriage are the
[112]
PREFACE
staple motives of these extremely natural studies
of the eighteenth century English middle class.
Her character painting is true to life, even if the
characters are artificial, and true to the eight-
eenth century environment.
[113]
The Watsons
HE first winter assembly in the town of
D. in Surrey was to be held on Tues-
day, October 13th, and it was gener-
ally expected to be a very good one. A long
list of county families was confidently run over
as sure of attending, and sanguine hopes were
entertained that the Osbornes themselves would
be there. The Edwards’ invitation to the Wat-
sons followed, of course. The Edwards were
people of fortune, who lived in the town and
kept their coach. ‘The Watsons inhabited a
village about three miles distant, were poor, and
had no close carriage; and ever since there had
been balls in the place, the former were accus-
tomed to invite the latter to dress, dine, and sleep
at their house on every monthly return through-
out the winter. On the present occasion, as only
two of Mr. Watson’s children were at home,
and one was always necessary as companion to
himself, for he was sickly and had lost his wife,
one only could profit by the kindness of their
friends. Miss Emma Watson, who was very
[115]
THE WATSONS
recently returned to her family from the care
of an aunt who had brought her up, was to make
her first public appearance in the neighbourhood,
and her eldest sister, whose delight in a ball was
not lessened by a ten years’ enjoyment, had
some merit in cheerfully undertaking to drive
her and all her finery in the old chair to D. on
the important morning.
As they splashed along the dirty lane, Miss
Watson thus instructed and cautioned her inex-
perienced sister :—
“I dare say it will be a very good ball, and
among so many Officers you will hardly want
partners. You will find Mrs. Edwards’ maid
very willing to help you, and I would advise you
to ask Mary Edwards’ opinion if you are at all
at a loss, for she has a very good taste. If Mr.
Edwards does not lose his money at cards, you
will stay as late as you can wish for; if he does,
he will hurry you home perhaps—but you are
sure of some comfortable soup. I hope you will
be in good looks. I should not be surprised if
you were to be thought one of the prettiest girls
in the room; there is a great deal in novelty.
Perhaps Tom Musgrave may take notice of
you; but I would advise you by all means not to
give him any encouragement. He generally
pays attention to every new girl; but he is a
great flirt, and never means anything serious.”
[116]
THE WATSONS
“T think I have heard you speak of him be-
fore,” said Emma; “ who is he?”
“A young man of very good fortune, quite
independent, and remarkably agreeable,—a uni-
versal favourite wherever he goes. Most of the
girls hereabout are in love with him, or have
been. I believe I am the only one among them
that have escaped with a whole heart; and yet
I was the first he paid attention to when he came
into this country six years ago; and very great
attention did he pay me. Some people say that he
has never seemed to like any girl so well since,
though he is always behaving in a particular
way to one or another.”
“And how came your heart to be the only
cold one?” said Emma, smiling.
“There was a reason for that,” replied Miss *
Watson, changing colour,—“ I have not been
very well used among them, Emma. I hope you
will have better luck.”
“ Dear sister, I beg your pardon if I have un-
thinkingly given you pain.”
“When first we knew Tom Musgrave,” con-
tinued Miss Watson, without seeming to hear
her, “ I was very much attached to a young man
of the name of Purvis; a particular friend of
Robert’s, who used to be with us a great deal.
Everybody thought it would have been a
match.”
[117]
THE WATSONS
A sigh accompanied these words, which
Emma respected in silence; but her sister after
a short pause went on.
“You will naturally ask why it did not take
place, and why he is married to another woman,
while I am still single. But you must ask him,
not me,—you must ask Penelope. Yes, Kmma,
Penelope was at the bottom of it all. She thinks
everything fair for a husband. I trusted her;
she set him against me, with a view of gaining
him herself, and it ended in his discontinuing his
visits, and soon after marrying somebody else.
Penelope makes light of her conduct, but I think
such treachery very bad. It has been the ruin
of my happiness. I shall never love any man
as I loved Purvis. I do not think Tom Mus-
grave should be named with him in the same
day.”
“You quite shock me by what you say of Pe-
nelope,” said Kmma. “Could a sister do such
a thing? Rivalry, treachery between sisters! I
shall be afraid of being acquainted with her.
But I hope it was not so; appearances were
against her.”
“You do not know Penelope. There is noth-
ing she would not do to get married. She would
as good as tell you so herself. Do not trust her
with any secrets of your own, take warning by
me, do not trust her; she has her good qualities,
[118]
THE WATSONS
but she has no faith, no honour, no scruples, if
she can promote her own advantage. I wish
with all my heart she was well married. I de-
clare I had rather have her well married than
myself.”
“Than yourself! yes, I can suppose so. A
heart wounded like yours can have little inclina-
tion for matrimony.”
“Not much indeed—but you know we must
marry. I could do very well single for my own
part; a little company, and a pleasant ball now
and then, would be enough for me, if one could
be young forever; but my father cannot provide
for us, and it is very bad to grow old and be poor
and laughed at. I have lost Purvis, it is true;
but very few people marry their first loves. I
should not refuse a man because he was not
Purvis. Not that I can ever quite forgive
Penelope.”
Emma shook her head in acquiescence.
“Penelope, however, has had her troubles,”
continued Miss Watson. “She was sadly dis-
appointed in Tom Musgrave, who afterwards
transferred his attentions from me to her, and
whom she was very fond of; but he never means
anything serious, and when he had trifled with
her long enough, he began to slight her for Mar-
garet, and poor Penelope was very wretched.
And since then she has been trying to make
[119]
THE WATSONS
some match at Chichester,—she won’t tell us
with whom; but I believe it is a rich old Dr.
Harding, uncle to the friend she goes to see;
and she has taken a vast deal of trouble about
him, and given up a great deal of time to no
purpose as yet. When she went away the other
day, she said it should be the last time. I sup-
pose you did not know what her particular busi-
ness was at Chichester, nor guess at the object
which could take her away from Stanton just
as you were coming home after so many years’
absence.”
“No indeed, I had not the smallest suspicion
of it. I considered her engagement to Mrs.
Shaw just at that time as very unfortunate for
me. I had hoped to find all my sisters at
home, to be able to make an immediate friend of
each.”
““T suspect the Doctor to have had an attack
of the asthma, and that she was hurried away on
that account. The Shaws are quite on her side,
—at least, I believe so; but she tells me nothing.
She professes to keep her own counsel; she says,
and truly enough, that ‘'Too many cooks spoil
the broth.),””
“T am sorry for her anxieties,” said Emma;
“but I do not like her plans or her opinions. I
shall be afraid of her. She must have too mas-
culine and bold a temper. ‘To be so bent on
[120]
b)
ee
THE WATSONS
marriage, to pursue a man merely for the sake
of situation, is a sort of thing that shocks me;
I cannot understand it. Poverty is a great evil;
but to a woman of education and feeling it
ought not, it cannot be the greatest. I would
rather be teacher at a school (and I can think of
nothing worse) than marry a man I did not
like.”
“T would rather do anything than be teacher
at a school,” said her sister. “I have been at
school, Emma, and know what a life they lead;
you never have. I should not like marrying a
disagreeable man any more than yourself; but
I do not think there are many very disagreeable
men; I think I could like any good-humoured
man with a comfortable income. I suppose my
aunt brought you up to be rather refined.”
“Indeed I do not know. My conduct must
tell you how I have been brought up. I am no
judge of it myself. I cannot compare my aunt’s
method with any other person’s, because I know
no other.”
“ But I can see in a great many things that
you are very refined. I have observed it ever
since you came home, and I am afraid it will
not be for your happiness. Penelope will laugh
at you very much.”
“That will not be for my happiness, I am
sure. If my opinions are wrong, I must cor-
[121]
THE WATSONS
rect them; if they are above my situation, I must
endeavour to conceal them; but I doubt whether
ridicule—Has Penelope much wit?”
“Yes; she has great spirits, and never cares
what she says.”
“Margaret is more gentle, I imagine?”
“Yes; especially in company. She is all gen-
tleness and mildness when anybody is by; but
she is a little fretful and perverse among our-
selves. Poor creature! She is possessed with
the notion of Tom Musgrave’s being more seri-
ously in love with her than he ever was with any-
body else, and is always expecting him to come
to the point. This is the second time within this
twelvemonth that she has gone to spend a month
with Robert and Jane on purpose to egg him on
by her absence; but I am sure she is mistaken,
and that he will no more follow her to Croydon
now than he did last March. He will never
marry unless he can marry somebody very great,
—Miss Osborne, perhaps, or somebody in that
style.)
“Your account of this Tom Musgrave, Eliz-
abeth, gives me very little inclination for his ac-
quaintance.”
“You are afraid of him; I do not wonder at
you.”
“No, indeed; I dislike and despise him.”
“ Dislike and despise Tom Musgrave! No,
[122]
THE WATSONS
that you never can. I defy you not to be de-
lighted with him if he takes notice of you. I
hope he will dance with you; and I dare say he
will, unless the Osbornes come with a large
party, and then he will not speak to anybody
Elsen,
“He seems to have most engaging manners! ”
said Emma. “ Well, we shall see how irresist-
ible Mr. Tom Musgrave and I find each other.
I suppose I shall know him as soon as I enter
the ball-room; he must carry some of his charms
in his face.”
“You will not find him in the ball-room, I
can tell you; you will go early, that Mrs. Ed-
wards may get a good place by the fire, and he
never comes till late; if the Osbornes are com-
ing, he will wait in the passage and come in with
them. I should like to look in upon you, Kmma.
If it was but a good day with my father, I
would wrap myself up, and James should drive
me over as soon as I had made tea for him; and
I should be with you by the time the dancing
began.”
“What! Would you come late at night in
this chair? ”
“To be sure I would. There, I said you were
very refined, and that’s an instance of it.”
Emma for a moment made no answer. At
last she said,—
[123]
THE WATSONS
“T wish, Elizabeth, you had not made a point
of my going to this ball; I wish you were going
instead of me. Your pleasure would be greater
than mine. I am a stranger here, and know no-
body but the Edwards; my enjoyment, there-
fore, must be very doubtful. Yours, among all
your acquaintance, would be certain. It is not
too late to change. Very little apology could be
requisite to the Edwards, who must be more
glad of your company than of mine, and I
should most readily return to my father; and
should not be at all afraid to drive this quiet old
creature home. Your clothes I would undertake
to find means of sending to you.”
“My dearest Emma,” cried Elizabeth,
warmly, “do you think I would do such a thing?
Not for the universe! But I shall never forget
your good-nature in proposing it. You must
have a sweet temper indeed! I never met with
anything like it! And would you really give up
the ball that I might be able to go to it? Be-
lieve me, Emma, I am not so selfish as that comes
to. No; though I am nine years older than you
are, I would not be the means of keeping you
from being seen. You are very pretty, and it
would be very hard that you should not have as
fair a chance as we have all had to make your
fortune. No, Emma, whoever stays at home this
winter, it sha’n’t be you. I am sure I should
[124]
THE WATSONS
never have forgiven the person who kept me
from a ball at nineteen.”
Emma expressed her gratitude, and for a few
minutes they jogged on in silence. Elizabeth
first spoke :—
“You will take notice who Mary Edwards
dances with?”
“T will remember her partners, if I can; but
you know they will be all strangers to me.”
“Only observe whether she dances with Cap-
tain Hunter more than once,—I have my fears
in that quarter. Not that her father or mother
like officers; but if she does, you know, it is all
over with poor Sam. And I have promised to
write him word who she dances with.”
“Is Sam attached to Miss Edwards? ”
“Did not you know that?”
“How should I know it? How should I
know in Shropshire what is passing of that na-
ture in Surrey? It is not likely that circum-
stances of such delicacy should have made any
part of the scanty communication which passed
between you and me for the last fourteen years.”
“IT wonder I never mentioned it when I wrote.
Since you have been at home, I have been so busy
with my poor father and our great wash that I
have had no leisure to tell you anything; but,
indeed, I concluded you knew it all. He has
been very much in love with her these two years,
[125]
THE WATSONS
and it is a great disappointment to him that he
cannot always get away to our balls; but Mr.
Curtis won’t often spare him, and just now it is
a sickly time at Guildford.”
“Do you suppose Miss Edwards inclined to
like him? ”
“Tam afraid not: you know she is an only
child, and will have at least ten thousand
pounds.”
“ But still she may like our brother.”
“Oh, no! The Edwards look much higher.
Her father and mother would never consent to
it. Sam is only a surgeon, you know. Some-
times I think she does like him. But Mary Ed-
wards is rather prim and reserved; I do not al-
ways know what she would be at.”
“Unless Sam feels on sure grounds with the
lady herself’, it seems a pity to me that he should
be encouraged to think of her at all.”
“A young man must think of somebody,”
said Elizabeth, “and why should not he be as
lucky as Robert, who has got a good wife and
six thousand pounds? ”
“We must not all expect to be individually
lucky,” replied Emma. “ The luck of one mem-
ber of a family is luck to all.”
“Mine is all to come, I am sure,” said Eliza-
beth, giving another sigh to the remembrance of
Purvis. “I have been unlucky enough; and I
[126]
THE WATSONS
cannot say much for you, as my aunt married
again so foolishly. Well, you will have a good
ball, I daresay. The next turning will bring us
to the turnpike: you may see the church-tower
over the hedge, and the White Hart is close by
it. I shall long to know what you think of Tom
Musgrave.”
Such were the last audible sounds of Miss
Watson’s voice, before they passed through the
turnpike-gate, and entered on the pitching of
the town, the jumbling and noise of which made
further conversation most thoroughly undesira-
ble. The old mare trotted heavily on, wanting
no direction of the reins to take the right turn-
ing, and making only one blunder, in proposing
to stop at the milliner’s before she drew up to-
wards Mr. Edwards’ door. Mr. Edwards lived
in the best house in the street, and the best in
the place, if Mr. Tomlinson, the banker, might
be indulged in calling his newly erected house
at the end of the town, with a shrubbery and
sweep, in the country.
Mr. Edwards’ house was higher than most of
its neighbours, with four windows on each side
the door; the windows guarded by posts and
chains and the door approached by a flight of
stone steps.
“Here we are,” said Elizabeth, as the car-
riage ceased moving, “safely arrived, and by the
[127]
THE WATSONS
market clock we have been only five-and-thirty
minutes coming; which I think is doing pretty
well, though it would be nothing for Penelope.
Is not it a nice town? The Edwards have a noble
house, you see, and they live quite in style. The
door will be opened by a man in livery, with a
powdered head, I can tell you.” |
Emma had seen the Edwards only one morn-
ing at Stanton; they were therefore all but
strangers to her; and though her spirits were by
no means insensible to the expected joys of the
evening, she felt a little uncomfortable in the
thought of all that was to precede them. Her
conversation with Elizabeth, too, giving her
some very unpleasant feelings with respect to
her own family, had made her more open to
disagreeable impressions from any other cause,
and increased her sense of the awkwardness of
rushing into intimacy on so slight an acquaint-
ance.
There was nothing in the manner of Mrs. and
Miss Edwards to give immediate change to these
ideas. ‘The mother, though a very friendly wo-
man, had a reserved air, and a great deal of for-
mal civility; and the daughter, a genteel-look-
ing girl of twenty-two, with her hair in pa-
pers, seemed very naturally to have caught
something of the style of her mother, who had
brought her up. Emma was soon left to know
[128]
THE WATSONS
what they could be, by Elizabeth’s being obliged
to hurry away; and some very languid remarks
on the probable brilliancy of the ball were all
that broke, at intervals, a silence of half an hour,
before they were joined by the master of the
house. Mr. Edwards had a much easier and
more communicative air than the ladies of the
family; he was fresh from the street, and he
came ready to tell whatever might interest.
After a cordial reception of Kmma, he turned
to his daughter with,—
“Well, Mary, I bring you good news: the
Osbornes will certainly be at the ball to-night.
Horses for two carriages are ordered from the
White Hart to be at Osborne Castle by nine.”
“T am glad of it,” observed Mrs. Edwards,
“because their coming gives a credit to our as-
sembly. The Osbornes being known to have
been at the first ball, will dispose a great many
people to attend the second. It is more than
they deserve; for, in fact, they add nothing to
the pleasure of the evening: they come so late
and go so early; but great people have always
their charm.”
Mr. Edwards proceeded to relate many other
little articles of news which his morning’s lounge
had supplied him with, and they chatted with
greater briskness, till Mrs. Edwards’ moment
for dressing arrived, and the young ladies were
[129]
THE WATSONS
carefully recommended to lose no time. Emma
was shown to a very comfortable apartment,
and as soon as Mrs. Edwards’ civilities could
leave her to herself, the happy occupation, the
first bliss of a ball, began. The girls, dressing
in some measure together, grew unavoidably
better acquainted. Emma found in Miss Ed-
wards the show of good sense, a modest unpre-
tending mind, and a great wish of obliging;
and when they returned to the parlour where
Mrs. Edwards was sitting, respectably attired
in one of the two satin gowns which went
through the winter, and a new cap from the mil-
liner’s, they entered it with much easier feelings
and more natural smiles than they had taken
away. ‘Their dress was now to be examined:
Mrs. Edwards acknowledged herself too old-
fashioned to approve of every modern extrava-
gance, however sanctioned; and though compla-
cently viewing her daughter’s good looks, would
give but a qualified admiration; and Mr. EKd-
wards, not less satisfied with Mary, paid some
compliments of good-humoured gallantry to
Emma at her expense. The discussion led to
more intimate remarks, and Miss Edwards
gently asked Emma if she was not often reck-
oned very like her youngest brother. Emma
thought she could perceive a faint blush accom-
pany the question, and there seemed something
[130]
THE WATSONS
still more suspicious in the manner in which Mr.
Edwards took up the subject.
“You are paying Miss Emma no great com-
pliment, I think, Mary,” said he, hastily. “ Mr.
Sam Watson is a very good sort of young man,
and I dare say a very clever surgeon; but his
complexion has been rather too much exposed to
all weathers to make a likeness to him very flat-
tering.”
Mary apologised, in some confusion,—
“She had not thought a strong likeness at all
incompatible with very different degrees of
beauty. There might be resemblance in counte-
nance, and the complexion and even the features
be very unlike.”
“T know nothing of my brother’s beauty,”
said Emma, “for I have not seen him since he
was seven years old; but my father reckons us
alike.”
“Mr. Watson!” cried Mr. Edwards; “ well,
you astonish me. ‘There is not the least likeness
in the world; your brother’s eyes are grey, yours
are brown; he has a long face and a wide mouth.
My dear, do you perceive the least resem-
blance? ”
“Not the least: Miss Kmma Watson puts me
very much in mind of her eldest sister, and some-
times I see a look of Miss Penelope, and once
or twice there has been a glance of Mr. Robert,
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THE WATSONS
but I cannot perceive any likeness to Mr.
Samuel.”
“TI see the likeness between her and Miss
Watson,” replied Mr. Edwards, “very strongly,
but I am not sensible of the others. I do not
much think she is like any of the family but
Miss Watson; but I am very sure there is no re-
semblance between her and Sam.”
This matter was settled, and they went to
dinner.
“Your father, Miss Emma, is one of my old-
est friends,” said Mr. Edwards, as he helped her
to wine, when they were drawn round the fire to
enjoy their dessert. ‘“ We must drink to his bet-
ter health. It is a great concern to me, I assure
you, that he should be such an invalid. I know
nobody who likes a game of cards, in a social
way, better than he does, and very few people
who play a fairer rubber. It is a thousand pities
that he should be so deprived of the pleasure.
For now we have a quiet little Whist Club, that
meets three times a week at the White Hart;
and if he could but have his health, how much
he would enjoy it!”
“I dare say he would, sir; and I wish, with
all my heart, he were equal to it.”
“Your club would be better fitted for an in-
valid,” said Mrs. Edwards, “if you did not keep
it up so late.”
[132]
THE WATSONS
This was an old grievance.
“So late, my dear! What are you talking
of?” cried the husband, with sturdy pleasantry.
“We are always at home before midnight.
They would laugh at Osborne Castle to hear you
call that late; they are but just rising from din-
ner at midnight.”
“That is nothing to the purpose,” retorted
the lady, calmly. “The Osbornes are to be no
rule for us. You had better meet every night,
and break up two hours sooner.”
So far the subject was very often carried;
but Mr. and Mrs. Edwards were so wise as
never to pass that point; and Mr. Edwards now
turned to something else. He had lived long
enough in the idleness of a town to become a
little of a gossip, and having some anxiety to
know more of the circumstances of his young
guest than had yet reached him, he began with,—
“T think, Miss Emma, I remember your aunt
very well, about thirty years ago; I am pretty
sure I danced with her in the old rooms at Bath
the year before I married. She was a very fine
woman then; but like other people, I suppose,
she is grown somewhat older since that time.
I hope she is likely to be happy in her second
choice.”
“TI hope so; I believe so, sir,
some agitation.
>
said Emma, in
[133]
THE WATSONS
“ Mr. Turner had not been dead a great while,
I think?”
“ About two years, sir.”
“TI forget what her name is now.”
“O’Brien.”
“Trish! ah, I remember; and she is gone to
settle in Ireland. I do wonder that you should
not wish to go with her into that country, Miss
Emma; but it must be a great deprivation to her,
poor lady! after bringing you up like a child of
her own.”
“IT was not so ungrateful, sir,” said Emma,
warmly, “as to wish to be anywhere but with
her. It did not suit Captain O’Brien that I
should be of the party.”
“Captain!” repeated Mrs. Edwards. “The
gentleman is in the army then?”
+ Yes, ma'am,”
“Ay, there is nothing like your officers for
captivating the ladies, young or old. ‘There is
no resisting a cockade, my dear.”
“T hope there is,’ said Mrs. Edwards,
gravely, with a quick glance at her daughter;
and Emma had just recovered from her own
perturbation in time to see a blush on Miss Ed-
wards’ cheek, and in remembering what Eliza-
beth had said of Captain Hunter, to wonder
and waver between his influence and _ her
brother’s.
[134]
THE WATSONS
“Elderly ladies should be careful how they
make a second choice,” observed Mr. Edwards.
“Carefulness and discretion should not be
confined to elderly ladies or to a second choice,”
added his wife. “They are quite as necessary
to young ladies in their first.”
“Rather more so, my dear,” replied he; “ be-
cause young ladies are likely to feel the effects
of it longer. When an old lady plays the fool,
it is not in the course of nature that she should
suffer from it many years.”
Emma drew her hand across her eyes; and
Mrs. Edwards, in perceiving it, changed the
subject to one of less anxiety to all.
With nothing to do but to expect the hour of
setting off, the afternoon was long to the two
young ladies; and though Miss Edwards was
rather discomposed at the very early hour which
her mother always fixed for going, that early
hour itself was watched for with some eager-
ness.
The entrance of the tea-things at seven o’clock
was some relief; and luckily Mr. and Mrs. Ed-
wards always drank a dish extraordinary and
ate an additional muffin when they were going
to sit up late, which lengthened the ceremony al-
most to the wished-for moment.
At a little before eight o’clock the Tomlin-
sons’ carriage was heard to go by, which was
[135]
THE WATSONS
the constant signal for Mrs. Kdwards to order
hers to the door; and in a very few minutes the
party were transported from the quiet and
warmth of a snug parlour to the bustle, noise,
and draughts of air of a broad entrance passage
of an inn. Mrs. Edwards, carefully guarding
her own dress, while she attended with yet
greater solicitude to the proper security of her
young charges’ shoulders and throats, led the
way up the wide staircase, while no sound of a
ball but the first scrape of one violin blessed the
ears of her followers; and Miss Edwards, on
hazarding the anxious inquiry of whether there
were many people come yet, was told by the
waiter, as she knew she should, that Mr. Tom-
linson’s family were in the room.
In passing along a short gallery to the assem-
bly-room, brilliant in lights before them, they
were accosted by a young man in a morning-
dress and boots, who was standing in the door-
way of a bed-chamber apparently on purpose to
see them go by.
“ Ah! Mrs. Edwards, how do you do? How
do you do, Miss Edwards?” he cried, with an
easy air. “ You are determined to be in good
time, I see, as usual. The candles are but this
moment lit.”
“T like to get a good seat by the fire, you
know, Mr. Musgrave,” replied Mrs. Edwards.
[136 |
THE WATSONS
“T am this moment going to dress,” said he.
“T am waiting for my stupid fellow. We shall
have a famous ball. The Osbornes are certainly
coming; you may depend upon that, for I was
with Lord Osborne this morning.”
The party passed on. Mrs. Edwards’ satin
gown swept along the clean floor of the ball-
room to the fireplace at the upper end, where
one party only were formally seated, while three
or four officers were lounging together, passing
in and out from the adjoining card-room. A
very stiff meeting between these near neigh-
bours ensued; and as soon as they were all duly
placed again, Emma, in a low whisper, which
became the solemn scene, said to Miss Ed-
wards,—
“The gentleman we passed in the passage
was Mr. Musgrave, then; he is reckoned remark-
ably agreeable, I understand?”
Miss Edwards answered hesitatingly, “ Yes;
he is very much liked by many people; but we
are not very intimate.”
“ He is rich, is not he?”
“He has about eight or nine hundred a year,
I believe. He came into possession of it when
he was very young, and my father and mother
think it has given him rather an unsettled turn.
He is no favourite with them.”
The cold and empty appearance of the room,
[137]
THE WATSONS
and the demure air of the small cluster of fe-
males at one end of it, began soon to give way.
The inspiriting sound of other carriages was
heard, and continual accessions of portly chap-
erons and strings of smartly dressed girls were
received, with now and then a fresh gentleman
straggler, who, if not enough in love to station
himself near any fair creature, seemed glad to
escape into the card-room.
Among the increasing number of military
men, one now made his way to Miss Edwards
with an air of empressement which decidedly
said to her companion, “I am Captain Hun-
ter;”? and Emma, who could not but watch her
at such a moment, saw her looking rather dis-
tressed, but by no means displeased, and heard
an engagement formed for the two first dances,
which made her think her brother Sam’s a hope-
less case.
Emma in the meanwhile was not unobserved
or unadmired herself. A new face, and a very
pretty one, could not be slighted. Her name
was whispered from one party to another; and
no sooner had the signal been given by the or-
chestra’s strikmg up a favourite air, which
seemed to call the young to their duty and
people the centre of the room, than she found
herself engaged to dance with a brother officer,
introduced by Captain Hunter.
[138]
THE WATSONS
Emma Watson was not more than of the mid-
dle height, well made and plump, with an air of
healthy vigour. Her skin was very brown, but
clear, smooth, and glowing, which, with a lively
eye, a sweet smile, and an open countenance,
gave beauty to attract, and expression to make
that beauty improve on acquaintance. Having
no reason to be dissatisfied with her partner, the
evening began very pleasantly to her, and her
feelings perfectly coincided with the reiterated
observation of others, that it was an excellent
ball. ‘The two first dances were not quite over
when the returning sound of carriages after a
long interruption called general notice. “The
Osbornes are coming! The Osbornes are
coming!’’ was repeated round the room.
After some minutes of extraordinary bustle
without and watchful curiosity within, the
important party, preceded by the attentive
master of the inn to open a door which was never
shut, made their appearance. They consisted of
Lady Osborne; her son, Lord Osborne; her
daughter, Miss Osborne; Miss Carr, her daugh-
ter’s friend; Mr. Howard, formerly tutor to
Lord Osborne, now clergyman of the parish in
which the castle stood; Mrs. Blake, a widow sis-
ter, who lived with him; her son, a fine boy of
ten years old; and Mr. Tom Musgrave, who
probably, imprisoned within his own room, had
[139]
THE WATSONS
been listening in bitter impatience to the sound
of the music for the last half-hour. In their
progress up the room they paused almost im-
mediately behind Emma to receive the compli-
ments of some acquaintance; and she heard
Lady Osborne observe that they had made a
point of coming early for the gratification of
Mrs. Blake’s little boy, who was uncommonly
fond of dancing. Emma looked at them all as
they passed, but chiefly and with most interest
on ‘Tom Musgrave, who was certainly a genteel,
good-looking young man. Of the females Lady
Osborne had by much the finest person; though
nearly fifty, she was very handsome, and had all
the dignity of rank.
Lord Osborne was a very fine young man;
but there was an air of coldness, of carelessness,
even of awkwardness about him, which seemed
to speak him out of his element in a ball-room.
He came, in fact, only because it was judged
expedient for him to please the borough; he was
not fond of women’s company, and he never
danced. Mr. Howard was an agreeable-looking
man, a little more than thirty.
At the conclusion of the two dances Emma
found herself, she knew not how, seated amongst
the Osbornes’ set; and she was immediately
struck with the fine countenance and animated
gestures of the little boy, as he was standing be-
[140]
THE WATSONS
fore his mother, considering when they should
begin.
“You will not be surprised at Charles’ im-
patience,” said Mrs. Blake, a lively, pleasant-
looking little woman of five or six and thirty, to
a lady who was standing near her, “ when you
know what a partner he is to have. Miss Os-
borne has been so very kind as to promise to
dance the two first dances with him.”
“Oh, yes! we have been engaged this week,”
eried the boy, “and we are to dance down every
couple.”
On the other side of Emma, Miss Osborne,
Miss Carr, and a party of young men were
standing engaged in very lively consultation;
and soon afterwards she saw the smartest officer
of the set walking off to the orchestra to order
the dance, while Miss Osborne, passing before
her to her little expecting partner, hastily said:
“Charles, I beg your pardon for not keeping
my engagement, but I am going to dance these
two dances with Colonel Beresford. I know
you will excuse me, and I will certainly dance
with you after tea;”’ and without staying for an
answer, she turned again to Miss Carr, and in
another minute was led by Colonel Beresford
to begin the set. If the poor little boy’s face
had in its happiness been interesting to Emma,
it was infinitely more so under this sudden re-
[141]
THE WATSONS
verse; he stood the picture of disappointment,
with crimsoned cheeks, quivering lips, and eyes
bent on the floor. His mother, stifling her own
mortification, tried to soothe his with the pros-
pect of Miss Osborne’s second promise; but
though he contrived to utter, with an effort of
boyish bravery, “Oh, I do not mind!” it was
very evident, by the unceasing agitation of his
features, that he minded it as much as. ever.
Emma did not think or reflect; she felt and
acted. “I shall be very happy to dance with
you, sir, if you like it,” said she, holding out her
hand with the most unaffected good-humour.
The boy, in one moment restored to all his first
delight, looked joyfully at his mother; and step-
ping forwards with an honest, simple “ Thank
you, ma’am,” was instantly ready to attend his
new acquaintance. The thankfulness of Mrs.
Blake was more diffuse; with a look most ex-
pressive of unexpected pleasure and lively grat-
itude, she turned to her neighbour with repeated
and fervent acknowledgments of so great and
condescending a kindness to her boy. Emma
with perfect truth could assure her that she could
not be giving greater pleasure than she felt her-
self; and Charles being provided with his
gloves and charged to keep them on, they joined
the set which was now rapidly forming, with
nearly equal complacency. Jt was a partner-
[142]
THE WATSONS
ship which could not be noticed without surprise.
It gained her a broad stare from Miss Osborne
and Miss Carr as they passed her in the dance.
“Upon my word, Charles, you are in luck,” said
the former, as she turned him; “ you have got a
_ better partner than me;” to which the happy
Charles answered “ Yes.”
Tom Musgrave, who was dancing with Miss
Carr, gave her many inquisitive glances; and
after a time Lord Osborne himself came, and
under pretence of talking to Charles, stood to
look at his partner. Though rather distressed
by such observation, Emma could not repent
what she had done, so happy had it made both
the boy and his mother; the latter of whom was
continually making opportunities of addressing
her with the warmest civility. Her little partner
she found, though bent chiefly on dancing, was
not unwilling to speak, when her questions or
remarks gave him anything to say; and she
learnt, by a sort of inevitable inquiry, that he
had two brothers and a sister, that they and their
mamma all lived with his uncle at Wickstead,
that his uncle taught him Latin, that he was
very fond of riding, and had a horse of his own
given him by Lord Osborne; and that he had
been out once already with Lord Osborne’s
hounds.
At the end of these dances Emma found they
[143]
THE WATSONS
were to drink tea; Miss Edwards gave her a
caution to be at hand, in a manner which con-
vinced her of Mrs. Edwards’ holding it very im-
portant to have them both close to her when she
moved into the tea-room; and Emma was ac-
cordingly on the alert to gain her proper station.
It was always the pleasure of the company to
have a little bustle and crowd when they ad-
journed for refreshment. The tea-room was a
small room within the card-room; and in pass-
ing through the latter, where the passage was
straitened by tables, Mrs. Edwards and her
party were for a few moments hemmed in. It
happened close by Lady Osborne’s casino-table;
Mr. Howard, who belonged to it, spoke to his
nephew; and Emma, on perceiving herself the
object of attention both to Lady Osborne and
him, had just turned away her eyes in time to
avoid seeming to hear her young companion ex-
claim delightedly aloud, “Oh, uncle! do look at
my partner; she is so pretty!” As they were
immediately in motion again, however, Charles
was hurried off without being able to receive his
uncle’s suffrage. On entering the tea-room, in
which two long tables were prepared, Lord Os-
borne was to be seen quite alone at the end of
one, as if retreating as far as he could from the
ball, to enjoy his own thoughts and gape with-
out restraint. Charles instantly pointed him out
[144]
THE WATSONS
to Emma. “There’s Lord Osborne; let you
and I go and sit by him.”
“No, no,” said Emma, laughing; “you must
sit with my friends.”
Charles was now free enough to hazard a few
questions in his turn. ‘“ What o’clock was it?”
© Eleven.’
“ Eleven! and I am not at all sleepy. Mamma
said I should be asleep before ten. Do you
think Miss Osborne will keep her word with me
when tea is over?”
“Oh, yes! I suppose so;”’ though she felt that
she had no better reason to give than that Miss
Osborne had not kept it before.
“When shall you come to Osborne Castle?”
_ “Never, probably. I am not acquainted with
the family.”
“But you may come to Wickstead and see
mamma, and she can take you to the castle.
There is a monstrous curious stuffed fox there,
and a badger; anybody would think they were
alive. It is a pity you should not see them.”
On rising from tea there was again a scram-
ble for the pleasure of being first out of the
room, which happened to be increased by one or
two of the card-parties having just broken up,
and the players being disposed to move exactly
the different way. Among these was Mr. How-
ard, his sister leaning on his arm; and no sooner
[145]
THE WATSONS
were they within reach of Emma, than Mrs
Blake, calling her notice by a friendly touch,
said, “ Your goodness to Charles, my dear Miss
Watson, brings all his family upon you. Give
me leave to introduce my brother.’ Emma
curtsied, the gentleman bowed, made a hasty
request for the honour of her hand in the two
next dances, to which as hasty an affirmative
was given, and they were immediately impelled
in opposite directions. Emma was very well
pleased with the circumstance; there was a qui-
etly cheerful, gentlemanlike air in Mr. Howard
which suited her; and in a few minutes after-
wards the value of her engagement increased,
when as she was sitting in the card-room, some-
what screened by a door, she heard Lord Os-
borne, who was lounging on a vacant table near
her, call Tom Musgrave towards him and say,
“Why do not you dance with that beautiful
Emma Watson? I want you to dance with her,
and I will come and stand by you.”
“I was determined on it this very moment,
my lord; Ill be introduced and dance with her
directly.”
“Ay, do; and if you find she does not want
much talking to, you may introduce me by and
by.”
“Very well, my lord; if she is like her sisters, —
she will only want to be listened to. I will go
[146]
THE WATSONS
this moment. I shall find her in the tea-room.
That stiff old Mrs. Edwards has never done
teas”
Away he went, Lord Osborne after him; and
Emma lost no time in hurrying from her corner
exactly the other way, forgetting in her haste
that she left Mrs. Edwards behind.
“We had quite lost you,” said Mrs. Edwards,
who followed her with Mary in less than five
minutes. “If you prefer this room to the other,
there is no reason why you should not be here;
but we had better all be together.”
Emma was saved the trouble of apologising,
by their being joined at the moment by Tom
Musgrave, who requesting Mrs. Edwards aloud
to do him the honour of presenting him to Miss
Emma Watson, left that good lady without any
choice in the business, but that of testifying by
the coldness of her manner that she did it un-
willingly. The honour of dancing with her was
solicited without loss of time; and Emma, how-
ever she might like to be thought a beautiful girl
by lord or commoner, was so little disposed to
favour Tom Musgrave himself that she had con-
siderable satisfaction in avowing her previous
engagement. He was evidently surprised and
discomposed. ‘The style of her last partner had
probably led him to believe her not overpowered
with applications.
[147]
THE WATSONS
“My little friend, Charles Blake,” he cried,
** must not expect to engross you the whole even-
ing. We can never suffer this. It is against
the rules of the assembly, and I am sure it will
never be patronised by our good friend here,
Mrs. Edwards; she is by much too nice a judge
of decorum to give her license to such a dan-
gerous particularity— ”
“T am not going to dance with Master Blake,
sir!”
The gentleman, a little disconcerted, could
only hope he might be fortunate another time,
and seeming unwilling to leave her, though his
friend, Lord Osborne, was waiting in the door-
way for the result, as Emma with some amuse-
ment perceived, he began to make civil inquiries
after her family.
“How comes it that we have not the pleasure
of seeing your sisters here this evening? Our as-
semblies have been used to be so well treated by
them that we do not know how to take this
neglect.”
“My eldest sister is the only one at home, and
she could not leave my father.”
“Miss Watson the only one at home! You
astonish me! It seems but the day before yes-
terday that I saw all three in this town. But I
am afraid I have been a very sad neighbour of
late. I hear dreadful complaints of my negli-
[148]
THE WATSONS
gence wherever I go, and I confess it is a shame-
ful length of time since I was at Stanton. But
I shall now endeavour to make myself amends
for the past.”
