Chapter XIX: Aunt Jane

1814-1817

Any attempt at depicting the charm and attractiveness of Jane Austen's character must be quite incomplete if it fails to take into account the special manner in which she showed these qualities as an aunt. She herself says in joke to a young niece that she had always maintained the importance of aunts; and she evidently felt, in all seriousness, the responsibility of that relationship, though she would have been one of the last to display her sense of it by any didactic or authoritative utterance. The author of the _Memoir_ tells us that her two nieces who were grown up in her lifetime could say how valuable to them had been her advice in 'the little difficulties and doubts of early womanhood'; and Lord Brabourne quotes here and there extracts from his mother's diary, such as these: 'Aunt Jane and I had a very interesting conversation'; 'Aunt Jane and I had a delicious morning together'; 'Aunt Jane and I very snug'; and so on, until the sad ending: 'I had the misery of losing my dear Aunt Jane after a lingering illness.'

Some letters of hers to three of her nieces give a good idea of her value and importance to them, whether as grown women or as children.[332]

Fanny Knight, sensible as she was, and early accustomed to responsibility, felt at a loss how to distinguish in her own mind between inclination and love when seriously courted in 1814 by a man of unexceptionable position and character. A reference to her aunt brought her two delightful letters.[333] No definite opinion was expressed or formal advice given in these letters, but they must have helped her by their sympathy, and cleared her mind by the steadiness with which they contemplated the case in all its bearings.

Chawton: Friday [November 18, 1814].

I feel quite as doubtful as you could be, my
dearest Fanny, as to _when_ my letter may be
finished, for I can command very little quiet time
at present; but yet I must begin, for I know you
will be glad to hear as soon as possible, and I
really am impatient myself to be writing something
on so very interesting a subject, though I have no
hope of writing anything to the purpose. I shall
do very little more, I dare say, than say over
again what you have said before.

I was certainly a good deal surprised _at first_,
as I had no suspicion of any change in your
feelings, and I have no scruple in saying that you
cannot be in love. My dear Fanny, I am ready to
laugh at the idea, and yet it is no laughing
matter to have had you so mistaken as to your own
feelings. And with all my heart I wish I had
cautioned you on that point when first you spoke
to me; but, though I did not think you then _much_
in love, I did consider you as being attached in a
degree quite sufficiently for happiness, as I had
no doubt it would increase with opportunity, and
from the time of our being in London[334] together
I thought you really very much in love. But you
certainly are not at all--there is no concealing
it.

What strange creatures we are! It seems as if your
being secure of him had made you indifferent.

* * * * *

He is just what he ever was, only more evidently
and uniformly devoted to _you_. This is all the
difference. How shall we account for it?

My dearest Fanny, I am writing what will not be of
the smallest use to you. I am feeling differently
every moment, and shall not be able to suggest a
single thing that can assist your mind. I could
lament in one sentence and laugh in the next, but
as to opinion or counsel I am sure that none will
be extracted worth having from this letter.

* * * * *

Poor dear Mr. A.! Oh, dear Fanny! your mistake has
been one that thousands of women fall into. He was
the _first_ young man who attached himself to you.
That was the charm, and most powerful it is. Among
the multitudes, however, that make the same
mistake with yourself, there can be few indeed who
have so little reason to regret it; _his_
character and _his_ attachment leave you nothing
to be ashamed of.

Upon the whole, what is to be done? You have no
inclination for any other person. His situation in
life, family, friends, and, above all, his
character, his uncommonly amiable mind, strict
principles, just notions, good habits, _all_ that
_you_ know so well how to value, _all_ that is
really of the first importance--everything of this
nature pleads his cause most strongly. You have
no doubt of his having superior abilities, he has
proved it at the University; he is, I dare say,
such a scholar as your agreeable, idle brothers
would ill bear a comparison with.

Oh, my dear Fanny! the more I write about him the
warmer my feelings become--the more strongly I
feel the sterling worth of such a young man and
the desirableness of your growing in love with him
again. I recommend this most thoroughly. There
_are_ such beings in the world, perhaps one in a
thousand, as the creature you and I should think
perfection, where grace and spirit are united to
worth, where the manners are equal to the heart
and understanding; but such a person may not come
in your way, or, if he does, he may not be the
eldest son of a man of fortune, the near relation
of your particular friend, and belonging to your
own county.

Think of all this, Fanny. Mr. A. has advantages
which we do not often meet in one person. His only
fault, indeed, seems modesty. If he were less
modest he would be more agreeable, speak louder,
and look impudenter; and is not it a fine
character of which modesty is the only defect? I
have no doubt he will get more lively and more
like yourselves as he is more with you; he will
catch your ways if he belongs to you. And, as to
there being any objection from his _goodness_,
from the danger of his becoming even evangelical,
I cannot admit _that_. I am by no means convinced
that we ought not all to be evangelicals, and am
at least persuaded that they who are so from
reason and feeling must be happiest and safest.

