The Letters of Jane Austen
Jane Austen
PREFACE.
The recent cult for Miss Austen, which has resulted in no
less than ten new editions of her novels within a decade and three
memoirs by different hands within as many years, have made the
facts of her life familiar to most readers. It was a short life,
and an uneventful one as viewed from the standpoint of our modern
times, when steam and electricity have linked together the ends of
the earth, and the very air seems teeming with news, agitations,
discussions. We have barely time to recover our breath between post
and post; and the morning paper with its statements of disaster and
its hints of still greater evils to be, is scarcely out-lived,
when, lo! in comes the evening issue, contradicting the news of the
morning, to be sure, but full of omens and auguries of its own to
strew our pillows with the seed of wakefulness.
To us, publications come hot and hot from the press.
Telegraphic wires like the intricate and incalculable zigzags of
the lightning ramify above our heads; and who can tell at what
moment their darts may strike? In Miss Austen's day the tranquil,
drowsy, decorous English day of a century since, all was different.
News travelled then from hand to hand, carried in creaking
post-wagons, or in cases of extreme urgency by men on horseback.
When a gentleman journeying in his own "chaise" took three days in
going from Exeter to London, a distance now covered in three hours
of railroad, there was little chance of frequent surprises. Love,
sorrow, and death were in the world then as now, and worked their
will upon the sons of men; but people did not expect happenings
every day or even every year. No doubt they lived the longer for
this exemption from excitement, and kept their nerves in a state of
wholesome repair; but it goes without saying that the events of
which they knew so little did not stir them deeply.
Miss Austen's life coincided with two of the momentous epochs
of history,—the American struggle for independence, and the French
Revolution; but there is scarcely an allusion to either in her
letters. She was interested in the fleet and its victories because
two of her brothers were in the navy and had promotion and
prize-money to look forward to. In this connection she mentions
Trafalgar and the Egyptian expedition, and generously remarks that
she would read Southey's "Life of Nelson" if there was anything in
it about her brother Frank! She honors Sir John Moore by remarking
after his death that his mother would perhaps have preferred to
have him less distinguished and still alive; further than that, the
making of the gooseberry jam and a good recipe for orange wine
interests her more than all the marchings and countermarchings, the
man[oe]uvres and diplomacies, going on the world over. In the midst
of the universal vortex of fear and hope, triumph and defeat, while
the fate of Britain and British liberty hung trembling in the
balance, she sits writing her letters, trimming her caps, and
discussing small beer with her sister in a lively and unruffled
fashion wonderful to contemplate. "The society of rural England in
those days," as Mr. Goldwin Smith happily puts it, "enjoyed a calm
of its own in the midst of the European tempest like the windless
centre of a circular storm."
The point of view of a woman with such an environment must
naturally be circumscribed and narrow; and in this Miss Austen's
charm consists. Seeing little, she painted what she saw with
absolute fidelity and a dexterity and perfection unequalled. "On
her was bestowed, though in a humble form, the gift which had been
bestowed on Homer, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Scott, and a few
others,—the gift of creative power." Endowed with the keenest and
most delicate insight and a vivid sense of humor, she depicted with
exactitude what she observed and what she understood, giving to
each fact and emotion its precise shade and value. The things she
did not see she did not attempt. Affectation was impossible to
her,—most of all, affectation of knowledge or feeling not justly
her own. "She held the mirror up to her time" with an exquisite
sincerity and fidelity; and the closeness of her study brought her
intimately near to those hidden springs which underlie all human
nature. This is the reason why, for all their skimp skirts,
leg-of-mutton sleeves, and bygone impossible bonnets, her
characters do not seem to us old-fashioned. Minds and hearts are
made pretty much after the same pattern from century to century;
and given a modern dress and speech, Emma or Elizabeth or dear Anne
Eliot could enter a drawing-room to-day, and excite no surprise
except by so closely resembling the people whom they would find
there.
"Miss Austen's novels are dateless things," Mr. Augustine
Birrell tells us. "Nobody in his senses would speak of them as 'old
novels.' 'John Inglesant' is an old novel, so is 'Ginx's Baby.' But
Emma is quite new, and, like a wise woman, affords few clues to her
age."
We allude with a special touch of affection to Anne Eliot.
"Persuasion," which was written during the last two years of Miss
Austen's life, when the refining touch of Eternity was already upon
her, has always seemed to us the most perfect of her novels; and
Anne, with her exquisite breeding and unselfish
straightforwardness, just touched with the tender reserve of memory
and regret, one of her best portraitures. But this is a matter of
individual taste. Doubtless Elizabeth Bennet is "better fun" as the
modern girl would say. Miss Austen herself preferred her. She had a
droll and pretty way of talking about her characters which showed
how real they were to her own mind, and made them equally real to
other people. In 1813 she had the good luck to light upon a
portrait of Jane Bennet at an exhibition.
"I was very well pleased (pray tell Fanny) with a small
portrait of Mrs. Bingley, excessively like her. I went in hopes of
seeing one of her sister, but there was no Mrs. Darcy. Perhaps I
may find her in the great exhibition, which we shall go to if we
have time. Mrs. Bingley's is exactly like herself,—size, shaped
face, features and sweetness; there never was a greater likeness.