Emma’s calm courtesy in reply must have
struck him as very unlike the encouraging
warmth he had been used to receive from her sis-
ters, and gave him probably the novel sensation
of doubting his own influence, and of wishing
for more attention than she bestowed. The
dancing now recommenced; Miss Carr being im-
patient to call, everybody was required to stand
up; and Tom Musgrave’s curiosity was ap-
peased on seeing Mr. Howard come forward
and claim Emma’s hand.
“'That will do as well for me,” was Lord Os-
borne’s remark, when his friend carried him the
news, and he was continually at Howard’s el-
bow during the two dances.
The frequency of his appearance there was
the only unpleasant part of the engagement,
the only objection she could make to Mr. How-
ard. In himself, she thought him as agreeable
as he looked; though chatting on the commonest
topics, he had a sensible, unaffected way of ex-
pressing himself, which made them all worth
hearing, and she only regretted that he had not
been able to make his pupil’s manners as unex-
ceptionable as his own. The two dances seemed
[149]
THE WATSONS
very short, and she had her partner’s authority
for considering them so. At their conclusion
the Osbornes and their train were all on the
move.
“We are off at last,” said his lordship to Tom.
“How much longer do you stay in this heay-
enly place?—till sunrise?”
“No, faith! my lord; I have had quite enough
of it, I assure you. I shall not show myself here
again when I have had the honour of attending
Lady Osborne to her carriage. I shall retreat
in as much secrecy as possible to the most re-
mote corner of the house, where I shall order a
barrel of oysters, and be famously snug.”
“* Let me see you soon at the castle, and bring
me word how she looks by daylight.”
Emma and Mrs. Blake parted as old ac-
quaintance, and Charles shook her by the hand,
and wished her good-bye at least a dozen times.
From Miss Osborne and Miss Carr she received
something like a jerking curtsey as they passed
her; even Lady Osborne gave her a look of com-
placency, and his lordship actually came back,
after the others were out of the room, to “ beg
her pardon,” and look in the window-seat behind
her for the gloves which were visibly compressed
in his hand. As Tom Musgrave was seen no
more, we may suppose his plan to have suc-
ceeded, and imagine him mortifying with his
[150] :
THE WATSONS
barrel of oysters in dreary solitude, or gladly as-
sisting his landlady in her bar to make fresh
negus for the happy dancers above. Emma
could not help missing the party by whom she
had been, though in some respects unpleasantly,
distinguished; and the two dances which fol-
lowed and concluded the ball were rather flat in
comparison with the others. Mr. Edwards hav-
ing played with good luck, they were some of
the last in the room.
.“ Here we are back again, I declare,” said
Emma, sorrowfully, as she walked into the din-
ing-room, where the table was prepared, and
the neat upper maid was lighting the candles.
“My dear Miss Edwards, how soon it is at an
end! I wish it could all come over again.”
A great deal of kind pleasure was expressed
in her having enjoyed the evening so much; and
Mr. Edwards was as warm as herself in the
praise of the fulness, brilliancy, and spirit of the
meeting, though as he had been fixed the whcle
time at the same table in the same room, with
only one change of chairs, it might have seemed
a matter scarcely perceived; but he had won
four rubbers out of five, and everything went
well. His daughter felt the advantage of this
gratified state of mind, in the course of the re-
marks and retrospections which now ensued over
the welcome soup.
[151]
THE WATSONS
“How came you not to dance with either of
the Mr. Tomlinsons, Mary?” said her mother.
“TI was always engaged when they asked me.”
“IT thought you were to have stood up with
Mr. James the two last dances; Mrs. Tomlinson
told me he was gone to ask you, and I had heard
you say two minutes before that you were not
engaged.”
“Yes, but there was a mistake; I had misun-
derstood. I did not know I was engaged. I
thought it had been for the two dances after, if
we stayed so long; but Captain Hunter assured
me it was for those very two.”
“So you ended with Captain Hunter, Mary,
did you?” said her father. “ And whom did you
begin with?”
“Captain Hunter,” was repeated in a very
humble tone.
“Hum! That is being constant, however.
But who else did you dance with?”
“Mr. Norton and Mr. Styles.”
“And who are they?”
“Mr. Norton is a cousin of Captain Hun-
ter’s.”
“And who is Mr. Styles?”
“One of his particular friends.”
“ All in the same regiment,” added Mrs. Ed-
wards. ‘‘ Mary was surrounded by red-coais all
the evening. I should have been better pleased
[152]
THE WATSONS
to see her dancing with some of our old neigh-
bours, I confess.”
“Yes, yes; we must not neglect our old neigh-
bours. But if these soldiers are quicker than
other people in a ball-room, what are young
ladies to do?”
“T think there is no occasion for their en-
gaging themselves so many dances beforehand,
Mr. Edwards.”
“No, perhaps not; but I remember, my dear,
when you and I did the same.”
Mrs. Edwards said no more, and Mary
breathed again. A good deal of good-humoured
pleasantry followed; and Emma went to bed in
charming spirits, her head full of SRS
Blakes, and Howards.
The next morning brought a great many vis-
itors. It was the way of the place always to
call on Mrs. Edwards the morning after a ball,
and this neighbourly inclination was increased in
the present instance by a general spirit of curi-
osity on Emma’s account, as everybody wanted
to look again at the girl who had been admired
the night before by Lord Osborne. Many were
the eyes, and various the degrees of approbation
with which she was examined. Some saw no
fault, and some no beauty. With some her
brown skin was the annihilation of every grace,
and others could never be persuaded that she
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was half so handsome as Elizabeth Watson had
been ten years ago. The morning passed quickly
away in discussing the merits of the ball with
all this succession of company; and Kmma was
at once astonished by finding it two o’clock, and
considering that she had heard nothing of her
father’s chair. After this discovery she had
walked twice to the window to examine the
street, and was on the point of asking leave to
ring the bell and make inquiries, when the light
sound of a carriage driving up to the door set
her heart at ease. She stepped again to the win-
dow, but instead of the convenient though very
un-smart family equipage perceived a neat cur-
ricle. Mr. Musgrave was shortly afterwards
announced, and Mrs. Edwards put on her very
stiffest look at the sound. Not at all dismayed,
however, by her chilling air, he paid his compli-
ments to each of the ladies with no unbecoming
ease, and continuing to address Emma, pre-
sented her a note, which “he had the honour of
bringing from her sister, but to which he must
observe a verbal postscript from himself would
be requisite.”
The note, which Emma was beginning to
read rather before Mrs. Edwards had entreated
her to use no ceremony, contained a few lines
from Elizabeth importing that their father, in
consequence of being unusually well, had taken
154]
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the sudden resolution of attending the visitation
that day, and that as his road lay quite wide from
D., it was impossible for her to come home till
the following morning, unless the Edwards
would send her, which was hardly to be ex-
pected, or she could meet with any chance con-
veyance, or did not mind walking so far. She
had scarcely run her eye through the whole, be-
fore she found herself obliged to listen to Tom
Musgrave’s further account.
“T received that note from the fair hands of
Miss Watson only ten minutes ago,” said he;
“I met her in the village of Stanton, whither
my good stars prompted me to turn my horses’
heads. She was at that moment in quest of a
person to employ on the errand, and I was for-
tunate enough to convince her that she could
not find a more willing or speedy messenger than
myself. Remember, I say nothing of my disin-
terestedness. My reward is to be the indulgence
of conveying you to Stanton in my curricle.
Though they are not written down, I bring your
sister’s orders for the same.”
Emma felt distressed; she did not like the
proposal,—she did not wish to be on terms of
intimacy with the proposer; and yet, fearful of
encroaching on the Edwards, as well as wishing
to go home herself, she was at a loss how en-
tirely to decline what he offered. Mrs. Ed-
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THE WATSONS
wards continued silent, either not understand-
ing the case, or waiting to see how the young
lady’s inclination lay. Kmma thanked him, but
professed herself very unwilling to give him so
much trouble. “'The trouble was of course hon-
our, pleasure, delight,—what had he or his horses
to do?” Still she hesitated,— “ She believed she
must beg leave to decline his assistance; she was
rather afraid of the sort of carriage. The dis-
tance was not beyond a walk.” Mrs. Edwards
was silent no longer. She inquired into the par-
ticulars, and then said, “ We shall be extremely
happy, Miss Emma, if you can give us the pleas-
ure of your company till to-morrow; but if you
cannot conveniently do so, our carriage is quite
at your service, and Mary will be pleased with
the opportunity of seeing your sister.”
This was precisely what Emma had longed
for, and she accepted the offer most thankfully,
acknowledging that as Elizabeth was entirely
alone, it was her wish to return home to din-
ner. The plan was warmly opposed by their
visitor,—
“IT cannot suffer it, indeed. I must not be
deprived of the happiness of escorting you. I
assure you there is not a possibility of fear with
my horses. You might guide them yourself.
Your sisters all know how quiet they are; they
have none of them the smallest scruple in trust-
[156]
THE WATSONS
ing themselves with me, even on a race-course.
Believe me,” added he, lowering his voice, “ you
are quite safe,—the danger is only mine.”
Emma was not more disposed to oblige him
for all this.
“And as to Mrs. Edwards’ carriage being
used the day after a ball, it is a thing quite out
of rule, I assure you,—never heard of before.
The old coachman will look as black as his
horses,—won’t he, Miss Edwards?”
No notice was taken. The ladies were silently
firm, and the gentleman found himself obliged
to submit.
“What a famous ball we had last night!” he
cried, after a short pause. “ How long did you
keep it up after the Osbornes and I went
away?” :
“We had two dances more.”
“It is making it too much of a fatigue, I
think, to stay so late. I suppose your set was
not a very full one.”
“Yes; quite as full as ever, except the Os-
bornes. ‘There seemed no vacancy anywhere;
and everybody danced with uncommon spirit to
the ;yery last.’
Emma said this, though against her con-
science.
“ Indeed! perhaps I might have looked in
upon you again, if I had been aware of as
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THE WATSONS
much; for I am rather fond of dancing than
not. Miss Osborne is a charming girl, is not
she?”
“T do not think her handsome,” replied
Emma, to whom all this was chiefly addressed.
“Perhaps she is not critically handsome, but
her manners are delightful. And Fanny Carr
is a most interesting little creature. You can
imagine nothing more naive or piquante; and
what do you think of Lord Osborne, Miss Wat-
son?”
“He would be handsome even though he were
not a lord, and perhaps, better bred; more desir-
ous of pleasing and showing himself pleased in
a right place.”
“Upon my word, you are severe upon my
friend! I assure you Lord Osborne is a very
good fellow.”
“I do not dispute his virtues, but I do not
like his careless air.”
“If it were not a breach of confidence,” re-
plied ‘Tom, with an important look, “ perhaps I
might be able to win a more favourable opinion
of poor Osborne.”
Emma gave him no encouragement, and he
was obliged to keep his friend’s secret. He was
also obliged to put an end to his visit, for Mrs.
Edwards having ordered her carriage, there was
no time to be lost on Emma’s side in preparing
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THE WATSONS
for it. Miss Edwards accompanied her home;
but as it was dinner-hour at Stanton, stayed with
them only a few minutes.
“Now, my dear Emma,” said Miss Watson,
as soon as they were alone, “ you must talk to
_ me all the rest of the day without stopping, or
I shall not be satisfied; but, first of all, Nanny
shall bring in the dinner. Poor thing! You will
not dine as you did yesterday, for we have noth-
ing but some fried beef. How nice Mary Ed-
wards looks in her new pelisse! And now tell
me how you like them all, and what I am to say
to Sam. I have begun my letter; Jack Stokes
is to call for it to-morrow, for his uncle is going
within a mile of Guildford next day.”
Nanny brought in the dinner.
“We will wait upon ourselves,” continued
Elizabeth, ‘“‘ and then we shall lose no time. And
so you would not come home with Tom Mus-
grave?”
“No, you had said so much against him that
I could not wish either for the obligation or the
intimacy which the use of his carriage must
have created. I should not even have liked the
appearance of it.”
“You did very right; though I wonder at
your forbearance, and I do not think I could
have done it myself. He seemed so eager to
fetch you that I could not say no, though it
[159]
THE WATSONS
rather went against me to be throwing you to-
gether, so well as I knew his tricks; but I did
long to see you, and it was a clever way of get-
ting you home. Besides, it won’t do to be too
nice. Nobody could have thought of the Ed-
wards letting you have their coach, after the
horses being out so late. But what am I to say
to Sam?”
“If you are guided by me, you will not en-
courage him to think of Miss Edwards. The
father is decidedly against him, the mother shows
him no favour, and I doubt his having any inter-
est with Mary. She danced twice with Captain
Hunter, and I think shows him in general as
much encouragement as is consistent with her
disposition and the circumstances she is placed
in. She once mentioned Sam, and certainly with
a little confusion; but that was perhaps merely
owing to the consciousness of his liking her,
which may very probably have come to her
knowledge.”
“Oh, dear! yes. She has heard enough of
that from us all. Poor Sam! he is out of luck
as well as other people. For the life of me,
Emma, I cannot help feeling for those that are
crossed in love. Well, now begin, and give me
an account of everything as it happened.”
Emma obeyed her, and Elizabeth listened with
[160]
THE WATSONS
very little interruption till she heard of Mr.
Howard as a partner.
“Dance with Mr. Howard! Good heavens!
you don’t say so! Why, he is quite one of the
great and grand ones. Did you not find him
very high? ”
“ His manners are of a kind to give me much
more ease and confidence than Tom Mus-
grave’s.”
“Well, go on. I should have been frightened
out of my wits to have had anything to do with
the Osbornes’ set.”
Emma concluded her narration.
“And so you really did not dance with Tom
Musgrave at all; but you must have liked him,
—you must have been struck with him alto-
gether.”
“TI do not like him, Elizabeth. I allow his per-
son and air to be good, and that his manners to
a certain point—his address rather—is pleasing;
but I see nothing else to admire in him. On the
contrary, he seems very vain, very conceited, ab-
surdly anxious for distinction, and absolutely
contemptible in some of the measures he takes
for being so. There is a ridiculousness about
him that entertains me; but his company gives
me no other agreeable emotion.”
“My dearest Emma! you are like nobody else
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THE WATSONS
in the world. It is well Margaret is not by. You
do not offend me, though I hardly know how to
believe you; but Margaret would never forgive
such words.”
“TI wish Margaret could have heard him pro-
fess his ignorance of her being out of the coun-
try; he declared it seemed only two days since he
had seen her.”
“Ay, that is just like him; and yet this is the
man she will fancy so desperately in love with
her. He is no favourite of mine, as you well
know, Emma; but you must think him agree-
able. Can you lay your hand on your heart, and
say you do not?”
“ Indeed, I can, both hands; and spread them
to their widest extent.”
“T should like to know the man you do think
agreeable.”
“His name is Howard.”
“ Howard! Dear me; I cannot think of him.
but as playing cards with Lady Osborne, and
looking proud. I must own, however, that it is a
relief to me to find you can speak as you do of
Tom Musgrave. My heart did misgive me that
you would like him too well. You talked so
stoutly beforehand, that I was sadly afraid your
brag would be punished. I only hope it will last,
and that he will not come on to pay you much
attention. It is a hard thing for a woman to
[162]
THE WATSONS
stand against the flattering ways of a man when
he is bent upon pleasing her.”
As their quietly sociable little meal concluded,
Miss Watson could not help observing how com-
fortably it had passed.
“It is so delightful to me,” said she, “to have
things going on in peace and good-humour. No-
body can tell how much I hate quarrelling. Now,
though we have had nothing but fried beef,
how good it has all seemed! I wish everybody
were as easily satisfied as you; but poor Mar-
garet is very snappish, and Penelope owns she
would rather have quarrelling going on than
nothing at all.”
Mr. Watson returned in the evening not the
worse for the exertion of the day, and, conse-
quently, pleased with what he had done, and glad
to talk of it over his own fireside. Emma had
not foreseen any interest to herself in the occur-
rences of a visitation; but when she heard Mr.
Howard spoken of as the preacher, and as hav-
ing given them an excellent sermon, she «ould
not help listening with a quicker ear.
“TI do not know when I have heard a dis-
course more to my mind,” continued Mr. Wat-
son, “or one better delivered. He reads ex-
tremely well, with great propriety, and in a very
impressive manner, and at the same time with ut
any theatrical grimace or violence. I own | do
[163]
THE WATSONS
not like much action in the pulpit; I do not like
the studied air and artifical inflexions of voice
which your very popular and most admired
preachers generally have. A simple delivery is
much better calculated to inspire devotion, and
shows a much better taste. Mr. Howard read
like a scholar and a gentleman.”
“ And what had you for dinner, sir?” said his
eldest daughter.
He related the dishes, and told what he had
ate himself.
“Upon the whole,” he added, “I have had a
very comfortable day. My old friends were
quite surprised to see me amongst them, and I
must say that everybody paid me great atten-
tion, and seemed to feel for me as an invalid.
They would make me sit near the fire; and as the
partridges were pretty high, Dr. Richards would
have them sent away to the other end of the table,
‘that they might not offend Mr. Watson,’
which I thought very kind of him. But what
pleased me as much as anything was Mr. How-
ard’s attention. There is a pretty steep flight
of steps up to the room we dine in, which do not
quite agree with my gouty foot; and Mr. How-
ard walked by me from the bottom to the top,
and would make me take his arm. It struck me
as very becoming in so young a man; but I am
sure I had no claim to expect it, for I never saw
[164]
THE WATSONS
him before in my life. By the by, he inquired
after one of my daughters; but I do not know
which. I suppose you know among yourselves.”
On the third day after the ball, as Nanny, at
five minutes before three, was beginning to bus-
tle into the parlour with the tray and knife-case,
she was suddenly called to the front door by the
sound of as smart a rap as the end of a riding-
whip could give; and though charged by Miss
Watson to let nobody in, returned in half a min-
ute with a look of awkward dismay to hold the
parlour door open for Lord Osborne and Tom
Musgrave. The surprise of the young ladies
may be imagined. No visitors would have been
welcome at such a moment, but such visitors as
these,—such an one as Lord Osborne at leasi,
a nobleman and a stranger, was really dis-
tressing.
He looked a little embarrassed himself, as, on
being introduced by his easy, voluble friend, he
muttered something of doing himself the honour
of waiting upon Mr. Watson. Though Emma
could not but take the compliment of the visit
to herself, she was very far from enjoying it.
She felt all the inconsistency of such an ac-
quaintance with the very humble style in which
they were obliged to live; and having in her
aunt’s family been used to many of the ele-
gancies of life, was fully sensible of all that must
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THE WATSONS
be open to the ridicule of richer people in her
present home. Of the pain of such feelings,
Elizabeth knew very little. Her simple mind, or
juster reason, saved her from such mortification ;
and though shrinking under a general sense of
inferiority, she felt no particular shame. Mr.
Watson, as the gentlemen had already heard
from Nanny, was not well enough to be down-
stairs. With much concern they took their seats;
Lord Osborne near Emma, and the convenient
Mr. Musgrave, in high spirits at his own impor-
tance, on the other side of the fireplace, with
Elizabeth. He was at no loss for words; but
when Lord Osborne had hoped that Emma had
not caught cold at the ball, he had nothing more
to say for some time, and could only gratify his
eye by occasional glances at his fair companion.
Emma was not inclined to give herself much
trouble for his entertainment; and after hard
labour of mind, he produced the remark of its
being a very fine day, and followed it up with
the question of, “ Have you been walking this
morning? ”
“No, my lord; we thought it too dirty.”
“You should wear half-boots.” After an-
other pause: “Nothing sets off a neat ankle
more than a half-boot; nankeen, galoshed with
black looks very well. Do not you like half-
boots? ”
[166]
THE WATSONS
“Yes; but unless they are so stout as to injure
their beauty, they are not fit for country walk-
ing.”
“ Ladies should ride in dirty weather. Do you
ride? ”
“No, my lord.”
“I wonder every lady does not; a woman
never looks better than on horseback.”
“But every woman may not have the inclina-
tion or the means.”
“If they knew how much it became them, they
would all have the inclination; and I fancy, Miss
Watson, when once they had the inclination, the
means would soon follow.”
“Your lordship thinks we always have our
own way. That is a point on which ladies and
gentlemen have long disagreed; but without pre-
tending to decide it, I may say that there are
some circumstances which even women cannot
control. Female economy will do a great deal,
my lord; but it cannot turn a small income into
a large one.”
Lord Osborne was silenced. Her manner had
been neither sententious nor sarcastic; but there
was a something in its mild seriousness, as well
as in the words themselves, which made his lord-
ship think; and when he addressed her again, it
was with a degree of considerate propriety
totally unlike the half-awkward, half-fearless
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THE WATSONS
style of his former remarks. It was a new thing
with him to wish to please a woman; it was the
first time that he had ever felt what was due to
a woman in Emma’s situation; but as he was
wanting neither in sense nor a good disposition,
he did not feel it without effect.
“You have not been long in this country, I
understand,” said he, in the tone of a gentleman.
“T hope you are pleased with it.”
He was rewarded by a gracious answer, and
a more liberal full view of her face than she had
yet bestowed. Unused to exert himself, and
happy in contemplating her, he then sat in
silence for some minutes longer, while Tom Mus-
grave was chattering to Elizabeth; till they were
interrupted by Nanny’s approach, who, half-
opening the door and putting in her head, said,—
“Please, ma’am, master wants to know why
he be n’t to have his dinner?”
The gentlemen, who had hitherto disregarded
every symptom, however positive, of the near-
ness of that meal, now jumped up with apolo-
gies, while Elizabeth called briskly after Nanny
to take up the fowls.
“IT am sorry it happens so,” she added, turn-
ing good-humouredly towards Musgrave, “ but
you know what early hours we keep.”
Tom had nothing to say for himself; he knew
it very well, and such honest simplicity, such
[168]
THE WATSONS
shameless truth, rather bewildered him. Lord
Osborne’s parting compliments took some time,
his inclination for speech seeming to increase
with the shortness of the term for indulgence.
He recommended exercise in defiance of dirt;
spoke again in praise of half-boots; begged that
his sister might be allowed to send Emma the
name of her shoemaker; and concluded with say-
ing, “ My hounds will be hunting this country
next week. I believe they will throw off at
Stanton Wood on Wednesday, at nine o’clock.
I mention this in hopes of your being drawn out
to see what’s going on. If the morning’s tol-
erable, pray do us the honour of giving us your
good wishes in person.”
The sisters looked on each other with aston-
ishment when their visitors had withdrawn.
“Here’s an unaccountable honour!” cried
Elizabeth, at last. “ Who would have thought of
Lord Osborne’s coming to Stanton? He is very
handsome; but Tom Musgrave looks all to noth-
ing the smartest and most fashionable man of
the two. I am glad he did not say anything to
me; I would not have had to talk to such a great
man for the world. Tom was very agreeable,
was not he? But-did you hear him ask where
Miss Penelope and Miss Margaret were, when
he first came in? It put me out of patience. I
am glad Nanny had not laid the cloth, however,
[169]
THE WATSONS
—it would have looked so awkward; just the
tray did not signify.” To say that Emma was
not flattered by Lord Osborne’s visit would be
to assert a very unlikely thing and describe a
very odd young lady; but the gratification was
by no means unalloyed: his coming was a sort of
notice which might please her vanity, but did not
suit her pride; and she would rather have known
that he wished the visit without presuming to
make it, than have seen him at Stanton.
Among other unsatisfactory feelings it once
occurred to her to wonder why Mr. Howard had
not taken the same privilege of coming, and ac-
companied his lordship; but she was willing to
suppose that he had either known nothing
about it, or had declined any share in a measure
which carried quite as much impertinence in
its form as good-breeding. Mr. Watson was
very far from being delighted when he heard
what had passed; a little peevish under imme-
diate pain, and ill-disposed to be pleased, he only
replied,—
“Pooh! pooh! what occasion could there be
for Lord Osborne’s coming? I have lived here
fourteen years without being noticed by any of
the family. It is some fooling of that idle fel-
low, Tom Musgrave. I cannot return the visit.
I would not if I could.” And when Tom Mus-
grave was met with again, he was commissioned
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THE WATSONS
with a message of excuse to Osborne Castle, on
the too-sufficient plea of Mr. Watson’s infirm
state of health.
A week or ten days rolled quietly away after
this visit before any new bustle arose to interrupt
even for half a day the tranquil and affectionate
intercourse of the two sisters, whose mutual re-
gard was increasing with the intimate knowledge
of each other which such intercourse produced.
The first circumstance to break in on their secur-
ity was the receipt of a letter from Croydon to
announce the speedy return of Margaret, and a
visit of two or three days from Mr. and Mrs.
Robert Watson, who undertook to bring her
home, and wished to see their sister Emma.
It was an expectation to fill the thoughts of
the sisters at Stanton and to busy the hours of
one of them at least; for, as Jane had been a
woman of fortune, the preparations for her en-
tertainment were considerable; and as Elizabeth
had at all times more goodwill than method in
her guidance of the house, she could make no
change without a bustle. An absence of four-
teen years had made all her brothers and sisters
strangers to Emma, but in her expectation of
Margaret there was more than the awkwardness
of such an alienation; she had heard things which
made her dread her return; and the day which
brought the party to Stanton seemed to her the
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THE WATSONS
probable conclusion of almost all that had been
comfortable in the house.
Robert Watson was an attorney at Croydon,
in a good way of business; very well satisfied
with himself for the same, and for having mar-
ried the only daughter of the attorney to whom
he had been clerk, with a fortune of six thousand
pounds. Mrs. Robert was not less pleased with
herself for having had that six thousands pounds
and for being now in possession of a very smart
house in Croydon, where she gave genteel parties
and wore fine clothes. In her person there was
nothing remarkable; her manners were pert and
conceited. Margaret was not without beauty;
she had a slight pretty figure, and rather wanted
countenance than good features; but the sharp
and anxious expression of her face made her
beauty in general little felt. On meeting her
long-absent sister, as on every occasion cf show,
her manner was all affection and her voice all
gentleness; continual smiles and a very slow ar-
ticulation being her constant resource when de-
termined on pleasing.
She was now “so delighted to see dear, dear
Emma,” that she could hardly speak a word in
a minute.
“T am sure we shall be great friends,” she ob-
served with much sentiment, as they were sitting
together. Emma scarcely knew how to answer
[172]
THE WATSONS
such a proposition, and the manner in which it
was spoken she could not attempt to equal. Mrs.
Robert Watson eyed her with much familiar
curiosity and triumphant compassion: the loss of
the aunt’s fortune was uppermost in her mind at
the moment of meeting; and she could not but
feel how much better it was to be the daughter
of a gentleman of property in Croydon than the
niece of an old woman who threw herself away
on an Irish captain. Robert was carelessly kind,
as became a prosperous man and a brother; more
intent on settling with the post-boy, inveighing
against the exorbitant advance in posting, and
pondering over a doubtful half-crown, than on
welcoming a sister who was no longer likely to
have any property for him to get the direc-
tion of.
“Your road through the village is infamous,
Elizabeth,” said he; ‘worse than ever it was.
By Heaven! I would indict it if I lived near
you. Who is surveyor now?”
There was a little niece at Croydon to be
fondly inquired after by the kind-hearted Eliza-
beth, who regretted very much her not being of
the party.
“You are very good,” replied her mother,
“and I assure you it went very hard with Au-
gusta to have us come away without her. I was
forced to say we were only going to church, and
[173].
THE WATSONS
promise to come back for her directly. But you
know it would not do to bring her without her
maid, and I am as particular as ever in having
her properly attended to.”
‘““ Sweet little darling!” cried Margaret. “It
quite broke my heart to leave her.”
“Then why was you in such a hurry to run
away from her?” cried Mrs. Robert. “ You are
a sad, shabby girl. I have been quarrelling with
you all the way we came, have not 1? Such
a visit as this I never heard of! You know
how glad we are to have any of you with us, if
it be for months together; and I am sorry (with
a witty smile) we have not been able to make
Croydon agreeable this autumn.”
“My dearest Jane, do not overpower me with
your raillery. You know what inducements I
had to bring me home. Spare me, I entreat you.
I am no match for your arch sallies.”
“Well, I only beg you will not set your neigh-
bours against the place. Perhaps Emma may be
tempted to go back with us and stay till Christ-
mas, if you don’t put in your word.”
Emma was greatly obliged. “I assure you
we have very good society at Croydon. I do not
much attend the balls, they are rather too mixed;
but our parties are very select and good. I
had seven tables last week in my drawing-
room.”
[174]
THE WATSONS
“ Are you fond of the country? How do you
like Stanton?”
“Very much,” replied Emma, who thought a
comprehensive answer most to the purpose. She
saw that her sister-in-law despised her immedi-
ately. Mrs. Robert Watson was indeed wonder-
ing what sort of a home Emma could possibly
have been used to in Shropshire, and setting it
down as certain that the aunt could never have
had six thousand pounds.
“ How charming Emma is,” whispered Mar-
garet to Mrs. Robert, in her most languishing
tone. Emma was quite distressed by such be-
haviour; and she did not like it better when she
heard Margaret five minutes afterwards say to
Elizabeth in a sharp, quick accent, totally unlike
the first, ‘“‘ Have you heard from Pen since she
went to Chichester? I had a letter the other day.
I don’t find she is likely to make anything of it.
J fancy she'll come back ‘ Miss Penelope,’ as she
went.”
Such she feared would be Margaret’s common
voice when the novelty of her own appearance
were over; the tone of artificial sensibility was
not recommended by the idea. The ladies were
invited upstairs to prepare for dinner.
“TY hope you will find things tolerably com-
fortable, Jane,” said Elizabeth, as she opened
the door of the spare bedchamber.
>
[175]
THE WATSONS
“My good creature,” replied Jane, “use no
ceremony with me, I entreat you. I am one of
those who always take things as they find them.
I hope I can put up with a small apartment for
two or three nights without making a piece of
work. I always wish to be treated quite en
famille when I come to see you. And now I do
hope you have not been getting a great dinner
for us. Remember we never eat suppers.”
“T suppose,” said Margaret, rather quickly to
EKmma, “you and I are to be together; Eliza-
beth always takes care to have a room to
herself.”
“No. Elizabeth gives me half hers.”
“Oh!” in a softened voice, and rather morti-
fied to find that she was not ill-used.
““T am sorry I am not to have the pleasure of
your company, especially as it makes me nervous
to be much alone.”
Emma was the first of the females in the par-
lour again; on entering it she found her brother
alone.
“So, Emma,” said he, “you are quite a
stranger at home. It must seem odd enough for
you to be here. A pretty piece of work your
Aunt Turner has made of it! By Heaven! a
woman should never be trusted with money. I
always said she ought to have settled something
on you, as soon as her husband died.”
[176]
THE WATSONS
“ But that would have been trusting me with
money,” replied Emma; “and I am a woman
too.”
“Tt might have been secured to your future
use, without your having any power over it now.
What a blow it must have been upon you! To
find yourself, instead of heiress of 8,000/. or
9,000/., sent back a weight upon your family,
without a sixpence. I hope the old woman will
smart for it.”
“Do not speak disrespectfully of her; she was
very good to me, and if she has made an impru-
dent choice, she will suffer more from it herself
than I can possibly do.”
“T do not mean to distress you, but you know
everybody must think her an old fool. I thought
Turner had been reckoned an extraordinarily
sensible, clever man. How the devil came he to
make such a will?”
“My uncle’s sense is not at all impeached in
my opinion by his attachment to my aunt. She
had been an excellent wife to him. The most
liberal and enlightened minds are always the
most confiding. The event has been unfortunate;
but my uncle’s memory is, if possible, endeared
to me by such a proof of tender respect for my
aunt.”
“'That’s odd sort of talking. He might have
provided decently for his widow, without leay-
[177]
THE WATSONS
ing everything that he had to dispose of, or any
part of it, at her mercy.”
“My aunt may have erred,’ said Kmma,
warmly; “she has erred, but my uncle’s con-
duct was faultless: I was her own niece, and he
left to her the power of providing for me.”
“But unluckily she has left the pleasure of
providing for you to your father, and without
the power. ‘That’s the long and short of the
business. After keeping you at a distance from
your family for such a length of time as must do
away all natural affection among us, and breed-
ing you up (I suppose) in a superior style, you
are returned upon their hands without a six-
pence.”
“You know,” replied Emma, struggling with
her tears, ““my uncle’s melancholy state of
health. He was a greater invalid than my father.
He could not leave home.”
“TI do not mean to make you cry,” said Rob-
ert, rather softened,—and after a short silence,
by way of changing the subject, he added: “I
am just come from my father’s room; he seems
very indifferent. It will be a sad break up when
he dies. Pity you can none of you get married!
You must come to Croydon as well as the rest,
and see what you can do there. I believe if Mar-
garet had had a thousand or fifteen hundred
[178]
THE WATSONS
pounds, there was a young man who would have
thought of her.” |
Emma was glad when they were joined by the
others; it was better to look at her sister-in-law’s
finery than listen to Robert, who had equally
irritated and grieved her. Mrs. Robert, exactly
as smart as she had been at her own party, came
in with apologies for her dress.
*‘T would not make you wait,” said she; “so
I put on the first thing I met with. I am afraid
I am a sad figure. My dear Mr. W. (address-
ing her husband), you have not put any fresh
powder in your hair.”
“No, I do not intend it. JI think there is
powder enough in my hair for my wife and
sisters.”
“Indeed, you ought to make some alteration
in your dress before dinner when you are out
visiting, though you do not at home.”
“* Nonsense.”
“Tt is very odd you do not like to do what
other gentlemen do. Mr. Marshall and Mr.
Hemming change their dress every day of their
lives before dinner. And what was the use of
my putting up your last new coat, if you are
never to wear it?”
“Do be satisfied with being fine yourself, and
leave your husband alone.”
[179]
THE WATSCNS
To put an end to this altercation and soften
the evident vexation of her sister-in-law, Emma
(though in no spirits to make such nonsense
easy), began to admire her gown. It produced
immediate complacency.
“Do you like it?” said she. “I am very
happy. It has been excessively admired; but
sometimes I think the pattern too large. I shall
wear one to-morrow which I think you will pre-
fer to this. Have you seen the one I gave
Margaret? ”’
Dinner came, and except when Mrs. Robert
looked at her husband’s head, she continued gay
and flippant, chiding Elizabeth for the profu-
sion on the table, and absolutely protesting
against the entrance of the roast turkey, which
formed the only exception to “You see your
dinner.” “I do beg and entreat that no turkey
may be seen to-day. I am really frightened out
of my wits with the number of dishes we have
already. Let us have no turkey, I beseech you.”
“My dear,” replied Elizabeth, “the turkey is
roasted, and it may just as well come in as stay
in the kitchen. Besides, if it is cut, I am in
hopes my father may be tempted to eat a bit, for
it is rather a favourite dish.”
“You may have it in, my dear; but I assure
you I sha’n’t touch it.”
Mr. Watson had not been well enough to join
[180]
THE WATSONS
the party at dinner, but was prevailed on to come
down and drink tea with them.
“TI wish he may be able to have a game of
cards, to-night,” said Elizabeth to Mrs. Rob-
ert, after seeing her father comfortably seated
in his arm-chair.
“Not on my account, my dear, I beg. You
know I am no card-player. I think a snug chat
infinitely better. I always say cards are very
well sometimes to break a formal circle, but one
never wants them among friends.”
“TI was thinking of it’s being something to
amuse my father,” said Elizabeth, “if it was not
disagreeable to you. He says his head won’t
bear whist, but perhaps if we make a round game
he may be tempted to sit down with us.”
“By all means, my dear creature, I am quite
at your service; only do not oblige me to choose
the game, that’s all. Speculation is the only
round game at Croydon now, but I can play
anything. When there is only one or two of you
at home, you must be quite at a loss to amuse
him. Why do you not get him to play at
cribbage? Margaret and I have played at
cribbage most nights that we have not been
engaged.”
A sound like a distant carriage was at this
moment caught: everybody listened; it became
more decided; it certainly drew nearer. It was
[181]
THE WATSONS
an unusual sound for Stanton at any time of
the day, for the village was on no very public
road, and contained no gentleman’s family but
the rector’s. The wheels rapidly approached; in
two minutes the general expectation was an-
swered; they stopped beyond a doubt at the gar-
den-gate of the parsonage. Who could it be?
It was certainly a postchaise. Penelope was the
only creature to be thought of; she might per-
haps have met with some unexpected opportu-
nity of returning. A pause of suspense ensued.
Steps were distinguished along the paved foot-
way, which led under the window of the house
to the front door, and then within the passage.
They were the steps of a man. It could not be
Penelope. It must be Samuel. ‘The door
opened, and displayed Tom Musgrave in the
wrap of a traveller. He had been in London,
and was now on his way home, and he had come
half-a-mile out of his road merely to call for ten
minutes at Stanton. He loved to take people
by surprise with sudden visits at extraordinary
seasons, and, in the present instance, he had the
additional motive of being able to tell the Miss
Watsons, whom he depended on finding sitting
quietly employed after tea, that he was going
home to an eight-o’clock dinner.
As it happened, he did not give more surprise
than he received, when, instead of being shown
[182]
THE WATSONS
into the usual little sitting-room, the door of the
best parlour (a foot larger each way than the
other) was thrown open, and he beheld a circle of
smart people whom he could not immediately
recognize, arranged with all the honours of visit-
ing round the fire, and Miss Watson seated at
the best Pembroke table, with the best tea-things
before her. He stood a few seconds in silent
amazement. “ Musgrave,’ ejaculated Mar-
garet, in a tender voice. He recollected himself,
and came forward, delighted to find such a cir-
cle of friends, and blessing his good fortune for
the unlooked-for indulgence. He shook hands
with Robert, bowed and smiled to the ladies, and
did everything very prettily; but as to any par-
ticularity of address or emotion towards Mar-
garet, Emma, who closely observed him, per-
ceived nothing that did not justify Elizabeth’s
opinion, though Margaret’s modest smiles im-
ported that she meant to take the visit to herself.
He was persuaded without much difficulty to
throw off his great-coat and drink tea with them.