* * * * *

And now, my dear Fanny, having written so much on
one side of the question, I shall turn round and
entreat you not to commit yourself farther, and
not to think of accepting him unless you really do
like him. Anything is to be preferred or endured
rather than marrying without affection; and if his
deficiencies of manner, &c. &c., strike you more
than all his good qualities, if you continue to
think strongly of them, give him up at once.
Things are now in such a state that you must
resolve upon one or the other--either to allow him
to go on as he has done, or whenever you are
together behave with a coldness which may convince
him that he has been deceiving himself. I have no
doubt of his suffering a good deal for a time--a
great deal when he feels that he must give you up;
but it is no creed of mine, as you must be well
aware, that such sort of disappointments kill
anybody.

Yours very affectionately,
JANE AUSTEN.

23 Hans Place: Wednesday [November 30, 1814].

Now, my dearest Fanny, I will begin a subject
which comes in very naturally. You frighten me out
of my wits by your reference. Your affection gives
me the highest pleasure, but indeed you must not
let anything depend on my opinion; your own
feelings, and none but your own, should determine
such an important point. So far, however, as
answering your question, I have no scruple. I am
perfectly convinced that your present feelings,
supposing you were to marry _now_, would be
sufficient for his happiness; but when I think how
very, very far it is from a '_now_,' and take
everything that _may be_ into consideration, I
dare not say 'Determine to accept him'; the risk
is too great for _you_, unless your own sentiments
prompt it.

You will think me perverse perhaps; in my last
letter I was urging everything in his favour, and
now I am inclining the other way, but I cannot
help it; I am at present more impressed with the
possible evil that may arise to _you_ from
engaging yourself to him--in word or mind--than
with anything else. When I consider how few young
men you have yet seen much of; how capable you are
(yes, I do still think you _very_ capable) of
being really in love; and how full of temptation
the next six or seven years of your life will
probably be (it is the very period of life for the
_strongest_ attachments to be formed)--I cannot
wish you, with your present very cool feelings, to
devote yourself in honour to him. It is very true
that you never may attach another man his equal
altogether; but if that other man has the power of
attaching you _more_, he will be in your eyes the
most perfect.

I shall be glad if you _can_ revive past feelings,
and from your unbiassed self resolve to go on as
you have done, but this I do not expect; and
without it I cannot wish you to be fettered. I
should not be afraid of your _marrying_ him; with
all his worth you would soon love him enough for
the happiness of both; but I should dread the
continuance of this sort of tacit engagement, with
such an uncertainty as there is of _when_ it may
be completed. Years may pass before he is
independent; you like him well enough to marry,
but not well enough to wait; the unpleasantness of
appearing fickle is certainly great; but if you
think you want punishment for past illusions,
there it is, and nothing can be compared to the
misery of being bound _without_ love--bound to
one, and preferring another; _that_ is a
punishment which you do _not_ deserve.

* * * * *

I shall be most glad to hear from you again, my
dearest Fanny, but it must not be later than
Saturday, as we shall be off on Monday long before
the letters are delivered; and write _something_
that may do to be read or told.

* * * * *

I cannot suppose we differ in our ideas of the
Christian religion. You have given an excellent
description of it. We only affix a different
meaning to the word _evangelical_.

Yours most affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.
Miss Knight, Godmersham Park, Faversham, Kent.

Two remarks in these letters seem to betray the close observer of human nature from the novelist's point of view. Her optimistic opinion as to recovery from disappointments in love may perhaps be adduced by some critics as an argument to show that her feelings were not very deep; we should rather quote them as an instance of her candour--of her saying what other writers cannot help thinking, though they may not like to express the thought. Readers of _Persuasion_ are well aware that the author made room for cases (at all events, in the lives of women) where such disappointments, though they may not kill, yet give a sombre tone to the life and spirits of the sufferer through a long series of years.

There is close observation also in the distinction drawn between the amount of love sufficient for a speedy marriage, and that necessary for a long engagement, if unhappiness and possible discredit are to be avoided. On this occasion, neither marriage nor engagement happened to Fanny Knight. Her son tells us that differences in religious ideas tended by degrees to separate the lovers--if lovers they could be called. Her doubt as to caring enough for 'Mr. A.' became a certainty in the course of the year 1815. When her aunt, in November of that year, joked with her about an imaginary tenderness for Mr. Haden, 'the apothecary,' it was no doubt pure 'chaff'; but we may be sure she would not have indulged in it if any serious attachment had then occupied her niece's mind.

The remaining letters of this series which we possess were written, after an interval of more than two years, in February and March 1817,[335] only a few months before Jane's death. All idea of Fanny's engaging herself to 'Mr. A.' has now passed away; yet, with natural inconsistency, she lives in dread of his marrying some one else. By this time there is a 'Mr. B.' on the stage, but his courtship, though apparently demonstrative, is not really serious; and the last letter keeps away from love affairs altogether. As to 'Mr. A.,' we are told that he found his happiness elsewhere within a couple of years; while Fanny became engaged to Sir Edward Knatchbull in 1820.

Chawton: [February 20, 1817].

