Memoir of Jane Austen - James Edward Austen-Leigh (some good books to read TXT) 📗

is shorter than I could wish, but the difference is not so much in reality as in look, there being a larger proportion of narrative in that part.  I have lop’t and crop’t so successfully, however, that I imagine it must be rather shorter than “Sense and Sensibility” altogether.  Now I will try and write of something else.’

Chawton, Thursday, February 4 (1813).

‘My dear Cassandra,—Your letter was truly welcome, and I am much obliged to you for all your praise; it came at a right time, for I had had some fits of disgust.  Our second evening’s reading to Miss B. had not pleased me so well, but I believe something must be attributed to my mother’s too rapid way of getting on: though she perfectly understands the characters herself, she cannot speak as they ought.  Upon the whole, however, I am quite vain enough and well satisfied enough.  The work is rather too light, and bright, and sparkling; it wants shade; it wants to be stretched out here and there with a long chapter of sense, if it could be had; if not, of solemn specious nonsense, about something unconnected with the story; an essay on writing, a critique on Walter Scott, or the history of Buonaparté, or something that would form a contrast, and bring the reader with increased delight to the playfulness and epigrammatism of the general style . . . .  The greatest blunder in the printing that I have met with is in page 220, v. 3, where two speeches are made into one.  There might as well be no suppers at Longbourn; but I suppose it was the remains of Mrs. Bennett’s old Meryton habits.’

The following letter seems to have been written soon after the last two: in February 1813:—

‘This will be a quick return for yours, my dear Cassandra; I doubt its having much else to recommend it; but there is no saying; it may turn out to be a very long and delightful letter.  I am exceedingly pleased that you can say what you do, after having gone through the whole work, and Fanny’s praise is very gratifying.  My hopes were tolerably strong of her, but nothing like a certainty.  Her liking Darcy and Elizabeth is enough.  She might hate all the others, if she would.  I have her opinion under her own hand this morning, but your transcript of it, which I read first, was not, and is not, the less acceptable.  To me it is of course all praise, but the more exact truth which she sends you is good enough . . . .  Our party on Wednesday was not unagreeable, though we wanted a master of the house less anxious and fidgety, and more conversable.  Upon Mrs. ---’s mentioning that she had sent the rejected addresses to Mrs. H., I began talking to her a little about them, and expressed my hope of their having amused her.  Her answer was, “Oh dear yes, very much, very droll indeed, the opening of the house, and the striking up of the fiddles!”  What she meant, poor woman, who shall say?  I sought no farther.  As soon as a whist party was formed, and a round table threatened, I made my mother an excuse and came away, leaving just as many for their round table as there were at Mrs. Grant’s. {107}  I wish they might be as agreeable a set.  My mother is very well, and finds great amusement in glove-knitting, and at present wants no other work.  We quite run over with books.  She has got Sir John Carr’s “Travels in Spain,” and I am reading a Society octavo, an “Essay on the Military Police and Institutions of the British Empire,” by Capt. Pasley of the Engineers, a book which I protested against at first, but which upon trial I find delightfully written and highly entertaining.  I am as much in love with the author as I ever was with Clarkson or Buchanan, or even the two Mr. Smiths of the city.  The first soldier I ever sighed for; but he does write with extraordinary force and spirit.  Yesterday, moreover, brought us “Mrs. Grant’s Letters,” with Mr. White’s compliments; but I have disposed of them, compliments and all, to Miss P., and amongst so many readers or retainers of books as we have in Chawton, I dare say there will be no difficulty in getting rid of them for another fortnight, if necessary.  I have disposed of Mrs. Grant for the second fortnight to Mrs. ---.  It can make no difference to her which of the twenty-six fortnights in the year the 3 vols. lie on her table.  I have been applied to for information as to the oath taken in former times of Bell, Book, and Candle, but have none to give.  Perhaps you may be able to learn something of its origin where you now are.  Ladies who read those enormous great stupid thick quarto volumes which one always sees in the breakfast parlour there must be acquainted with everything in the world.  I detest a quarto.  Capt. Pasley’s book is too good for their society.  They will not understand a man who condenses his thoughts into an octavo.  I have learned from Sir J. Carr that there is no Government House at Gibraltar.  I must alter it to the Commissioner’s.’