For “ whether he dined at eight or nine,” as he
observed, “was a matter of very little conse-
quence;” and without seeming to seek, he did
not turn away from the chair close by Margaret,
which she was assiduous in providing him. She
had thus secured him from her sisters, but it was
not immediately in her power to preserve him
[183]
THE WATSONS
from her brother’s claims; for as he came avow-
edly from London, and had left it only four
hours ago, the last current report as to public
news, and the general opinion of the day, must
be understood before Robert could let his atten-
tion be yielded to the less rational and important
demands of the women. At last, however, he
was at liberty to hear Margaret’s soft address,
as she spoke her fears of his having had a most
terrible cold, dark, dreadful journey.
“Indeed, you should not have set out so
lates
“TI could not be earlier,” he replied. “I was
detained chatting at the Bedford by a friend.
All hours are alike to me. How long have you
been in the country, Miss Margaret? ”
“We only came this morning; my kind
brother and sister brought me home this very
morning. ’ T is singular,—is it not?”
“You were gone a great while, were not you?
A fortnight, I suppose? ”’
“You may call a fortnight a great while, Mr.
Musgrave,” said Mrs. Robert, sharply; “ but we
think a month very little. I assure you we bring
her home at the end of a month much against
our will.”
“A month! Have you really been gone a
month? ’*T is amazing how time flies.”
“You may imagine,” said Margaret, in a sort
[184]
THE WATSONS
of whisper, “ what are my sensations in finding
myself once more at Stanton; you know what a
sad visitor I make. And I was so excessively
impatient to see Emma; I dreaded the meet-
ing, and at the same time longed for it. Do you
not comprehend the sort of feeling?”
“ Not at all,” cried he, aloud: “ I could never
dread a meeting with Miss Emma Watson, or
any of her sisters.”
It was lucky that he added that finish.
“Were you speaking to me?” said Emma,
who had caught her own name.
“Not absolutely,” he answered; “but I was
thinking of you, as many at a greater distance
are probably doing at this moment. TF'ine open
weather, Miss Emma,—charming season for
hunting.” |
“Emma is delightful, is not she?” whispered
Margaret; “I have found her more than answer
my warmest hopes. Did you ever see anything
more perfectly beautiful? JI think even you
must be a convert to a brown complexion.”
He hesitated. Margaret was fair herself, and
he did not particularly want to compliment her;
but Miss Osborne and Miss Carr were like-
wise fair, and his devotion to them carried the
day.
“Your sister’s complexion,” said he, at last,
“is as fine as a dark complexion can be; but I
[185]
THE WATSONS
still profess my preference of a white skin. You
have seen Miss Osborne? She is my model for
a truly feminine complexion, and she is very
fair.’
“Ts she fairer than me?”
Tom made no reply. “Upon my honour,
ladies,” said he, giving a glance over his own
person, “I am highly indebted to your conde-
scension for admitting me in such dishabille into
your drawing-room. I really did not consider
how unfit I was to be here, or I hope I should
have kept my distance. Lady Osborne would
tell me that I was growing as careless as her son
if she saw me in this condition.”
The ladies were not wanting in civil returns,
and Robert Watson, stealing a view of his own
head in an opposite glass, said with equal
eivility,—
“You cannot be more in dishabille than my-
self. We got here so late that I had not time
even to put a little fresh powder into my hair.”
Emma could not help entering into what she
supposed her sister-in-law’s feelings at the mo-
ment.
When the tea-things were removed, Tom be-
gan to talk of his carriage; but the old card-table
being set out, and the fish and counters, with a
tolerably clean pack brought forward from the
buffet by Miss Watson, the general voice was
[186]
THE WATSONS
so urgent with him to join their party that he
agreed to allow himself another quarter of an
hour. Even Emma was pleased that he would
stay, for she was beginning to feel that a family
party might be the worst of all parties; and the
others were delighted.
“ What’s your game?” cried he, as they stood
round the table.
“Speculation, I believe,” said Elizabeth.
“My sister recommends it, and I fancy we all
like it. I know you do, Tom.”
“Tt is the only round game played at Croy-
don now,” said Mrs. Robert; “we never think
of any other. I am glad it is a favourite with
you.”
“Oh, me!” said Tom. “ Whatever you de-
cide on will be a favourite with me. I have had
some pleasant hours at speculation in my time;
but I have not been in the way of it for a long
while. Vingt-un is the game at Osborne Castle.
I have played nothing but vingt-un of late.
You would be astonished to hear the noise we
make there—the fine old lofty drawing-room
rings again. Lady Osborne sometimes declares
she cannot hear herself speak. Lord Osborne
enjoys it famously, and he makes the best dealer
without exception that I ever beheld,—such
quickness and spirit, he lets nobody dream over
their cards. I wish you could see him overdraw
[187]
THE WATSONS
himself on both his own cards. It is worth any-
thing in the world!”
“Dear me!” cried Margaret, “ why should not
we play vingt-un? I think it is a much better
game than speculation. I cannot say I am very
fond of speculation.”
Mrs. Robert offered not another word in sup-
port of the game. She was quite vanquished,
and the fashions of Osborne Castle carried it
over the fashions of Croydon. 7
“Do you see much of the parsonage family
at the castle, Mr. Musgrave?” said Kmma, as
they were taking their seats.
“Oh, yes; they are almost always there. Mrs.
Blake is a nice little good-humoured woman; she
and I are sworn friends; and Howard’s a very
gentlemanlike, good sort of fellow. You are not
forgotten, I assure you, by any of the party. I
fancy you must have a little cheek-glowing now
and then, Miss Emma. Were not you rather
warm last Saturday about nine or ten o’clock in
the evening? I will tell you how it was,—lI see
you are dying to know. Says Howard to Lord
Osborne—”
At this interesting moment he was called on
by the others to regulate the game, and deter-
mine some disputable point; and his attention
was so totally engaged in the business, and after-
ward by the course of the game, as never to re-
[188]
THE WATSONS
vert to what he had been saying before; and
Emma, though suffering a good deal from curi-
osity, dared not remind him.
He proved a very useful addition at isis
table. Without him it would have been a party
of such very near relations as could have felt
little interest, and perhaps maintained little com-
plaisance; but his presence gave variety and se-
cured good manners. He was, in fact, excel-
lently qualified to shine at a round game, and
few situations made him appear to greater ad-
vantage. He played with spirit, and had a great
deal to say; and, though no wit himself, could
sometimes make use of the wit of an absent
friend, and had a lively way of retailing a com-
mon-place or saying a mere nothing, that had
great effect at a card-table. The ways and good
jokes of Osborne Castle were now added to his
ordinary means of entertainment. He repeated
the smart sayings of one lady, detailed the over-
sights of another, and indulged them even with a
copy of Lord Osborne’s overdrawing himself on
both cards.
The clock struck nine while he was thus agree-
ably occupied; and when Nanny came in with
her master’s basin of gruel, he had the pleasure
of observing to Mr. Watson that he should leave
him at supper while he went home to dinner him-
self. The carriage was ordered to the door, and
[189]
THE WATSONS
no entreaties for his staying longer could now
avail; for he well knew that if he stayed he would
have to sit down to supper in less than ten min-
utes, which to a man whose heart had been long
fixed on calling his next meal a dinner, was quite
insupportable. On finding him determined to
go, Margaret began to wink and nod at Eliza-
beth to ask him to dinner for the following day,
and Elizabeth at last, not able to resist hints
which her own hospitable social temper more
than half seconded, gave the invitation: “ Would
he give Robert the meeting, they should be very
happy?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” was his first re-
ply. In a moment afterwards, “ That is, if I
can possibly get here in time; but I shoot with
Lord Osborne, and therefore must not engage.
You will not think of me unless you see me.”
And so he departed, delighted in the uncertainty
in which he had left it.
Margaret, in the joy of her heart, under cir-
cumstances which she chose to consider as pecu-
liarly propitious, would willingly have made a
confidante of Kmma when they were alone for
a short time the next morning, and had pro-
ceeded so far as to say, “'The young man who
was here last night, my dear Kmma, and returns
to-day, is more interesting to me than perhaps
[190]
THE WATSONS
you may be aware;”’ but Kmma, pretending to
understand nothing extraordinary in the words,
made some very inapplicable reply, and jump-
ing up, ran away from a subject which was
odious to her. As Margaret would not allow a
doubt to be repeated of Musgrave’s coming to
dinner, preparations were made for his enter-
tainment much exceeding what had been deemed
necessary the day before; and taking the office of
superintendence entirely from her sister, she was
half the morning in the kitchen herself, directing
and scolding.
After a great deal of indifferent cooking and
anxious suspense, however, they were obliged to
sit down without their guest. Tom Musgrave
never came; and Margaret was at no pains to
conceal her vexation under the disappointment,
or repress the peevishness of her temper. The
peace of the party for the remainder of that day
and the whole of the next, which comprised the
length of Robert’s and Jane’s visit, was contin-
ually invaded by her fretful displeasure and
querulous attacks. Elizabeth was the usual ob-
ject of both. Margaret had just respect enough
for her brother’s and sister’s opinion to behave
properly by them, but Elizabeth and the maids
could never do right; and Kmma, whom she
seemed no longer to think about, found the con-
tinuance of the gentle voice beyond calculation
[191]
THE WATSONS
short. Eager to be as little among them as pos-
sible, Emma was delighted with the alternative
of sitting above with her father, and warmly en-
treated to be his constant companion each even-
ing; and as Elizabeth loved company of any
kind too well not to prefer being below at all
risks; as she had rather talk of Croydon with
Jane, with every interruption of Margaret’s per-
verseness, than sit with only her father, who fre-
quently could not endure talking at all,—the af-
fair was so settled, as soon as she could be per-
suaded to believe it no sacrifice on her sister’s
part. To Emma the change was most accept-
able and delightful. Her father, if ill, required
little more than gentleness and silence, and be-
ing a man of sense and education, was, if able to
converse, a welcome companion. In his chamber
Emma was at peace from the dreadful mortifi-
cations of unequal society and family discord;
from the immediate endurance of hard-hearted
prosperity, low-minded conceit, and wrong-
headed folly, engrafted on an untoward disposi-
tion. She still suffered from them in the con-
templation of their existence, in memory and in
prospect, but for the moment she ceased to be
tortured by their effects. She was at leisure;
she could read and think, though her situation
was hardly such as to make reflection very sooth-
ing. ‘The evils arising from the loss of her uncle
[192]
THE WATSONS
were neither trifling nor likely to lessen; and
when thought had been freely indulged in con-
trasting the past and the present, the employ-
ment of mind and dissipation of unpleasant
ideas, which only reading could produce, made
her thankfully turn to a book.
The change in her home society and style of
life, in consequence of the death of one friend
and the imprudence of another, had indeed been
striking. From being the first object of hope
and solicitude to an uncle who had formed her
mind with the care of a parent, and of tender-
ness to an aunt whose amiable temper had
delighted to give her every indulgence; from
being the life and spirit of a house where all had
been comfort and elegance, and the expected
heiress of an easy independence, she was become
of importance to no one,—a burden on those
whose affections she could not expect, an addi-
tion in a house already overstocked, surrounded
by inferior minds, with little chance of domestic
comfort, and as little hope of future support.
It was well for her that she was naturally cheer-
ful, for the change had been such as might have
plunged weak sprits in despondence.
She was very much pressed by Robert and
Jane to return with them to Croydon, and had
some difficulty in getting a refusal accepted, as
they thought too highly of their own kindness
[193]
THE WATSONS
and situation to suppose the offer could appear
in less advantageous light to anybody else.
Elizabeth gave them her interest, though evi-
dently against her own, in privately urging
Emma to go.
“You do not know what you refuse, Emma,”
said she, “ nor what you have to bear at home. I
would advise you by all means to accept the invi-
tation; there is always something lively going on
at Croydon. You will be in company almost
every day, and Robert and Jane will be very
kind to you. As for me, I shall be no worse off
without you than I have been used to be; but
poor Margaret’s disagreeable ways are new to
you, and they would vex you more than you
think for, if you stay at home.”
Emma was of course uninfluenced, except to
greater esteem for Elizabeth, by such represen-
tations, and the visitors departed without her.
ee ee
When the author’s sister, Cassandra, showed
the manuscript of this work to some of her
nieces, she also told them something of the in-
tended story; for with this dear sister—though,
I believe, with no one else—Jane seems to have
talked freely of any work that she might have
in hand. Mr. Watson was soon to die; and
[194]
THE WATSONS
iumma to become dependent for a home on her
narrow-minded sister-in-law and brother. She
was to decline an offer of marriage from Lord
Osborne, and much of the interest of the tale
was to arise from Lady Osborne’s love for Mr.
Howard, and his counter affection for Emma,
whom he was finally to marry.
[195]
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Fk
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
A MEMOIR
“He knew of no one himself who was inclined to the work.
This is no uncommon motive. A man sees something to be
done, knows of no one who will do it but himself, and s¢@ is
driven to the enterprise.”
Hetr’s Life of Columbus, ch i.
TO
THE QUEEN’S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY.
Mapam,
It was the knowledge that your Majesty so highly
appreciated the works of Jane Austen which embold-
ened me to ask permission to dedicate to your Majesty
these volumes, containing as they do numerous letters
of that authoress, of which, as her grand-nephew, I have
recently become possessed. These letters are printed,
with the exception of a very few omissions which ap-
peared obviously desirable, just as they were written, and
if there should be found in them, or in the chapters
which accompany them, anything which may interest
or amuse your Majesty, I shall esteem myself doubly
fortunate in having been the means of bringing them
under your Majesty’s notice.
I am, Madam,
Your Majesty’s very humble
and obedient subject,
BRABOURNE.
Ai
Lye Y
all
INTRODUCTION
Ir is right that some explanation should be given
of the manner in which the letters now pub-
lished came into my possession.
The Rev. J. E. Austen Leigh, nephew to Jane
Austen, and first cousin to my mother Lady
Knatchbull, published in 1869 a “ Memoir” of
his aunt, and supplemented it by a second and
enlarged edition in the following year, to which
he added the hitherto unpublished tale, “ Lady
Susan,” for the publication of which he states in
his preface that he had “lately received permis-
sion from the author’s niece, Lady Knatchbull,
of Provender, in Kent, to whom the autograph
copy was given.” It seems that the autograph
copy of another unpublished tale, “The Wat-
sons,’ had been given to Mr. Austen Leigh’s half-
sister, Mrs. Lefroy, and that each recipient took
a copy of what was given to the other, by which
means Mr. Austen Leigh became acquainted
with the existence and contents of “ Lady
Susan,” and knowing that it was the property of
my mother, wrote to ask her permission to attach
it to, and publish it with, the second edition of his
Lv]
INTRODUCTION
“Memoir.” My mother was at that time unable
to attend to business, and my youngest sister,
who lived with her, replied to the request, giving
the desired permission on her behalf, but stating
at the same time that the autograph copy had
been lost for the last six years, that any letters
which existed could not be found, and that my
mother was not in a fit state to allow of any search
being made. It so happened that no reference
was made to me, and I only knew of the request
having been made and granted when I saw the
tale in print. But on my mother’s death, in De-
cember, 1882, all her papers came into my pos-
session, and I not only found the original copy
of “ Lady Susan ”—in Jane Austen’s own hand-
writing—among the other books in the Proy-
ender library, but a square box full of letters,
fastened up carefully in separate packets, each
of which was endorsed “ For Lady Knatchbull,”
in the handwriting of my great-aunt, Cassandra
Austen, and with which was a paper endorsed, in
my mother’s handwriting, “Letters from my
dear Aunt Jane Austen, and two from Aunt Cas-
sandra after her decease,” which paper contained
the letters written to my mother herself. The
box itself had been endorsed by my mother as
follows :—
“Letters from Aunt Jane to Aunt Cassandra
at different periods of her life—a few to me—
Lvi]
INTRODUCTION
and some from Aunt Cassandra to me after At.
Jane’s death.”
This endorsement bears the date August, 1856,
and was probably made the last time my mother
looked at the letters. At all events, a comparison
of these letters with some quoted by Mr. Austen
Leigh makes it abundantly clear that they have
never been in his hands, and that they are now
presented to the public for the first time. In-
deed, it is much to be regretted that the ““Mem-
oir” should have been published without the
additional light which many of these letters throw
upon the “ Life,” though of course no blame at-
taches to Mr. Austen Leigh in the matter.
The opportunity, however, having been lost,
and “Lady Susan” already published, it re-
mained for me to consider whether the letters
which had come into my possession were of suffi-
cient public interest to justify me in giving them
to the world. They had evidently, for the most
part, been left to my mother by her Aunt Cas-
sandra Austen; they contain the confidential out-
pourings of Jane Austen’s soul to her beloved
sister, interspersed with many family and per-
sonal details which, doubtless, she would have
told to no other human being. But to-day, more
than seventy long years have rolled away since
the greater part of them were written; no one
now living can, I think, have any possible just
[vii]
INTRODUCTION
cause of annoyance at their publication, whilst,
if I judge rightly, the public never took a deeper
or more lively interest in all that concerns Jane
Austen than at the present moment. Her works,
slow in their progress towards popularity, have
achieved it with the greater certainty, and have
made an impression the more permanent from
its gradual advance. The popularity continues,
although the customs and manners which Jane
Austen describes have changed and varied so
much as to belong in a great measure to another
age. But the reason of its continuance is not far
to seek. Human nature is the same in all ages
of the world, and “the inimitable Jane” (as an
old friend of mine used always to call her) is true
to Nature from first to last. She does not attract
our imagination by sensational descriptions or
marvellous plots; but, with so little “ plot” at all
as to offend those who read only for excitement,
she describes men and women exactly as men
and women really are, and tells her tale of ordi-
nary, everyday life with such truthful delinea-
tion, such bewitching simplicity, and, moreover,
with such purity of style and language, as
have rarely been equalled, and perhaps never
surpassed.
This being the case, it has seemed to me that
the letters which show what her own “ ordinary,
everyday life” was, and which afford a picture
[ viii]
INTRODUCTION
of her such as no history written by another
person could give so well, are likely to interest a
public which, both in Great Britain and America,
has learned to appreciate Jane Austen. It will
be seen that they are ninety-four in number,
ranging in date from 1796 to 1816—that is to
say, over the last twenty years of her life. Some
other letters, written to her sister Cassandra, ap-
pear in Mr. Austen Leigh’s book, and it would
seem that at Cassandra’s death, in 1845, the cor-
respondence must have been divided, and whilst
the bulk of it came to my mother, a number of
letters passed into the possession of Mr. Austen
Leigh’s sisters, from whom he obtained them.
These he made use of without being aware of the
existence of the rest.
However this may be, it is certain that I am
now able to present to the public entirely new
matter, from which may be gathered a fuller and
more complete knowledge of Jane Austen and
her “ belongings ” than could otherwise have been
obtained. Miss Tytler, indeed, has made a praise-
worthy effort to impart to the world information
respecting the life and works of her favourite
authoress, but her “ Life” is little more than a
copy of Mr. Austen Leigh’s Memoir. I attempt
no “ Memoir ” that can properly be so called, but
I give the letters as they were written, with such
comments and explanations as I think may add
Lix]
INTRODUCTION
to their interest. JI am aware that in some of the
latter I have wandered somewhat far away from
Jane Austen, having been led aside by allusions
which awaken old memories and recall old stories.
But whilst my “addenda” may be read or
skipped as the reader pleases, they do not detract
from the actual value of the genuine letters which
I place before him. These, I think, can hardly
fail to be of interest to all who desire to know
more of the writer; and, although they form no
continuous narrative and record no stirring
events, it will be remarked that, amid the most
ordinary details and most commonplace topics,
every now and then sparkle out the same wit and
humour which illuminate the pages of “ Pride
and Prejudice,” “ Mansfield Park,” “Emma,”
&e., and which have endeared the name of Jane
Austen to many thousands of readers in English-
speaking homes.
BRABOURNE.
May, 1884,
[x]
Letters of Jane Austen
@
1796
ae first two letters which I am able to
present to my readers were written from
Steventon to Jane Austen’s sister Cas-
sandra in January, 1796. ‘The most interesting
allusion, perhaps, is to her “ young Ivish friend,”
who would seem by the context to have been the
late Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, though at
the time of writing only “ Mr. Tom Lefroy.” I
have no means of knowing how serious the “ flir-
tation” between the two may have been, or
whether it was to this that Mr. Austen Leigh re-
fers when he tells us that “in her youth she had
declined the addresses of a gentleman who had
the recommendations of good character and con-
nections, and position in life, of everything, in
fact, except the subtle power of touching her
heart.” I am inclined, however, upon the whole,
to think, from the tone of the letters, as well as
from some passages in later letters, that this
little affair had nothing to do with the “ad-
dresses” referred to, any more than with that
[199]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
“passage of romance in her history ” with which
Mr. Austen Leigh was himself so “ imperfectly
acquainted ” that he can only tell us that there
was a gentleman whom the sisters met “ whilst
staying at some seaside place,” whom Cassandra
Austen thought worthy of her sister Jane, and
likely to gain her affection, but who very pro-
vokingly died suddenly after having expressed
his “intention of soon seeing them again.” Mr.
Austen Leigh thinks that, “if Jane ever loved,
it was this unnamed gentleman”; but I have
never met with any evidence upon the subject,
and from all I have heard of “Aunt Jane,” I
strongly incline to the opinion that, whatever
passing inclination she may have felt for anyone
during her younger days (and that there was
once such an inclination is, I believe, certain),
she was too fond of home, and too happy among
her own relations, to have sought other ties, un-
less her heart had been really won, and that this
was a thing which never actually happened.
Her allusion (letter two) to the day on which
“T am to flirt my last with Tom Lefroy ”’ rather
negatives the idea that there was anything
serious between the two, whilst a later reference
(letter ten) to Mrs. Lefroy’s “friend” seems
to intimate that, whoever the latter may have
been, any attachment which existed was rather
on the side of the gentleman than of the lady,
[200]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
and was not recognised by her as being of a per-
manent nature.
The first letter is written on her sister Cas-
sandra’s birthday, and is directed to her at Kint-
bury, where she seems to have been staying with
her friend Elizabeth Fowle (often referred to
in these letters as “ Eliza”), née Lloyd, whose
sister was the “ Mary ” who “ would never have
guessed” the “tall clergyman’s” name, and
who afterwards married the “ James” (Jane’s
brother) who was taken into the carriage as an
encouragement to his improved dancing. Eliza-
beth Lloyd married the Rev. Fulwar Craven
Fowle, who was the Vicar of Kintbury, near
Newbury. Mr. Fowle was, I have always heard,
a good sportsman, a good preacher, and a man
of some humour. He had a hunter at one time
which he named “ Biscay,” because it was “a
great roaring bay.” He commanded a troop of
Volunteers in the war-time, and King George
the Third is reported to have said of him that he
was “ the best preacher, rider to hounds, and cav-
alry officer in Berks.”
The Harwoods of Deane were country neigh-
bours of whom we shall find frequent mention.
They were a very old Hampshire family, living
upon their own property, which was formerly
much larger than at the date of our letters, and
which, I believe, has now passed away altogether
[201]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
from its former possessors. Close to Deane is
Ashe, of which Mr. Lefroy was rector, and Ashe
Park, now occupied by Col. R. Portal, and in
1796 belonging to Mr. Portal, of Laverstoke,
was at that time occupied by the family of St.
John. The Rivers family lived, I believe, at
Worthy Park, Kingsworthy, and I imagine the
Miss Deanes to have been of the family of that
name living in Winchester. One member of this
family has since held the neighbouring living of
Bighton. The Lyfords were medical men,
father and son, living at Basingstoke. It will
be noted that one of them attended Mrs. George
Austen in the illness mentioned in the earlier let-
ters, and it was one of the same family who was
Jane Austen’s doctor in her last illness at Win-
chester. In a little volume concerning the “ Vine
hunt” which he printed privately in 1865, Mr.
Austen Leigh tells a good story of the grand-
father of the “John Lyford” here mentioned,
“a fine tall man, with such a flaxen wig as is
not to be seen or conceived by this generation.”
He knew nothing about fox-hunting, but had a
due and proper regard for those who indulged
in it, and it is recorded of him that upon one oc-
easion, having accidentally fallen in with Mr.
Chute’s hounds when checked, he caused great
confusion by galloping up in a very excited
state, waving his hat, and exclaiming “ Tally-ho!
[202]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Mr. Chute. Tally-ho! Mr. Chute.” Not that
he had seen the fox, but because he imagined that
“'Tally-ho!”? was the word with which fox-hun-
ters ordinarily greeted each other in the field.
Among the people mentioned as having been
at “the Harwoods’ ball” were several who de-
serve notice. “ Mr. Heathcote” was William,
the brother of Sir Thomas, the fourth Baronet
of Hursley. ‘Two years after the date of this
letter, viz., in 1798, he married Elizabeth, daugh-
ter of Lovelace Bigg Wither, Esq., of Many-
down; he was Prebendary of Winchester, and
pre-deceasing his brother, his son William suc-
ceeded the latter as fifth baronet in 1825, sat for
Hants in five Parliaments, and afterwards for
Oxford University for fourteen years. He was
made a Privy Councillor in 1870, and lived till
1881, very greatly respected and beloved by a
large circle of friends. In 1796 the Heathcotes
lived at Worting, a house in a village of the same
name, situate about five or six miles from Ste-
venton. Mr. J. Portal was Mr. Portal, of Free-
folk House, near Overton. He married twice,
and, living till 1848, was succeeded by the eldest
son of his second wife, Melville Portal, who was
afterwards for a short time member for North
Hants. Mr. John Portal’s eldest daughter by
his first marriage was Caroline, who married Ed-
ward Austen’s fourth son William. Adela, one
[203]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
of his daughters by his second wife, became the
second wife of the “ little Edward” mentioned
in the letters, who was the eldest son of the same
Kdward Austen, Jane’s brother, the owner of
Godmersham and Chawton. She died in 1870.
Mr. Portal’s brother William lived at Laver-
stoke, which, as well as Ashe Park, belonged to
him. Mr. Bigg Wither, of Manydown, had two
other daughters besides Mrs. Heathcote, namely,
Alithea, with whom “‘ James danced,” and Cath-
erine, who afterwards married the Rev. Herbert
Hill, who enjoyed the double distinction of be-
ing Southey’s uncle and (at one time) chaplain
to the British factory at Lisbon. “ Ibthorp ”
was a house near Lord Portsmouth’s place,
Hurstbourne, where lived as a widow Mrs.
Lloyd, the mother of Eliza, Martha, and Mary.
Her husband, the Rev. Nowys Lloyd, had held
the two livings of Enbourne near Newbury and
Bishopston, Wilts, and at the latter place fell in
love with “ Martha Craven,’ who was living
there with an “ Aunt Willoughby,” having run
away from a mother whom family tradition al-
leges to have treated her badly. Mrs. Lloyd died
in April, 1805, when the Austens were at Bath.
The Coopers, whose arrival is expected in the
first, and announced in the second letter, were
Dr. Cooper, already mentioned as having mar-
ried Jane Austen’s aunt, Jane Leigh, with his
[204] :
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
wife and their two children, Edward and Jane,
of whom we shall frequently hear. I have no
means of knowing who is referred to as “ War-
ren,” but there was, and is, a Hampshire family
of that name, of Worting House, Basingstoke,
and it may very likely be one of them, since they
were of course near neighbours, and likely to be
intimate at Steventon. Neither can I bring
proof positive as to the identity of Mr. Benja-
min Portal, which is the more to be regretted be-
cause a person with such “handsome” eyes de-
serves to be identified. ‘There was, however, a
certain clergyman, the Rev. William Portal, a
member of the Freefolk and Laverstoke family,
who had a wife, seven sons, and the Rectory of
Stoke Charity in Hants. None of these sons
married, but, judging by dates, some of them
must have been living about 1796, and probably
Benjamin was one of them.
The third letter of 1796 is dated from Lon-
don, where the writer had evidently stopped for
a night on her way from Steventon to Rowling,
a journey which in those days was a much more
serious affair than at present, when a few hours
of railroad take us comfortably from one place
to the other. Rowling was and is a small place
belonging to the Bridges family, being about a
mile distant from Goodnestone. Edward Aus-
ten, Jane’s brother, lived there at this time,
[205]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
though whether his brother-in-law, Sir Brook,
let it or lent it to him I cannot say. Probably
the former; at any rate, here he lived, and here
were his three eldest children born. The subse-
quent letters (four to seven inclusive) were writ-
ten whilst Jane was visiting her brother, and are
full of touches of her own quaint humour. Mrs.
Knight had not left Godmersham at this time,
but was about to do so, and my grandfather and
grandmother were going to take possession.
The “Mr. and Mrs. Cage” were Lewis Cage
and his wife, Fanny Bridges. Harriet and
Louisa were the two unmarried sisters of the lat-
ter; Edward, their brother, and the “ Mr. and
Mrs. Bridges” must have been Henry Bridges,
next brother to Sir Brook (fourth baronet), who
was Rector of Danbury and Woodham Ferrers,
in Essex, who had married Jane Hales the year
before this letter was written. Sir Thomas
Hales, his father-in-law, was M.P. for Dover,
and had four daughters besides Jane, of whom
the two youngest, Harriet and Caroline, are here
mentioned. Harriet died unmarried, Caroline
married Mr. Gore in 1798. Sir Thomas had
died in 1773, and was succeeded by his son of the
same name, who dying in 1824, and having only
one daughter, the baronetcy became extinct.
The allusion to “ Camilla in Mr. Dubster’s sum-
mer-house ” (to whom Jane likens herself when
[206]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
her brother’s absence obliged her to stay at Row-
ling till he should return to escort her home) will
be understood by those who have perused Miss
Burney’s novel of that name, and to those who
have not will, I hope, be an inducement to do so,
as it will certainly repay the perusal. Lady Wal-
tham was the wife of Lord Waltham, and a
great friend of Lady Bridges.
Therve are other allusions to things and people
scatteyed throughout these letters, to understand
which it is necessary to bear in mind that they are
often made in the purest spirit of playful non-
sense, and are by no means to be taken as grave
and serious expressions of opinion or statement
of facts. When, for instance, speaking of Mrs.
Knight, the widow of Godmersham, she says “ it
is imagined that she will shortly be married
again,” and in the next letter speaks of her
brother Edward as intending to get some of a
vacant farm into his occupation, “if he can cheat
Sir Brook enough in the agreement,” she is writ-
ing in the same spirit of fun as when she pres-
ently tells us that her brother had thoughts of
“taking the name of Claringbould,” that “ Mr.
Richard Harvey’s match is put off till he has
got a better Christian name,” and that two gen-
tlemen about to marry “are to have one wife be-
tween them.” Mrs. Knight was advanced in
years at the time, and her marrying a second
[207]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
time a very unlikely thing to occur; and I sup-
pose no man ever lived who was less likely to
“cheat” or take advantage of another than my
grandfather, Edward Austen. It is in the same
vein of fun, or of originality, if the phrase be
better, that she speaks (letter seven) of “the
Captain John Gore, commanded by the ‘ Tri-
ton,’”’ instead of “the ‘ Triton,’ commanded by
Captain John Gore,” and, in the postscript to
the same letter, of her brother Frank being
“much pleased with the prospect of having Cap-
tain Gore under his command,” when of course
the relative position of the two was precisely the
reverse. Many people will think this explana-
tion superfluous, but I have so often met with
matter-of-fact individuals who persist in taking
everything in its plain and literal sense, that I
think it well to make it. It is to this day a pecu-
liarity of some of the Austens (and doubtless
not confined to them) to talk and write nonsense
to each other which, easily understood between
themselves at the time, might have a curious ap-
pearance if published a hundred years hence.
Such expressions as a *
ee
chutton mop” for “a
mutton chop,” to clerge (i.e. to perform the
duties of a clergyman), and to “ronge ”—i.e.
“to affect with a pleasing melancholy ”—are
well enough when used and appreciated in fam-
ily letters and conversations, but might give rise
[208]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to curious dissertations upon the different use of
particular English words at different times, if
given without comment or explanation to the
public, whilst the literal interpretation of things
said in jest to those who understood the jest at
the time would cause the most serious mistakes as
to the real meaning of the writer and the spirit
in which she wrote.
The sixth and seventh letters are full of local
and personal allusions of more or less interest.
The dinner-party at Nackington is pleasantly
described, and the wealth of Mr. Milles referred
to in the pretended expectation expressed that
he would have advanced money to a person with
whom he had no relationship which might have
induced such generosity. It was natural that
Lady Sondes’ picture should be found in her
father’s house, for in that relationship stood Mr.
Milles to her. She was at this time living at Lees
Court with her husband, who did not die until
ten years later. Bifrons was at this time in the
possession of the Taylor family, from whom it
afterwards passed to the Conynghams; but I do
not know to whom Jane refers as the individual
upon whom she once fondly doated, although the
“once” could not have been very long before, as
at this time she had not yet completed her twenty-
first year. Mrs. Joan Knatchbull lived in Can-
terbury. She was the only sister of Sir Wynd-
[209]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
ham Knatchbull, who died in 1763, when the title
and estates went to his uncle. The other people
referred to in these letters are either dealt with
in the preliminary chapters, or do not appear to
require further notice, having little to do with
Jane or her family.
I.
Steventon: Saturday (January 9).
In the first place I hope you will live twenty-
three years longer. Mr. Tom Lefroy’s birthday
was yesterday, so that you are very near of an
age.
After this necessary preamble I shall proceed
to inform you that we had an exceeding good
ball last night, and that I was very much dis-
appointed at not seeing Charles Fowle of the
party, as I had previously heard of his being in-
vited. In addition to our set at the Harwoods’
ball, we had the Grants, St. Johns, Lady Rivers,
her three daughters and a son, Mr. and Miss
Heathcote, Mrs. Lefevre, two Mr. Watkins,
Mr. J. Portal, Miss Deanes, two Miss Ledgers,
and a tall clergyman who came with them, whose
name Mary would never have guessed.
We were so terrible good as to take James in
[210]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
our carriage, though there were three of us be-
fore; but indeed he deserves encouragement for
the very great improvement which has lately
taken place in his dancing. Miss Heathcote is
pretty, but not near so handsome as I expected.
Mr. H. began with Elizabeth, and afterwards
danced with her again; but they do not know
how to be particular. I flatter myself, however,
that they will profit by the three successive les-
sons which I have given them.
You scold me so much in the nice long letter
which I have this moment received from you,
that I am almost afraid to tell you how my Irish
friend and I behaved. Imagine to yourself
everything most profligate and shocking in the
way of dancing and sitting down together. I
can expose myself, however, only once more, be-
cause he leaves the country soon after next F'ri-
day, on which day we are to have a dance at
Ashe after all. He is a very gentlemanlike,
good-looking, pleasant young man, I assure you.
But as to our having ever met, except at the
three last balls, I cannot say much; for he is so
excessively laughed at about me at Ashe, that he
is ashamed of coming to Steventon, and ran
away when we called on Mrs. Lefroy a few days
ago.
We left Warren at Dean Gate, in our way
home last night, and he is now on his road to
[211]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
town. He left his love, &c., to you, and I will
deliver it when we meet. Henry goes to Harden
to-day in his way to his Master’s degree. We
shall feel the loss of these two most agreeable
young men exceedingly, and shall have nothing
to console us till the arrival of the Coopers on
Tuesday. As they will stay here till the Mon-
day following, perhaps Caroline will go to the
Ashe ball with me, though I dare say she will not.
I danced twice with Warren last night, and
once with Mr. Charles Watkins, and, to my in-
expressible astonishment, I entirely escaped
John Lyford. I was forced to fight hard for it,
however. We had a very good supper, and the
greenhouse was illuminated in a very elegant
manner.
We had a visit yesterday morning from Mr.
Benjamin Portal, whose eyes are as handsome
as ever. Everybody is extremely anxious for
your return, but as you cannot come home by the
Ashe ball, I am glad that I have not fed them
with false hopes. James danced with Alithea,
and cut up the turkey last night with great per-
severance. You say nothing of the silk stock-
ings; I flatter myself, therefore, that Charles has
not purchased any, as I cannot very well afford
to pay for them; all my money is spent in buying
white gloves and pink persian. I wish Charles
had been at Manydown, because he would have
[212]
eae ee
a ee
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
given you some description of my friend, and I
think you must be impatient to hear something
about him.
Henry is still hankering after the Regulars,
and as his project of purchasing the adjutancy
of the Oxfordshire is now over, he has got a
scheme in his head about getting a lieutenancy
and adjutancy in the 86th, a new-raised regi-
ment, which he fancies will be ordered to the
Cape of Good Hope. I heartily hope that he
will, as usual, be disappointed in this scheme.
We have trimmed up and given away all the old
paper hats of Mamma’s manufacture; I hope
you will not regret the loss of yours.
After I had written the above, we received a
visit from Mr. Tom Lefroy and his cousin
George. The latter is really very well-behaved
now; and as for the other, he has but one fault,
which time will, I trust, entirely remove—it is
that his morning coat is a great deal too light.
He is a very great admirer of Tom Jones, and
therefore wears the same coloured clothes, I
imagine, which he did when he was wounded.
Sunday. By not returning till the 19th, you
will exactly contrive to miss seeing the Coopers,
which I suppose it is your wish to do. We have
heard nothing from Charles for some time. One
would suppose they must have sailed by this time,
as the wind is so favourable. What a funny
[213]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
name Tom has got for his vessel! But he has no
taste in names, as we well know, and I dare say
he christened it himself. I am sorry for the
Beaches’ loss of their little girl, especially as it is
the one so much like me.
I condole with Miss M. on her losses and with
Eliza on her gains, and am ever yours,
A A.
To Miss Austen,
Rey. Mr. Fowle’s, Kintbury, Newbury.
II.
Steventon: Thursday (January 16).
I have just received yours and Mary’s letter,
and I thank you both, though their contents
might have been more agreeable. I do not at all
expect to see you on Tuesday, since matters have
fallen out so pleasantly; and if you are not able
to return till after that day, it will hardly be pos-
sible for us to send for you before Saturday,
though for my own part I care so little about
the ball that it would be no sacrifice to me to give
it up for the sake of seeing you two days earlier.