She is dressed in a white gown, with green ornaments, which
convinces me of what I had always supposed, that green was a
favorite color with her. I dare say Mrs. D. will be in
yellow."
And later:—
"We have been both to the exhibition and Sir J. Reynolds';
and I am disappointed, for there was nothing like Mrs. D. at
either. I can only imagine that Mr. D. prizes any picture of her
too much to like it should be exposed to the public eye. I can
imagine he would have that sort of feeling,—that mixture of love,
pride, and delicacy."
The letters included in this series comprise about three
quarters of the collection in two volumes published in 1884 by her
great-nephew Lord Brabourne. The lightness, almost friskiness, of
their tone cannot fail to strike the reader. Modern letters written
by women are filled more or less with hints and queries;
questionings as to the why and the wherefore occur; allusions to
the various "fads" of the day, literary or artistic,—Ibsen,
Tolstoi, Browning, Esoteric Buddhism, Wagner's Music, the Mind
Cure, Social Science, Causes and Reforms. But Cowper and Crabbe
were the poetical sensations in Miss Austen's time, Scott and Byron
its phenomenal novelties; it took months to get most books printed,
and years to persuade anybody to read them. Furthermore the
letters, in all probability, are carefully chosen to reveal only
the more superficial side of their writer. There are wide gaps of
omission, covering important events such as Mr. Austen's death, the
long illness through which Jane nursed her brother Henry, and the
anxieties and worries which his failure in business caused to the
whole family. What is vouchsafed us is a glimpse of the girlish and
untroubled moments of Miss Austen's life; and the glimpse is a
sweet and friendly one. We are glad to have it, in spite of our
suspicion that another and even more interesting part of her
personality is withheld from us.
A good daughter, a delightful sister, the most perfect of
aunts, what better record could there be of a single woman? Her
literary work never stood in the way of her home duties, any more
than her "quiet, limpid, unimpassioned style" stood between her
thought and her readers.
Her fame may justly be said to be almost entirely posthumous.
She was read and praised to a moderate degree during her lifetime,
but all her novels together brought her no more than seven hundred
pounds; and her reputation, as it were, was in its close-sheathed
bud when, at the early age of forty-one, she died. It would have
excited in her an amused incredulity, no doubt, had any one
predicted that two generations after her death the real recognition
of her powers was to come. Time, which like desert sands has
effaced the footprints of so many promising authors, has, with her,
served as the desert wind, to blow aside those dusts of the
commonplace which for a while concealed her true proportions. She
is loved more than she ever hoped to be, and far more widely known.
Mrs. Ritchie tells somewhere an anecdote of a party of seven
assembled at a dinner-table, where the question arose of the
locality of one of Miss Austen's places,—Maple Grove, the residence
of Mr. Suckling, if we are not mistaken,—and six of the persons
present at once recognized the allusion, and had a formed opinion
on the subject. The seventh was a Frenchman who did not read
English!
Scott, Macaulay, Sir James Mackintosh, Miss Martineau, Mrs.
Ritchie, Miss Mitford, and a host of others have vied in their
generous tributes of admiration. But most striking of all, to our
thinking, is that paid to Miss Austen by Lord Tennyson when, in
some visit to Lyme not many years since, those with him pointed out
this and the other feature of the place only to be interrupted
with—"Never mind all that. Show me the exact spot where Louisa
Musgrove fell!" Could non-historical verisimilitude go farther or
mean more?
I.
I.
Steventon, Thursday (January 16, 1796).
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 unpleasantly; and if you are not able to
return till after that day, it will hardly be possible 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 recover 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 to 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 Kintbury. 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 consist of Edward
Cooper, James (for a ball is nothing without him), Buller, who is
now staying 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 evening. I shall refuse him, however, unless he
promises to give away his white coat.
I am very much flattered by your commendation 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 cousins, but she does
not much take to them or to anything about them, except Caroline's
spinning-wheel. I am very glad to find from Mary that 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 favorable on Sunday, 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. Caroline,
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 admirers 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
sixpence. 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 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, etc., I am affectionately yours,
J. Austen.
MissAusten,
The Rev. Mr. Fowle's, Kintbury, Newbury
II.
Cork Street, Tuesday morn (August, 1796).
My dear Cassandra,—Here I am once more in this scene of
dissipation and vice, and I begin already to find my morals
corrupted. We reached Staines yesterday, 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.
Edward[1]and
Frank[2]are both gone out 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.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Miss Austen's second brother.
[2] Francis, afterward Sir Francis Austen,
Senior Admiral of the Fleet, and K. C. B.
III.
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 gentlemen, musicians, and waiters he will have
persuaded to come in their shooting-jackets. I hope John Lovett's
accident will not prevent his attending the ball, as you will
otherwise be obliged to dance with Mr. Tincton the whole evening.