MY DEAREST FANNY,--You are inimitable,
irresistible. You are the delight of my life. Such
letters, such entertaining letters, as you have
lately sent! such a description of your queer
little heart! such a lovely display of what
imagination does! You are worth your weight in
gold, or even in the new silver coinage. I cannot
express to you what I have felt in reading your
history of yourself--how full of pity and concern,
and admiration and amusement, I have been! You are
the paragon of all that is silly and sensible,
common-place and eccentric, sad and lively,
provoking and interesting. Who can keep pace with
the fluctuations of your fancy, the capprizios of
your taste, the contradictions of your feelings?
You are so odd, and all the time so perfectly
natural!--so peculiar in yourself, and yet so like
everybody else!

It is very, very gratifying to me to know you so
intimately. You can hardly think what a pleasure
it is to me to have such thorough pictures of your
heart. Oh, what a loss it will be when you are
married! You are too agreeable in your single
state--too agreeable as a niece. I shall hate you
when your delicious play of mind is all settled
down into conjugal and maternal affections.

Mr. B---- frightens me. He will have you. I see
you at the altar. I have _some_ faith in Mrs. C.
Cage's observation, and still more in Lizzy's;
and, besides, I know it _must_ be so. He must be
wishing to attach you. It would be too stupid and
too shameful in him to be otherwise; and all the
family are seeking your acquaintance.

Do not imagine that I have any real objection; I
have rather taken a fancy to him than not, and I
like the house for you. I only do not like you
should marry anybody. And yet I do wish you to
marry very much, because I know you will never be
happy till you are; but the loss of a Fanny Knight
will be never made up to me. My 'affec. niece F.
C. B----' will be but a poor substitute. I do not
like your being nervous, and so apt to cry--it is
a sign you are not quite well.

* * * * *

I enjoy your visit to Goodnestone, it must be a
great pleasure to you; you have not seen Fanny
Cage in comfort so long. I hope she represents and
remonstrates and reasons with you properly. Why
should you be living in dread of his marrying
somebody else? (Yet, how natural!) You did not
choose to have him yourself, why not allow him to
take comfort where he can? In your conscience you
_know_ that he could not bear a companion with a
more animated character. You cannot forget how you
felt under the idea of its having been possible
that he might have dined in Hans Place.

My dearest Fanny, I cannot bear you should be
unhappy about him. Think of his principles; think
of his father's objection, of want of money, &c.,
&c. But I am doing no good; no, all that I urge
against him will rather make you take his part
more, sweet, perverse Fanny.

And now I will tell you that we like your Henry to
the utmost, to the very top of the glass, quite
brimful. He is a very pleasing young man. I do not
see how he could be mended. He does really bid
fair to be everything his father and sister could
wish; and William I love very much indeed, and so
we do all; he is quite our own William. In short,
we are very comfortable together; that is, we can
answer for _ourselves_.

* * * * *

_Friday._--I had no idea when I began this
yesterday of sending it before your brother went
back, but I have written away my foolish thoughts
at such a rate that I will not keep them many
hours longer to stare me in the face.

* * * * *

Ben and Anna walked here last Sunday to hear Uncle
Henry, and she looked so pretty, it was quite a
pleasure to see her, so young and so blooming, and
so innocent.

* * * * *

Your objection to the quadrilles delighted me
exceedingly. Pretty well, for a lady irrecoverably
attached to _one_ person! Sweet Fanny, believe no
such thing of yourself, spread no such malicious
slander upon your understanding, within the
precincts of your imagination. Do not speak ill of
your sense merely for the gratification of your
fancy; yours is sense which deserves more
honourable treatment. You are _not_ in love with
him; you never _have_ been really in love with
him.

Yours very affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.

Chawton: Thursday [March 13, 1817].

As to making any adequate return for such a letter
as yours, my dearest Fanny, it is absolutely
impossible. If I were to labour at it all the rest
of my life, and live to the age of Methuselah, I
could never accomplish anything so long and so
perfect; but I cannot let William go without a few
lines of acknowledgment and reply.

I have pretty well done with Mr. ----. By your
description, he _cannot_ be in love with you,
however he may try at it; and I could not wish the
match unless there were a great deal of love on
his side.

* * * * *

Poor Mrs. C. Milles, that she should die on the
wrong day at last, after being about it so long!
It was unlucky that the Goodnestone party could
not meet you, and I hope her friendly, obliging,
social spirit, which delighted in drawing people
together, was not conscious of the division and
disappointment she was occasioning. I am sorry and
surprised that you speak of her as having little
to leave, and must feel for Miss Milles, though
she _is_ Molly, if a material loss of income is to
attend her other loss. Single women have a
dreadful propensity for being poor, which is one
very strong argument in favour of matrimony, but I
need not dwell on such arguments with _you_,
pretty dear.

To you I shall say, as I have often said before,
do not be in a hurry, the right man will come at
last; you will in the course of the next two or
three years meet with somebody more generally
unexceptionable than anyone you have yet known,
who will love you as warmly as possible, and who
will so completely attract you that you will feel
you never really loved before.

* * * * *

Aunt Cassandra walked to Wyards yesterday with
Mrs. Digweed. Anna has had a bad cold, and looks
pale. She has just weaned Julia.

Chawton: Sunday [March 23, 1817].