We are extremely sorry for poor Eliza’s illness.
I trust, however, that she has continued to re-
cover since you wrote, and that you will none of
you be the worse for your attendance on her.
What a good-for-nothing fellow Charles is te
[214]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
bespeak the stockings! I hope he will be too hot
all the rest of his life for it!
I sent you a letter yesterday to Ibthorp, which
I suppose you will not receive at Kantbury. It
was not very long or very witty, and therefore if
you never receive it, it does not much signify. I
wrote principally to tell you that the Coopers
were arrived and in good health. The little boy
is very like Dr. Cooper, and the little girl is to
resemble Jane, they say.
Our party to Ashe to-morrow night will con-
sist of Edward Cooper, James (for a ball is
nothing without him), Buller, who is now stay-
ing with us, and I. I look forward with great
impatience to it, as I rather expect to receive an
offer from my friend in the course of the even-
ing. I shall refuse him, however, unless he prom-
ises to give away his white coat.
I am very much flattered by your com-
mendation of my last letter, for I write only
for fame, and without any view to pecuniary
emolument.
Edward is gone to spend the day with his
friend, John Lyford, and does not return till
to-morrow. Anna is now here; she came up in
her chaise to spend the day with her young cous-
ins, but she does not much take to them or to any-
thing about them, except Caroline’s spinning-
wheel. I am very glad to find from Mary that
[215]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Mr. and Mrs. Fowle are pleased with you. I
hope you will continue to give satisfaction.
How impertinent you are to write to me about
Tom, as if I had not opportunities of hearing
from him myself! The last letter that I received
from him was dated on Friday, 8th, and he told
me that if the wind should be favourable on Sun-
_ day, which it proved to be, they were to sail from
Falmouth on that day. By this time, therefore,
they are at Barbadoes, I suppose. ‘The Rivers
are still at Manydown, and are to be at Ashe to-
morrow. I intended to call on the Miss Biggs
yesterday had the weather been tolerable. Caro-
line, Anna, and I have just been devouring some
cold souse, and it would be difficult to say which
enjoyed it most.
Tell Mary that I make over Mr. Heartley and
all his estate to her for her sole use and benefit in
future, and not only him, but all my other ad-
mirers into the bargain wherever she can find
them, even the kiss which C. Powlett wanted to
give me, as I mean to confine myself in future to
Mr. Tom Lefroy, for whom I don’t care six-
pence. Assure her also, as a last and indubitable
proof of Warren’s indifference to me, that he
actually drew that gentleman’s picture for me,
and delivered it to me without a sigh.
Friday.—At length the day is come on which
I am to flirt my last with Tom Lefroy, and when
[216]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
you receive this it will be over. My tears flow as
I write at the melancholy idea. Wm. Chute
called here yesterday. I wonder what he means
by being so civil. There is a report that Tom is
going to be married to a Lichfield lass. John
Lyford and his sister bring Edward home to-
day, dine with us, and we shall all go together to
Ashe. I understand that we are to draw for
partners. I shall be extremely impatient to hear
from you again, that I may know how Eliza is,
and when you are to return.
With best love, &c., I am affectionately yours,
J. AUSTEN.
Miss Austen,
The Rey. Mr. Fowle’s, Kintbury, Newbury.
III.
Cork Street: Tuesday morn (August, 1796).
My prEAr CASSANDRA,
Here I am once more in this scene of dissipa-
tion and vice, and I begin already to find my
morals corrupted. We reached Staines yester-
day, I do not (know) when, without suffering
so much from the heat as I had hoped to do. We
set off again this morning at seven o’clock, and
had a very pleasant drive, as the morning was
cloudy and perfectly cool. I came all the way
in the chaise from Hertford Bridge.
[217]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Edward and Frank are both gone cut to seek
their fortunes; the latter is to return soon and
help us seek ours. The former we shall never
see again. We are to be at Astley’s to-night,
which I am glad of. Edward has heard from
Henry this morning. He has not been at the
races at all, unless his driving Miss Pearson over
to Rowling one day can be so called. We shall
find him there on Thursday.
I hope you are all alive after our melancholy
parting yesterday, and that you pursued your
intended avocation with success. God bless you!
I must leave off, for we are going out.
Yours very affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.
Everybody’s love.
IV.
Rowling: Thursday (September 1).
My DEAREST CASSANDRA,
The letter which I have this moment received
from you has diverted me beyond moderation. I
could die of laughter at it, as they used to say at
school. You are indeed the finest comic writer
of the present age.
Since I wrote last, we have been very near
returning to Steventon so early as next week.
[218]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Such, for a day or two, was our dear brother
Henry’s scheme, but at present matters are re-
stored, not to what they were, for my absence
seems likely to be lengthened still farther. I am
sorry for it, but what can I do?
Henry leaves us to-morrow for Yarmouth, as
he wishes very much to consult his physician
there, on whom he has great reliance. He is bet-
ter than he was when he first came, though still
by no means well. According to his present plan,
he will not return here till about the 23rd, and
bring with him, if he can, leave of absence for
three weeks, as he wants very much to have some
shooting at Godmersham, whither Edward and
Elizabeth are to remove very early in October.
If this scheme holds, I shall hardly be at Steven-
ton before the middle of that month; but if you
cannot do without me, I could return, I suppose,
with Frank if he ever goes back. He enjoys
himself here very much, for he has just learnt
to turn, and is so delighted with the employment,
that he is at it all day long.
I am sorry that you found such a conciseness
in the strains of my first letter. I must endeav-
our to make you amends for it, when we meet,
by some elaborate details, which I shall shortly
begin composing.
I have had my new gown made up, and it
really makes a very superb surplice. I am sorry
[219]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to say that my new coloured gown is very much
washed out, though I charged everybody to take
great care of it. I hope yours is so too. Our
men had but indifferent weather for their visit to
Godmersham, for it rained great part of the way
there and all the way back. They found Mrs.
Knight remarkably well and in very good spirits.
It is imagined that she will shortly be married
again. I have taken little George once in my
arms since I have been here, which I thought
very kind. I have told Fanny about the bead
of her necklace, and she wants very much to
know where you found it.
To-morrow I shall be just like Camilla in Mr.
Dubster’s summer-house; for my Lionel will
have taken away the ladder by which I came
here, or at least by which I intended to get away,
and here I must stay till his return. My
situation, however, is somewhat preferable to
hers, for I am very happy here, though I should
be glad to get home by the end of the month. I
have no idea that Miss Pearson will return with
me.
What a fine fellow Charles is, to deceive us
into writing two letters to him at Cork! I ad-
mire his ingenuity extremely, especially as he is
so great a gainer by it.
Mr. and Mrs. Cage and Mr. and Mrs.
Bridges dined with us yesterday. Fanny seemed
[220]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
as glad to see me as anybody, and inquired very
much after you, whom she supposed to be mak-
ing your wedding-clothes. She is as handsome
as ever, and somewhat fatter. We had a very
pleasant day, and some liqueurs in the evening.
Louisa’s figure is very much improved; she is as
stout again as she was. Her face, from what I
could see of it one evening, appeared not at all
altered. She and the gentlemen walked up here
on Monday night—she came in the morning
with the Cages from Hythe.
Lady Hales, with her two youngest daughters,
have been to see us. Caroline is not grown at
all coarser than she was, nor Harriet at all more
delicate. I am glad to hear so good an account
of Mr. Charde, and only fear that my long ab-
sence may occasion his relapse. I practise every
day as much as I can—I wish it were more for
his sake. I have heard nothing of Mary Robin-
son since I have been (here). I expect to be well
scolded for daring to doubt, whenever the sub-
ject is mentioned.
Frank has turned a very nice little butter-
ehurn for Fanny. I do not believe that any of
the party were aware of the valuables they had
left behind; nor can I hear anything of Anna’s
gloves. Indeed I have not inquired at all about
them hitherto.
We are very busy making Edward’s shirts,
[221]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
and I am proud to say that I am the neatest
worker of the party. They say that there are a
prodigious number of birds hereabouts this year,
so that perhaps I may kill a few. I am glad to
hear so good an account of Mr. Limprey and J.
Lovett. I know nothing of my mother’s hand-
kerchief, but I dare say I shall find it soon.
I am very affectionately yours,
JANE.
Miss Austen, Steventon, Overton, Hants.
vy,
Rowling: Monday (September 5),
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
I shall be extremely anxious to hear the event
of your ball, and shall hope to receive so long
and minute an account of every particular that I
shall be tired of reading it. Let me know how
many, besides their fourteen selves and Mr. and
Mrs. Wright, Michael will contrive to place
about their coach, and how many of the gentle-
men, musicians, and waiters, he will have per-
suaded to come in their shooting-jackets. I hope
John Lovett’s accident will not prevent his at-
tending the ball, as you will otherwise be obliged
to dance with Mr. Tincton the whole evening.
[222]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Let me know how J. Harwood deports himself
without the Miss Biggs, and which of the Marys
will carry the day with my brother James.
We were at a ball on Saturday, I assure you.
We dined at Goodnestone, and in the evening
danced two country-dances and the Boulan-
geries. I opened the ball with Kdward Bridges;
the other couples were Lewis Cage and Harriet,
Frank and Louisa, Fanny and George. LEliza-
beth played one country-dance, Lady Bridges
the other, which she made Henry dance with her,
and Miss Finch played the Boulangeries.
In reading over the last three or four lines, I
am aware of my having expressed myself in so
doubtful a manner that, if I did not tell you to
the contrary, you might imagine it was Lady
Bridges who made Henry dance with her at the
same time that she was playing, which, if not
impossible, must appear a very improbable event
to you. But it was Elizabeth who danced. We
supped there, and walked home at night under
the shade of two umbrellas.
To-day the Goodnestone party begins to dis-
perse and spread itself abroad. Mr. and Mrs. |
Cage and George repair to Hythe. Lady Wal-
tham, Miss Bridges, and Miss Mary Finch to
Dover, for the health of the two former. I have
never seen Marianne at all. On Thursday Mr.
and Mrs. Bridges return to Danbury; Miss Har-
[223]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
riet Hales accompanies them to London on her
way to Dorsetshire.
Farmer Claringbould died this morning, and
I fancy Edward means to get some of his farm,
if he can cheat Sir Brook enough in the agree-
ment.
We have just got some venison from God-
mersham, which the two Mr. Harveys are to
dine on to-morrow, and on Friday or Saturday
the Goodnestone people are to finish their scraps.
Henry went away on Friday, as he purposed,
without fayl. You will hear from him soon, I
imagine, as he talked of writing to Steventon
shortly. Mr. Richard Harvey is going to be
married; but as it is a great secret, and only
known to half the neighbourhood, you must not
mention it. The lady’s name is Musgrave.
I am in great distress. I cannot determine
whether I shall give Richis half a guinea or only
five shillings when I go away. Counsel me, ami-
able Miss Austen, and tell me which will be the
most.
We walked Frank last night to Crixhall Ruff,
and he appeared much edified. Little Kdward
was breeched yesterday for good and all, and
was whipped into the bargain.
Pray remember me to everybody who does not
inquire after me; those who do, remember me
without bidding. Give my love to Mary Harri-
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
son, and tell her I wish, whenever she is attached
to a young man, some respectable Dr. March-
mont may keep them apart for five volumes.
VI
Rowling: Thursday (September 15).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
We have been very gay since I wrote last;
dining at Nackington, returning by moonlight,
and everything quite in style, not to mention
Mr. Claringbould’s funeral which we saw go by
on Sunday.
I believe I told you in a former letter that
Edward had some idea of taking the name of
Claringbould; but that scheme is over, though it
would be a very eligible as well as a very pleasant
plan, would anyone advance him money enough
to begin on. We rather expected Mr. Milles to
have done so on Tuesday; but to our great sur-
prise nothing was said on the subject, and unless
it is in your power to assist your brother with
five or six hundred pounds, he must entirely give
up the idea.
At Nackington we met Lady Sondes’ picture
over the mantel-piece in the dining-room, and
the pictures of her three children in an ante-
[225]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
room, besides Mr. Scott, Miss Fletcher, Mr.
Toke, Mr. J. Toke, and the Archdeacon Lynch.
Miss Fletcher and I were very thick, but I am
the thinnest of the two. She wore her purple
muslin, which is pretty enough, though it does
not become her complexion. There are two traits
in her character which are pleasing—namely, she
admires Camilla, and drinks no cream in her tea.
If you should ever see Lucy, you may tell her
that I scolded Miss Fletcher for her negligence
in writing, as she desired me to do, but without
being able to bring her to any proper sense of
shame—that Miss Fletcher says in her defence,
that as everybody whom Lucy knew when she
was in Canterbury has now left it, she has noth-
ing at all to write to her about. By everybody,
I suppose Miss Fletcher means that a new set of
officers have arrived there. But this is a note
of my own.
Mrs. Milles, Mr. John Toke, and in short
everybody of any sensibility inquired in tender
strains after you, and I took an opportunity of
assuring Mr. J. T. that neither he nor his father
need longer keep themselves single for you.
We went in our two carriages to Nackington;
but how we divided T shall leave you to surmise,
merely observing that, as Elizabeth and I were
without either hat or bonnet, it would not have
been very convenient for us to go in the chaise.
[226]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
We went by Bifrons, and I contemplated with a
melancholy pleasure the abode of him on whom
I once fondly doated. We dine to-day at Good-
nestone, to meet my Aunt Fielding from Mar-
gate and a Mr. Clayton, her professed admirer—
at least so I imagine. Lady Bridges has re-
ceived very good accounts of Marianne, who is
already certainly the better for her bathing.
So His Royal Highness Sir Thomas Williams
has at length sailed; the papers say “ on a cruise.”
But I hope they are gone to Cork, or I shall have
written in vain. Give my love to Jane, as she
arrived at Steventon yesterday, I dare say.
I sent a message to Mr. Digweed from Ed-
ward in a letter to Mary Lloyd which she ought
to receive to-day; but as I know that the Har-
woods are not very exact as to their letters, I
may as well repeat it to you. Mr. Digweed is to
be informed that illness has prevented Seward’s
coming over to look at the repairs intended at
the farm, but that he will come as soon as he
can. Mr. Digweed may also be informed, if you
think proper, that Mr. and Mrs. Milles are to
dine here to-morrow, and that Mrs. Joan
Knatchbull is to be asked to meet them. Mr.
Richard Harvey’s match is put off till he has
got a better Christian name, of which he has
great hopes.
Mr. Children’s two sons are both going to be
[227]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
married, John and George. ‘They are to have
one wife between them, a Miss Holwell, who be-
longs to the Black Hole at Calcutta. I depend
on hearing from James very soon; he promised
me an account of the ball, and by this time he
must have collected his ideas enough after the
fatigue of dancing to give me one.
Edward and Fly went out yesterday very
early in a couple of shooting jackets, and came
home like a couple of bad shots, for they killed
nothing at all. They are out again to-day, and
are not yet returned. Delightful sport! They
are Just come home, Edward with his two brace,
Frank with his two and a half. What amiable
young men!
Friday.—Y our letter and one from Henry are
just come, and the contents of both accord with
my scheme more than I had dared expect. In
one particular I could wish it otherwise, for
Henry is very indifferent indeed. You must not
expect us quite so early, however, as Wednes-
day, the 20th—on that day se’nnight, according
to our present plan, we may be with you. Frank
had never any idea of going away before Mon-
day, the 26th. I shall write to Miss Mason im-
mediately and press her returning with us, which
Henry thinks very likely and _ particularly
eligible.
Buy Mary Harrison’s gown by all means.
[228 ]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
You shall have mine for ever so much money,
though, if I am tolerably rich when I get home,
I shall like it very much myself.
As to the mode of our travelling to town, I
want to go in a stage-coach, but Frank will not
let me. As you are likely to have the Williams
and Lloyds with you next week, you would
hardly find room for us then. If anyone wants
anything in town, they must send their commis-
sions to Frank, as I shall merely pass through it.
The tallow-chandler is Penlington, at the Crown
and Beehive, Charles Street, Covent Garden.
Miss Austen, Steventon, Overton, Hants.
Vil
Rowling : Sunday (September 18.)
My pEAR CASSANDRA,
This morning has been spent in doubt and
deliberation, in forming plans and removing dif-
ficulties, for it ushered in the day with an event
which I had not intended should take place so
soon by a week. Frank has received his appoint-
ment on board the “ Captain John Gore,” com-
manded by the “ Triton,” and will therefore be
obliged to be in town on Wednesday; and though
I have every disposition in the world to accom-
pany him on that day, I cannot go on the uncer-
[229]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
tainty of the Pearsons being at home, as I should
not have a place to go to in case they were from
home.
I wrote to Miss P. on Friday, and hoped to
receive an answer from her this morning, which
would have rendered everything smooth and
easy, and would have enabled us to leave this
place to-morrow, as Frank, on first receiving his
appointment, intended to do. He remains till
Wednesday merely to accommodate me. I have
written to her again to-day, and desired her to
answer it by return of post. On Tuesday, there-
fore, I shall positively know whether they can
receive me on Wednesday. If they cannot, Ed-
ward has been so good as to promise to take me
to Greenwich on the Monday following, which
was the day before fixed on, if that suits them
better. If I have no answer at all on Tuesday, I
must suppose Mary is not at home, and must
wait till I do hear, as, after having invited her
to go to Steventon with me, it will not quite do
to go home and say no more about it.
My father will be so good as to fetch home his
prodigal daughter from town, I hope, unless he
wishes me to walk the hospitals, enter at the Tem-
ple, or mount guard at St. James’. It will hardly
be in Frank’s power to take me home—nay, it
certainly will not. I shall write again as soon
as I get to Greenwich.
[230]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps
one in a continual state.of inelegance,
If Miss Pearson should return with me, pray
be careful not to expect too much beauty. I
will not pretend to say that on a first view she
quite answered the opinion I had formed of her.
My mother, I am sure, will be disappointed if
she does not take great care. From what I re-
member of her picture, it is no great resem-
blance.
I am very glad that the idea of returning with
Frank occurred to me; for as to Henry’s coming
into Kent again, the time of its taking place is so
very uncertain that I should be waiting for dead
men’s shoes. I had once determined to go with
Frank to-morrow and take my chance, &c., but
they dissuaded me from so rash a step, as I really
think on consideration it would have been; for
if the Pearsons were not at home, I should in-
evitably fall a sacrifice to the arts of some fat
woman who would make me drunk with small
beer.
Mary is brought to bed of a boy—both doing
very well. I shall leave you to guess what Mary
I mean. Adieu, with best love to all your agree-
able inmates. Don’t let the Lloyds go on any ac-
count before I return, unless Miss P. is of the
party. How ill I have written! I begin to hate
myself, Yours ever, J. AUSTEN.
[231]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
The “Triton” is a new 82 frigate just
launch at Deptford. Frank is much pleased with
the prospect of having Captain Gore under his
command.
Miss Austen, Steventon, Overton, Hants.
1798, 1799
THE next division of letters comprises those
written in 1798 and in January, 1799. The first
is written from Dartford, evidently the first
stage of a journey home to Steventon from God-
mersham, where Mr. and Mrs. George Austen
had been visiting their son Edward in his new
abode, probably for the first time, since he could
not have been settled there for more than a year;
and there is a graphic account of the loss and re-
covery of Jane’s writing and dressing boxes,
which appear to have had a narrow escape from
a voyage to the West Indies. From this and the
following letters, it would seem that Mrs. Austen
was in delicate health, and apparently thought
herself worse than was really the case. At any
rate, she rallied from the attack of which she
complained at this time, and lived happily on
until 1827, when she died at the ripe age of
elighty-eight, having survived her husband twen-
[232]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
ty-two and her daughter Jane ten years. The
other nine letters are all written from Steventon,
and record the details of the everyday life in
Jane Austen’s home. She manages the house-
hold for her mother, visits the poor, enjoys such
society as the neighbourhood affords, and fills
her letters with such gossip about things and
people as would be likely to interest her sister.
Most of the people to whom she alludes will be
identified by reference to the introductory chap-
ters of this book, and of others there is nothing
more to be said than that they were country
neighbours of various stations in life, to whom
attaches no particular interest as far as Jane
Austen is concerned. The Digweeds were
brothers who occupied a fine old Elizabethan
manor-house and a large farm in Steventon,
which belonged to the Knight family until Mr.
E. Knight (son of E. Austen) sold it to
the Duke of Wellington, and the late Duke
sold it in 1874 to Mr. Harris. An attempt to
restore it failed, and eventually a new house
was built some fifty yards from the old one;
but, although the latter was turned into
stables, its appearance in front at least was not
injured, and there is a charming view of it across
the lawn from the drawing-room of the new
house. Previous to its sale to the present owner,
the Digweed family had occupied the manor-
[233]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
house for more than 150 years, but not being
Irish tenants, I suppose they got no compensa-
tion for “ disturbance.”
“ John Bond” was Mr. Austen’s “ factotum ”
in his farming operations. There is an anecdote
extant relating to this worthy which may as well
be told here: Mr. Austen used to join Mr. Dig-
weed in buying twenty or thirty sheep, and that
all might be fair, it was their custom to open the
pen, and the first half of the sheep which ran
out were counted as belonging to the rector.
Going down to the fold on one occasion after
this process had been gone through, Mr. Austen
remarked one sheep among his lot larger and
finer than the rest. “ Well, John,” he observed
to Bond, who was with him, “I think we have
had the best of the luck with Mr. Digweed to-
day, in getting that sheep.” “Maybe not so
much in the luck as you think, sir,” responded
the faithful John. “TI see’d her the moment I
come in, and set eyes on the sheep, so when we
opened the pen I just giv’d her a ‘ huck’ with
my stick, and out a run.”
There is an allusion in the sixteenth letter to
“ First Impressions ’—her original name for the
work afterwards published as “ Pride and Prej-
udice ”—which shows that, as regards this book
at least, her having written it was not secret from
her family. It is singular that it should have
[234]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
remained so long unpublished, but at all events
this proves that it was no hasty production, but
one which had been well considered, and sub-
mitted to the judgment of others long before it
was given to the public. Jane changed the name
of another novel also between composition and
publication, “Sense and Sensibility” having
been at first entitled “ Elinor and Marianne.”
In the same letter there is an observation
about “Mrs. Knight’s giving up the Godmer-
sham estate to Edward being no such prodigious
act of generosity after all,” which was certainly
not intended seriously, or if so, was written
under a very imperfect knowledge of the facts.
I have seen the letters which passed upon the oc-
casion. The first is from Mrs. Knight, offering
to give up the property in the kindest and most
generous terms, and this when she was not much
above forty years of age, and much attached
to the place. Then comes my grandfather’s an-
swer, deprecating the idea of her making such a
sacrifice, and saying that he and his wife were
already well enough off through Mrs. Knight’s
kindness, and could not endure that she should
leave for their sakes a home which she loved so
much. Mrs. Knight replies that it was through
her great affection for my grandfather that her
late husband had adopted him, that she loved
him as if he was her own son, that his letter had
[235]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
strengthened her in her resolution to give up the
property to him, and that she considered there
were duties attaching to the possession of landed
property which could not be discharged by a wo-
man so well as by aman. She reminds him how
that the poor had always been liberally treated
by the Godmersham family, and expresses her
happiness at feeling that he will do his duty in
this and other respects, and that she shall spend
the rest of her days near enough to see much of
him and his wife. I am quite sure that my
grandfather was most gratefully fond of Mrs.
Knight, and considered her conduct, as indeed
it was, an act of affectionate generosity.
VIII
“ Bull and George,” Dartford:
Wednesday (October 24).
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
You have already heard from Daniel, I con-
clude, in what excellent time we reached and
quitted Sittingbourne, and how very well my
mother bore her journey thither. I am now able
to send you a continuation of the same good
account of her. She was very little fatigued on
her arrival at this place, has been refreshed by a
[236]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
comfortable dinner, and now seems quite stout.
It wanted five minutes of twelve when we left
Sittingbourne, from whence we had a famous
pair of horses, which took us to Rochester in an
hour and a quarter; the postboy seemed deter-
mined to show my mother that Kentish drivers
were not always tedious, and really drove as fast
as Caw.
Our next stage was not quite so expeditiously
performed; the road was heavy and our horses
very indifferent. However, we were in such
good time, and my mother bore her journey so
well, that expedition was of little importance to
us; and as it was, we were very little more than
two hours and a half coming hither, and it was
scarcely past four when we stopped at the inn.
My mother took some of her bitters at Ospringe,
and some more at Rochester, and she ate some
bread several times.
We have got apartments up two pair of stairs,
as we could not be otherwise accommodated with
a sitting-room and bed-chambers on the same
floor, which we wished to be. We have one
double-bedded and one single-bedded room; in
the former my mother and I are to sleep. I shall
leave you to guess who is to occupy the other.
We sate down to dinner a little after five, and
had some beefsteaks and a boiled fowl, but no
oyster sauce.
[237]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
I should have begun my letter soon after our
arrival but for a little adventure which prevented
me. After we had been here a quarter of an hour
it was discovered that my writing and dressing
boxes had been by accident put into a chaise
which was just packing off as we came in, and
were driven away towards Gravesend in their
way to the West Indies. No part of my prop-
erty could have been such a prize before, for in
my writing-box was all my worldly wealth, £7,
and my dear Harry’s deputation. Mr. Nottley
immediately despatched a man and horse after
the chaise, and in half an hour’s time I had the
pleasure of being as rich as ever; they were got
about two or three miles off.
My day’s journey has been pleasanter in every
respect than I expected. I have been very little
crowded and by no means unhappy. Your
watchfulness with regard to the weather on our
accounts was very kind and very effectual. We
had one heavy shower on leaving Sittingbourne,
but afterwards the clouds cleared away, and we
had a very bright chrystal afternoon.
My father is now reading the “ Midnight
Bell,” which he has got from the library, and
mother sitting by the fire. Our route to-morrow
is not determined. We have none of us much
inclination for London, and if Mr. Nottley will
give us leave, I think we shall go to Staines
[238]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
through Croydon and Kingston, which will be
much pleasanter than any other way; but he is
decidedly for Clapham and Battersea. God
bless you all!
Yours affectionately,
JA AL
I flatter myself that ztty Dordy will not forget
me at least under a week. Kiss him for me.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham.
IX
Steventon: Saturday (October 27).
My pear CaAssANnprA,
Your letter was a most agreeable surprise to
me to-day, and I have taken a long sheet of
paper to show my gratitude.
We arrived here yesterday between four and
five, but I cannot send you quite so triumphant
an account of our last day’s journey as of the
first and second. Soon after I had finished my
letter from Staines, my mother began to suffer
from the exercise or fatigue of travelling, and
she was a good deal indisposed. She had not a
very good night at Staines, but bore her journey
better than I had expected, and at Basingstoke,
where we stopped more than half an hour, re-
ceived much comfort from a mess of broth and
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
the sight of Mr. Lyford, who recommended her
to take twelve drops of laudanum when she went
to bed as a composer, which she accordingly did.
James called on us just as we were going to
tea, and my mother was well enough to talk very
cheerfully to him before she went to bed. James
seems to have taken to his old trick of coming
to Steventon in spite of Mary’s reproaches, for
he was here before breakfast and is now paying
us a second visit. They were to have dined here
to-day, but the weather is too bad. I have had
the pleasure of hearing that Martha is with them.
James fetched her from Ibthorp on Thursday,
and she will stay with them till she removes to
Kintbury.
We met with no adventures at all in our jour-
ney yesterday, except that our trunk had once
nearly slipped off, and we were obliged to stop
at Hartley to have our wheels greased.
Whilst my mother and Mr. Lyford were to-
gether I went to Mrs. Ryder’s and bought what
I intended to buy, but not in much perfection.
There were no narrow braces for children and
scarcely any notting silk; but Miss Wood, as us-
ual, is going to town very soon, and will lay in
a fresh stock. I gave 2s. 3d. a yard for my
flannel, and I fancy it is not very good, but it is
so disgraceful and contemptible an article in it-
self that its being comparatively good or bad is
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
of little importance. I bought some Japan ink
likewise, and next week shall begin my opera-
tions on my hat, on which you know my princi-
pal hopes of happiness depend.
I am very grand indeed; I had the dignity of
dropping out my mother’s laudanum last night.
I carry about the keys of the wine and closet, and
twice since I began this letter have had orders to
give in the kitchen. Our dinner was very good
yesterday, and the chicken boiled perfectly ten-
der; therefore I shall not be obliged to dismiss
Nanny on that account.
Almost everything was unpacked and put
away last night. Nanny chose to do it, and I
was not sorry to be busy. I have unpacked the
gloves and placed yours in your drawer. Their
colour is light and pretty, and I believe exactly
what we fixed on.
Your letter was chaperoned here by one from
Mrs. Cooke, in which she says that “ Battle-
ridge’ is not to come out before January, and
she is so little satisfied with Cawthorn’s dilatori-
ness that she never means to employ him again.
Mrs. Hall, of Sherborne, was brought to bed
yesterday of a dead child, some weeks before she
expected, owing to a fright. I suppose she hap-
pened unawares to look at her husband.
There has been a great deal of rain here for
this last fortnight, much more than in Kent, and
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
indeed we found the roads all the way from
Staines most disgracefully dirty. Steventon
lane has its full share of it, and I don’t know
when I shall be able to get to Deane.
I hear that Martha is in better looks and spirits
than she has enjoyed for a long time, and I flat-
ter myself she will now be able to jest openly
about Mr. W.
The spectacles which Molly found are my
mother’s, the scissors my father’s. We are very
glad to hear such a good account of your pa-
tients, little and great. My dear itty Dordy’s
remembrance of me is very pleasing to me—
foolishly pleasing, because I know it will be over
so soon. My attachment to him will be more
durable. I shall think with tenderness and de-
light on his beautiful and smiling countenance
and interesting manner until a few years have
turned him into an ungovernable, ungracious
fellow.
The books from Winton are all unpacked and
put away; the binding has compressed them most
conveniently, and there is now very good room
in the bookcase for all that we wish to have there.
I believe the servants were very glad to see us.
Nanny was, I am sure. She confesses that it
was very dull, and yet she had her child with her
till last Sunday. I understand that there are
some grapes left, but I believe not many; they
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
must be gathered as soon as possible, or this rain
will entirely rot them.
I am quite angry with myself for not writing
closer; why is my alphabet so much more sprawly
than yours? Dame Tilbury’s daughter has lain
in. Shall I give her any of your baby clothes?
The laceman was here only a few days ago. How
unfortunate for both of us that he came so soon!
Dame Bushell washes for us only one week more,
as Sukey has got a place. John Steevens’ wife
undertakes our purification. She does not look
as if anything she touched would ever be clean,
but who knows? We do not seem likely to have
any other maidservant at present, but Dame
Staples will supply the place of one. Mary has
hired a young girl from Ashe who has never been
out to service to be her scrub, but James fears
her not being strong enough for the place.
Earle Harwood has been to Deane lately, as
I think Mary wrote us word, and his family then
told him that they would receive his wife, if she
continued to behave well for another year. He
was very grateful, as well he might; their behav-
iour throughout the whole affair has been partic-
ularly kind. Earle and his wife live in the most
private manner imaginable at Portsmouth, with-
out keeping a servant of any kind. What a pro-
digious innate love of virtue she must have, to
marry under such circumstances!
[243]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
It is now Saturday evening, but I wrote the
chief of this in the morning. My mother has not
been down at all to-day; the laudanum made her
sleep a good deal, and upon the whole I think
she is better. My father and I dined by our-
selves. How strange! He and John Bond are
now very happy together for I have just heard
the heavy step of the latter along the passage.
James Digweed called to-day, and I gave him
his brother’s deputation. Charles Harwood, too,
has just called to ask how we are, in his way
from Dummer, whither he has been conveying
Miss Garrett, who is going to return to her for-
mer residence in Kent. I will leave off, or I
shall not have room to add a word to-morrow.
Sunday.—My mother has had a very good
night, and feels much better to-day.
I have received my Aunt’s letter, and thank
you for your scrap. I will write to Charles soon.
Pray give Fanny and Edward a kiss from me,
and ask George if he has got a new song for
me. *Tis really very kind of my Aunt to ask
us to Bath again; a kindness that deserves a bet-
ter return than to profit by it. Yours ever,
J. A.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
[244]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
».G
Saturday, November 17, 1798.
My pEAR CASSANDRA,
If you paid any attention to the conclusion of
my last letter, you will be satisfied, before you
receive this, that my mother has had no relapse,
and that Miss Debary comes. The former con-
tinues to recover, and though she does not gain
strength very rapidly, my expectations are hum-
ble enough not to outstride her improvements.
She was able to sit up nearly eight hours yester-
day, and to-day I hope we shall do as much.
So much for my patient—now for myself.
Mrs. Lefroy did come last Wednesday, and
the Harwoods came likewise, but very consider-
ately paid their visit before Mrs. Lefroy’s ar-
rival, with whom, in spite of interruptions both
from my father and James, I was enough alone
to hear all that was interesting, which you will
easily credit when I tell you that of her nephew
she said nothing at all, and of her friend very
little. She did not once mention the name of
the former to me, and I was too proud to make
any inquiries; but on my father’s afterwards
asking where he was, I learnt that he was gone
back to London in his way to Ireland, where he
is called to the Bar and means to practise.
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
She showed me a letter which she had received
from her friend a few weeks ago (in answer to
one written by her to recommend a nephew of
Mrs. Russell to his notice at Cambridge), to-
wards the end of which was a sentence to this
effect: “I am very sorry to hear of Mrs. Aus-
ten’s illness. It would give me particular pleas-
ure to have an opportunity of improving my ac-
quaintance with that family—with a hope of
creating to myself a nearer interest. But at pres-
ent I cannot indulge any expectation of it.”
This is rational enough; there is less love and
more sense in it than sometimes appeared before,
and I am very well satisfied. It will all go on
exceedingly well, and decline away in a very
reasonable manner. There seems no likelihood
of his coming into Hampshire this Christmas,
and it is therefore most probable that our indif-
ference will soon be mutual, unless his regard,
which appeared to spring from knowing nothing
of me at first, is best supported by never see-
ing me.
Mrs. Lefroy made no remarks in the letter,
nor did she indeed say anything about him as
relative to me. Perhaps she thinks she has said
too much already. She saw a great deal of the
Mapletons while she was in Bath. Christian is
still in a very bad state of health, consumptive,
and not likely to recover.
[246]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Mrs. Portman is not much admired in Dorset-
shire; the good-natured world, as usual, extolled
her beauty so highly, that all the neighbourhood
have had the pleasure of being disappointed.
My mother desires me to tell you that I am
a very good housekeeper, which I have no reluc-
tance in doing, because I really think it my pecu-
liar excellence, and for this reason—I always
take care to provide such things as please my
own appetite, which I consider as the chief merit
in housekeeping. I have had some ragout veal,
and I mean to have some haricot mutton to-
morrow. We are to kill a pig soon.
There is to be a ball at Basingstoke next
Thursday. Our assemblies have very kindly de-
clined ever since we laid down the carriage, so
that dis-convenience and dis-inclination to go
have kept pace together.
My father’s affection for Miss Cuthbert is as
lively as ever, and he begs that you will not neg-
lect to send him intelligence of her or her brother,
whenever you have any to send. I am like-
wise to tell you that one of his Leicestershire
sheep, sold to the butcher last week, weighed
27 lb. and 4 per quarter.
I went to Deane with my father two days ago
to see Mary, who is still plagued with the rheu-
matism, which she would be very glad to get rid
of, and still more glad to get rid of her child, of
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
whom she is heartily tired. Her nurse is come,
and has no particular charm either of person or
manner; but as all the Hurstbourne world pro-
nounce her to be the best nurse that ever was,
Mary expects her attachment to increase.
What fine weather this is! Not very becom-
ing perhaps early in the morning, but very pleas-
ant out of doors at noon, and very wholesome—
at least everybody fancies so, and imagination is
everything. To Kdward, however, I really think
dry weather of importance. I have not taken to
fires yet.
I believe I never told you that Mrs. Coulthard
and Anne, late of Manydown, are both dead, and
both died in childbed. We heve not regaled
Mary with this news. Harry St. John is in
Orders, has done duty at Ashe, and performs
very well.
I am very fond of experimental housekeeping,
such as having an ox-cheek now and then; I shall
have one next week, and I mean to have some
little dumplings put into it, that I may fancy my-
self at Godmersham.
I hope George was pleased with my designs.
Perhaps they would have suited him as well had
they been less elaborately finished; but an artist
cannot do anything slovenly. I suppose baby
grows and improves.
. Sunday.—I have just received a note from
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
James to say that Mary was brought to bed last
night, at eleven o'clock, of a fine little boy, and
that everything is going on very well. My mother
had desired to know nothing of it before it
should be all over, and we were clever enough
to prevent her having any suspicion of it, though
Jenny, who had been left here by her mistress,
was sent for home. :
I called yesterday on Betty Londe, who in-
quired particularly after you, and said she
seemed to miss you very much, because you used
to call in upon her very often. This was an
oblique reproach at me, which I am sorry to have
merited, and from which I will profit. I shall
send George another picture when I write next,
which I suppose will be soon, on Mary’s account.
My mother continues well. Yours,
5 Aw
Miss Austen, Godmersham.
XI
Steventon: Sunday (November 25).
My DEAR SISTER,
I expected to have heard from you this morn-
ing, but no letter is come. I shall not take the
trouble of announcing to you any more of
Mary’s children, if, instead of thanking me for
the intelligence, you always sit down and write
[249]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to James. I am sure nobody can desire your
letters so much as I do, and [I don’t think any-
body deserves them so well.
Having now relieved my heart of a great deal
of malevolence, I will proceed to tell you that
Mary continues quite well, and my mother tol-
erably so. I saw the former on Friday, and
though I had seen her comparatively hearty the
Tuesday before, I was really amazed at the im-
provement which three days had made in her.