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 Boulangeries. I opened the ball with Edward
Bridges; the other couples were Lewis Cage and Harriet, Frank and
Louisa, Fanny and George. Elizabeth 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 disperse and spread
itself abroad. Mr. and Mrs. Cage and George repair to Hythe. Lady
Waltham, 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 Harriet 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 agreement.
We have just got some venison from Godmersham, 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
neighborhood, 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, amiable Miss Austen, and tell me which will be the
most.
We walked Frank last night to Crixhall Ruff, and he appeared
much edified. Little Edward 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
Harrison, and tell her I wish, whenever she is attached to a young
man, some respectable Dr. Marchmont may keep them apart for five
volumes....
IV.
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 any one advance him money enough to begin on.
We rather expected Mr. Milles to have done so on Tuesday; but to
our great surprise 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
mantelpiece in the dining-room, and the pictures of her three
children in an ante-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
nothing 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 I 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. 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 Goodnestone, to
meet my aunt Fielding from Margate and a Mr. Clayton, her professed
admirer—at least, so I imagine. Lady Bridges has received 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 Edward in a letter to
Mary Lloyd which she ought to receive to-day; but as I know that
the Harwoods 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 married, John
and George. They are to have one wife between them, a Miss Holwell,
who belongs 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. —Your 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 Wednesday, 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 Monday, the 26th. I
shall write to Miss Mason immediately, and press her returning with
us, which Henry thinks very likely, and particularly
eligible.
Buy Mary Harrison's gown by all means. 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 any one wants anything in town, they must send their commissions
to Frank, as I shall merely pass
through it. The tallow-chandler is Penlington, at the Crown and
Beehive, Charles Street, Covent Garden.
MissAusten, Steventon, Overton,
Hants.
V.
V.
Rowling, Sunday (September 18).
My dear Cassandra,—This morning has been spent in doubt and
deliberation, in forming plans and removing difficulties, 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 appointment on
board the "Captain John Gore," commanded by the "Triton," and will
therefore be obliged to be in town on Wednesday; and though I have
every disposition in the world to accompany him on that day, I
cannot go on the uncertainty 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, therefore, I shall positively know whether they can
receive me on Wednesday. If they cannot, Edward 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 Temple, 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.
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 remember of her picture, it is no great
resemblance.
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, etc., 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 inevitably 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 agreeable inmates. Don't let the Lloyds go on any account
before I return, unless Miss P. is of the party. How ill I have
written! I begin to hate myself.
Yours ever,
J. Austen.
The "Triton" is a new 32 frigate just launched at Deptford.
Frank is much pleased with the prospect of having Captain Gore
under his command.
MissAusten, Steventon, Overton,
Hants.
VI.
"Bull and George," Dartford,
Wednesday (October 24, 1798).
My dear Cassandra,—You have already heard from Daniel, I
conclude, 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 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
determined to show my mother that Kentish drivers were not always
tedious, and really drove as fast as Cax.
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 beef-steaks and a
boiled fowl, but no oyster sauce.
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 toward Gravesend in their
way to the West Indies. No part of my property could have been such
a prize before, for in my writing-box was all my worldly wealth,
7l., 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 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, J. A.
I flatter myself that itty Dordy
will not forget me at least under a week. Kiss him for
me.
MissAusten,
Godmersham Park, Faversham.
VII.
Steventon, Saturday (October 27).
My dear Cassandra,—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, received much comfort from a mess of broth and 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 journey 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 together 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 usual, 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 itself that its being comparatively
good or bad is of little importance. I bought some Japan ink
likewise, and next week shall begin my operations on my hat, on
which you know my principal 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 tender; 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 color 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 "Battleridge" is not to come out before
January, and she is so little satisfied with Cawthorn's
dilatoriness 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 happened 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 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 flatter 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 patients, 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 delight 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 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 behavior throughout the whole
affair has been particularly kind. Earle and his wife live in the
most private manner imaginable at Portsmouth, without keeping a
servant of any kind. What a prodigious innate love of virtue she
must have, to marry under such circumstances!
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 ourselves. 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 former 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 better return than to profit by it.
Yours ever, J. A.
MissAusten,
Godmersham Park, Faversham, Kent.
VIII.
Steventon, December 1.
My dear 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 despatched
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
correspondence cannot be so easily carried on in future as it has
been, as the communication between 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 together for the first
time these five weeks. She has had a tolerable night, and bids fair
for a continuance 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 elegant entertainment. I was not ashamed
at asking 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[3]at present, 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
myself. She is not tidy enough in her appearance; she has no
dressing-gown to sit up in; her curtains 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. Elizabeth was
really a pretty object with her nice clean cap put on so tidily and
her dress so uniformly 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 parlor.
No news from Kintbury yet. Eliza sports with our impatience.
She was very well last Thursday. 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 evenings since I came home, and they save me a world of torment
as to hairdressing, which at present gives me no trouble beyond
washing and brushing, 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.
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 Edward'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 honor of drawing ale for the Bishop. I
shall write to Frank to-morrow.
We are very much disposed to like our new maid; she knows
nothing of a dairy, 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.
Affectionately yours,
Miss,
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