I am very much obliged to you, my dearest Fanny,
for sending me Mr. W.'s conversation; I had great
amusement in reading it, and I hope I am not
affronted, and do not think the worse of him for
having a brain so very different from mine; but my
strongest sensation of all is _astonishment_ at
your being able to press him on the subject so
perseveringly; and I agree with your papa, that it
was not fair. When he knows the truth he will be
uncomfortable.

You are the oddest creature! Nervous enough in
some respects, but in others perfectly without
nerves! Quite unrepulsable, hardened, and
impudent. Do not oblige him to read any more. Have
mercy on him, tell him the truth, and make him an
apology. He and I should not in the least agree,
of course, in our ideas of novels and heroines.
Pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick
and wicked; but there is some very good sense in
what he says, and I particularly respect him for
wishing to think well of all young ladies; it
shows an amiable and a delicate mind. And he
deserves better treatment than to be obliged to
read any more of my works.

Do not be surprised at finding Uncle Henry
acquainted with my having another ready for
publication. I could not say No when he asked me,
but he knows nothing more of it. You will not like
it, so you need not be impatient. You may
_perhaps_ like the heroine, as she is almost too
good for me.[336]

* * * * *

Thank you for everything you tell me. I do not
feel worthy of it by anything that I can say in
return, but I assure you my pleasure in your
letters is quite as great as ever, and I am
interested and amused just as you could wish me.

The Papillons came back on Friday night, but I
have not seen them yet, as I do not venture to
church. I cannot hear, however, but that they are
the same Mr. P. and his sister they used to be.

Very affectionately yours,
J. AUSTEN.

Miss Knight, Godmersham Park,
Canterbury.

Very different in tone and subject were the letters, addressed about the same time as the two earlier of this series, to her other niece, Anna. Not that Anna was without her own love story: on the contrary, it came to a straightforward and satisfactory climax in her marriage to Ben Lefroy, which took place in November 1814; and no doubt, she, like her cousin, had received letters of sympathy and advice on the realities of life from her aunt. Her own romance, however, did not prevent her from interesting herself in the creations of her brain: indeed, all the three children of James Austen--Anna, Edward, and little Caroline--had indulged freely in the delights of authorship from a very youthful age. It was a novel of Anna's which caused the present correspondence; and we can see from the delicate hints of her aunt that _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Mansfield Park_ had not been without their influence over its matter and style. Readers of these letters will note the kindness with which Jane, now deep in the composition of _Emma_, turns aside from her own work to criticise and encourage, associating her views all the time with those of Cassandra--who was to her like a Court of Appeal--and allowing ample freedom of judgment also to Anna herself. They will see also that her vote is for 'nature and spirit,' above everything; while yet she insists on the necessity of accuracy of detail for producing the illusion of truth in fiction.

[May or June, 1814.]

MY DEAR ANNA,--I am very much obliged to you for
sending your MS. It has entertained me extremely;
all of us, indeed. I read it aloud to your
Grandmama and Aunt Cass, and we were all very much
pleased. The spirit does not droop at all. Sir
Thos., Lady Helena and St. Julian are very well
done, and Cecilia continues to be interesting in
spite of her being so amiable. It was very fit you
should advance her age. I like the beginning of
Devereux Forester very much, a great deal better
than if he had been very good or very bad. A few
verbal corrections are all that I felt tempted to
make.

* * * * *

I do not like a lover speaking in the 3rd person;
it is too much like the formal part of Lord
Orville,[337] and, I think, is not natural. If
_you_ think differently, however, you need not
mind me. I am impatient for more, and only wait
for a safe conveyance to return this book.

[August 10, 1814.]

I like the name _Which is the Heroine_ very well,
and I dare say shall grow to like it very much in
time; but _Enthusiasm_ was something so very
superior that every common title must appear to
disadvantage. I am not sensible of any blunders
about Dawlish; the library was particularly
pitiful and wretched twelve years ago and not
likely to have anybody's publications. There is no
such title as Desborough either among dukes,
marquises, earls, viscounts, or barons. These were
your inquiries. I will now thank you for your
envelope received this morning.

* * * * *

Your Aunt Cass is as well pleased with St. Julian
as ever, and I am delighted with the idea of
seeing Progillian again.

_Wednesday 17._--We have now just finished the
first of the three books I had the pleasure of
receiving yesterday. I read it aloud and we are
all very much amused, and like the work quite as
well as ever. I depend on getting through another
book before dinner, but there is really a good
deal of respectable reading in your forty-eight
pages. I have no doubt six will make a very
good-sized volume. You must be quite pleased to
have accomplished so much. I like Lord
Portman[338] and his brother very much. I am only
afraid that Lord P.'s good nature will make most
people like him better than he deserves. The whole
Portman family are very good, and Lady Anne, who
was your great dread, you have succeeded
particularly well with. Bell Griffin is just what
she should be. My corrections have not been more
important than before; here and there we have
thought the sense could be expressed in fewer
words, and I have scratched out Sir Thos. from
walking with the other men to the stables, &c.,
the very day after his breaking his arm; for,
though I find your papa did walk out immediately
after _his_ arm was set, I think it can be so
little usual as to appear unnatural in a book.