She looked well, her spirits were perfectly good,
and she spoke much more vigorously than Eliz-
abeth did when we left Godmersham. I had
only a glimpse at the child, who was asleep; but
Miss Debary told me that his eyes were large,
dark, and handsome. She looks much as she
used to do, is netting herself a gown in worsteds,
and wears what Mrs. Birch would call a pot
hat. A short and compendious history of Miss
Debary!
I suppose you have heard from Henry him-
self that his affairs are happily settled. We do
not know who furnishes the qualification. Mr.
Mowell would have readily given it, had not all
his Oxfordshire property been engaged for a
similar purpose to the Colonel. Amusing
enough!
Our family affairs are rather deranged at
present, for Nanny has kept her bed these three
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
or four days, with a pain in her side and fever,
and we are forced to have two charwomen, which
is not very comfortable. She is considerably bet-
ter now, but it must still be some time, I sup-
pose, before she is able to do anything. You
and Edward will be amused, I think, when you
know that Nanny Littlewart dresses my hair.
The ball on Thursday was a very small one in-
deed, hardly so large as an Oxford smack. There
were but seven couples, and only twenty-seven
people in the room.
The Overton Scotchman has been kind enough
to rid me of some of my money, in exchange for
six shifts and four pair of stockings. The Ivish
is not so fine as I should like it; but as I gave as
much money for it as I intended, I have no rea-
son to complain. It cost me 3s. 6d. per yard.
It is rather finer, however, than our last, and not
so harsh a cloth.
We have got “ Fitz-Albini”; my father has
bought it against my private wishes, for it does
not quite satisfy my feelings that we should pur-
chase the only one of Egerton’s works of which
his family are ashamed. That these scruples,
however, do not at all interfere with my reading
it, you will easily believe. We have neither of
us yet finished the first volume. My father is
disappointed—Z am not, for I expected noth-
ing better. Never did any book carry more in-
[251]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
ternal evidence of its author. Every sentiment
is completely Egerton’s. There is very little
story, and what there is is told in a strange, un-
connected way. There are many characters in-
troduced, apparently merely to be delineated.
We have not been able to recognise any of them
hitherto, except Dr. and Mrs. Hey and Mr. Ox-
enden, who is not very tenderly treated.
You must tell Edward that my father gives
25s. apiece to Seward for his last lot of sheep,
and, in return for this news, my father wishes to
receive some of Edward’s pigs.
We have got Boswell’s “'Tour to the Heb-
rides,” and are to have his “ Life of Johnson ”’;
and, as some money will yet remain in Burdon’s
hands, it is to be laid out in the purchase of
Cowper’s works. This would please Mr. Clarke,
could he know it.
By the bye, I have written to Mrs. Birch
among my other writings, and so I hope to have
some account of all the people in that part of
the world before long. I have written to Mrs.
E. Leigh, too, and Mrs. Heathcote has been ill-
natured enough to send me a letter of inquiry;
so that altogether I am tolerably tired of letter-
writing, and, unless I have anything new to tell
you of my mother or Mary, I shall not write
again for many days; perhaps a little repose may
restore my regard for a pen. Ask little Edward
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
whether Bob Brown wears a great coat this cold
weather.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
XII
Steventon: December 1.
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
I am so good as to write to you again thus
speedily, to let you know that I have just heard
from Frank. He was at Cadiz, alive and well, on
October 19, and had then very lately received a
letter from you, written as long ago as when
the “ London ” was at St. Helen’s. But his raly
latest intelligence of us was in one from me of
September 1, which I sent soon after we got to
Godmersham. He had written a packet full for
his dearest friends in England, early in October,
to go by the “ Excellent”; but the “ Excellent ”
was not sailed, nor likely to sail, when he des-
patched this to me. It comprehended letters for
both of us, for Lord Spencer, Mr. Daysh, and
the East India Directors. Lord St. Vincent
had left the fleet when he wrote, and was gone
to Gibraltar, it was said to superintend the fitting
out of a private expedition from thence against
some of the enemies’ ports; Minorca or Malta
were conjectured to be the objects.
Frank writes in good spirits, but says that our
[253]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
correspondence cannot be so easily carried on in
future as it has been, as the communication be-
tween Cadiz and Lisbon is less frequent than
formerly. You and my mother, therefore, must
not alarm yourselves at the long intervals that
may divide his letters. I address this advice to
you two as being the most tender-hearted of the
family.
My mother made her entrée into the dressing-
room through crowds of admiring spectators
yesterday afternoon, and we all drank tea to-
gether for the. first time these five weeks. She
has had a tolerable night, and bids fair for a con-
tinuance in the same brilliant course of action
to-day. ...
Mr. Lyford was here yesterday; he came
while we were at dinner, and partook of our ele-
gant entertainment. I was not ashamed at ask-
ing him to sit down to table, for we had some
pease-soup, a sparerib, and a pudding. He
wants my mother to look yellow and to throw out
a rash, but she will do neither.
I was at Deane yesterday morning. Mary
was very well, but does not gain bodily strength
very fast. When I saw her so stout on the third -
and sixth days, I expected to have seen her as
well as ever by the end of a fortnight.
James went to Ibthorp yesterday to see his
mother and child. Letty is with Mary at present,
[254]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
of course exceedingly happy, and in raptures
with the child. Mary does not manage matters
in such a way as to make me want to lay in my-
self. She is not tidy enough in her appearance;
she has no dressing-gown to sit up in; her cur-
tains are all too thin, and things are not in that
comfort and style about her which are necessary
to make such a situation an enviable one. Eliza-
beth was really a pretty object with her nice
clean cap put on so tidily and her dress so uni-
formly white and orderly. We live entirely in
the dressing-room now, which I like very much;
I always feel so much more elegant in it than
in the parlour.
No news from Kintbury yet. Eliza sports with
our impatience. She was very well last Thurs-
day. Who is Miss Maria Montresor going
to marry, and what is to become of Miss
Mulcaster?
I find great comfort in my stuff gown, but I
hope you do not wear yours too often. I have
made myself two or three caps to wear of even-
ings since I came home, and they save me a world
of torment as to hair-dressing, which at present
gives me no trouble beyond washing and brush-
ing, for my long hair is always plaited up out
of sight, and my short hair curls well enough to
want no papering. I have had it cut lately by
Mr. Butler.
[255]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
There is no reason to suppose that Miss Mor-
gan is dead after all. Mr. Lyford gratified us
very much yesterday by his praises of my
father’s mutton, which they all think the finest
that was ever ate. John Bond begins to find
himself grow old, which John Bonds ought not
to do, and unequal to much hard work; a man is
therefore hired to supply his place as to labour,
and John himself is to have the care of the sheep.
There are not more people engaged than before,
I believe; only men instead of boys. I fancy so
at least, but you know my stupidity as to such
matters. Lizzie Bond is just apprenticed to
Miss Small, so we may hope to see her able to
spoil gowns in a few years.
My father has applied to Mr. May for an ale-
house for Robert, at his request, and to Mr.
Deane, of Winchester, likewise. ‘This was my
mother’s idea, who thought he would be proud
to oblige a relation of Edward in return for Ed-
ward’s accepting his money. He sent a very
civil answer indeed, but has no house vacant at
present. May expects to have an empty one
soon at Farnham, so perhaps Nanny may have
the honour of drawing ale for the Bishop. I
shall write to Frank to-morrow.
Charles Powlett gave a dance on Thursday,
to the great disturbance of all his neighbours, of
course, who, you know, take a most lively inter-
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
est in the state of his finances, and live in hopes
of his being soon ruined.
We are very much disposed to like our new
maid; she knows nothing of a diary, to be sure,
which, in our family, is rather against her, but
she is to be taught it all. In short, we have felt
the inconvenience of being without a maid so
long, that we are determined to like her, and she
will find it a hard matter to displease us. As yet,
she seems to cook very well, is uncommonly stout,
and says she can work well at her needle.
Sunday.—My father is glad to hear so good
an account of Edward’s pigs, and desires he may
be told, as encouragement to his taste for them,
that Lord Bolton is particularly curious in his
pigs, has had pigstyes of a most elegant con-
struction built for them, and visits them every
morning as soon as he rises.
Affectionately yours,
J. A.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham,
XIII
Steventon: Tuesday (December 18).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
Your letter came quite as soon as I expected,
and so your letters will always do, because I have
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
made it a rule not to expect them til they come,
in which I think [ consult the ease of us both.
It is a great satisfaction to us to hear that your
business is in a way to be settled, and so settled
as to give you as little inconvenience as possible.
You are very welcome to my father’s name and
to his services if they are ever required in it. I
shall keep my ten pounds too, to wrap myself up
in next winter.
I took the liberty a few days ago of asking
your black velvet bonnet to lend me its cawl,
which it very readily did, and by which I have
been enabled to give a considerable improvement
of diginity to cap, which was before too nidgetty
to please me. I shall wear it on Thursday, but
I hope you will not be offended with me for fol-
lowing your advice as to its ornaments only in
part. I still venture to retain the narrow silver
round it, put twice round without any bow, and
instead of the black military feather shall put in
the coquelicot one as being smarter, and besides
coquelicot is to be all the fashion this winter.
After the ball I shall probably make it entirely
black.
I am sorry that our dear Charles begins to
feel the dignity of ill-usage. My father will
write to Admiral Gambier. He must have al-
ready received so much satisfaction from his
acquaintance and patronage of Frank, that he
258]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
will be delighted, I dare say, to have another of
the family introduced to him. I think it would
be very right in Charles to address Sir Thomas
on the occasion, though I cannot approve of
your scheme of writing to him (which you com-
municated to me a few nights ago) to request
him to come home and convey you to Steventon.
To do you justice, however, you had some doubts
of the propriety of such a measure yourself.
I am very much obliged to my dear little
George for his message—for his love at least;
his duty, I suppose, was only in consequence of
some hint of my favourable intentions towards
him from his father or mother. I am sincerely
rejoiced, however, that I ever was born, since it
has been the means of procuring him a dish of
tea. Give my best love to him.
This morning has been made very gay to us
by visits from our two lively neighbours, Mr.
Holder and Mr. John Harwood.
I have received a very civil note from Mrs.
Martin, requesting my name as a subscriber to
her library which opens January 14, and my
name, or rather yours, is accordingly given. My
mother finds the money. May subscribes too,
which I am glad of, but hardly expected. As an
inducement to subscribe, Mrs. Martin tells me
that her collection is not to consist only of novels,
but of every kind of literature, &c. She might
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
have spared this pretension to our family, who
are great novel-readers and not ashamed of be-
ing so; but it was necessary, I suppose, to the
self-consequence of half her subscribers.
I hope and imagine that Edward Taylor is to
inherit all Sir Edward Dering’s fortune as well
as all his own father’s. I took care to tell Mrs.
Lefroy of your calling on her mother, and she
seemed pleased with it.
I enjoyed the hard black frosts of last week
very much, and one day while they lasted walked
to Deane by myself. I do not know that I ever
did such a thing in my life before.
Charles Powlett has been very ill, but is get-
ting well again. His wife is discovered to be
everything that the neighbourhood could wish
her, silly and cross as well as extravagant. Earle
Harwood and his friend Mr. Bailey came _ to
Deane yesterday, but are not to stay above a day
or two. Earle has got the appointment to a
prison-ship at Portsmouth, which he has been
for some time desirous of having, and he and his
wife are to live on board for the future.
We dine now at half-past three, and have done
dinner, I suppose, before you begin. We drink
tea at half-past six. I am afraid you will despise
us. My father reads Cowper to us in the morn-
ing, to which [ listen when I can. How do you
spend your evenings? I guess that Elizabeth
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
works, that you read to her, and that Edward
goes to sleep. My mother continues hearty; her
appetite and nights are very good, but she some-
times complains of an asthma, a dropsy, water
in her chest, and a liver disorder.
The third Miss Irish Lefroy is going to be
married to a Mr. Courteney, but whether James
or Charles I do not know. Miss Lyford is gone
into Suffolk with her brother and Miss Lodge.
Everybody is now very busy in making up an
income for the two latter. Miss Lodge has only
8001. of her own, and it is not supposed that her
father can give her much; therefore the good
offices of the neighbourhood will be highly
acceptable. John Lyford means to take
pupils.
James Digweed has had a very ugly cut—how
could it happen? It happened by a young horse
which he had lately purchased, and which he was
trying to back into its stable; the animal kicked
him down with his forefeet, and kicked a great
hole in his head; he scrambled away as soon as
he could, but was stunned for a time, and suf-
fered a good deal of pain afterwards. Yester-
day he got upon the horse again, and, for fear
of something worse, was forced to throw himself
off.
W ednesday.—I have changed my mind, and
changed the trimmings of my cap this morning;
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
they are now such as you suggested. I felt as
if I should not prosper if I strayed from your
directions, and I think it makes me look more
like Lady Conyngham now than it did before,
which is all that one lives for now. I believe I
shall make my new gown like my robe, but the
back of the latter is all in a piece with the tail,
and will seven yards enable me to copy it in that
respect ?
Mary went to church on Sunday, and had the
weather been smiling, we should have seen her
here before this time. Perhaps I may stay at
Manydown as long as Monday, but not longer.
Martha sends me word that she is too busy to
write to me now, and but for your letter I should
have supposed her deep in the study of medicine
preparatory to their removal from Ibthorp. The
letter to Gambier goes to-day.
I expect a very stupid ball; there will be no-
body worth dancing with, and nobody worth
talking to but Catherine, for I believe Mrs. Le-
froy will not be there. Lucy is to go with Mrs.
Russell.
People get so horridly poor and economical in
this part of the world that I have no patience
with them. Kent is the only place for happi-
ness; everybody is rich there. I must do similar
justice, however, to the Windsor neighbourhood.
I have been forced to let James and Miss Debary
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
have two sheets of your drawing-paper, but they
shan’t have any more; there are not above three
or four left, besides one of a smaller and richer
sort. Perhaps you may want some more if you
come through town in your return, or rather buy
some more, for your wanting it will not depend
on your coming through town, I imagine.
I have just heard from Martha and Frank:
his letter was written on November 12. All well
and nothing particular.
J. A.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham.
XIV.
Steventon: Monday night (December 24).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
I have got some pleasant news for you which I
am eager to communicate, and therefore begin
my letter sooner, though I shall not send it
sooner than usual.
Admiral Gambier, in reply to my father’s ap-
plication, writes as follows:—‘ As it is usual to
keep young officers in small vessels, it being most
proper on account of their inexperience, and it
being also a situation where they are more in the
way of learning their duty, your son has been
continued in the ‘ Scorpion’; but I have men-
[263]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
tioned to the Board of Admiralty his wish to be
in a frigate, and when a proper opportunity of-
fers and it is judged that he has taken his turn
in a small ship, I hope he will be removed. With
regard to your son now in the ‘ London’ I am
glad I can give you the assurance that his pro-
motion is likely to take place very soon, as Lord
Spencer has been so good as to say he would in-
clude him in an arrangement that he proposes
making in a short time relative to some promo-
tions in that quarter.”
There! I may now finish my letter and go and
hang myself, for I am sure I can neither write
nor do anything which will not appear insipid
to you after this. Now I really think he will
soon be made, and only wish we could communi-
cate our foreknowledge of the event to him
whom it principally concerns. My father has
written to Daysh to desire that he will inform us,
if he can, when the commission is sent. Your
chief wish is now ready to be accomplished; and
could Lord Spencer give happiness to Martha
at the same time, what a joyful heart he would
make of yours!
I have sent the same extract of the sweets of
Gambier to Charles, who, poor fellow, though
he sinks into nothing but an humble attendant
on the hero of the piece, will, I hope, be con-
tented with the prospect held out to him. By
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
what the Admiral says, it appears as if he had
been designedly kept in the “ Scorpion.” But I
will not torment myself with conjectures and
suppositions; facts shall satisfy me.
Frank had not heard from any of us for ten
weeks when he wrote to me on November 12 in
consequence of Lord St. Vincent being removed
to Gibraltar. When his commission is sent, how-
ever, it will not be so long on its road as our let-
ters, because all the Government despatches are
forwarded by land to his lordship from Lisbon
with great regularity.
I returned from Manydown this morning,
and found my mother certainly in no respect
worse than when I left her. She does not like
the cold weather, but that we cannot help. I
spent my time very quietly and very pleasantly
with Catherine. Miss Blackford is agreeable
enough. I do not want people to be very agree-
able, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a
great deal. I found only Catherine and _ her
when I got to Manydown on Thursday. We
dined together and went together to Worting to
seek the protection of Mrs. Clarke, with whom
were Lady Mildmay, her eldest son, and a Mr.
and Mrs. Hoare.
Our ball was very thin, but by no means un-
pleasant. There were thirty-one people, and
only eleven ladies out of the number, and but five
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
single women in the room. Of the gentlemen
present you may have some idea from the list of
my partners—Mr. Wood, G. Lefroy, Rice, a
Mr. Butcher (belonging to the Temples, a sailor
and not of the 11th Light Dragoons), Mr. Tem-
ple (not the horrid one of all), Mr. Wm. Orde
(cousin to the Kingsclere man), Mr. John Har-
wood, and Mr. Calland, who appeared as usual
with his hat in his hand, and stood every now and
then behind Catherine and me to be talked to
and abused for not dancing. We teased him,
however, into it at last. I was very glad to see
him again after so long a separation, and he was
altogether rather the genius and flirt of the even-
ing. He inquired after you.
There were twenty dances, and I danced them
all, and without any fatigue. I was glad to find
myself capable of dancing so much, and with so
much satisfaction as I did; from my slender en-
joyment of the Ashford balls (as assemblies for
dancing) I had not thought myself equal to it,
but in cold weather and with few couples I fancy
I could just as well dance for a week together
as for half an hour. My black cap was openly
admired by Mrs. Lefroy, and secretly I imagine
by everybody else in the room.
Twesday.—I\ thank you for your long letter,
which I will endeavour to deserve by writing the
rest of this as closely as possible. I am full of
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
joy at much of your information; that you
should have been to a ball, and have danced at
it, and supped with the Prince, and that you
should meditate the purchase of a new muslin
gown, are delightful circumstances. J am de-
termined to buy a handsome one whenever I can,
and I am so tired and ashamed of half my pres-
ent stock, that I even blush at the sight of the
wardrobe which contains them. But I will not be
much longer libelled by the possession of my
coarse spot; I shall turn it into a petticoat very
soon. I wish you a merry Christmas, but no
compliments of the season.
Poor Edward! It is very hard that he, who
has everything else in the world that he can wish
for, should not have good health too. But I
hope with the assistance of stomach complaints,
faintnesses, and sicknesses, he will soon be re-
stored to that blessing likewise. If his nervous
complaint proceeded from a suppression of
something that ought to be thrown out, which
does not seem unlikely, the first of these disor-
ders may really be a remedy, and I sincerely wish
it may, for [ know no one more deserving of
happiness without alloy than Edward is.
I cannot determine what to do about my new
gown; I wish such things were to be bought
ready-made. I have some hopes of meeting
Martha at the christening at Deane next Tues-
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
day, and shall see what she can do for me. I
want to have something suggested which will
give me no trouble of thought or direction.
Again I return to my joy that you danced at
Ashford, and that you supped with the Prince.
I can perfectly comprehend Mrs. Cage’s distress
and perplexity. She has all those kind of fool-
ish and incomprehensible feelings which would
make her fancy herself uncomfortable in such a
party. I love her, however, in spite of all her
nonsense. Pray give “t’other Miss Austen’s ”
compliments to Edward Bridges when you see
him again.
I insist upon your persevering in your inten-
tion of buying a new gown; I am sure you must
want one, and as you will have 51. due in a week’s
time, I am certain you may afford it very well,
and if you think you cannot, I will give you the
body-lining.
Of my charities to the poor since I came home
you shall have a faithful account. I have given
a pair of worsted stockings to Mary Hutchins,
Dame Kew, Mary Steevens, and Dame Staples;
a shift to Hannah Staples, and a shawl to Betty
Dawkins; amounting in all to about half a
guinea. But I have no reason to suppose that
the Battys would accept of anything, because I
have not made them the offer.
I am glad to hear such a good account of Har-
[268]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
riet Bridges; she goes on now as young ladies of
seventeen ought to do, admired and admiring,
in a much more rational way than her three elder
sisters, who had so little of that kind of youth.
I dare say she fancies Major Elkington as
agreeable as Warren, and if she can think so, it
is very well.
I was to have dined at Deane to-day, but the
weather is so cold that I am not sorry to be kept
at home by the appearance of snow. We are to
have company to dinner on Friday: the three
Digweeds and James. We shall be a nice silent
party, I suppose. Seize upon the scissors as
soon as you possibly can on the receipt of this.
I only fear your being too late to secure the
prize.
The Lords of the Admiralty will have enough
of our applications at present, for I hear from
Charles that he has written to Lord Spencer him-
self to be removed. I am afraid his Serene
Highness will be in a passion, and order some of
our heads to be cut off.
My mother wants to know whether Edward
has ever made the hen-house which they planned
together. I am rejoiced to hear from Martha
that they certainly continue at Ibthorp, and I
have just heard that I am sure of meeting
Martha at the christening.
You deserve a longer letter than this; but it
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
is my unhappy fate seldom to treat people so
well as they deserve. . . . God bless you!
Yours affectionately,
JANE AUSTEN.
W ednesday.—The snow came to nothing yes-
terday, so I did go to Deane, and returned home
at nine o’clock at night in the little carriage, and
without being very cold.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
XV.
Steventon: Friday (December 28).
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
Frank is made. He was yesterday raised to
the rank of Commander, and appointed to the
“ Petterel” sloop, now at Gibraltar. A letter
from Daysh has just announced this, and as it
is confirmed by a very friendly one from Mr.
Mathew to the same effect, transcribing one
from Admiral Gambier to the General, we have
no reason to suspect the truth of it.
As soon as you have cried a little for joy, you
may go on, and learn farther that the India
House have taken Captain Austen’s petition into
consideration—this comes from Daysh—and
likewise that Lieutenant Charles John Austen
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
is removed to the “ Tamar ” frigate—this comes
from the Admiral. We cannot find out where
the “ Tamar” is, but I hope we shall now see
Charles here at all events.
This letter is to be dedicated entirely to good
news. If you will send my father an account of
your washing and letter expenses, &c., he will
send you a draft for the amount of it, as well as
for your next quarter, and for Edward’s rent.
If you don’t buy a muslin gown now on the
strength of this money and Frank’s promotion,
I shall never forgive you.
Mrs. Lefroy has just sent me word that Lady
Dorchester meant to invite me to her ball on
January 8, which, though an humble blessing
compared with what the last page records, I do
not consider as any calamity.
I cannot write any more now, but I have writ-
ten enough to make you very happy, and there-
fore may safely conclude.
Yours affectionately,
J ANE.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XVI
Steventon: Tuesday (January 8).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
You must read your letters over five times in
future before you send them, and then, perhaps,
you may find them as entertaining as I do. I
laughed at several parts of the one which I am
now answering.
Charles is not come yet, but he must come this
morning, or he shall never know what I will do
to him. The ball at Kempshott is this evening,
and I have got him an invitation, though I have
not been so considerate as to get him a partner.
But the cases are different between him and
Eliza Bailey, for he is not in a dying way, and
may therefore be equal to getting a partner for
himself. I believe I told you that Monday was
to be the ball night, for which, and for all other
errors into which I may ever have led you, I
humbly ask your pardon.
Elizabeth is very cruel about my writing
music, and, as a punishment for her, I should in-
sist upon always writing out all hers for her in
future, if I were not punishing myself at the
~ same time.
I am tolerably glad to hear that Edward’s in-
come is so good a one—as glad as I can be at
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
anybody’s being rich except you and me—and I
am thoroughly rejoiced to hear of his present to
you.
I am not to wear my white satin cap to-night.
after all; I am to wear a mamalone cap instead,
which Charles Fowle sent to Mary, and which
she lends me. It is all the fashion now; worn at
the opera, and by Lady Mildmays at Hackwood
balls. I hate describing such things, and I dare
say you will be able to guess what it is like. I
have got over the dreadful epocha of mantua-
making much better than I expected. My gown
is made very much like my blue one, which you
always told me sat very well, with only these
variations: the sleeves are short, the wrap fuller,
the apron comes over it, and a band of the same
completes the whole.
I assure you that I dread the idea of going to
Brighton as much as you do, but I am not with-
out hopes that something may happen to pre-
vent it.
F has lost his election at B , and per-
haps they may not be able to see company for
some time. They talk of going to Bath, too, in
the spring, and perhaps they may be overturned
in their way down, and all laid up for the sum-
mer.
W ednesday.—I have had a cold and weakness
in one of my eyes for some days, which makes
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
writing neither very pleasant nor very profitable,
and which will probably prevent my finishing
this letter myself. My mother has undertaken to
do it for me, and I shall leave the Kempshott
ball for her.
You express so little anxiety about my being
murdered under Ash Park Copse by Mrs. Hul-
bert’s servant, that I have a great mind not to
tell you whether I was or not, and shall only say
that I did not return home that night or the next,
as Martha kindly made room for me in her bed,
which was the shut-up one in the new nursery.
Nurse and the child slept upon the floor, and
there we all were in some confusion and great
comfort. The bed did exceedingly well for us,
both to lie awake in and talk till two o’clock, and
to sleep in the rest of the night. I love Martha
better than ever, and I mean to go and see her,
if I can, when she gets home. We all dined at
the Harwoods’ on Thursday, and the party
broke up the next morning.
This complaint in my eye has been a sad bore
to me, for I have not been able to read or work
in any comfort since Friday, but one advantage
will be derived from it, for I shall be such a pro-
ficient in music by the time I have got rid of my
cold, that I shall be perfectly qualified in that
science at least to take Mr. Roope’s office at
Eastwell next summer; and I am sure of Eliza-
[274]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
beth’s recommendation, be it only on Harriet’s
account. Of my talent in drawing I have given
specimens in my letters to you, and I have noth-
ing to do but to invent a few hard names for the
stars.
Mary grows rather more reasonable about her
child’s beauty, and says that she does not think
him really handsome; but I suspect her modera-
tion to be something like that of W
W ’s mamma. Perhaps Mary has told you
that they are going to enter more into dinner
parties; the Biggs and Mr. Holder dine there
to-morrow, and I am to meet them. I shall sleep
there. Catherine has the honour of giving her
name to a set, which will be composed of two
Withers, two Heathcotes, a Blackford, and no
Bigg except herself. She congratulated me last
night on Frank’s promotion, as if she really felt
the joy she talked of.
My sweet little George! I am delighted to
hear that he has such an inventive genius as to
face-making. I admired his yellow wafer very
much, and hope he will choose the wafer for your
next letter. I wore my green shoes last night,
and took my white fan with me; I am very glad
he never threw it into the river.
Mrs. Knight giving up the Godmersham
estate to Edward was no such prodigious act of
generosity after all, it seems, for she has reserved
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
herself an income out of it still; this ought to be
known, that her conduct may not be overrated.
I rather think Edward shows the most magna-
nimity of the two, in accepting her resignation
with such incumbrances.
The more I write, the better my eye gets, so I
shall at least keep on till it is quite well, before
I, give up my pen to my mother.
Mrs. Bramston’s little movable apartment
was tolerably filled last night by herself, Mrs.
H. Blackstone, her two daughters, and me. I
do not like the Miss Blackstones; indeed, I was
always determined not to like them, so there is
the less merit in it. Mrs. Bramston was very
civil, kind, and noisy. I spent a very pleasant
evening, chiefly among the Manydown party.
There was the same kind of supper as last year,
and the same want of chairs. There were more
dancers than the room could conveniently hold,
which is enough to constitute a good ball at any
time.
I do not think I was very much in request.
People were rather apt not to ask me till they
could not help it; one’s consequence, you know,
varies so much at times without any particular
reason. ‘There was one gentleman, an officer of
the Cheshire, a very good-looking young man,
who, I was told, wanted very much to be intro-
duced to me; but as he did not want it quite
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
enough to take much trouble in effecting it, we
never could bring it about.
I danced with Mr. John Wood again, twice
with a Mr. South, a lad from Winchester, who,
I suppose, is as far from being related to the
bishop of that diocese as it is possible to be, with
G. Lefroy, and J. Harwood, who, I think, takes
to me rather more than he used to do. One of
my gayest actions was sitting down two dances
in preference to having Lord Bolton’s eldest
son for my partner, who danced too ill to be en-
dured. The Miss Charterises were there, and
played the parts of the Miss Edens with great
spirit. Charles never came. Naughty Charles!
I suppose he could not get superseded in time.
Miss Debary has replaced your two sheets of _
drawing-paper with two of superior size and
quality; so I do not grudge her having taken
them at all now. Mr. Ludlow and Miss Pugh of
Andover are lately married, and so is Mrs.
Skeete of Basingstoke, and Mr. French, chem-
ist, of Reading.
I do not wonder at your wanting to read
“First Impressions’ again, so seldom as you
have gone through it, and that so long ago. I
am much obliged to you for meaning to leave my
old petticoat behind you. I have long secretly
wished it might be done, but had not courage to
make the request.
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Pray mention the name of Maria Montresor’s
lover when you write next. My mother wants to
know it, and I have not courage to look back
into your letters to find it out.
I shall not be able to send this till to-morrow,
and you will be disappointed on Friday; I am
very sorry for it, but I cannot help it.
The partnership between Jeffereys, ‘Toomer,
and Legge is dissolved; the two latter are melted
away into nothing, and it is to be hoped that Jef-
fereys will soon break, for the sake of a few
heroines whose money he may have. I wish you
joy of your birthday twenty times over.
I shall be able to send this to the post to-day,
which exalts me to the utmost pinnacle of human
felicity, and makes me bask in the sunshine of
prosperity, or gives me any other sensation of
pleasure in studied language which you may pre-
fer. Do not be angry with me for not filling my
sheet, and believe me yours affectionately,
A es
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham.
XVII
Steventon: Monday (January 21).
My prar Cassanpra,
I will endeavour to make this letter more wor-
thy your acceptance than my last, which was so
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
shabby a one that I think Mr. Marshall could
never charge you with the postage. My eyes
have been very indifferent since it was written,
but are now getting better once more; keeping
them so many hours open on Thursday night, as
well as the dust of the ball-room, injured them a
good deal. I use them as little as I can, but you
know, and Elizabeth knows, and everybody who
ever had weak eyes knows, how delightful it is
to hurt them by employment, against the advice
and entreaty of all one’s friends.
Charles leaves us to-night. The “'Tamar’”’ is
in the Downs, and Mr. Daysh advises him to join
her there directly, as there is no chance of her
going to the westward. Charles does not ap-
prove of this at all, and will not be much grieved
if he should be too late for her before she sails,
as he may then hope to get into a better station.
He attempted to go to town last night, and got
as far on his road thither as Dean Gate; but both
the coaches were full, and we had the pleasure of
seeing him back again. He will call on Daysh
to-morrow to know whether the “ Tamar” has
sailed or not, and if she is still at the Downs he
will proceed in one of the night coaches to Deal.
I want to go with him, that I may explain the
country to him properly between Canterbury
and Rowling, but the unpleasantness of return-
ing by myself deters me. I should like to go as
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
far as Ospringe with him very much indeed, that
I might surprise you at Godmersham.
Martha writes me word that Charles was very
much admired at Kintbury, and Mrs. Lefroy
never saw anyone so much improved in her life,
and thinks him handsomer than Henry. He ap-
pears to far more advantage here than he did at
Godmersham, not surrounded by strangers and
neither oppressed by a pain in his face or pow-
der in his hair.
James christened Elizabeth Caroline on Sat-
urday morning, and then came home. Mary,
Anna, and Edward have left us of course; be-
fore the second went I took down her anwer to
her cousin Fanny.
Yesterday came a letter to my mother from
Edward Cooper to announce, not the birth of a
child, but of a living; for Mrs. Leigh has begged
his acceptance of the Rectory of Hamstall-Rid-
ware in Staffordshire, vacant by Mr. Johnson’s
death. We collect from his letter that he means
to reside there, in which he shows his wisdom.
Staffordshire is a good way off; so we shall see
nothing more of them till, some fifteen years
hence, the Miss Coopers are presented to us, fine,
jolly, handsome, ignorant girls. The living is
valued at 140]. a year, but perhaps it may be im-
provable. How will they be able to convey the
furniture of the dressing-room so far in safety?
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Our first cousins seem all dropping off very
fast. One is incorporated into the family, an-
other dies, and a third goes into Staffordshire.
We can learn nothing of the disposal of the
other living. I have not the smallest notion of
Fulwar’s having it. Lord Craven has probably
other connections and more intimate ones, in that
line, than he now has with the Kintbury family.
Our ball on Thursday was a very poor one,
only eight couple and but twenty-three people in
the room; but it was not the ball’s fault, for we
were deprived of two or three families by the sud-
den illness of Mr. Wither, who was seized that
morning at Winchester with a return of his for-
mer alarming complaint. An express was sent
off from thence to the family; Catherine and
Miss Blackford were dining with Mrs. Russell.
Poor Catherine’s distress must have been very
great. She was prevailed on to wait till the
Heathcotes could come from Wintney, and then
with those two and Harris proceeded directly to
Winchester. In such a disorder his danger, I
suppose, must always be great; but from this at-
tack he is now rapidly recovering, and will be
well enough to return to Manydown, I fancy,
in a few days.
It was a fine thing for conversation at the ball.
But it deprived us not only of the Biggs, but of
Mrs. Russell too, and of the Boltons and John
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LETTERS OF JANKE AUSTEN
Harwood, who were dining there likewise, and
of Mr. Lane, who kept away as related to the
family. Poor man!—I mean Mr. Wither—his
life is so useful, his character so respectable and
worthy, that I really believe there was a good
deal of sincerity in the general concern expressed
on his account.
Our ball was chiefly made up of Jervoises and
Terrys, the former of whom were apt to be vul-
gar, the latter to be noisy. I had an odd set of
partners: Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Street, Col. Jervoise,
James Digweed, J. Lyford, and Mr. Biggs, a
friend of the latter. I had a very pleasant even-
ing, however, though you will probably find out
that there was no particular reason for it; but
I do not think it worth while to wait for enjoy-
ment until there is some real opportunity for it.
Mary behaved very well, and was not at all fidg-
etty. For the history of her adventures at the
ball I refer you to Anna’s letter.
When you come home you will have some
shirts to make up for Charles. Mrs. Davies
frightened him into buying a piece of Irish when
we were in Basingstoke. Mr. Daysh supposes
that Captain Austen’s commission has reached
him by this time.
Tuesday.—Y our letter has pleased and amused
me very much. Your essay on happy fort-
nights is highly ingenious, and the talobert skin
[282]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
made me laugh a good deal. Whenever I fall
into misfortune, how many jokes it ought to fur-
nish to my acquaintance in general, or I shall
die dreadfully in their debt for entertainment.
It began to occur to me before you mentioned
it that I had been somewhat silent as to my
mother’s health for some time, but I thought you
could have no difficulty in divining its exact state
—you, who have guessed so much stranger
things. She is tolerably well—better upon the
whole than she was some weeks ago. She would
tell you herself that she has a very dreadful cold
in her head at present; but I have not much com-
passion for colds in the head without fever or
sore throat.
Our own particular little brother got a place
in the coach last night, and is now, I suppose, in
town. I have no objection at all to your buying
our gowns there, as your imagination has pic-
tured to you exactly such a one as is necessary
to make me happy. You quite abash me by your
progress in notting, for I am still without silk.
You must get me some in town or in Canter-
bury; it should be finer than yours.
I thought Edward would not approve of
Charles being a crop, and rather wished you to
conceal it from him at present, lest it might fall
on his spirits and retard his recovery. My father
furnishes him with a pig from Cheesedown;; it is
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
already killed and cut up, but it is not to weigh
more than nine stone; the season is too far ad-
vanced to get him a larger one. My mother
means to pay herself for the salt and the trouble
of ordering it to be cured by the sparibs, the souse,
and the lard. We have had one dead lamb.
I congratulate you on Mr. E. Hatton’s good
fortune. I suppose the marriage will now fol-
low out of hand. Give my compliments to Miss
Finch.
What time in March may we expect your re-
turn in? I begin to be very tired of answering
people’s questions on that subject, and, inde-
pendent of that, I shall be very glad to see you
at home again, and then if we can get Martha
and shirk . . . who will be so happy as we?
I think of going to Ibthorp in about a fort-
night. My eyes are pretty well, I thank you, if
you please.
Wednesday, 28rd—I wish my dear Fanny
many returns of this day, and that she may on
every return enjoy as much pleasure as she is
now receiving from her doll’s-beds.
I have just heard from Charles, who is by this
time at Deal. He is to be Second Lieutenant,
which pleases him very well. The “ Endymion ”
is come into the Downs, which pleases him like-
wise. He expects to be ordered to Sheerness
shortly, as the “ Tamar ” has never been refitted.
[284]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
My father and mother made the same match
for you last night, and are very much pleased
with it. He is a beauty of my mother’s.
Yours affectionately,
| J ANE.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
1799
Tue third division consists of four letters writ-
ten from Bath in May and June, 1799, when Mr.
and Mrs. Austen of Godmersham had taken a
house for a month, in order that the former
might “try the waters” for the benefit of his
health, which was supposed to be delicate; the ex-
periment seems to have been successful, for he
lived fifty-three years longer, dying at Godmers-
ham in December, 1852, at the good old age of
eighty-two. Cassandra had stayed at home with
her father at Steventon, and Mrs. Austen and
Jane had accompanied the Godmersham party.
These letters contain little more than ordinary
chit-chat, and for the most part explain them-
selves. There is another allusion to “ Pride and
Prejudice ” under the name of “ First Impres-
sions,’ which Martha Lloyd seems to have been
[285]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
allowed to read; another proof that this work at
least was read and talked over in the family long
before it was published.
—
XVIII
13, Queen’s Square, Friday (May 17).
My DEAREST CASSANDRA,
Our journey yesterday went off exceedingly
well; nothing occurred to alarm or delay us. We
found the roads in excellent order, had very
good horses all the way, and reached Devizes
with ease by four o'clock. I suppose John has
told you in what manner we were divided when
we left Andover, and no alteration was after-
wards made. At Devizes we had comfortable
rooms and a good dinner, to which we sat down
about five; amongst other things we had aspara-
gus and a lobster, which made me wish for you,
and some cheesecakes, on which the children
made so delightful a supper as to endear the
town of Devizes to them for a long time.
Well, here we are at Bath; we got here about
one o'clock, and have been arrived just long
enough to go over the house, fix on our rooms,
and be very well pleased with the whole of it.
Poor Elizabeth has hada dismal ride of it from
Devizes, for it has rained almost all the way, and
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
our first view of Bath has been just as gloomy
as it was last November twelvemonth.
I have got so many things to say, so many
things equally important, that I know not on
which to decide at present, and shall therefore go
and eat with the children.
We stopped in Paragon as we came along, but
as it was too wet and dirty for us to get out, we
could only see Frank, who told us that his mas-
ter was very indifferent, but had had a better
night last night than usual. In Paragon we met
Mrs. Foley and Mrs. Dowdeswell with her yel-
low shawl airing out, and at the bottom of
Kingsdown Hill we met a gentleman in a buggy,
who, on minute examination, turned out to be
Dr. Hall—and Dr. Hall in such very deep
mourning that either his mother, his wife, or him-
self must be dead. These are all of our acquaint-
ances who have yet met our eyes.
I have some hopes of being plagued about my
trunk; I had more a few hours ago, for it was too
heavy to go by the coach which brought Thomas
and Rebecca from Devizes; there was reason to
suppose that it might be too heavy likewise for
any other coach, and for a long time we could
hear of no waggon to convey it. At last, how-
ever, we unluckily discovered that one was just
on the point of setting out for this place, but at
any rate the trunk cannot be here till to-morrow;
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
so far we are safe, and who knows what may not
happen to procure a farther delay?
I put Mary’s letter into the postoffice at An-
dover with my own hand.
We are exceedingly pleased with the house;
the rooms are quite as large as we expected.
Mrs. Bromley is a fat woman in mourning, and
a little black kitten runs about the staircase.
Elizabeth has the apartment within the drawing-
room; she wanted my mother to have it, but as
there was no bed in the inner one, and the stairs
are so much easier of ascent, or my mother so
much stronger than in Paragon as not to regard
the double flight, it is settled for us to be above,
where we have two very nice-sized rooms, with
dirty quilts and everything comfortable. I have
the outward and larger apartment, as I ought
to have; which is quite as large as our bedroom
at home, and my mother’s is not materially less.
The beds are both as large as any at Steventon,
and I have a very nice chest of drawers and a
closet full of shelves—so full indeed that there is
nothing else in it, and it should therefore be
called a cupboard rather than a closet, I suppose.
Tell Mary that there were some carpenters at
work in the inn at Devizes this morning, but as
I could not be sure of their being Mrs. W.
Fowle’s relations, I did not make myself known
to them.
[288]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
I hope it will be a tolerable afternoon. When
first we came, all the umbrellas were up, but now
the pavements are getting very white again.
My mother does not seem at all the worse for
her journey, nor are any of us, I hope, though
Edward seemed rather fagged last night, and
not very brisk this morning; but I trust the bus-
tle of sending for tea, coffee, and sugar, &c., and
going out to taste a cheese himself, will do him
good.
There was a very long list of arrivals here in
the newspaper yesterday, so that we need not
immediately dread absolute solitude; and there
is a public breakfast in Sydney Gardens every
morning, so that we shall not be wholly starved.
Elizabeth has just had a very good account
of the three little boys. I hope you are very busy
and very comfortable. I find no difficulty in
closing my eyes. I like our situation very much;
it is far more cheerful than Paragon, and the
prospect from the drawing-room window, at
which I now write, is rather picturesque, as it
commands a prospective view of the left side of
Brock Street, broken by three Lombardy pop-
lars in the garden of the last house in Queen’s
Parade.
I am rather impatient to know the fate of my
best gown, but I suppose it will be some days
before Frances can get through the trunk. In
[289]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
the meantime I am, with many thanks for your
trouble in making it, as well as marking my silk
stockings,
Yours very affectionately,
J ANE.
A great deal of love from everybody.
Miss Austen, Steventon, Overton, Hants.
XIX
13, Queen’s Square, Sunday (June 2).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
I am obliged to you for two letters, one from
yourself and the other from Mary, for of the
latter I knew nothing till on the receipt of yours
yesterday, when the pigeon-basket was exam-
ined, and I received my due. As I have writ-
ten to her since the time which ought to have
brought me hers, I suppose she will consider her-
self, as I choose to consider, still in my debt.
I will lay out all the little judgment I have in
endeavouring to get such stockings for Anna as
she will approve; but I do not know that I shall
execute Martha’s commission at all, for I am not
fond of ordering shoes; and, at any rate, they
shall all have flat heels.
What must I tell you of Edward? Truth or
falsehood. I will try the former, and you may
choose for yourself another time. He was better
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
yesterday than he had been for two or three
days before—about as well as while he was at
Steventon. He drinks at the Hetling Pump, is
to bathe to-morrow, and try electricity on Tues-
day. He proposed the latter himself to Dr. Fel-
lowes, who made no objection to it, but I fancy
we are all unanimous in expecting no advantage
from it. At present I have no great notion of
our staying here beyond the month.
I heard from Charles last week; they were to
sail on Wednesday.
My mother seems remarkably well. My uncle
overwalked himself at first, and can now only
travel in a chair, but is otherwise very well.
My cloak is come home. I like it very much,
and can now exclaim with delight, like J. Bond
at hay-harvest, “This is what I have been look-
ing for these three years.” I saw some gauzes in
a shop in Bath Street yesterday at only 4d. a
yard, but they were not so good or so pretty as
mine. Flowers are very much worn, and fruit
is still more the thing. Elizabeth has a bunch
of strawberries, and I have seen grapes, cherries,
plums, and apricots. There are likewise almonds
and raisins, French plums, and tamarinds at the
grocers’, but I have never seen any of them in
hats. A plum or greengage would cost three
shillings; cherries and grapes about five, I be-
lieve, but this is at some of the dearest shops.
[291]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
My aunt has told me of a very cheap one, near
Walcot Church, to which I shall go in quest of
something for you. I have never seen an old
woman at the pump-room.
Elizabeth has given me a hat, and it is not
only a pretty hat, but a pretty style of hat too.
It is something like Eliza’s, only, instead of be-
ing all straw, half of it is narrow purple ribbon.
I flatter myself, however, that you can under-
stand very little of it from this description.
Heaven forbid that I should ever offer such en-
couragement to explanations as to give a clear
one on any occasion myself! But I must write
no more of this.
I spent Friday evening with the Mapletons,
and was obliged to submit to being pleased in
spite of my inclination. We took a very charm-
ing walk from six to eight up Beacon Hill, and
across some fields, to the village of Charlecombe,
which is sweetly situated in a little green valley,
as a village with such a name ought to be.
Marianne is sensible and intelligent, and even
Jane, considering how fair she is, is not unpleas-
ant. We had a Miss North and a Mr. Gould of ©
our party; the latter walked home with me after
tea. He is a very young man, just entered Ox-
ford, wears spectacles, and has heard that “ Eve-
lina” was written by Dr. Johnson.
I am afraid I cannot undertake to carry Mar-
[292]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
tha’s shoes home, for, though we had plenty of
room in our trunks when we came, we shall have
many more things to take back, and I must allow
besides for my packing.
There is to be a grand gala on Tuesday even-
ing in Sydney Gardens, a concert, with illumina-
tions and fireworks. 'To the latter Elizabeth and
I look forward with pleasure, and even the con-
cert will have more than its usual charm for me,
as the gardens are large enough for me to get
pretty well beyond the reach of its sound. In
the morning Lady Willoughby is to present the
colours to some corps, or Yeomanry, or other, in
the Crescent, and that such festivities may have
a proper commencement, we think of going
Hons Auge
I am quite pleased with Martha and Mrs.
Lefroy for wanting the pattern of our caps, but
I am not so well pleased with your giving it to
them. )Some wish, some prevailing wish, is
necessary to the animation of everybody’s mind,
and in gratifying this you leave them to form
some other which will not probably be half so
innocent. I shall not forget to write to Frank.
Duty and love, &c
Yours affectionately,
J ANE.
My uncle is quite surprised at my hearing
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
from you so often; but as long as we can keep
the frequency of our correspondence from Mar-
tha’s uncle we will not fear our own.
Miss Austen, Steventon.
XX
13, Queen Square, Tuesday (June 11).
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
Your letter yesterday made me very happy. I
am heartily glad that you have escaped any share
in the impurities of Deane, and not sorry, as it
turns out, that our stay here has been length-
ened. I feel tolerably secure of our getting away
next week, though it is certainly possible that
we may remain till Thursday the 27th. I won-
der what we shall do with all our intended visits
this summer! I should like to make a compro-
mise with Adlestrop, Harden, and Bookham,
that Martha’s spending the summer at Steven-
ton should be considered as our respective visits
to them all.
Edward has been pretty well for this last week,
and as the waters have never disagreed with him
in any respect, we are inclined to hope that he will
derive advantage from them in the end. Every-
body encourages us in this expectation, for they
all say that the effect of the waters cannot be
negative, and many are the instances in which
[294]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
their benefit is felt afterwards more than on the
spot. He is more comfortable here than I
thought he would be, and so is Elizabeth, though
they will both, I believe, be very glad to get away
—the latter especially, which one can’t wonder
at somehow. So much for Mrs. Piozzi. I had
some thoughts of writing the whole of my letter
in her style, but I believe I shall not.
Though you have given me unlimited powers
concerning your sprig, I cannot determine what
to do about it, and shall therefore in this and in
every other future letter continue to ask your
farther directions. We have been to the cheap
shop, and very cheap we found it, but there are
only flowers made there, no fruit; and as I could
get four or five very pretty sprigs of the former
for the same money which would procure only
one Orleans plum—in short, could get more for
three or four shillings than I could have means
of bringing home—I cannot decide on the fruit
till I hear from you again. Besides, I cannot
help thinking that it is more natural to have
flowers grow out of the head than fruit. What
do you think on that subject?
I would not let Martha read “ First Impres-
sions” again upon any account, and am very
glad that I did not leave it in your power. She
is very cunning, but I saw through her design;
she means to publish it from memory, and one
[295]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
more perusal must enable her to do it. As for
“ Fitzalbini,” when I get home she shall have it,
as soon as ever she will own that Mr. Elliott is
handsomer than Mr. Lance, that fair men are
preferable to black; for I mean to take every
opportunity of rooting out her prejudices.
Benjamin Portal is here. How charming that
is! I do not exactly know why, but the phrase
followed so naturally that I could not help put-
ting it down. My mother saw him the other day,
but without making herself known to him.
I am very glad you liked my lace, and so are
you, and so is Martha, and we are all glad to-
gether. I have got your cloak home, which is
quite delightful—as delightful at least as half
the circumstances which are called so.
I do not know what is the matter with me to-
day, but I cannot write quietly; I am always
wandering away into some exclamation or other.
Fortunately I have nothing very particular to
say.
We walked to Weston one evening last week,
and liked it very much. Liked what very much?
Weston? No, walking to Weston. I have not
expressed myself properly, but I hope you will
understand me.
We have not been to any public place lately,
nor performed anything out of the common daily
routine of No. 138, Queen Square, Bath. But
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to-day we were to have dashed away at a very
extraordinary rate, by dining out, had it not so
happened that we did not go.
Edward renewed his acquaintance lately with
Mr. Evelyn, who lives in the Queen’s Parade,
and was invited to a family dinner, which I be-
lieve at first Elizabeth was rather sorry at his ac-
cepting; but yesterday Mrs. Evelyn called on us,
and her manners were so pleasing that we liked
the idea of going very much. The Biggs would
call her a nice woman. But Mr. Evelyn, who
was indisposed yesterday, is worse to-day, and
we are put off.
It is rather impertinent to suggest any house-
hold care to a housekeper, but I just venture to
say that the coffee-mill will be wanted every day
while Edward is at Steventon, as he always
drinks coffee for breakfast.
Fanny desires her love to you, her love to
grandpapa, her love to Anna, and her love to
Hannah; the latter is particularly to be remem-
bered. Edward desires his love to you, to grand-
papa, to Anna, to little Edward, to Aunt James
and Uncle James, and he hopes all your turkeys
and ducks, and chicken and guinea fowls are
very well; and he wishes you very much to send
him a printed letter, and so does Fanny—and
they both rather think they shall answer it.
“On more accounts than one you wished our
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
stay here to be lengthened beyond last Thurs-
day.” There is some mystery in this. What
have you going on in Hampshire besides the itch
from which you want to keep us?
Dr. Gardiner was married yesterday to Mrs.
Percy and her three daughters.
Now I will give you the history of Mary’s veil,
in the purchase of which I have so considerably
involved you that it is my duty to economise for
you in the flowers. I had no difficulty in getting a
muslin veil for half a guinea, and not much more
in discovering afterwards that the muslin was
thick, dirty, and ragged, and therefore would by
no means do for a united gift. I changed it con-
sequently as soon as I could, and, considering
what.a state my imprudence had reduced me to,
I thought myself lucky in getting a black lace
one for sixteen shillings. I hope the half of
that sum will not greatly exceed what you had
intended to offer upon the altar of sister-in-law
affection. Yours affectionately, JANE.
They do not seem to trouble you much from
Manydown. I have long wanted to quarrel with
them, and I believe I shall take this opportunity.
There is no denying that they are very capricious
—for they like to enjoy their elder sister’s com-
pany when they can.
Miss Austen, Steventon, Overton, Hants.
[298]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XXI
13, Queen Square, Wednesday (June 19).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
The children were delighted with your letters,
as I fancy they will tell you themselves before
this is concluded. Fanny expressed some sur-
prise at the wetness of the wafers, but it did not
lead to any suspicion of the truth.
Martha and you were just in time with your
commissions, for two o’clock on Monday was the
last hour of my receiving them. The office is
now closed.
John Lyford’s history is a melancholy one. I
feel for his family, and when I know that his
wife was really fond of him, I will feel for her
too, but at present I cannot help thinking their
loss the greatest.
Edward has not been well these last two days;
his appetite has failed him, and he has complained
of sick and uncomfortable feelings, which, with
other symptoms, make us think of the gout; per-
haps a fit of it might cure him, but I cannot wish
it to begin at Bath. He made an important pur-
chase yesterday: no less so than a pair of coach-
horses. His friend Mr. Evelyn found them out
and recommended them, and if the judgment of
a Yahoo can ever be depended on, I suppose it
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
may now, for I believe Mr. Evelyn has all his
life thought more of horses than of anything else.
Their colour is black and their size not large;
their price sixty guineas, of which the chair mare
was taken as fifteen—but this is of course to be a
secret.
Mrs. Williams need not pride herself upon her
knowledge of Dr. Mapleton’s success here; she
knows no more than everybody else knows in
Bath. There is not a physician in the place who
writes so many prescriptions as he does. I can-
not help wishing that Edward had not been tied
down to Dr. Fellowes, for, had he come disen-
gaged, we should all have recommended Dr.
Mapleton; my uncle and aunt as earnestly as
ourselves. I do not see the Miss Mapletons very
often, but just as often as I like; we are always
very glad to meet, and I do not wish to wear out
our satisfaction.
Last Sunday we all drank tea in Paragon; my
uncle is still in his flannels, but is getting better
again.
On Monday Mr. Evelyn was well enough for
us to fulfil our engagement with him; the visit
was very quiet and_ uneventful—pleasant
enough. We met only another Mr. Evelyn, his
cousin, whose wife came to tea.
Last night we were in Sydney Gardens again,
as there was a repetition of the gala which went
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LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
off so ill on the 4th. We did not go till nine, and
then were in very good time for the fireworks,
which were really beautiful, and surpassing my
expectation; the illuminations, too, were very
pretty. The weather was as favourable as it was
otherwise a fortnight ago. The play on Satur-
day is, I hope, to conclude our gaieties here, for
nothing but a lengthened stay will make it other-
wise. We go with Mrs. Fellowes.
Edward will not remain at Steventon longer
than from Thursday to the following Monday,
I believe, as the rent-day is to be fixed for the
consecutive Friday.
I can recollect nothing more to say at present;
perhaps breakfast may assist my ideas. I was
deceived—my breakfast supplied only two ideas
—that the rolls were good and the butter bad.
But the post has been more friendly to me—it
has brought me a letter from Miss Pearson.
You may remember that I wrote to her above
two months ago about the parcel under my care;
and as I had heard nothing from her since, I
thought myself obliged to write again, two or
three days ago, for after all that has passed I
was determined that the correspondence should
never cease through my means. This second let-
ter has produced an apology for her silence,
founded on the illness of several of the family.
The exchange of packets is to take place through
[301]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
the medium of Mr. Nutt, probably one of the
sons belonging to Woolwich Academy, who
comes to Overton in the beginning of July. I
am tempted to suspect from some parts of her
letter that she has a matrimonial project in view.
I shall question her about it when I answer her
letter, but all this you know is en mystére between
ourselves.
Edward has seen the apothecary to whom Dr.
Millman recommended him, a sensible, intelli-
gent man, since I began this, and he attributes
his present little feverish indisposition to his hav-
ing ate something unsuited to his stomach. I do
not understand that Mr. Anderton suspects the
gout at all; the occasional particular glow in the
hands and feet, which we considered as a symp-
tom of that disorder, he only calls the effect of
the water in promoting a better circulation of
the blood.
I cannot help thinking from your account of
Mrs. E. H. that Earle’s vanity has tempted him
to invent the account of her former way of life,
that his triumph in securing her might be
greater; I dare say she was nothing but an inno-
cent country girl in fact. Adieu! I shall not
write again before Sunday, unless anything par-
ticular happens.
Yours ever,
J ANE.
[302]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
We shall be with you on Thursday to a very
late dinner—later, I suppose, than my father
will like for himself—but I give him leave to
eat one before. You must give us something
very nice, for we are used to live well.
Miss Austen, Steventon, Overton, Hants.
——__—_—
1800, 1801
THESE are all addressed to Godmersham, where
Cassandra was staying with her brother Edward.
“* Heathcote and Chute forever,” in the first let-
ter (No. 22), refers to the two Conservative
members, who again stood and were returned
without a contest in 1802. Mr. William Chute,
of the Vine, in the parish of Sherborn St. John,
Basingstoke, was a mighty fox-hunter, and the
founder of the celebrated pack which has since
been called by the name of his house. He was
elected M.P. for Hants in 1795. Camden men-
tions this seat in the following laudatory words,
after the description of Basing House:—
*'Neere unto this house, the Vine sheweth it-
selfe, a very faire place, and mansion house of
the Baron Sands, so named of the vines there,
which wee have had in Britaine, since Probus the
emperour’s time, rather for shade than fruit.
For, hee permitted the Britaines to have vines.
[303]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
The first of these Barons was Sir William Sands,
whom King Henry the Eighth advanced to that
dignitie, being Lord Chamberlaine unto him,
and having much amended his estate by marry-
ing Margerie Bray, daughter and heire of John
Bray, and cousin to Sir Reinold Bray, a most
worthy Knight of the Order of the Garter, and
a right noble Banneret: whose son Thomas Lord
Sands was grandfather to William L. Sands
that now liveth.”
~ Warner has, in his “ History of Hampshire,”
an interesting account of this place and of the
Sands family, concluding thus: “ About 1654,
the ancient family mansion of the Vine, together
with the estate, was sold, in those unhappy times,
to Chaloner Chute, Esq., a lawyer, who, in 1656,
was returned member for Middlesex; and again
for the same place in the Parliament of Richard
Cromwell; and also Speaker of the House, but
from the anxiety of his mind respecting the tu-
mults, he was so ill, that the Parliament chose
another Speaker, until his health should be re-
established; but that never happened: he dying
April 15, 1659.” Anthony Chute, says Warner,
“stood the famous contested election for the
county ” in 1734, and afterwards sat for Yar-
mouth and subsequently for Newport in the Isle
of Wight. A collateral branch of Chutes, from
Norfolk, came into this property in 1776.
[304]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
An allusion in letter No. 24 (written Novem-
ber 20, 1800) to James Digweed’s compliment to
Cassandra respecting the fall of two elms, sug-
gests the quotation from a letter published by
Mr. Austen Leigh, of the date of November 8,
in that same year :—*“ Sunday evening. We have
had a dreadful storm of wind in the fore-part of
this day which has done a great deal of mischief
among our trees. I was sitting alone in the din-
ing-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, sank among our screen of
chestnuts and firs, knocking down one spruce fir,
breaking 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-cock was broke in
two, and what I regret more than all the rest is,
that all the three elms which grew in Hall’s
meadow and gave such ornament to it are gone;
two were blown down, and the other so much in-
jured that it cannot stand. I am happy to add,
[305]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
however, that no greater evil than the loss of the
trees has been the consequence of the storm in
this place, or in our immediate neighbourhood;
we grieve, therefore, in some comfort.” In this
same twenty-fourth letter occurs the sentence,
“You and George walking to Eggerton!” Eg-
gerton, or more properly Eggarton, was an old
manor-house near Godmersham, on the other side
of the river. It formerly belonged—that is to
say, so long ago as the reign of Queen Elizabeth
—to the Scots of Scot’s Hall, from whose pos-
session it passed through several hands until it
came into those of the Gott family, one of whom
left it to the co-heiresses of William Western
Hugessen of Provender; and when these two
ladies married respectively Sir Edward Knatch-
bull (my grandfather) and Sir Joseph Banks,
this property was sold to Jane, a sister of Mr.
Thomas Knight. Another of his sisters, Mrs.
Elizabeth Knight, was of weak intellect, and
after the two sisters had resided first at Bilting,
she was moved to Eggarton, a larger and more
convenient house, and two lady attendants, Miss
Cuthbert and her sister Maria, were engaged to
look after her, which they did for many years.
It was to these ladies that the visits from God-
mersham were paid. Eggarton House stood on
the east side of Godmersham, in the parish of
Crundale, near a wood, which went by the name
[306]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
of Purr Wood, and was eventually pulled down
by my grandfather, Mr. Knight, who did not
care to let it, being so near Godmersham.
The twenty-fifth letter is almost entirely taken
up with remarks upon the preparations for leav-
ing Steventon and settling at Bath. which event
occurred in 1801, and does not seem to have been
regretted by Jane as much as one would have
expected. But the fact is that she was very little
dependent upon the world outside her own fam-
ily, and carried with her wherever she went occu-
pations and resources of her own which did not
require to be supplemented by extraneous assist-
ance. Her home was wherever her own people
were, and whether at Steventon, Bath, or else-
where, her cheerful temperament was even and
unvaried, and assured her own happiness as well
as that of those with whom she lived.
The other letters in this division do not seem
to require further explanation.
SS. W
Steventon: Saturday evening (October 25).
My peEar CassaNnpRaA,
I am not yet able to acknowledge the receipt
of any parcel from London, which I suppose will
not occasion you much surprise. I was a little
disappointed to-day, but not more so than is per-
[307]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
fectly agreeable, and I hope to be disappointed
again to-morrow, as only one coach comes down
on Sundays.
You have had a very pleasant journey of
course and have found Elizabeth and all the chil-
dren very well on your arrival at Godmersham,
and I congratulate you on it. Edward is rejoic-
ing this evening, I dare say, to find himself once
more at home, from which he fancies he has been
absent a great while. His son left behind him
the very fine chestnuts which had been selected
for planting at Godmersham, and the drawing
of his own which he had intended to carry to
George; the former will therefore be deposited
in the soil of Hampshire instead of Kent, the
latter I have already consigned to another ele-
ment.
We have been exceedingly busy ever since you
went away. In the first place we have had to re-
joice two or three times every day at your having
such very delightful weather for the whole of
your journey, and in the second place we have
been obliged to take advantage of the very de-
lightful weather ourselves by going to see almost
all our neighbours.
On Thursday we walked to Deane, yesterday
to Oakley Hall and Oakley, and to-day to Deane
again. At Oakley Hall we did a great deal—eat
some sandwiches all over mustard, admired Mr.
[308]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Bramston’s porter, and Mrs. Bramston’s trans-
parencies, and gained a promise from the latter
of two roots of heartsease, one all yellow and the
other all purple, for you. At Oakley we bought
ten pair of worsted stockings and a shift; the
shift is for Betty Dawkins, as we find she wants
it more than a rug; she is one of the most grate-
ful of all whom Edward’s charity has reached,
or at least she expresses herself more warmly
than the rest, for she sends him a “sight of
thanks.”
This morning we called at the Harwoods’, and
in their dining-room found “Heathcote and
Chute forever.” Mrs. William Heathcote and
Mrs. Chute—the first of whom took a long ride
yesterday morning with Mrs. Harwood into
Lord Carnarvon’s park, and fainted away in the
evening, and the second walked down from Oak-
ley Hall attended by Mrs. Augusta Bramston;
they had meant to come on to Steventon after-
wards, but we knew a trick worth two of that.
If I had thought of it in time, I would have
said something civil to her about Kdward’s never
having had any serious idea of calling on Mr.
Chute while he was in Hampshire; but unluckily
it did not occur to me. Mrs. Heathcote is gone
home to-day; Catherine had paid her an early
visit at Deane in the morning, and brought a
good account of Harris.
[309]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
James went to Winchester Fair yesterday, and
bought a new horse, and Mary has got a new
maid—two great acquisitions; one comes from
Folly farm, is about five years old, used to draw,
and thought very pretty, and the other is niece to
Dinah at Kintbury.
James called by my father’s desire on Mr.
Bayle to inquire into the cause of his being so
horrid. Mr. Bayle did not attempt to deny his
being horrid, and made many apologies for it;
he did not plead his having a drunken self, he
talked only of a drunken foreman, &c., and gave
hopes of the tables being at Steventon on Mon-
day se’nnight next. We have had no letter since
you left us, except one from Mr. Serle of Bish-
opstoke to inquire the character of James Elton.
Our whole neighbourhood is at present very
busy grieving over poor Mrs. Martin, who has
totally failed in her business, and had very lately
an execution in her house. Her own brother
and Mr. Rider are the principal creditors, and
they have seized her effects in order to prevent
other people’s doing it. There has been the same
affair going on, we are told, at Wilson’s, and my
hearing nothing of you makes me apprehensive
that you, your fellow travellers, and all your ef-
fects, might be seized by the bailiffs when you
stopt at the house, and sold altogether for the
benefit of the creditors.
[310]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
In talking of Mr. Deedes’ new house, Mrs.
Bramston told us one circumstance, which, that
we should be ignorant of it before, must make
Edward’s conscience fly into his face; she told
us that one of the sitting rooms at Sandling, an
oval room, with a bow at one end, has the very
remarkable and singular feature of a fireplace
with a window, the centre window of the bow,
exactly over the mantel-piece.
Sunday.—This morning’s unpromising aspect
makes it absolutely necessary for me to observe
once more how peculiarly fortunate you have
been in your weather, and then I will drop the
subject forever. Our improvements have ad-
vanced very well; the bank along the elm walk
is sloped down for the reception of thorns and
lilacs, and it is settled that the other side of the
path is to continue turfed, and to be planted with
beech, ash, and larch.
Monday.—I am glad I had no means of send-
ing this yesterday, as I am now able to thank
you for executing my commission so well. I like
the gown very much, and my mother thinks it
very ugly. I like the stockings also very much,
and greatly prefer having two pair only of that
quality to three of an inferior sort. The combs
are very pretty, and I am much obliged to you
for your present, but am sorry you should make
me so many. ‘The pink shoes are not particu-
[311]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
larly beautiful, but they fit me very well; the
others are faultless. I am glad that I have still
my cloak to expect.
Among my other obligations, I must not omit
to remember your writing me so long a letter in
a time of such hurry. I am amused by your go-
ing to Milgate at last, and glad that you have so
charming a day for your journey home.
My father approves his stockings very highly,
and finds no fault with any part of Mrs. Han-
cock’s bill except the charge of 3s. 6d. for the
packing-box.
The weather does not know how to be other-
wise than fine. I am surprised that Mrs. Marriot
should not be taller. Surely you have made a
mistake. Did Mr. Roland make you look well?
Yours affectionately, J.A.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
XXIII
Steventon: Saturday (November 1).
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
You have written, I am sure, though I have
received no letter from you since your leaving
London; the post, and not yourself, must have
been unpunctual.
We have at last heard from Frank; a letter
[312]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
from him to you came yesterday, and I mean
to send it on as soon as I can get a ditto (that
means a frank), which I hope to do in a day or
two. En attendant, you must rest satisfied with
knowing that on the 8th of July the “ Petterel,”
with the rest of the Egyptian squadron, was off
the Isle of Cyprus, whither they went from
Jaffa for provisions, &c., and whence they were
to sail in a day or two for Alexandria, there to
wait the result of the English proposals for the
evacuation of Egypt. The rest of the letter, ac-
cording to the present fashionable style of com-
position, is chiefly descriptive. Of his promotion
he knows nothing; of prizes he is guiltless.
Your letter is come; it came, indeed, twelve
lines ago, but I could not stop to acknowledge it
before, and I am glad it did not arrive till I had
completed my first sentence, because the sentence
had been made ever since yesterday, and I think
forms a very good beginning.
Your abuse of our gowns amuses but does not
discourage me; I shall take mine to be made up
next week, and the more I look at it the better
it pleases me. My cloak came on Tuesday, and,
though I expected a good deal, the beauty of the
lace astonished me. It is too handsome to be
worn—almost too handsome to be looked at. The
glass is all safely arrived also, and gives great
satisfaction. The wine-glasses are much smaller
[313]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
than I expected, but I suppose it is the proper
size. We find no fault with your manner of per-
forming any of our commissions, but if you like
to think yourself remiss in any of them, pray do.
My mother was rather vexed that you could
not go to Penlington’s, but she has since written
to him, which does just as well. Mary is disap-
pointed, of course, about her locket, and of
course delighted about the mangle, which is safe
at Basingstoke. You will thank Edward for it
on their behalf, &c., &c., and, as you know how
much it was wished for, will not feel that you
are inventing gratitude.
Did you think of our ball on Thursday even-
ing, and did you suppose me at it? You might
very safely, for there I was. On Wednesday
morning it was settled that Mrs. Harwood, Mary,
and I should go together, and shortly afterwards
a very civil note of invitation for me came from
Mrs. Bramston, who wrote I beheve as soon as
as she knew of the ball. I might likewise have
gone with Mrs. Lefroy, and therefore, with three
methods of going, I must have been more at the
ball than anyone else. JI dined and slept at
Deane; Charlotte and I did my hair, which I
faney looked very indifferent; nobody abused
it, however, and I retired delighted with my
success.
It was a pleasant ball, and still more good than
[314]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
pleasant, for there were nearly sixty people, and
sometimes we had seventeen couple. The Ports-
mouths, Dorchesters, Boltons, Portals, and
Clerks were there, and all the meaner and more
usual &c., &e.’s. There was a scarcity of men in
general, and a still greater scarcity of any that
were good for much. I danced nine dances out
of ten—five with Stephen Terry, T. Chute, and
James Digweed, and four with Catherine.
There was commonly a couple of ladies stand-
ing up together, but not often any so amiable as
ourselves.
I heard no news, except that Mr. Peters, who
was not there, is supposed to be particularly at-
tentive to Miss Lyford. You were inquired after
very prettily, and I hope the whole assembly
now understands that you are gone into Kent,
which the families in general seemed to meet in
ignorance of. Lord Portsmouth surpassed the
rest in his attentive recollection of you, inquired
more into the length of your absence, and con-
cluded by desiring to be “remembered to you
when I wrote next.”
Lady Portsmouth had got a different dress
on, and Lady Bolton is much improved by a
wig. The three Miss Terries were there, but no
Annie; which was a great disappointment to me.
I hope the poor girl had not set her heart on her
appearance that evening so much as I had. Mr.
[315]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Terry is ill, ina very low way. I said civil things
to Edward for Mr. Chute, who amply returned
them by declaring that, had he known of my
brother’s being at Steventon, he should have
made a point of calling upon him to thank him
for his civility about the Hunt.
I have heard from Charles, and am to send his
shirts by half-dozens as they are finished; one
set will go next week. The “ Kndymion ” is now
waiting only for orders, .but may wait for them
perhaps a month. Mr. Coulthard * was unlucky
in very narrowly missing another unexpected
guest at Chawton, for Charles had actually set
out and got half way thither in order to spend
one day with Edward, but turned back on dis-
covering the distance to be considerably more
than he had fancied, and finding himself and his
horse to be very much tired. I should regret it
the more if his friend Shipley had been of the
party, for Mr. Coulthard might not have been so
well pleased to see only one come at a time.
Miss Harwood is still at Bath, and writes word
that she never was in better health, and never
more happy. Joshua Wakeford died last Sat-
urday, and my father buried him on Thursday.
A deaf Miss Fonnereau is at Ashe, which has
prevented Mrs. Lefroy’s going to Worting or
Basingstoke during the absence of Mr. Lefroy.
1 Mr. Coulthard rented Chawton House at this time.
[316]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
My mother is very happy in the prospect of
dressing a new doll which Molly has given Anna.
My father’s feelings are not so enviable, as it
appears that the farm cleared 3001. last year.
James and Mary went to Ibthorp for one night
last Monday, and found Mrs. Lloyd not in very
good looks. Martha has been lately at Kint-
bury, but is probably at home by this time.
Mary’s promised maid has jilted her, and hired
herself elsewhere. The Debaries persist in being
afflicted at the death of their uncle, of whom they
now say they saw a great deal in London. Love
to all. I am glad George remembers me.
Yours very affectionately, J. A.
Iam very unhappy. In re-reading your letter
I find I might have spared myself any intelli-
gence of Charles. To have written only what
you knew before! You may guess how much I
feel. I wore at the ball your favourite gown, a
bit of muslin of the same round my head, bor-
dered with Mrs. Cooper’s band, and one little
comb.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
[317]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XXIV
Steventon: Thursday (November 20).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
Your letter took me quite by surprise this
morning; you are very welcome, however, and I
am very much obliged to you. I believe I drank
too much wine last night at Hurstbourne; I know
not how else to account for the shaking of my
hand to-day. You will kindly make allowance
therefore for any indistinctness of writing, by
attributing it to this venial error.
Naughty Charles did not come on Tuesday,
but good Charles came yesterday morning.
About two o’clock he walked in on a Gosport
hack. His feeling equal to such a fatigue is a
good sign, and his feeling no fatigue in it a still
better. He walked down to Deane to dinner;
he danced the whole evening, and to-day is no
more tired than a gentleman ought to be.
Your desiring to hear from me on Sunday
will, perhaps, bring you a more particular ac-
count of the ball than you may care for, because
one is prone to think much more of such things
the morning after they happen, than when time
has entirely driven them out of one’s recollection.
It was a pleasant evening; Charles found it
remarkably so, but I cannot tell why, unless the
absence of Miss Terry, towards whom his con-
[318]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
science reproaches him with being now perfectly
indifferent, was a relief to him. There were
only twelve dances, of which I danced nine, and
was merely prevented from dancing the rest by
the want of a partner. We began at ten, supped
at one, and were at Deane before five. There
were but fifty people in the room; very few
families indeed from our side of the county, and
not many more from the other. My partners
were the two St. Johns, Hooper, Holder, and
very prodigious Mr. Mathew, with whom I called
the last, and whom I liked the best of my little
stock.
There were very few beauties, and such as there
were were not very handsome. Miss Iremonger
did not look well, and Mrs. Blount was the only
one much admired. She appeared exactly as
she did in September, with the same broad face,
diamond bandeau, white shoes, pink husband,
and fat neck. The two Miss Coxes were there:
I traced in one the remains of the vulgar, broad-
featured girl who danced at Enham eight years
ago; the other is refined into a nice, composed-
looking girl, like Catherine Bigg. I looked at
Sir Thomas Champneys and thought of poor
Rosalie; I looked at his daughter, and thought
her a queer animal with a white neck. Mrs.
Warren, I was constrained to think, a very fine
young woman, which I much regret. She danced
£319]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
away with great activity. Her husband is ugly
enough, uglier even than his cousin John; but he
does not look so very old. The Miss Maitlands
are both prettyish, very like Anne, with brown
skins, large dark eyes, and a good deal of nose.
The General has got the gout, and Mrs. Mait-
land the jaundice. Miss Debary, Susan, and
Sally, all in black, but without any stature, made
their appearance, and I was as civil to them as
circumstances would allow me.
They told me nothing new of Martha. I mean
to go to her on Thursday, unless Charles should
determine on coming over again with his friend
Shipley for the Basingstoke ball, in which case I
shall not go till Friday. I shall write to you
again, however, before I set off, and I shall hope
to hear from you in the meantime. If I do not
stay for the ball, I would not on any account do
so uncivil a thing by the neighbourhood as to set
off at that very time for another place, and shall
therefore make a point of not being later than
Thursday morning.
Mary said that I looked very well last night.
I wore my aunt’s gown and handkerchief, and
my hair was at least tidy, which was all my am-
bition. I will now have done with the ball, and I
will moreover go and dress for dinner.
Thursday evening.—Charles leaves us on Sat-
urday, unless Henry should take us in his way
[320]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to the island, of which we have some hopes, and
then they will probably go together on Sunday.
The young lady whom it is expected that Sir
Thomas is to marry is Miss Emma Wabshaw;
‘She lives somewhere between Southampton and
Winchester, is handsome, accomplished, amiable,
and everything but rich. He is certainly finish-
ing his house in a great hurry. Perhaps the re-
port of his being to marry a Miss Fanshawe
might originate in his attentions to this very
lady—the names are not unlike.
Summers has made my gown very well indeed,
and I get more and more pleased with it. Charles
does not lke it, but my father and Mary do.