* * * * *

Lyme will not do. Lyme is towards forty miles'
distance from Dawlish and would not be talked of
there. I have put Starcross instead. If you prefer
Exeter that must be always safe.

I have also scratched out the introduction between
Lord Portman and his brother and Mr. Griffin. A
country surgeon (don't tell Mr. C. Lyford) would
not be introduced to men of their rank.

* * * * *

I _do_ think you had better omit Lady Helena's
postscript. To those that are acquainted with
_Pride and Prejudice_ it will seem an imitation.

* * * * *

We are reading the last book. They must be two
days going from Dawlish to Bath. They are nearly
100 miles apart.

_Thursday._--We finished it last night after our
return from drinking tea at the Great House. The
last chapter does not please us quite so well; we
do not thoroughly like the play, perhaps from
having had too much of plays in that way
lately,[339] and we think you had better not leave
England. Let the Portmans go to Ireland; but as
you know nothing of the manners there, you had
better not go with them. You will be in danger of
giving false representations. Stick to Bath and
the Foresters. There you will be quite at home.

Your Aunt C. does not like desultory novels, and
is rather afraid yours will be too much so, that
there will be too frequently a change from one set
of people to another, and that circumstances will
be sometimes introduced of apparent consequence
which will lead to nothing. It will not be so
great an objection to _me_ if it does. I allow
much more latitude than she does, and think nature
and spirit cover many sins of a wandering story,
and people in general do not care so much about it
for your comfort.

I should like to have had more of Devereux. I do
not feel enough acquainted with him. You were
afraid of meddling with him, I dare say. I like
your sketch of Lord Clanmurray, and your picture
of the two poor young girls' enjoyment is very
good. I have not yet noticed St. Julian's serious
conversation with Cecilia, but I like it
exceedingly. What he says about the madness of
otherwise sensible women on the subject of their
daughters coming out is worth its weight in gold.

I do not see that the language sinks. Pray go on.

[September 9, 1814.]

We have been very much amused by your three books,
but I have a good many criticisms to make, more
than you will like. We are not satisfied with Mrs.
Forester's settling herself as tenant and near
neighbour to such a man as Sir T. H., without
having some other inducement to go there. She
ought to have some friend living thereabouts to
tempt her. A woman going with two girls just
growing up into a neighbourhood where she knows
nobody but one man of not very good character, is
an awkwardness which so prudent a woman as Mrs. F.
would not be likely to fall into. Remember she is
very prudent. You must not let her act
inconsistently. Give her a friend, and let that
friend be invited to meet her at the Priory, and
we shall have no objection to her dining there as
she does; but otherwise a woman in her situation
would hardly go there before she had been visited
by other families. I like the scene itself, the
Miss Lesleys, Lady Anne, and the music very
much. . . . Sir Thomas H. you always do very well. I
have only taken the liberty of expunging one
phrase of his which would not be allowable--'Bless
my heart!' It is too familiar and inelegant. Your
grandmother is more disturbed at Mrs. Forester's
not returning the Egertons' visit sooner than by
anything else. They ought to have called at the
Parsonage before Sunday. You describe a sweet
place, but your descriptions are often more minute
than will be liked. You give too many particulars
of right hand and left. Mrs. Forester is not
careful enough of Susan's health. Susan ought not
to be walking out so soon after heavy rains,
taking long walks in the dirt. An anxious mother
would not suffer it. I like your Susan very much
indeed, she is a sweet creature, her playfulness
of fancy is very delightful. I like her as she is
now exceedingly, but I am not quite so well
satisfied with her behaviour to George R. At first
she seems all over attachment and feeling, and
afterwards to have none at all; she is so
extremely composed at the ball and so well
satisfied apparently with Mr. Morgan. She seems to
have changed her character.

You are now collecting your people delightfully,
getting them exactly into such a spot as is the
delight of my life. Three or four families in a
country village is the very thing to work on, and
I hope you will write a great deal more, and make
full use of them while they are so very favourably
arranged.

You are but _now_ coming to the heart and beauty
of your book. Till the heroine grows up the fun
must be imperfect, but I expect a great deal of
entertainment from the next three or four books,
and I hope you will not resent these remarks by
sending me no more.

* * * * *

They are not so much like the Papillons as I
expected. Your last chapter is very entertaining,
the conversation on genius, &c.; Mr. St. Julian
and Susan both talk in character, and very well.
In some former parts Cecilia is perhaps a little
too solemn and good, but upon the whole her
disposition is very well opposed to Susan's, her
want of imagination is very natural. I wish you
could make Mrs. Forester talk more; but she must
be difficult to manage and make entertaining,
because there is so much good common sense and
propriety about her that nothing can be made very
_broad_. Her economy and her ambition must not be
staring. The papers left by Mrs. Fisher are very
good. Of course one guesses something. I hope when
you have written a great deal more, you will be
equal to scratching out some of the past. The
scene with Mrs. Mellish I should condemn; it is
prosy and nothing to the purpose; and indeed the
more you can find in your heart to curtail between
Dawlish and Newton Priors, the better I think it
will be--one does not care for girls till they are
grown up. Your Aunt C. quite enters into the
exquisiteness of that name--Newton Priors is
really a nonpareil. Milton would have given his
eyes to have thought of it. Is not the cottage
taken from Tollard Royal?