My mother is very much resigned to it; and as
for James, he gives it the preference over every-
thing of the kind he ever saw, in proof of which
I am desired to say that if you like to sell yours
Mary will buy it.
We had a very pleasant day on Monday at
Ashe, we sat down fourteen to dinner in the
study, the dining-room being not habitable from
the storms having blown down its chimney. Mrs.
Bramston talked a good deal of nonsense, which
Mr. Bramston and Mr. Clerk seemed almost
equally to enjoy. There was a whist and a ca-
sino table, and six outsiders. Rice and Lucy
made love, Mat. Robinson fell asleep, James and
Mrs. Augusta alternately read Dr. Finnis’ pam-
[321]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
phlet on the cow-pox, and I bestowed my com-
pany by turns on all.
On inquiring of Mrs. Clerk, I find that Mrs.
Heathcote made a great blunder in her news of
the Crookes and Morleys. It is young Mr.
Crook who is to marry the second Miss Morley,
and it is the Miss Morleys instead of the second
Miss Crooke who were the beauties at the music
meeting. This seems a more likely tale, a better
devised imposture.
The three Digweeds all came on Tuesday, and
we played a pool at commerce. James Digweed
left Hampshire to-day. I think he must be in
love with you, from his anxiety to have you go
to the Faversham balls, and likewise from his
supposing that the two elms fell from their grief
at your absence. Was not it a gallant idea? It
never occurred to me before, but I dare say it
was SO.
Hacker has been here to-day putting in the
fruit trees. A new plan has been suggested con-
cerning the plantation of the new inclosure of
the right-hand side of the elm walk: the doubt is
whether it would be better to make a little or-
chard of it by planting apples, pears, and
cherries, or whether it should be larch, mountain
ash, and acacia. What is your opinion? I say
nothing, and am ready to agree with anybody.
You and George walking to Eggerton! What
[322]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
a droll party! Do the Ashford people still come
to Godmersham church every Sunday in a cart?
It is you that always disliked Mr. N. Toke so
much, not Z. I do not like his wife, and I do not
like Mr. Brett, but as for Mr. Toke, there are
few people whom I like better.
Miss Harwood and her friend have taken a
house fifteen miles from Bath; she writes very
kind letters, but sends no other particulars of
the situation. Perhaps it is one of the first houses
in Bristol.
Farewell; Charles sends you his best love and
Edward his worst. If you think the distinction
improper, you may take the worst yourself. He
will write to you when he gets back to his ship,
and in the meantime desires that you will con-
sider me as Your affectionate sister, J. A.
Friday.—I have determined to go on Thurs-
day, but of course not before the post comes in.
Charles is in very good looks indeed. I had the
comfort of finding out the other evening who all
the fat girls with long noses were that disturbed
me at the Ist H. ball. They all prove to be
Miss Atkinsons of En— (illegible).
I rejoice to say that we have just had another
letter from our dear Frank. It is to you, very
short, written from Larnica in Cyprus, and so
lately as October 2. He came from Alexandria,
[ 323 |
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
and was to return there in three or four days,
knew nothing of his promotion, and does not
write above twenty lines, from a doubt of the
letter’s ever reaching you, and an idea of all let-
ters being opened at Vienna. He wrote a few
days before to you from Alexandria by the
“Mercury,” sent with despatches to Lord Keith.
Another letter must be owing to us besides this,
one if not two; because none of these are to me.
Henry comes to-morrow, for one night only.
My mother has heard from Mrs. EK. Leigh.
Lady Saye and Seale and her daughter are go-
ing to remove to Bath. Mrs. Estwick is mar-
ried again to a Mr. Sloane, a young man under
age, without the knowledge of either family.
He bears a good character, however.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
XXV.
Steventon: Saturday (January $3).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
As you have by this time received my last let-
ter, it is fit that I should begin another, and I
begin with the hope, which is at present upper-
most in my mind, that you often wore a white
gown in the morning at the time of all the gay
parties being with you.
Our visit at Ash Park, last Wednesday, went
[324]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
off in a come-cd way. We met Mr. Lefroy and
Tom Chute, played at cards, and came home
again. James and Mary dined here on the fol-
lowing day, and at night Henry set off in the
mail for London. He was as agreeable as ever
during his visit, and has not lost anything in
Miss Lloyd’s estimation.
Yesterday we were quite alone—only our four
selves; but to-day the scene is agreeably varied
by Mary’s driving Martha to Basingstoke, and
Martha’s afterwards dining at Deane.
My mother looks forward with as much cer-
tainty as you can do to our keeping two maids;
my father is the only one not in the secret. We
plan having a steady cook and a young, giddy
housemaid, with a sedate, middle-aged man, who
is to undertake the double office of husband to
the former and sweetheart to the latter. No
children, of course, to be allowed on either side.
You feel more for John Bond than John
Bond deserves. I am sorry to lower his char-
acter, but he is not ashamed to own himself that
he has no doubt at all of getting a good place,
and that he had even an offer many years ago
from a Farmer Paine of taking him into his
service whenever he might quit my father’s.
There are three parts of Bath which we have
thought of as likely to have houses in them—
Westgate Buildings, Charles Street, and some
[325]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
of the short streets leading from Laura Place or
Pulteney Street.
Westgate Buildings, though quite in the lower
part of the town, are not badly situated them-
selves. The street is broad, and has rather a
good appearance. Charles Street, however, I
think, is preferable. The buildings are new, and
its nearness to Kingsmead Fields would be a
pleasant circumstance. Perhaps you may re-
member, or perhaps you may forget, that Charles
Street leads from the Queen Square Chapel to
the two Green Park Streets.
The houses in the streets near Laura Place I
should expect to be above our price. Gay Street
would be too high, except only the lower house
on the left-hand side as you ascend. ‘Towards
that my mother has no disinclination; it used to
be lower rented than any other house in the row,
from some inferiority in the apartments. But
above all others her wishes are at present fixed
on the corner house in Chapel Row, which opens
into Prince’s Street. Her knowledge of it, how-
ever, is confined only to the outside, and there-
fore she is equally uncertain of its being really
desirable as of its being to be had. In the mean-
time she assures you that she will do everything
in her power to avoid Trim Street, although you
have not expressed the fearful presentiment of
it which was rather expected.
[326]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
We know that Mrs. Perrot will want to get us
into Oxford Buildings, but we all unite in par-
ticular dislike of that part of the town, and
therefore hope to escape. Upon all these differ-
ent situations you and Edward may confer to-
gether, and your opinion of each will be expected
with eagerness.
As to our pictures, the battle-piece, Mr. Nibbs,
Sir William Fast, and all the old heterogeneous
miscellany, manuscript, Scriptural pieces dis-
persed over the house, are to be given to James.
Your own drawings will not cease to be your
own, and the two paintings on tin will be at your
disposal. My mother says that the French agri-
cultural prints in the best bedroom were given
by Edward to his two sisters. Do you or he
know anything about it?
She has written to my aunt, and we are all
impatient for the answer. I do not know how
to give up the idea of our both going to Paragon
in May. Your going I consider as indispensably
necessary, and I shall not like being left behind;
there is no place here or hereabouts that I shall
want to be staying at, and though, to be sure,
the keep of two will be more than of one, I
will endeavour to make the difference less by dis-
ordering my stomach with Bath buns; and as to
the trouble of accommodating us, whether there
are one or two, it is much the same.
[327]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
According to the first plan, my mother and
our two selves are to travel down together, and
my father follow us afterwards in about a fort-
night or three weeks. We have promised to
spend a couple of days at Ibthorp in our way.
We must all meet at Bath, you know, before we
set out for the sea, and, everything considered, I
think the first plan as good as any.
My father and mother, wisely aware of the
difficulty of finding in all Bath such a bed as
their own, have resolved on taking it with them;
all the beds, indeed, that we shall want are to be
removed—viz., besides theirs, our own two, the
best for a spare one, and two for servants; and
these necessary articles will probably be the only
material ones that it would answer to send down.
I do not think it will be worth while to remove
any of our chests of drawers; we shall be able
to get some of a much more commoduious sort,
made of deal, and painted to look very neat; -
and I flatter myself that for little comforts of
all kinds our apartment will be one of the most
complete things of the sort all over Bath, Bristol
included.
We have thought at times of removing the
sideboard, or a Pembroke table, or some other
piece of furniture, but, upon the whole, it has
ended in thinking that the trouble and risk of
the removal would be more than the advantage
[328]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
of having them at a place where everything may
be purchased. Pray send your opinion.
Martha has as good as promised to come to
us again in March. Her spirits are better than
they were.
I have now attained the true art of letter-
writing, which we are always told is to express
on paper exactly what one would say to the same
person by word of mouth. I have been talking
to you almost as fast as I could the whole of
this letter.
Your Christmas gaieties are really quite sur-
prising; I think they would satisfy even Miss
Walter herself. I hope the ten shillings won by
Miss Foote may make everything easy between
her and her cousin Frederick. So Lady Bridges,
in the delicate language of Coulson Wallop, is
in for it! I am very glad to hear of the Pear-
sons’ good fortune. It is a piece of promotion
which I know they looked forward to as very de-
sirable some years ago, on Captain Lockyer’s ill-
ness. It brings them a considerable increase of
income and a better house.
My mother bargains for having no trouble at
all in furnishing our house in Bath, and I have
engaged for your willingly undertaking to do it
all. I get more and more reconciled to the idea of
our removal. We have lived long enough in this
neighbourhood: the Basingstoke balls are cer-
[329]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
tainly on the decline, there is something interest-
ing in the bustle of going away, and the prospect
of spending future summers by the sea or in
Wales is very delightful. For a time we shall
now possess many of the advantages which I
have often thought of with envy in the wives
of sailors or soldiers. It must not be generally
known, however, that I am not sacrificing a great
deal in quitting the country, or I can expect to
inspire no tenderness, no interest, in those we
leave behind.
The threatened Act of Parliament does not
seem to give any alarm.
My father is doing all in his power to increase
his income, by raising his tithes, &c., and I do not
despair cf getting very nearly six hundred a
year.
In what part of Bath do you mean to place
your bees? We are afraid of the South Parade’s
being too hot.
Monday.—Martha desires her best love, and
says a great many kind things about spending
some time with you in March, and depending on
a large return from us both in the autumn. Per-
haps I may not write again before Sunday.
Yours affectionately, J. A.
‘Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
[330]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XXVI
Steventon: Thursday (January 8).
My pDEar CAssANDRA,
The “perhaps” which concluded my last let-
ter being only a “ perhaps,” will not occasion
your being overpowered with surprise, I dare
say, 1f you should receive this before Tuesday,
which, unless circumstances are very perverse,
will be the case. I received yours with much
general philanthropy, and still more peculiar
good will, two days ago; and I suppose I need
not tell you that it was very long, being written
on a foolscap sheet, and very entertaining, being
written by you.
Mr. Payne has been dead long enough for
Henry to be out of mourning for him before his
last visit, though we knew nothing of it till about
that time. Why he died, or of what complaint,
or to what noblemen he bequeathed his four
daughters in marriage, we have not heard.
I am glad that the Wildmans are going to
give a ball, and hope you will not fail to benefit
both yourself and me by laying out a few kisses
in the purchase of a frank. I believe you are
right in proposing to delay the cambric muslin,
and I submit with a kind of voluntary reluctance.
Mr. Peter Debary has declined Deane curacy;
[331]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
he wishes to be settled near London. A foolish
reason! as if Deane were not near London in
comparison of Exeter or York. Take the whole
world through, and he will find many more
places at a greater distance from London than
Deane than he will at a less. What does he
think of Glencoe or Lake Katherine?
I feel rather indignant that any possible ob-
jection should be raised against so valuable a
piece of preferment, so delightful a situation!—
that Deane should not be universally allowed to
be as near the metropolis as any other country
villages. As this is the case, however, as Mr.
Peter Debary has shown himself a Peter in the
blackest sense of the word, we are obliged to
look elsewhere for an heir; and my father has
thought it a necessary compliment to James Dig-
weed to offer the curacy to him, though without
considering it as either a desirable or an eligible
situation for him. Unless he is in love with Miss
Lyford, I think he had better not be settled ex-
actly in this neighbourhood; and unless he is very
much in love with her indeed, he is not likely to
think a salary of 50/. equal in value or efficiency
to one of 751.
Were you indeed to be considered as one of
the fixtures of the house!—but you were never
actually erected in it either by Mr. Egerton
Brydges or Mrs. Lloyd.
[332]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Martha and I dined yesterday at Deane to
meet the Powletts and Tom Chute, which we did
not fail to do. Mrs. Powlett was at once expen-
sively and nakedly dressed; we have had the sat-
isfaction of estimating her lace and her muslins;
and she said too little to afford us much other
amusement.
Mrs. John Lyford is so much pleased with
the state of widowhood as to be going to put in
for being a widow again; she is to marry a Mr.
Fendall, a banker in Gloucester, a man of very
good fortune, but considerably older than her-
self, and with three little children. Miss Lyford
has never been here yet; she can come only for
a day, and is not able to fix the day.
I fancy Mr. Holder will have the farm, and
without being obliged to depend on the accom-
modating spirit of Mr. William Portal; he will
probably have it for the remainder of my father’s
lease. ‘This pleases us all much better than its
falling into the hands of Mr. Harwood or
Farmer Twitchen. Mr. Holder is to come in a
day or two to talk to my father on the subject,
-and then John Bond’s interest will not be for-
gotten.
I have had a letter to-day from Mrs. Cooke.
Mrs. Laurel is going to be married to a Mr.
Hinchman, a rich East Indian. I hope Mary
will be satisfied with this proof of her cousin’s
[333]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
existence and welfare, and cease to torment her-
self with the idea of his bones being bleaching in
the sun on Wantage Downs.
Martha’s visit is drawing towards its close,
which we all four sincerely regret. The wedding
day is to be celebrated on the 16th, because the
17th falls on Saturday; and a day or two before
_ the 16th Mary will drive her sister to Ibthorp to
find all the festivity she can in contriving for
everybody’s comfort, and being thwarted or
teased by almost everybody’s temper. Fulwar,
Eliza, and Tom Chute are to be of the party.
I know of nobody else. I was asked, but de-
clined it.
Eliza has seen Lord Craven at Barton, and
probably by this time at Kintbury, where he was
expected for one day this week. She found his
manners very pleasing indeed. The little flaw
of having a mistress now living with him at Ash-
down Park seems to be the only unpleasing cir-
cumstance about him. From Ibthorp, Fulwar
and Eliza are to return with James and Mary
to Deane.
The Prices are not to have an house on Wey-
hill; for the present he has lodgings in Andover,
and they are in view of a dwelling hereafter in
Appleshaw, that village of wonderful elasticity,
which stretches itself out for the reception of
[334] |
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
everybody who does not wish for a house on
Speen Hill.
Pray give my love to George; tell him that I
am very glad to hear he can skip so well already,
and that I hope he will continue to send me word
of his improvement in the art.
I think you judge very wisely in putting off
your London visit, and I am mistaken if it be
not put off for some time. You speak with such
noble resignation of Mrs. Jordan and the Opera
House, that it would be an insult to suppose con-
solation required; but to prevent you thinking
with regret of this rupture of your engagement
with Mr. Smithson, I must assure you that
Henry suspects him to be a great miser.
Friday.—No answer from my aunt.. She has
no time for writing, I suppose, in the hurry of
selling furniture, packing clothes, and prepar-
ing for their removal to Scarletts.
You are very kind in planning presents for
me to make, and my mother has shown me exactly
the same attention; but as I do not choose to
have generosity dictated to me, I shall not re-
solve on giving my cabinet to Anna till the first
thought of it has been my own.
Sidmouth is now talked of as our summer
abode. Get all the information, therefore, about
it that you can from Mrs. C. Cage.
[335]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
My father’s old ministers are already desert-
ing him to pay their court to his son. The brown
mare, which, as well as the black, was to devolve
on James at our removal, has not had patience to
wait for that, and has settled herself even now
at Deane. The death of Hugh Capet, which,
like that of Mr. Skipsey, though undesired, was
not wholly unexpected, being purposely effected,
has made the immediate possession of the mare
very convenient, and everything else I sup-
pose will be seized by degrees in the same man-
ner. Martha and I work at the books every day.
Yours affectionately, J. A.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
XXVIT
Steventon: Wednesday (January 14).
Poor Miss Austen! It appears to me that I
have rather oppressed you of late by the fre-
quency of my letters. You had hoped not to
hear from me again before Tuesday, but Sun-
day showed you with what a merciless sister you
had to deal. I cannot recall the past, but you
shall not hear from me quite so often in future.
Your letter to Mary was duly received before
she left Dean with Martha yesterday morning,
and it gives us great pleasure to know that the
[336]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Chilham ball was so agreeable, and that you
danced four dances with Mr. Kemble. Desir-
able, however, as the latter circumstance was, I
cannot help wondering at its taking place. Why
did you dance four dances with so stupid a man?
Why not rather dance two of them with some
elegant brother officer who was struck with your
appearance as soon as you entered the room?
Martha left you her best love. She will write
to you herself in a short time; but, trusting to
my memory rather than her own, she has never-
theless desired me to ask you to purchase for her
two bottles of Steele’s lavender water when you
are in town, provided you should go to the shop
on your own account, otherwise you may be sure
that she would not have you recollect the request.
James dined with us yesterday, wrote to Kd-
ward in the evening, filled three sides of paper,
every line inclining too much towards the north-
east, and the very first line of all scratched out,
and this morning he joins his lady in the fields of
Elysium and Ibthorp.
Last Friday was a very busy day with us. We
were visited by Miss Lyford and Mr. Bayle.
The latter began his operations in the house, but
had only time to finish the four sitting-rooms;
the rest is deferred till the spring is more ad-
vanced and the days longer. He took his paper
of appraisement away with him, and therefore
[337]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
we only know the estimate he has made of one
or two articles of furniture which my father par-
ticularly inquired into. I understand, however,
that he was of opinion that the whole would
amount to more than two hundred pounds, and
it is not imagined that this will comprehend the
brewhouse and many other, &c., &c.
Miss Lyford was very pleasant, and gave my
mother such an account of the houses in West-
gate Buildings, where Mrs. Lyford lodged four
years ago, as made her think of a situation there
with great pleasure, but your opposition will be
without difficulty decisive, and my father, in
particular, who was very well inclined towards
the Row before, has now ceased to think of it
entirely. At present the environs of Laura
Place seem to be his choice. His views on the —
subject are much advanced since I came home;
he grows quite ambitious, and actually requires
now a comfortable and a creditable-looking
house.
On Saturday Miss Lyford went to her long
home—that is to say, it was a long way off—
and soon afterwards a party of fine ladies issuing
from a well-known commodious green vehicle,
their heads full of Bantam cocks and Galinies,
entered the house—Mrs. Heathcote, Mrs. Har-
wood, Mrs. James Austen, Miss Bigg, Miss Jane
Blachford.
[338]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Hardly a day passes in which we do not have
some visitor or other: yesterday came Mrs.
Bramstone, who is very sorry that she is to lose
us, and afterwards Mr. Holder, who was shut
up for an hour with my father and James in a
most awful manner. John Bond est a lui.
Mr. Holder was perfectly willing to take him
on exactly the same terms with my father, and
John seems exceedingly well satisfied. The com-
fort of not changing his home is a very material
one to him, and since such are his unnatural feel-
ings, his belonging to Mr. Holder is the every
thing needful; but otherwise there would have
been a situation offering to him, which I had
thought of with particular satisfaction, viz.,
under Harry Digweed, who, if John had quitted
Cheesedown, would have been eager to engage
him as superintendent at Steventon, would have
kept a horse for him to ride about on, would
probably have supplied him with a more perma-
nent home, and I think would certainly have
been a more desirable master altogether.
John and Corbett are not to have any concern
with each other—there are to be two farms and
two bailiffs. We are of opinion that it would
be better in only one.
This morning brought my aunt’s reply, and
most thoroughly affectionate is its tenor. She
thinks with the greatest pleasure of our being
[339]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
settled in Bath—it is an event which will attach
her to the place more than anything else could
do, &c., &c. She is, moreover, very urgent with
my mother not to delay her visit in Paragon, if
she should continue unwell, and even recom-
mends her spending the whole winter with them.
.At present and for many days past my mother
has been quite stout, and she wishes not to
be obliged by any relapse to alter her arrange-
ments.
Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlayne are in Bath,
lodging at the Charitable Repository; I wish the
scene may suggest to Mrs. C. the notion of sell-
ing her black beaver bonnet for the relief of the
poor. Mrs. Welby has been singing duets with
the Prince of Wales.
My father has got above 500 volumes to dis-
pose of; I want James to take them at a ven-
ture at half a guinea a volume. The whole re-
pairs of the parsonage at Deane, inside and out,
coachbox, basket and dickey will not much ex-
ceed 1001.
Have you seen that Major Byng, a nephew
of Lord Torrington, is dead? That must be
Edmund.
Friday.—tI thank you for yours, though I
should have been more grateful for it if it had
not been charged 8d. instead of 6d., which has
given me the torment of writing to Mr. Lam-
[340]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Lculd on the oceasion. I am rather surprised at
the revival of the London visit; but Mr. Dori-
court has travelled—he knows best.
That James Digweed has refused Deane
curacy I suppose he has told you himself, though
probably the subject has never been mentioned
between you. Mrs. Milles flatters herself
falsely, it has never been Mrs. Rice’s wish to have
her son settled near herself; and there is now a
hope entertained of her relenting in favour of
Deane.
Mrs. Lefroy and her son-in-law were here yes-
terday; she tries not to be sanguine, but he was
in excellent spirits. I rather wish they may have
the curacy. It would be an amusement to Mary
to superintend their household management, and
abuse them for expense, especially as Mrs. L.
means to advise them to put their washing out.
Yours affectionately, J. A.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
XXVITI
Steventon: Wednesday (January 21).
Expect a most agreeable letter, for not being
overburdened with subject (having nothing at
all to say), I shall have no check to my genius
from beginning to end.
[341]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Well, and so Frank’s letters has made you
very happy, but you are afraid he would not
have patience to stay for the “ Haarlem,” which
you wish him to have done as being safer than
the merchantman. Poor fellow! to wait from the
middle of November to the end of December,
and perhaps even longer, it must be sad work;
especially in a place where the ink is so abomin-
ably pale. What a surprise to him it must have
been on October 20, to be visited, collared, and
thrust out of the “ Petterell ” by Captain Inglis.
He kindly passes over the poignancy of his feel-
ings in quitting his ship, his officers, and his
men.
What a pity it is that he should not be in
England at the time of this promotion, because
he certainly would have had an appointment, so
everybody says, and therefore it must be right
for me to say it too. Had he been really here,
the certainty of the appointment, I dare say,
would not have been half so great, but as it could
not be brought to the proof his absence will
be always a lucky source of regret.
Eliza talks of having read in a newspaper that
all the 1st lieutenants of the frigates whose cap-
tains were to be sent into line-of-battle ships
were to be promoted to the rank of commanders.
If it be true, Mr. Valentine may afford himself
a fine Valentine’s knot, and Charles may perhaps
[342]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
become 1st of the “ Endymion,” though I sup-
pose Captain Durham is too likely to bring a vil-
Jain with him under that denomination.
I dined at Deane yesterday, as I told you I
should, and met the two Mr. Holders. We
played at vingt-un, which, as Fulwar was unsuc-
cessful, gave him an opportunity of exposing
himself as usual.
Eliza says she is quite well, but she is thinner
than when we saw her last, and not in very good
looks. I suppose she has not recovered from the
effects of her illness in December. She cuts her
hair too short over her forehead, and does not
wear her cap far enough upon her head; in spite
of these many disadvantages, however, I can still
admire her beauty. They all dine here to-day;
much good may it do us all.
William and Tom are much as usual; Caroline
is improved in her person; I think her now really
a pretty child. She is still very shy, and does not
talk much.
Fulwar goes next month into Gloucestershire,
Leicestershire, and Warwickshire, and Eliza
spends the time of his absence at Ibthorp and
- Deane; she hopes, therefore, to see you before it
is long.
Lord Craven was prevented by company at
home from paying his visit at Kintbury, but, as
I told you before, Eliza is greatly pleased with
[343]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
him, and they seem likely to be on the most
friendly terms.
Martha returns into this country next Tues-
day, and then begins her two visits at Deane.
I expect to see Miss Bigg every day to fix the
time for my going to Manydown; I think it will
be next week, and I shall give you notice of it,
if I can, that you may direct to me there.
The neighbourhood have quite recovered the
death of Mrs. Rider; so much so, that I think
they are rather rejoiced at it now; her things
were so very dear! and Mrs. Rogers is to be all
that is desirable. Not even death itself can fix
the friendship of the world.
You are not to give yourself the trouble of
going to Penlingtons when you are in town; my
father is to settle the matter when he goes there
himself; you are only to take special care of the
bills of his in your hands, and I dare say will
not be sorry to be excused the rest of the
business.
Thursday.—Our party yesterday was very
quietly pleasant. ‘To-day we all attack Ashe
Park, and to-morrow I dine again at Deane.
What an eventful week!
Eliza left me a message for you, which I have
great pleasure in delivering: she will write to you
and send you your money next Sunday. Mary
has likewise a message: she will be much obliged
344]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to you if you can bring her the pattern of ths
jacket and trousers, or whatever it is that Eliza-
beth’s boys wear when they are first put into
breeches; so if you could bring her an old suit
itself, she would be very glad, but that I suppose
is hardly done.
I am happy to hear of Mrs. Knight’s amend-
ment, whatever might be her complaint.
The Wylmots being robbed must be an amus-
ing thing to their acquaintance, and I hope it is
as much their pleasure as it seems their avocation
to be subjects of general entertainment.
I have a great mind not to acknowledge the
receipt of your letter, which I have just had the
pleasure of reading, because I am so ashamed to
compare the sprawling lines of this with it. But
if I say all that I have to say, I hope I have no
reason to hang myself.
Caroline was only brought to bed on the 7th
of this month, so that her recovery does seem
pretty rapid. I have heard twice from Edward
on the occasion, and his letters have each been
exactly what they ought to be—cheerful and
amusing. He dares not write otherwise to me,
but perhaps he might be obliged to purge him-
self from the guilt of writing nonsense by filling
his shoes with whole peas for a week afterwards.
Mrs. G. has left him 100I., his wife and son 500/.
each.
[345]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
I join with you in wishing for the environs of
Laura Place, but do not venture to expect it.
My mother hankers after the Square dreadfully,
and it is but natural to suppose that my uncle
will take her part. It would be very pleasant to
be near Sydney Gardens; we might go into the
labyrinth every day.
You need not endeavour to match my mother’s
morning calico; she does not mean to make it up
any more.
Why did not J. D. make his proposals to you?
I suppose he went to see the cathedral, that he
might know how he should like to be married
in it.
Fanny shall have the boarding-school, as soon
as her papa gives me an opportunity of sending
it; and I do not know whether I may not by that
time have worked myself into so generous a fit
as to give it to her forever.
We have a ball on Thursday too; I expect to
go to it from Manydown. Do not be surprised,
or imagine that Frank is come, if I write again
soon; it will only be to say that I am going to
M., and to answer your question about my
gown.
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
[346]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XXIX
Steventon: Sunday (January 25).
I have nothing to say about Manydown, but
I write because you will expect to hear from me,
and because if I waited another day or two, I
hope your visit to Goodnestone would make my
letter too late in its arrival. I dare say I shall
be at M. in the course of this week, but as it is
not certain you will direct to me at home.
I shall want two new coloured gowns for the
summer, for my pink one will not do more than
clear me from Steventon. I shall not trouble
you, however, to get more than one of them, and
that is to be a plain brown cambric muslin, for
morning wear; the other, which is to be a very
pretty yellow and white cloud, I mean to buy in
Bath. Buy two brown ones, if you please, and
both of a length, but one longer than the other
—it is for a tall woman. Seven yards for my
mother, seven yards and a half for me; a dark
brown, but the kind of brown is left to your own
choice, and J had rather they were different, as
it will be always something to say, to dispute
about which is the prettiest. They must be cam-
bric muslin.
How do you like this cold weather? I hope
you have all been earnestly praying for it as a
[347]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
salutary relief from the dreadful mild and un-
healthy season preceding it, fancying yourself
half putrified from the want of it, and that now
you all draw into the fire, complain that you
never felt such bitterness of cold before, that you
are half starved, quite frozen, and wish the mild
weather back again with all your hearts.
Your unfortunate sister was betrayed last
Thursday into a situation of the utmost cruelty.
I arrived at Ashe Park before the party from
Deane, and was shut up in the drawing-room
with Mr. Holder alone for ten minutes. I had
some thoughts of insisting on the housekeeper
or Mary Corbett being sent for, and nothing
could prevail on me to move two steps from the
door, on the lock of which I kept one hand
constantly fixed. We met nobody but our-
selves, played at vingt-wn again, and were very
cross.
On Friday I wound up my four days of dissi-
pation by meeting William Digweed at Deane,
and am pretty well, I thank you, after it. While
I was there a sudden fall of snow rendered the
roads impassable, and made my journey home
in the little carriage much more easy and agree-
able than my journey down.
Fulwar and Eliza left Deane yesterday. You
will be glad to hear that Mary is going to keep
another maid. I fancy Sally is too much of a
[348]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
servant to find time for everything, and Mary
thinks Edward is not so much out of doors as he
ought to be; there is therefore to be a girl in the
nursery.
I would not give much for Mr. Price’s chance
of living at Deane; he builds his hope, I find,
not upon anything that his mother has written,
but upon the effect of what he has written him-
self. He must write a great deal better than
those eyes indicate if he can persuade a perverse
and narrow-minded woman to oblige those
whom she does not love.
Your brother Kdward makes very honourable
mention of you, I assure you, in his letter to
James, and seems quite sorry to part with you.
It is a great comfort to me to think that my cares
have not been thrown away, and that you are
respected in the world. Perhaps you may be
prevailed on to return with him and Elizabeth
into Kent, when they leave us in April, and I
rather suspect that your great wish of keeping
yourself disengaged has been with that view.
Do as you like; I have overcome my desire of
your going to Bath with my mother and me.
There is nothing which energy will not bring
one to.
Edward Cooper is so kind as to want us all
to come to Hamstall this summer, instead of go-
ing to the sea, but we are not so kind as to mean
[349]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to do it. The summer after, if you please, Mr.
Cooper, but for the present we greatly prefer
the sea to all our relations.
I dare say you will spend a very pleasant three
weeks in town. I hope you will see everything
worthy of notice, from the Opera House to
Henry’s office in Cleveland Court; and I shall
expect you to lay in a stock of intelligence that
may procure me amusement for a twelvemonth
to come. You will have a turkey from Steven-
ton while you are there, and pray note down how
many full courses of exquisite dishes M. Hala-
vant converts it into.
I cannot write any closer. Neither my affec-
tion for you nor for letter-writing can stand out
against a Kentish visit. For a three-months’ ab-
sence I can be a very loving relation and a very
excellent correspondent, but beyond that I de-
generate into negligence and indifference.
I wish you a very pleasant ball on Thursday,
and myself another, and Mary and Martha a
third, but they will not have theirs till Friday,
as they have a scheme for the Newbury As-
sembly.
Nanny’s husband is decidedly against her
quitting service in such times as these, and I be-
lieve would be very glad to have her continue
with us. In some respects she would be a great
comfort, and in some we should wish for a dif-
[350]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
ferent sort of servant. The washing would be
the greatest evil. Nothing is settled, however,
at present with her, but I should think it would
be as well for all parties if she could suit herself
in the meanwhile somewhere nearer her husband
and child than Bath. Mrs. H. Rice’s place
would be very likely to do for her. It is not
many, as she is herself aware, that she is quali-
fied for.
My mother has not been so well for many
months as she is now.
Adieu. Yours sincerely, PAA:
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
1801
Mr. and Mrs. Leigh Perrot were the uncle and
aunt who lived at Paragon, Bath, and it would
seem that the Steventon family, having made up
their mind to settle in Bath upon Mr. George
Austen’s giving over his clerical duties to his
son, made the Perrots’ house their head-quarters
whilst they looked about for a fitting abode.
Cassandra Austen seems to have been visiting,
first at Mrs. Lloyd’s and then at Kintbury, for
to these places the letters are addressed. They
[351]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
have not many allusions which require explana-
tion, being chiefly occupied by observations re-
garding the search for a house, the people whom
Jane encountered at Bath, and the news they
heard of the sale of their effects at Steventon
Rectory. I suppose “the Chamberlaynes ” to
have been the family of the Rev. Thomas Cham-
berlayne, rector and patron of Charlton, who
married in 1799 Maria Francesca, daughter of
Captain Robert Walter, R.N., and whose eldest
son is described in “ Burke’s Landed Gentry ”
as Thomas Chamberlayne, of Cranbury Park
and Weston Grove, Hants—which, by the way,
the unwary reader must not confound with the
Weston to which Jane and Mrs. Chamberlayne
walked, which was, of course, the Weston by
Bath, celebrated for the battle of 1643, in which
the Royalist Sir Bevil Grenville lost his life, and
which was fought on Lansdown, mostly in this
parish, from which the present Marquis of that
name takes his title.
It will be seen that there is an “hiatus” in
the letters after 1801, for I have discovered none
between May in that year and August, 1805.
During this period the family lived in Bath, first
at No. 4 Sydney Terrace, and afterwards in
Green Park Buildings, until Mr. Austen’s
death. Before the move to Southampton, which
occurred later in the same year, Jane went to
[352]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
pay a visit to her relations in Kent, from which
county the next letters were written.
XXX
Paragon: Tuesday (May 5).
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
I have the pleasure of writing from my own
room up two pair of stairs, with everything very
comfortable about me.
Our journey here was perfectly free from ac-
cident or event; we changed horses at the end
of every stage, and paid at almost every turn-
pike. We had charming weather, hardly any
dust, and were exceedingly agreeable, as we did
not speak above once in three miles.
Between Luggershall and Everley we made
our grand meal, and then with admiring aston-
ishment perceived in what a magnificent man-
ner our support had been provided for. We
could not with the utmost exertion consume
above the twentieth part of the beef. The cu-
cumber will, I believe, be a very acceptable pres-
ent, as my uncle talks of having inquired the
price of one lately, when he was told a shilling.
We had a very neat chaise from Devizes; it
looked almost as well as a gentleman’s, at least
[353]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
as a very shabby gentleman’s; in spite of this ad-
vantage, however, we were above three hours
coming from thence to Paragon, and it was half
after seven by your clocks before we entered the
house.
Frank, whose black head was in waiting in the
Hall window, received us very kindly; and his
master and mistress did not show less cordiality.
They both look very well, though my aunt has a
violent cough. We drank tea as soon as we ar-
rived, and so ends the account of our journey,
which my mother bore without any fatigue.
How do you do to-day? I hope you improve
in sleepng—I think you must, because I fall
off; I have been awake ever since five and
sooner; I fancy I had too much clothes over me;
I thought I should by the feel of them before I
went to bed, but I had not courage to alter them.
I am warmer here without any fire than I have
been lately with an excellent one.
Well, and so the good news is confirmed, and
Martha triumphs. My uncle and aunt seemed
quite surprised that you and my father were not
coming sooner.
I have given the soap and the basket, and each
have been kindly received. One thing only
among all our concerns has not arrived in safety:
when I got into the chaise at Devizes I discov-
ered that your drawing ruler was broke. in two;
[354]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
it is just at the top where the cross-piece is fas-
tened on. I beg pardon.
There is to be only one more ball—next Mon-
day is the day. The Chamberlaynes are still
here. I begin to think better of Mrs. C
and upon recollection believe she has rather a
long chin than otherwise, as she remembers us
in Gloucestershire when we were very charming
young women.
The first view of Bath in fine weather does not
answer my expectations; I think I see more dis-
tinctly through rain. The sun was got behind
everything, and the appearance of the place
from the top of Kingsdown was all vapour,
shadow, smoke, and confusion.
I fancy we are to have a house in Semone
Street, or thereabouts. My uncle and aunt both
like the situation. I was glad to hear the former
talk of all the houses in New King Street as too
small; it was my own idea of them. I had not
been two minutes in the dining-room before he
questioned me with all his accustomary eager in-
terest about Frank and Charles, their views and
intentions. I did my best to give information.
I am not without hopes of tempting Mrs.
Lloyd to settle in Bath; meat is only 8d. per
pound, butter 12d., and cheese 95d. You must
carefully conceal from her, however, the exorbi-
tant price of fish: a salmon has been sold at 2s.
[355]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
9d. per pound the whole fish. The Duchess of
York’s removal is expected to make that article
more reasonable—and till it really appears so,
say nothing about salmon.
Tuesday night—When my uncle went to
take his second glass of water I walked with him,
and in our morning’s circuit we looked at two
houses in Green Park Buildings, one of which
pleased me very well. We walked all over it ex-
cept into the garret; the dining-room is of a com-
fortable size, just as large as you like to fancy
it; the second room about 14 ft. square. The
apartment over the drawing-room pleased me
particularly, because it is divided into two, the
smaller one a very nice-sized dressing-room,
which upon occasion might admit a bed. The
aspect is south-east. The only doubt is about
the dampness of the offices, of which there were
symptoms.
W ednesday.—Mrs. Mussell has got my gown,
and I will endeavour to explain what her inten-
tions are. It is to be a round gown, with a jacket
and a frock front, like Cath. Bigg’s, to open at
the side. The jacket is all in one with the body,
and comes as far as the pocket-holes—about half
a quarter of a yard deep, I suppose, all the way
round, cut off straight at the corners with a
broad hem. No fulness appears either in the
body or the flap; the back is quite plain in this
[356]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
form )(, and the sides equally so. The front is
sloped round to the bosom and drawn in, and
there is to be a frill of the same to put on occa-
sionally when all one’s handkerchiefs are dirty
—which frill must fall back. She is to put two
breadths and a-half in the tail, and no gores—
gores not being so much worn as they were.