[September 28, 1814.]

I hope you do not depend on having your book again
immediately. I kept it that your grandmama may
hear it, for it has not been possible yet to have
any public reading. I have read it to your Aunt
Cassandra, however, in our own room at night,
while we undressed, and with a great deal of
pleasure. We like the first chapter extremely,
with only a little doubt whether Lady Helena is
not almost too foolish. The matrimonial dialogue
is very good certainly. I like Susan as well as
ever, and begin now not to care at all about
Cecilia; she may stay at Easton Court as long as
she likes. Henry Mellish, I am afraid, will be too
much in the common novel style--a handsome,
amiable, unexceptionable young man (such as do not
much abound in real life), desperately in love and
all in vain. But I have no business to judge him
so early.

* * * * *

We feel really obliged to you for introducing a
Lady Kenrick; it will remove the greatest fault in
the work, and I give you credit for considerable
forbearance as an author in adopting so much of
our opinion. I expect high fun about Mrs. Fisher
and Sir Thomas.

* * * * *

Devereux Forester's being ruined by his vanity is
extremely good, but I wish you would not let him
plunge into a 'vortex of dissipation.' I do not
object to the thing, but I cannot bear the
expression; it is such thorough novel slang, and
so old that I dare say Adam met with it in the
first novel he opened.

* * * * *

Walter Scott has no business to write novels,
especially good ones. It is not fair. He has fame
and profit enough as a poet, and should not be
taking the bread out of other people's mouths.

I do not like him, and do not mean to like
_Waverley_[340] if I can help it, but fear I must.

I am quite determined, however, not to be pleased
with Mrs. West's _Alicia De Lacy_, should I ever
meet with it, which I hope I shall not. I think I
_can_ be stout against anything written by Mrs.
West.[341] I have made up my mind to like no
novels really but Miss Edgeworth's, yours, and my
own.

What can you do with Egerton to increase the
interest for him? I wish you could contrive
something, some family occurrence to bring out his
good qualities more. Some distress among brothers
and sisters to relieve by the sale of his curacy!
Something to carry him mysteriously away, and then
be heard of at York or Edinburgh in an old great
coat. I would not seriously recommend anything
improbable, but if you could invent something
spirited for him it would have a good effect. He
might lend all his money to Captain Morris, but
then he would be a great fool if he did. Cannot
the Morrises quarrel and he reconcile them? Excuse
the liberty I take in these suggestions.

* * * * *

The Webbs are really gone! When I saw the wagons
at the door, and thought of all the trouble they
must have in moving, I began to reproach myself
for not having liked them better, but since the
wagons have disappeared my conscience has been
closed again, and I am excessively glad they are
gone.

I am very fond of Sherlock's sermons and prefer
them to almost any.

Anna's marriage took place on November 8. Her husband was afterwards a clergyman, but he did not take Orders until about three years after the marriage; and the first home of the young couple was at Hendon, to which place the following letter was addressed, Jane being at that time with her brother Henry, in Hans Place:--

Hans Place: [November 28, 1814].

MY DEAR ANNA,--I assure you we all came away very
much pleased with our visit. We talked of you for
about a mile and a half with great satisfaction;
and I have been just sending a very good report of
you to Miss Benn, with a full account of your
dress for Susan and Maria.

We were all at the play last night to see Miss
O'Neill in _Isabella_. I do not think she was
quite equal to my expectations. I fancy I want
something more than can be. I took two
pocket-handkerchiefs, but had very little occasion
for either. She is an elegant creature, however,
and hugs Mr. Young delightfully. I am going this
morning to see the little girls in Keppel Street.
Cassy was excessively interested about your
marriage when she heard of it, which was not until
she was to drink your health on the wedding day.

She asked a thousand questions in her usual
manner, what he said to you and what you said to
him. If your uncle were at home he would send his
best love, but I will not impose any base
fictitious remembrances on you. Mine I can
honestly give, and remain

Your affectionate Aunt,
J. AUSTEN.

Early in December, Anna sent her aunt another packet, which elicited the following letter:--

Hans Place: Wednesday.

MY DEAR ANNA,--I have been very far from finding
your book an evil, I assure you. I read it
immediately, and with great pleasure. I think you
are going on very well. The description of Dr.
Griffin and Lady Helena's unhappiness is very
good, just what was likely to be. I am curious to
know what the end of _them_ will be. The name of
Newton Priors is really invaluable; I never met
with anything superior to it. It is delightful;
one could live upon the name of Newton Priors for
a twelvemonth. Indeed, I do think you get on very
fast. I only wish other people of my acquaintance
could compose as rapidly. I am pleased with the
dog scene and with the whole of George and Susan's
love, but am more particularly struck with your
_serious_ conversations, etc. They are very good
throughout. St. Julian's history was quite a
surprise to me. You had not very long known it
yourself, I suspect; but I have no objection to
make to the circumstance, and it is very well
told. His having been in love with the aunt gives
Cecilia an additional interest with him. I like
the idea--a very proper compliment to an aunt! I
rather imagine indeed that nieces are seldom
chosen but out of compliment to some aunt or
another. I dare say Ben was in love with me once,
and would never have thought of you if he had not
supposed me dead of a scarlet fever.

* * * * *

[Mrs. Heathcote] writes me word that Miss
Blachford is married, but I have never seen it in
the papers, and one may as well be single if the
wedding is not to be in print.

Your affectionate Aunt,
J. A.

In August 1815 the Lefroys moved from Hendon, and took a small house called Wyards, near Alton, and within a walk of Chawton. Wyards is more than once mentioned in our letters.

This is the last letter we possess dealing with Anna's story; and we can understand that the attention of either writer was soon diverted from it by more serious considerations: that of Anna by family cares, that of her aunt by Henry's illness and bankruptcy, and by her own publication of _Emma_ and subsequent failure of health. The last history of the MS. was sad enough. After the death of her kind critic, Anna could not induce herself to go on with the tale; the associations were too melancholy. Long afterwards, she took it out of its drawer, and, in a fit of despondency, threw it into the fire. Her daughter, who tells us this, adds that she herself--a little girl--was sitting on the rug, and remembers that she watched the destruction, amused with the flame.

A similar fate befell a tragedy written at a very early age by Anna's little sister Caroline, who was her junior by about twelve years. Caroline believed it to be a necessary part of a tragedy that all the _dramatis personae_ should somehow meet their end, by violence or otherwise, in the last act; and this belief produced such a scene of carnage and woe as to cause fits of laughter among unsympathetic elders, and tears to the author, who threw the unfortunate tragedy into the fire on the spot.

Caroline, however, continued to write stories; and some of them are alluded to in a series of little childish letters written to her by her Aunt Jane, which survive, carefully pieced together with silver paper and gum, and which are worth preserving for the presence in them of love and playfulness, and the entire absence of condescension.

December 6.

MY DEAR CAROLINE,--I wish I could finish stories
as fast as you can. I am much obliged to you for
the sight of Olivia, and think you have done for
her very well; but the good-for-nothing father,
who was the real author of all her faults and
sufferings, should not escape unpunished. I hope
_he_ hung himself, or took the sur-name of _Bone_
or underwent some direful penance or other.

Yours affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.

Chawton: Monday, July 15.

MY DEAR CAROLINE,--I have followed your directions
and find your handwriting admirable. If you
continue to improve as much as you have done,
perhaps I may not be obliged to shut my eyes at
all half a year hence. I have been very much
entertained by your story of Carolina and her aged
father; it made me laugh heartily, and I am
particularly glad to find you so much alive upon
any topic of such absurdity, as the usual
description of a heroine's father. You have done
it full justice, or, if anything be wanting, it is
the information of the venerable old man's having
married when only twenty-one, and being a father
at twenty-two.

I had an early opportunity of conveying your
letter to Mary Jane, having only to throw it out
of window at her as she was romping with your
brother in the Back Court. She thanks you for it,
and answers your questions through me. I am to
tell you that she has passed her time at Chawton
very pleasantly indeed, that she does not miss
Cassy so much as she expected, and that as to
_Diana Temple_, she is ashamed to say it has never
been worked at since you went away. . . .

Edward's visit has been a great pleasure to us. He
has not lost one good quality or good look, and is
only altered in being improved by being some
months older than when we saw him last. He is
getting very near our own age, for _we_ do not
grow older of course.

Yours affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.

Chawton: Wednesday, March. 13 [1815].

MY DEAR CAROLINE,--I am very glad to have an
opportunity of answering your agreeable little
letter. You seem to be quite my own niece in your
feelings towards Mme. de Genlis. I do not think I
could even now, at my sedate time of life, read
_Olympe et Theophile_ without being in a rage. It
really is too bad! Not allowing them to be happy
together when they _are_ married. Don't talk of
it, pray. I have just lent your Aunt Frank the
first volume of _Les Veillees du Chateau_, for
Mary Jane to read. It will be some time before she
comes to the horror of Olympe. . . .

I had a very nice letter from your brother not
long ago, and I am quite happy to see how much his
hand is improving. I am convinced that it will end
in a very gentlemanlike hand, much above par.

We have had a great deal of fun lately with
post-chaises stopping at the door; three times
within a few days we had a couple of agreeable
visitors turn in unexpectedly--your Uncle Henry
and Mr. Tilson, Mrs. Heathcote and Miss Bigg, your
Uncle Henry and Mr. Seymour. Take notice it was
the same Uncle Henry each time.

I remain, my dear Caroline,
Your affectionate Aunt,
J. AUSTEN.

Hans Place: Monday night [October 30, 1815].

MY DEAR CAROLINE,--I have not felt quite equal to
taking up your Manuscript, but think I shall soon,
and I hope my detaining it so long will be no
inconvenience. It gives us great pleasure that you
should be at Chawton. I am sure Cassy must be
delighted to have you. You will practise your
music of course, and I trust to you for taking
care of my instrument and not letting it be
ill-used in any respect. Do not allow anything to
be put on it but what is very light. I hope you
will try to make out some other tune besides the
Hermit. . . .