There is nothing new in the sleeves: they are to
be plain, with a fulness of the same falling down
and gathered up underneath, just like some of
Martha’s, or perhaps a little longer. Low in the
back behind, and a belt of the same. I can think
of nothing more, though I am afraid of not be-
ing particular enough.
My mother has ordered a new bonnet, and so
have I; both white strip, trimmed with white rib-
bon. I find my straw bonnet looking very much
like other people’s, and quite as smart. Bonnets
of cambric muslin on the plan of Lady Bridges’
are a good deal worn, and some of them are
very pretty; but I shall defer one of that sort
till your arrival. Bath is getting so very empty
that I am not afraid of doing too little. Black
gauze cloaks are worn as much as anything. I
shall write again in a day or two. Best love.
Yours ever, oe uae
We have had Mrs. Lillingstone and the
Chamberlaynes to call on us. My mother was
[357]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
very much struck with the odd looks of the two
latter; I have only seen her. Mrs. Busby drinks
tea and plays at cribbage here to-morrow; and
on Friday, I believe, we go to the Chamber-
laynes’. Last night we walked by the Canal.
Miss Austen, Mrs. Lloyd’s, Up Hurstbourne,
Andover.
XXXI
Paragon: Tuesday (May 12).
My pEAR CASSANDRA,
My mother has heard from Mary, and I have
heard from Frank; we therefore know some-
thing now of our concerns in distant quarters;
and you, I hope, by some means or other are
equally instructed, for I do not feel inclined to
transcribe the letter of either.
You know from Elizabeth, I dare say, that
my father and Frank, deferring their visit to
Kippington on account of Mr.’ M. Austen’s ab-
sence, are to be at Godmersham to-day; and
James, I dare say, has been over to Ibthorp by
this time to inquire particularly after Mrs.
Lloyd’s health, and forestall whatever intelli-
gence of the sale I might attempt to give; sixty-
one guineas and a-half for the three cows gives
1 Francis Motley-Austen, who bought Kippington from Sir Chas.
Farnaby.
[358]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
one some support under the blow of only eleven
guineas for the tables. Eight for my pianoforte
is about what I really expected to get; I am more
anxious to know the amount of my books, espe-
cially as they are said to have sold well.
My adventures since I wrote last have not
been numerous; but such as they are, they are
much at your service.
We met not a creature at Mrs. Lillingstone’s,
and yet were not so very stupid, as I expected,
which I attribute to my wearing my new bonnet
and being in good looks. On Sunday we went
to church twice, and after evening service
walked a little in the Crescent fields, but found it
too cold to stay long.
Yesterday morning we looked ae a house in
Seymour Street, which there is reason to sup:
pose will soon be empty; and as we are assured
from many quarters that no inconvenience from
the river is felt in those buildings, we are at lib-
erty to fix in them if we can. But this house
was not inviting; the largest room downstairs
was not much more than fourteen feet square,
with a western aspect.
In the evening, I hope you honoured my toil-
ette and ball with a thought; I dressed myself as
well as I could, and had all my finery much ad-
mired at home. By nine o’clock my uncle, aunt,
and I entered the rooms, and linked Miss Win-
[359]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
stone on to us. Before tea it was rather a dull
affair; but then the before tea did not last long,
for there was only one dance, danced by four
couple. Think of four couple, surrounded by
about an hundred people, dancing in the Upper
Rooms at Bath.
After tea we cheered up; the breaking up of
private parties sent some scores more to the ball,
and though it was shockingly and inhumanly
thin for this place, there were people enough, I
suppose, to have made five or six very pretty
Basingstoke assemblies.
I then got Mr. Evelyn to talk to, and Miss
T. to look at; and I am proud to say that though
repeatedly assured that another in the same
party was the She, I fixed upon the right one
from the first. A resemblance to Mrs. L. was
my guide. She is not so pretty as I expected;
her face has the same defect of baldness as her
sisters, and her features not so handsome; she
was highly rouged, and looked rather quietly
and contentedly silly than anything else.
Mrs. B. and two young woman were of the
same party, except when Mrs. B. thought her-
self obliged to leave them to run round the room
after her drunken husband. His avoidance, and
her pursuit, with the probable intoxication of
both, was an amusing scene.
The Evelyns returned our visit on Saturday;
[360]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
we were very happy to meet, and all that; they
are going to-morrow into Gloucestershire to the
Dolphins for ten days. Our acquaintance, Mr.
Woodward, is just married to a Miss Rowe, a
young lady rich in money and music.
I thank you for your Sunday’s letter, it is very
long and very agreeable. I fancy you know
many more particulars of our sale than we do;
we have heard the price of nothing but the cows,
bacon, hay, hops, tables, and my father’s chest
of drawers and study table. Mary is more mi-
nute in her account of their own gains than in
ours; probably being better informed in them.
I will attend to Mrs. Lloyd’s commission and to
her abhorrence of musk when I write again.
I have bestowed three calls of inquiry on the
Mapletons, and I fancy very beneficial ones to
Marianne, as I am always told that she is better.
I have not seen any of them. Her complaint is
a bilious fever.
I like my dark gown very much indeed, colour,
make, and everything; I mean to have my new
white one made up now, in case we should go to
the rooms again next Monday, which is to be
really the last time.
Wednesday.—Another stupid party last
night; perhaps if larger they might be less in-
tolerable, but here there were only just enough
to make one card-table, with six people to look
[361]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
on and talk nonsense to each other. Lady Fust,
Mrs. Busby, and a Mrs. Owen sat down with my
uncle to whist, within five minutes after the three
old Troughs came in, and there they sat, with
only the exchange of Adm. Stanhope for my
uncle, till their chairs were announced.
I cannot anyhow continue to find people
agreeable; I respect Mrs. Chamberlayne for do-
ing her hair well, but cannot feel a more tender
sentiment. Miss Langley is like any other short
girl, with a broad nose and wide mouth, fash-
ionable dress and exposed bosom. Adm. Stan-
hope is a gentleman-like man, but then his legs
are too short and his tail too long. Mrs. Stan-
hope could not come; I fancy she had a private
appointment with Mr. Chamberlayne, whom I
wished to see more than all the rest.
My uncle has quite got the better of his lame-
ness, or at least his walking with a stick is the
only remains of it. He and I are soon to take
the long-planned walk to the Cassoon, and on
Friday we are all to accompany Mrs. Chamber-
layne and Miss Langley to Weston.
My mother had a letter yesterday from my
father; it seems as if the W. Kent Scheme was
entirely given up. He talks of spending a fort-
night at Godmersham, and then returning to
town.
Yours ever, J. A.
[362]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Excepting a slight cold, my mother is very
well; she has been quite free from feverish or
bilious complaints since her arrival here.
Miss Austen, Mrs. Lloyd’s,
Hurstbourn Tarrant, Andover.
XXXIT
Paragon: Thursday (May 21).
My DEAR CASSANDRA,
To make long sentences upon unpleasant sub-
jects is very odious, and I shall therefore get rid
of the one now uppermost in my thoughts as
soon as possible.
Our views on G. P. Buildings seem all at an
end; the observation of the damps still remain-
ing in the offices of an house which has been only
vacated a week, with reports of discontented
families and putrid fevers, has given the coup
de grace. We have now nothing in view. When
you arrive, we will at least have the pleasure of
examining some of these putrefying houses
again; they are so very desirable in size and
situation, that there is some satisfaction in
spending ten minutes within them.
I will now answer the inquiries in your last
letter. I cannot learn any other explanation of
the coolness between my aunt and Miss Bond
than that the latter felt herself slighted by the
[363]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
former’s leaving Bath last summer without call-
ing to see her before she went. It seems the odd-
est kind of quarrel in the world. They never
visit, but I believe they speak very civilly if they
meet. My uncle and Miss Bond certainly do.
The four boxes of lozenges, at 1s. 14d. per
box, amount, as I was told, to 4s. 6d., and as
the sum was so trifling, I thought it better to
pay at once than contest the matter.
I have just heard from Frank. My father’s
plans are now fixed; you will see him at Kint-
bury on Friday, and, unless inconvenient to you,
we are to see you both here on Monday, the Ist
of June. Frank has an invitation to Milgate,
which I believe he means to accept.
Our party at Ly. Fust’s was made up of the
same set of people that you have already heard
of—the Winstones, Mrs. Chamberlayne, Mrs.
Busby, Mrs. Franklyn, and Mrs. Maria Somer-
ville; yet I think it was not quite so stupid as the
two preceding parties here.
The friendship between Mrs. Chamberlayne
and me which you predicted has already taken
place, for we shake hands whenever we meet.
Our grand walk to Weston was again fixed for
yesterday, and was accomplished in a very strik-
ing manner. Every one of the party declined it
under some pretence or other except our two
selves, and we had therefore a téte-a-téte, but
[364]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
that we should equally have had after the first
two yards had half the inhabitants of Bath set
off with us.
It would have amused you to see our progress.
We went up by Sion Hill, and returned across
the fields. In climbing a hill Mrs. Chamber-
Jayne is very capital; I could with difficulty keep
pace with her, yet would not flinch for the world.
On plain ground I was quite her equal. And
so we posted away under a fine hot sun, she with-
out any parasol or any shade to her hat, stopping
for nothing, and crossing the churchyard at
Weston with as much expedition as if we were
afraid of being buried alive. After seeing what
she is equal to, I cannot help feeling a regard for
her. As to agreeableness, she is much like other
people.
Yesterday evening we had a short call from
two of the Miss Arnolds, who came from Chip-
penham on business. They are very civil, and
not too genteel, and upon hearing that we
wanted a house, recommended one at Chip-
penham.
This morning we have been visited again by
Mrs. and Miss Holder; they wanted us to fix
an evening for drinking tea with them, but my
mother’s still remaining cold allows her to de-
cline everything of the kind. As I had a sep-
arate invitation, however, I believe I shall go
[365]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
some afternoon. It is the fashion to think them
both very detestable, but they are so civil, and
their gowns look so white and so nice (which, by
the bye, my aunt thinks an absurd pretension in
this place), that I cannot utterly abhor them,
especially as Miss Holder owns that she has no
taste for music.
After they left us I went with my mother to
help look at some houses in New King Street,
towards which she felt some kind of inclination,
but their size has now satisfied her. They were
smaller than I expected to find them; one in par-
ticular out of the two was quite monstrously
little; the best of the sitting-rooms not so large
as the little parlour at Steventon, and the second
room in every floor about capacious enough to
admit a very small single bed.
We are to have a tiny party here to-night. I
hate tiny parties, they force one into constant
exertion. Miss Edwards and her father, Mrs.
Busby and her nephew, Mr. Maitland, and Mrs.
Lillingstone are to be the whole; and I am pre-
vented from setting my black cap at Mr. Mait-
land by his having a wife and ten children.
My aunt has a very bad cough—do not forget
to have heard about that when you come—and
I think she is deafer than ever. My mother’s cold
disordered her for some days, but she seems now
very well. Her resolution as to remaining here
[366]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
begins to give way a little; she will not like being
left behind, and will be glad to compound mat-
ters with her enraged family.
You will be sorry to hear that Marianne Ma-
pleton’s disorder has ended fatally. She was
believed out of danger on Sunday, but a sudden
relapse carried her off the next day. So affec-
tionate a family must suffer severely; and many
a girl on early death has been praised into an
angel, I believe, on slighter pretensions to
beauty, sense, and merit than Marianne.
Mr. Bent seems bent upon being very detest-
able, for he values the books at only 701. The
whole world is in a conspiracy to enrich one part
of our family at the expense of another. Ten
shillings for Dodsley’s Poems, however, please
me to the quick, and I do not care how often I
sell them for as much. When Mrs. Bramston
has read them through I will sell them again.
I suppose you can hear nothing of your mag-
nesia ?
Friday.—Y ou have a nice day for your jour-
ney, in whatever way it is to be performed,
whether in the Debary’s coach or on your own
twenty toes.
When you have made Martha’s bonnet you
must make her a cloak of the same sort of mate-
rials; they are very much worn here, in different
forms—many of them just like her black silk
[367]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
spencer, with a trimming round the armholes
instead of sleeves; some are long before, and
some long all round, like C. Bigg’s. Our party
last night supplied me with no new idea for my
letter. Yours ever,
Jie ae
The Pickfords are in Bath, and have called
here. She is the most elegant-looking woman I
have seen since I left Martha; he is as raffish in
his appearance as I would wish every disciple of
Godwin to be. We drink tea to-night with Mrs.
Busby. I scandalised her nephew cruelly; he
has but three children instead of ten.
Best love to everybody.
Miss Austen, the Rev. F. C. Fowle’s,
Kintbury, Newbury.
1805
THE thirty-third letter begins with an account
of a visit to Eastwell Park, where lived George
Hatton and his wife, Lady Elizabeth (née Mur-
ray). The two boys, George and Daniel, to
whom reference is made, were the late Earl of
Winchilsea (ninth earl, who succeeded his cousin
in 1826), and his brother, who subsequently mar-
[368]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
ried Lady Louisa Greville (daughter of the Earl
of Warwick), and was Rector of Great Weldon,
Northamptonshire, and Chaplain to the Queen.
Lady Gordon and Miss Anne Finch were the
sisters of the owner of Eastwell Park, the for-
mer of whom married Sir Jenison William Gor-
don, K.C.B., and the latter died unmarried.
Goodnestone Farm, to which the first letter was
written, and from which Jane afterwards writes,
is a comfortable house very near the great house,
which has generally been inhabited as a dower
house or by some younger member of the Bridges
family, to whom it belongs. “ Harriot”’ means
Harriet Bridges, as this was the year before she
married Mr. Moore. It will be noticed that Jane
always has a good word for her when she speaks
of her, which, considering the freedom of her
general remarks upon her acquaintance, is a high
testimony to character, which was doubtless de-
served. It must be admitted that my beloved
great-aunt was a careless speller. She invariably
spells “niece” “neice” in these letters, and in
that now before me she spells Lady Bridges’
name “ Brydges ” twice, which I note to remark
that the Goodnestone family spell their name
with an “i,” the Wootton family with a “y,”
which makes a difference, though I cannot de-
scribe it in the same terms as Mr. Justice Hali-
burton (Sam Slick) once used to me in the
[369]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
House of Commons, when, having occasion to
write his name, I asked him if I should spell it
with one °* 1” or two. |“ Sir,’ heyreplicdss on
no account with more than one; there is an ‘1’
of a difference.” The Knatchbulls who are men-
tioned as having stayed at Godmersham at this
time were Captain Charles Knatchbull, R.N.,
son of Wadham Knatchbull, Chancellor and
Prebendary of Durham, who had married his
cousin Frances, only daughter and heiress of
Major Norton Knatchbull (youngest son of the
fourth Hatch baronet), of Babington, Somer-
setshire, which place Captain Charles now pos-
sessed in right of his wife.
The Duke of Gloucester, whose death put off
the Deal ball, was the brother of King George
the Third, who died in his 62d year. At the time
of his death he commanded a regiment of
Guards, and was Warden and Keeper of the
New Forest, Ranger of Windsor Forest and of
Hampton Court Park, and Chancellor of Dub-
lin University.
The Marianne mentioned in the thirty-fifth
letter as being strikingly like “ Catherine Bigg ”
was a younger daughter of Sir Brook and Lady
Bridges (Fanny Fowler), who was an invalid
and died unmarried in 1811.
[370]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XX XITI
Godmersham Park: Saturday (August 24).
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
How do you do; and how is Harriot’s cold?
I hope you are at this time sitting down to
answer these questions.
Our visit to Eastwell was very agreeable; I
found Ly. Gordon’s manners as pleasing as they
had been described, and saw nothing to dislike
in Sir Janison, excepting once or twice a sort of
sneer at Mrs. Anne Finch. He was just getting
into talk with Elizabeth as the carriage was or-
dered, but during the first part of the visit he
said very little.
Your going with Harriot was highly approved
of by everyone, and only too much applauded as
an act of virtue on your part. I said all I could
to lessen your merit. The Mrs. Finches were
afraid you would find Goodnestone very dull;
I wished when I heard them say so that they
could have heard Mr. E. Bridges’ solicitude on
the subject, and have known all the amusements
that were planned to prevent it.
They were very civil to me, as they always are;
Fortune was also very civil to me in placing Mr.
KK. Hatton by me at dinner. I have discovered
that Lady Elizabeth, for a woman of her age
[371]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
and situation, has astonishingly little to say for
herself, and that Miss Hatton has not much
more. Her eloquence lies in her fingers; they
were most fluently harmonious.
George is a fine boy, and well behaved, but
Daniel chiefly delighted me; the good humour of
his countenance is quite bewitching. After tea
we had a cribbage-table, and he and I won two
rubbers of his brother and Mrs. Mary. Mr.
Brett was the only person there, besides our two
families.
It was considerably past eleven before we were —
at home, and I was so tired as to feel no envy of |
those who were at Ly. Yates’ ball. My good
wishes for its being a pleasant one were, I hope,
successful.
Yesterday was a very quiet day with us; my
noisiest efforts were writing to Frank, and play-
ing at battledore and shuttlecock with William;
he and I have practised together two mornings,
and improve a little; we have frequently kept it
up three times, and once or twice siz.
The two Edwards went to Canterbury in the
chaise, and found Mrs. Knight, as you found
her, I suppose, the day before, cheerful but
weak. Fanny was met walking with Miss Sharp
and Miss Milles, the happiest being in the world;
she sent a private message to her mamma imply-
ing as much. “Tell mamma that I am quite
[372]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
Palmerstone!” If little Lizzy used the same
language she would, I dare ‘say, send the same
message from Goodnestone.
In the evening we took a quiet walk round the
farm, with George and Henry to animate us by
their races and merriment. Little Edward is by
no means better, and his papa and mamma have
determined to consult Dr. Wilmot. Unless he
recovers his strength beyond what is now prob-
able, his brothers will return to school with-
out him, and he will be of the party to Worthing.
If sea-bathing should be recommended he will
be left there with us, but this is not thought
likely to happen.
I have been used very ill this morning: I have
received a letter from Frank which I ought to
have had when Elizabeth and Henry had theirs,
and which in its way from Albany to Godmers-
ham has been to Dover and Steventon. It was
finished on ye 16th, and tells what theirs told
before as to his present situation; he is in a great
hurry to be married, and I have encouraged him
in it, in the letter which ought to have been an
answer to his. He must think it very strange
that I do not acknowledge the receipt of his,
when I speak of those of the same date to Eliz.
and Henry; and to add to my injuries, I forgot
to number mine on the outside.
I have found your white mittens; they were
[373]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
folded up within my clean nightcap, and send
their duty to you.
Elizabeth has this moment proposed a scheme
which will be very much for my pleasure if
equally convenient to the other party; it is that
when you return on Monday, I should take your
place at Goodnestone for a few days. Harriot
cannot be insincere, let her try for it ever so
much, and therefore I defy her to accept this
self-invitation of mine, unless it be really what
perfectly suits her. As there is no time for an
answer, I shall go in the carriage on Monday,
and can return with you, if my going on to
Goodnestone is at all inconvenient.
The Knatchbulls come on Wednesday to din-
ner, and stay only till Friday morning at the
latest. Frank’s letter to me is the only one that
you or I have received since Thursday.
Mr. Hall walked off this morning to Os-
pringe, with no inconsiderable booty. He
charged Elizabeth 5s. for every time of dressing
her hair, and 5s. for every lesson to Sace, allow-
ing nothing for the pleasures of his visit here,
for meat, drink, and lodging, the benefit of coun-
try air, and the charms of Mrs. Salkeld’s and
Mrs. Sace’s society." Towards me he was as con-
siderate as I had hoped for from my relation-
ship to you, charging me only 2s. 6d. for cutting
1The Godmersham housekeeper and lady’s-maid.
[374]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
my hair, though it was as thoroughly dressed
after being cut for Eastwell as it had been for
the Ashford assembly. He certainly respects
either our youth or our poverty.
My writing to you to-day prevents Elizabeth
writing to Harriot, for which evil I implore the
latter’s pardon. Give my best love to her, and
kind remembrance to her brothers.
Yours very affectionately,
eee
You are desired to bring back with you
Henry’s picture of Rowling for the Misses
Finches.
As I find, on looking into my affairs, that in-
stead of being very rich I am likely to be very
poor, I cannot afford more than ten shillings for
Sackree; but as we are to meet in Canterbury I
need not have mentioned this. It is as well, how-
ever, to prepare you for the sight of a sister sunk
in poverty, that it may not overcome your
spirits.
Elizabeth hopes you will not be later here on
Monday than five o’clock, on Lizzy’s account.
We have heard nothing from Henry since he
went. Daniel told us that he went from Os-
pringe in one of the coaches.
Miss Austen, Goodnestone Farm, Wingham.
[375]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XXXIV
Goodnestone Farm: Tuesday (August 27),
My DEAR CAssANDRA,
We had a very pleasant drive from Canter-
bury, and reached this place about half-past
four, which seemed to bid fair for a punctual
dinner at five; but scenes of great agitation
awaited us, and there was much to be endured
and done before we could sit down to table.
Harriot found a letter from Louisa Hatton,
desiring to know if she and her brothers were to
be at the ball at Deal on Friday, and saying that
the Eastwell family had some idea of going to it,
and were to make use of Rowling if they did;
and while I was dressing she came to me with
another letter in her hand, in great perplexity.
It was from Captain Woodford, containing a
message from Lady Forbes, which he had in-
tended to deliver in person, but had been pre-
vented from doing.
The offer of a ticket for this grand ball, with
an invitation to come to her house at Dover be-
fore and after it, was Lady Forbes’ message.
Harriot was at first very little inclined, or rather
totally disinclined, to profit by her ladyship’s at-
tention; but at length, after many debates, she
was persuaded by me and herself together to ac-
[376 |
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
cept the ticket. The offer of dressing and sleep-
ing at Dover she determined on Marianne’s ac-
count to decline, and her plan is to be conveyed
by Lady Elizabeth Hatton.
I hope their going is by this time certain, and
will be soon known to be so. I think Miss H.
would not have written such a letter if she had
not been all but sure of it, and a little more. I
am anxious on the subject, from the fear of
being in the way if they do not come to give
Harriot a conveyance. I proposed and pressed
being sent home on Thursday, to prevent the
possibility of being in the wrong place, but Har-
riot would not hear of it.
There is no chance of tickets for the Mr.
Bridgeses, as no gentlemen but of the garrison
are invited.
With a civil note to be fabricated to Lady
F., and an answer written to Miss H., you will
easily believe that we could not begin dinner till
six. We were agreeably surprised by Edward
Bridges’ company to it. He had been, strange
to tell, too late for the cricket match, too late at
least to play himself, and, not being asked to
dine with the players, came home. It is impos-
sible to do justice to the hospitality of his atten-
tions towards me; he made a point of ordering
toasted cheese for supper entirely on my ac-
count.
[377]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
We had a very agreeable evening, and here I
am before breakfast writing to you, having got
up between six and seven; Lady Brydges’ room
must be good for early rising.
Mr. Sankey was here last night, and found
his patient better, but I have heard from a maid-
servant that she has had but an indifferent night.
Tell Elizabeth that I did not give her letter to
Harriot till we were in the carriage, when she
received it with great delight, and could read it
in comfort.
. As you have been here so lately, I need not
particularly describe the house or style of living,
in which all seems for use and comfort; nor
need I be diffuse on the state of Lady Brydges’
bookease and corner-shelves upstairs. What a
treat to my mother to arrange them!
Harriot is constrained to give up all hope of
seeing Edward here to fetch me, as I soon recol-
lected that Mr. and Mrs. Charles Knatchbull’s
being at Godmersham on Thursday must put it
out of the question.
Had I waited till after breakfast, the chief of
all this might have been spared. The Duke of
Gloucester’s death sets my heart at ease, though
it will cause some dozens to ache. WHarriot’s is
not among the number of the last; she is very
well pleased to be spared the trouble of prepara-
tiort. She joins me in best love to you all, and
[378]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
will write to Elizabeth soon. I shall be very glad
to hear from you, that we may know how you
all are, especially the two Edwards.
I have asked Sophie if she has anything to say
to Lizzy in acknowledgment of the little bird,
and her message is that, with her love, she is very
glad Lizzy sent it. She volunteers, moreover,
her love to little Marianne, with the promise of
bringing her a doll the next time she goes to
Godmersham.
John is just come from Ramsgate, and brings
a good account of the people there. He and his
brother, you know, dine at Nackington; we are
to dine at four, that we may walk afterwards.
As it is now two, and Harriot has letters to
write, we shall probably not get out before.
Yours affectionately,
J. A.
Three o’clock—Harriot is just come from
Marianne, and thinks her upon the whole better.
The sickness has not returned, and a headache
is at present her chief complaint, which Henry
attributes to the sickness.
Miss Austen, Edward Austen’s, Esq.
Godmersham Park, Faversham.
[379]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XXXV
Goodnestone Farm: Friday (August 30).
My pEAR CASSANDRA,
I have determined on staying here till Mon-
day. Not that there is any occasion for it on
Marianne’s account, as she is now almost as well
as usual, but Harriot is so kind in her wishes for
my company that I could not resolve on leaving
her to-morrow, especially as I had no reason to
give for its necessity. It would be inconvenient
to me to stay with her longer than the beginning
of next week, on account of my clothes, and
therefore I trust it will suit Edward to
fetch or send for me on Monday, or Tues-
day if Monday should be wet. Harriot has this
moment desired me to propose his coming hither
on Monday, and taking me back the next
day.
The purport of Elizabeth’s letter makes me
anxious to hear more of what we are to do and
not to do, and I hope you will be able to write
me your own plans and opinions to-morrow.
The journey to London is a point of the first ex-
pediency, and I am glad it is resolved on, though
it seems likely to injure our Worthing scheme.
I expect that we are to be at Sandling, while
they are in town.
[380]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
It gives us great pleasure to hear of little
Edward’s being better, and we imagine, from
his mamma’s expressions, that he is expected to
be well enough to return to school with his
brothers.
Marianne was equal to seeing me two days
ago; we sat with her for a couple of hours before
dinner, and the same yesterday, when she was
evidently better, more equal to conversation,
and more cheerful than during our first visit.
She received me very kindly, and expressed her
regret in not having been able to see you.
She is, of course, altered since we saw her in
October, 1794. Eleven years could not pass
away even in health without making some
change, but in her case it is wonderful that the
change should be so little. I have not seen her to
advantage, as I understand she has frequently
a nice colour, and her complexion has not yet
recovered from the effects of her late illness.
Her face is grown longer and thinner, and her
features more marked, and the likeness which
I remember to have always seen between her and
Catherine Bigg is stronger than ever, and so
striking is the voice and manner of speaking
that I seem to be really hearing Catherine, and
once or twice have been on the point of calling
Harriot “ Alethea.” She is very pleasant, cheer-
ful, and interested in everything about her, and
[381]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
at the same time shows a thoughtful, consider-
ate, and decided turn of mind.
Edward Bridges dined at home yesterday; the
day before he was at St. Albans; to-day he goes
to Broome, and to-morrow to Mr. Hallett’s,
which latter engagement has had some weight in
my resolution of not leaving Harriot till Mon-
day.
We have walked to Rowling on each of the
two last days after dinner, and very great was
my pleasure in going over the house and grounds.
We have also found time to visit all the principal
walks of this place, except the walk round the
top of the park, which we shall accomplish prob-
ably to-day.
Next week seems likely to be an unpleasant
one to this family on the matter of game. The
evil intentions of the Guards are certain, and the
gentlemen of the neighbourhood seem unwilling
to come forward in any decided or early support
of their rights. Edward Bridges has been trying
to arouse their spirits, but without success. Mr.
Hammond, under the influence of daughters and
an expected ball, declares he will do nothing.
Harriot hopes my brother will not mortify her
by resisting all her plans and refusing all her in-
vitations; she has never yet been successful with
him in any, but she trusts he will now make her
all the amends in his power by coming on Mon-
[382]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
day. She thanks Elizabeth for her letter, and
you may be sure is not less solicitous than my-
self for her going to town.
Pray say everything kind for us to Miss
Sharpe, who could not regret the shortness of our
meeting in Canterbury more than we did. I hope
she returned to Godmersham as much pleased
with Mrs. Knight’s beauty and Miss Milles’ ju-
dicious remarks as those ladies respectively were
with hers. You must send me word that you
have heard from Miss Irvine.
I had almost forgot to thank you for your
letter. I am glad you recommended “ Gisborne,”
for having begun, I am pleased with it, and I
had quite determined not to read it. _
I suppose everybody will be black for the D.
of G. Must we buy lace, or will ribbon do?
We shall not be at Worthing so soon as we
have been used to talk of, shall we? This will be
no evil to us, and we are sure of my mother and
Martha being happy together. Do not forget to
write to Charles. As I am to return so soon, we
shall not send the pincushions.
Yours affectionately, J. A.
You continue, I suppose, taking hartshorn,
and I hope with good effect.
Miss Austen, Edward Austen’s, Esq.
Godmersham Park, Faversham.
[383]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
1807
THERE are no letters of 1806, so that this batch
were written after the Austens had been estab-
lished at Southampton for more than a year.
“Our guests” in the thirty-sixth letter were
James and Mary, who had been staying with
their relations in Castle Square. There is little
to observe in the rest of the letter, although one
is glad to find that Captain Foote was not put
out of temper by having to eat underdone mut-
ton, and that Mrs. Austen’s finances were in a
satisfactory condition at the commencement of
the new year.
“ Clarentine” is, of course, Miss S. S. Bur-
ney’s work, which other people besides Jane have
thought “foolish.” It is a novel of the most or-
dinary description, and not one which she would
have been likely to approve. There is a playful
allusion in these letters to the chance of Martha
Lloyd’s marriage; Jane could not foresee that
this even would be delayed until her own brother
Frank sought the lady’s affection many years
later.
[384]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
XXXVI
Southampton: Wednesday (January 7).
My pDEAR CASSANDRA,
You were mistaken in supposing I should ex-
pect your letter on Sunday; I had no idea of
hearing from you before Tuesday, and my pleas-
ure yesterday was therefore unhurt by any pre-
vious disappointment. I thank you for writing
so much; you must really have sent me the value
of two letters in one. We are extremely glad to
hear that Elizabeth is so much better, and hope
you will be sensible of still further amendment
in her when you return from Canterbury.
Of your visit there I must now speak “ inces-
santly ’’; it surprises, but pleases me more, and I
consider it as a very just and honourable distine-
tion of you, and not less to the credit of Mrs.
Knight. I have no doubt of your spending your
time with her most pleasantly in quiet and ra-
tional conversation, and am so far from thinking
her expectations of you will be deceived, that my
only fear is of your being so agreeable, so much
to her taste, as to make her wish to keep you
with her for ever. If that should be the case, we
must remove to Canterbury, which I should not
like so well as Southampton.
When you receive this, our guests will be all
[385]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
gone or going; and I shall be left to the com-
fortable disposal of my time, to ease of mind
from the torments of rice puddings and apple
dumplings, and probably to regret that I did not
take more pains to please them all.
Mrs. J. Austen has asked me to return with
her to Steventon; I need not give my answer;
and she has invited my mother to spend there the
time of Mrs. F. A.’s confinement, which she
seems half inclined to do.
A few days ago I had a letter from Miss Ir-
vine, and as I was in her debt, you will guess it
to be a remonstrance, not a very severe one, how-
ever; the first page is in her usual retrospective,
jealous, inconsistent style, but the remainder is
chatty and harmless. She supposes my silence
may have proceeded from resentment of her not
having written to inquire particularly after my
hooping cough, &c. She is a funny one.
I have answered her letter, and have endeav-
oured to give something like the truth with as lit-
tle incivility as I could, by placing my silence to
the want of subject in the very quiet way in which
we live. Phebe has repented, and stays. I have
also written to Charles, and I answered Miss
Buller’s letter by return of post, as I intended to
tell you in my last.
Two or three things I recollected when it was
too late, that I might have told you; one is, that
[ 386 |
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
the Welbys have lost their eldest son by a putrid
fever at Eton, and another that Tom Chute is
going to settle in Norfolk.
You have scarcely ever mentioned Lizzy since
your being at Godmersham. I hope it is not be-
cause she is altered for the worse.
I cannot yet satisfy Fanny as to Mrs. Foote’s
baby’s name, and I must not encourage her to ex-
pect a good one, as Captain Foote is a professed
adversary to all but the plainest; he likes only
Mary, Elizabeth, Anne, &c. Our best chance is
of “Caroline,” which in compliment to a sister
seems the only exception.
He dined with us on Friday, and I fear will
not soon venture again, for the strength of our
dinner was a boiled leg of mutton, underdone
even for James; and Captain Foote has a par-
ticular dislike to underdone mutton; but he was
so good-humoured and pleasant that I did not
much mind his being starved. He gives us all
the most cordial invitation to his house in the
country, saying just what the Williams ought to
say to make us welcome. Of them we have seen
nothing since you left us, and we hear that they
are just gone to Bath again, to be out of the way
of further alterations at Brooklands.
Mrs. F. A. has had a very agreeable letter
from Mrs. Dickson, who was delighted with the
purse, and desires her not to provide herself with
[387]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
a christening dress, which is exactly what her
young correspondent wanted; and she means to
defer making any of the caps as long as she can,
in hope of having Mrs. D.’s present in time to be
serviceable as a pattern. She desires me to tell
you that the gowns were cut out before your
letter arrived, but that they are long enough for
Caroline. The Beds, as I believe they are called, ~
have fallen to Frank’s share to continue, and of
course are cut out to admiration.
“‘ Alphonsine ” did not do. We were disgusted
in twenty pages, as, independent of a bad trans-
lation, it has indelicacies which disgrace a pen
hitherto so pure; and we changed it for the “ Fe-
male Quixotte,” which now makes our evening
amusement; to me a very high one, as I find the
work quite equal to what I remembered it. Mrs.
F. A., to whom it is new, enjoys it as one could
wish; the other Mary, I believe, has little pleasure
from that or any other book.
My mother does not seem at all more disap-
pointed than ourselves at the termination of the
family treaty; she thinks less of that just now
than of the comfortable state of her own finances,
which she finds on closing her year’s accounts be-
yond her expectation, as she begins the new year
with a balance of 30/. in her favour; and when
she has written her answer to my aunt, which you
know always hangs a little upon her mind, she
[388]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
will be above the world entirely. You will have
a great deal of unreserved discourse with Mrs.
K., I dare say, upon this subject, as well as upon
many other of our family matters. Abuse every-
body but me.
Thursdayi—We expected James yesterday,
but he did not come; if he comes at all now, his
visit will be a very short one, as he must return
to-morrow, that Ajax and the chair may be sent
to Winchester on Saturday. Caroline’s new
pelisse depended upon her mother’s being able or
not to come so far in the chair; how the guinea
that will be saved by the same means of return is
to be spent I know not. Mrs. J. A. does not
talk much of poverty now, though she has no
hope of my brother’s being able to buy another
horse next summer.
Their scheme against Warwickshire continues,
but I doubt the family’s being at Stoneleigh so
early as James says he must go, which is May.
My mother is afraid I have not been explicit
enough on the subject of her wealth; she began
1806 with 68/., she begins 1807 with 99l., and
this after 321. purchase of stock. Frank, too,
has been settling his accounts and making calcu-
lations, and each party feels quite equal to our
present expenses; but much increase of house
rent would not do for either. Frank limits him-
self, I believe, to four hundred a year.
[389]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
You will be surprised to hear that Jenny is not
yet come back; we have heard nothing of her
since her reaching Itchingswell, and can only
suppose that she must be detained by illness in
somebody or other, and that she has been each
day expecting to be able to come on the morrow.
I am glad I did not know beforehand that she
was to be absent during the whole or almost the
whole of our friends being with us, for though
the inconvenience has not been nothing, I should
have feared still more. Our dinners have cer-
tainly suffered not a little by having only
Molly’s head and Molly’s hands to conduct them;
she fries better than she did, but not like
Jenny.
We did not take our walk on Friday, it was
too dirty, nor have we yet done it; we may per-
haps do something like it to-day, as after seeing
Frank skate, which he hopes to do in the mead-
ows by the beech, we are to treat ourselves with
a passage over the ferry. It is one of the pleas-
antest frosts I ever knew, so very quiet. I hope
it will last some time longer for Frank’s sake,
who is quite anxious to get some skating; he tried
yesterday, but it would not do.
Our acquaintance increase too fast. He was
recognized lately by Admiral Bertie, and a few
days since arrived the Admiral and his daughter
Catherine to wait upon us. There was nothing
[390]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
to like or dislike in either. To the Berties are to
be added the Lances, with whose cards we have
been endowed, and whose visit Frank and I re-
turned yesterday. They live about a mile and
three-quarters from S. to the right of the new
road to Portsmouth, and I believe their house is
one of those which are to be seen almost any-
where among the woods on the other side of the
Itchen. It is a handsome building, stands high,
and in a very beautiful situation.
We found only Mrs. Lance at home, and
whether she boasts any offspring besides a grand
pianoforte did not appear. She was civil and
chatty enough, and offered to introduce us to
some acquaintance in Southampton, which we
gratefully declined.
I suppose they must be acting by the orders of
Mr. Lance of Netherton in this civility, as there
seems no other reason for their coming near us.
They will not come often, I dare say. They live
in a handsome style and are rich, and she seemed
to like to be rich, and we gave her to understand
that we were far from being so; she will soon feel
therefore that we are not worth her acquaint-
ance.
You must have heard from Martha by this
time. We have had no accounts of Kintbury
since her letter to me.
Mrs. F’. A. has had one fainting fit lately;
[391]
LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN
it came on as usual after eating a hearty dinner,
but did not last long.
I can recollect nothing more to say. When
my letter is gone, I suppose I shall.
Yours affectionately, J. A.
I have just asked Caroline if I should send her
love to her godmama, to which she answered
“es?
Miss Austen, Godmersham Park,
Faversham, Kent.
END OF FIRST VOLUME
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