I am sorry you got wet in your ride; now that you
are become an Aunt[342] you are a person of some
consequence and must excite great interest
whatever you do. I have always maintained the
importance of Aunts as much as possible, and I am
sure of your doing the same now.

Believe me, my dear Sister-Aunt,
Yours affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.

[January 23, 1817.]

MY DEAR CAROLINE,--I am always very much obliged
to you for writing to me, and have now I believe
two or three notes to thank you for; but whatever
may be their number, I mean to have this letter
accepted as a handsome return for all, for you see
I have taken a complete, whole sheet of paper,
which is to entitle me to consider it as a very
long letter whether I write much or little.

We were quite happy to see Edward, it was an
unexpected pleasure, and he makes himself as
agreeable as ever, sitting in such a quiet
comfortable way making his delightful little
sketches. He is generally thought grown since he
was here last, and rather thinner, but in very
good looks. . . . He read his two chapters to us the
first evening--both good, but especially the last
in our opinion. We think it has more of the spirit
and entertainment of the early part of his
work.[343] . . .

I feel myself getting stronger than I was half a
year ago, and can so perfectly well walk to Alton,
_or_ back again, without the slightest fatigue
that I hope to be able to do both when summer
comes. I spent two or three days with your Uncle
and Aunt[344] lately, and though the children are
sometimes very noisy and not under such order as
they ought and easily might, I cannot help liking
them and even loving them, which I hope may be not
wholly inexcusable in their and your affectionate
Aunt,

J. AUSTEN.

The Pianoforte often talks of you; in various
keys, tunes, and expressions, I allow--but be it
Lesson or Country Dance, Sonata or Waltz, _you_
are really its constant theme. I wish you could
come and see us, as easily as Edward can.

J. A.

Wednesday night. [1817.]

You send me great news indeed, my dear Caroline,
about Mr. Digweed, Mr. Trimmer, and a Grand
Pianoforte. I wish it had been a small one, as
then you might have pretended that Mr. D.'s rooms
were too damp to be fit for it, and offered to
take charge of it at the Parsonage. . . .

* * * * *

I look forward to the four new chapters with
pleasure.--But how can you like Frederick better
than Edgar? You have some eccentric tastes
however, I know, as to Heroes and Heroines.
Goodbye.

Yours affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.

Chawton: Wednesday, March 26 [1817].

MY DEAR CAROLINE,--Pray make no apologies for
writing to me often, I am always very happy to
hear from you. . . .

I think you very much improved in your writing,
and in the way to write a very pretty hand. I wish
you could practise your fingering oftener. Would
not it be a good plan for you to go and live
entirely at Mr. Wm. Digweed's? He could not desire
any other remuneration than the pleasure of
hearing you practise.

I like Frederick and Caroline better than I did,
but must still prefer Edgar and Julia. Julia is a
warm-hearted, ingenuous, natural girl, which I
like her for; but I know the word _natural_ is no
recommendation to you. . . .

How very well Edward is looking! You can have
nobody in your neighbourhood to vie with him at
all, except Mr. Portal. I have taken one ride on
the donkey and like it very much--and you must try
to get me quiet, mild days, that I may be able to
go out pretty constantly. A great deal of wind
does not suit me, as I have still a tendency to
rheumatism. In short I am a poor honey at present.
I will be better when you can come and see us.

Yours affectionately,
J. AUSTEN.

Caroline Austen contributed to the _Memoir_ written by her brother many of the personal reminiscences of their aunt. She was the niece to whom Jane in her last illness sent a recommendation to read more and write less during the years of girlhood. Caroline obeyed the injunction; she became a very well-read woman, and never wrote stories for publication. She was, however, an admirable talker: able to invest common things with a point and spirit peculiarly her own. She was also an ideal aunt, both to nieces and nephews, who all owe a great deal to her companionship and devotion.

FOOTNOTES:

[332] The first two batches of letters are to be found in Lord Brabourne's book, vol. ii. p. 277 _et seq._; of the third set (to Caroline) only a few isolated quotations have been published. The second and third sets have been compared with the originals, but we have been unable to do this in the case of the first.

[333] Cassandra was evidently not in the secret; and we learn from their niece Anna the interesting fact that, close and intimate as were the relations between the two sisters, they were absolutely silent to each other when the confidences of a third person had to be guarded.

[334] Perhaps in March 1814.

[335] Lord Brabourne dates them in 1816, and Mr. Oscar Fay Adams and Miss Hill naturally follow him; but such a date is impossible, as they contain allusions to two or three family events which had not then happened. This correction makes the account of her own health in the letters of March 13 and March 23 (which will be found in Chap. XX, p. 383) fit in much better with our information from other sources as to the progress of her illness than would have been the case had it been written in 1816.

[336] See p. 336.

[337] In _Evelina_.

[338] It must be remembered that there was no 'Lord Portman' or 'Lord Desborough' in 1814.

[339] In _Mansfield Park_.

[340] Published July 7, 1814. Jane Austen had no more doubt as to who was the author than Miss Mitford had.

[341] See p. 376.

[342] On the birth of Anna Lefroy's eldest daughter, Jemima.

[343] See p. 374.

[344] No doubt the Frank Austens.