The following letter belongs to the same year, but treats of a different subject.  It describes a journey from Chawton to London, in her brother’s curricle, and shows how much could be seen and enjoyed in course of a long summer’s day by leisurely travelling amongst scenery which the traveller in an express train now rushes through in little more than an hour, but scarcely sees at all:—

‘Sloane Street, Thursday, May 20 (1813).

‘My dear Cassandra,

‘Before I say anything else, I claim a paper full of halfpence on the drawing-room mantel-piece; I put them there myself, and forgot to bring them with me.  I cannot say that I have yet been in any distress for money, but I chuse to have my due, as well as the Devil.  How lucky we were in our weather yesterday!  This wet morning makes one more sensible of it.  We had no rain of any consequence.  The head of the curricle was put half up three or four times, but our share of the showers was very trifling, though they seemed to be heavy all round us, when we were on the Hog’s-back, and I fancied it might then be raining so hard at Chawton as to make you feel for us much more than we deserved.  Three hours and a quarter took us to Guildford, where we staid barely two hours, and had only just time enough for all we had to do there; that is, eating a long and comfortable breakfast, watching the carriages, paying Mr. Harrington, and taking a little stroll afterwards.  From some views which that stroll gave us, I think most highly of the situation of Guildford.  We wanted all our brothers and sisters to be standing with us in the bowling-green, and looking towards Horsham.  I was very lucky in my gloves—got them at the first shop I went to, though I went into it rather because it was near than because it looked at all like a glove shop, and gave only four shillings for them; after which everybody at Chawton will be hoping and predicting that they cannot be good for anything, and their worth certainly remains to be proved; but I think they look very well.  We left Guildford at twenty minutes before twelve (I hope somebody cares for these minutiæ), and were at Esher in about two hours more.  I was very much pleased with the country in general.  Between Guildford and Ripley I thought it particularly pretty, also about Painshill; and from a Mr. Spicer’s grounds at Esher, which we walked into before dinner, the views were beautiful.  I cannot say what we did not see, but I should think there could not be a wood, or a meadow, or palace, or remarkable spot in England that was not spread out before us on one side or other.  Claremont is going to be sold: a Mr. Ellis has it now.  It is a house that seems never to have prospered.  After dinner we walked forward to be overtaken at the coachman’s time, and before he did overtake us we were very near Kingston.  I fancy it was about half-past six when we reached this house—a twelve hours’ business, and the horses did not appear more than reasonably tired.  I was very tired too, and glad to get to bed early, but am quite well to-day.  I am very snug in the front drawing-room all to myself, and would not say “thank you” for any company but you.  The quietness of it does me good.  I have contrived to pay my two visits, though the weather made me a great while about it, and left me only a few minutes to sit with Charlotte Craven. {110}  She looks very well, and her hair is done up with an elegance to do credit to any education.  Her manners are as unaffected and pleasing as ever.  She had heard from her mother to-day.  Mrs. Craven spends another fortnight at Chilton.  I saw nobody but Charlotte, which pleased me best.  I was shewn upstairs into a drawing-room, where she came to me, and the appearance of the room, so totally unschool-like, amused me very much; it was full of modern elegancies.

‘Yours very affectly.,
‘J. A.’

The next letter, written in the following year, contains an account of another journey to London, with her brother Henry, and reading with him the manuscript of ‘Mansfield Park’:—

‘Henrietta Street, Wednesday, March 2 (1814).

‘My dear Cassandra,

‘You were wrong in thinking of us at Guildford last night: we were at Cobham.  On reaching G. we found that John and the horses were gone on.  We therefore did no more than we had done at Farnham—sit in the carriage while fresh horses were put in, and proceeded directly to Cobham, which we reached by seven, and about eight were sitting down to a very nice roast fowl, &c.  We had altogether a very good journey, and everything at Cobham was comfortable.  I could not pay Mr. Harrington!  That was the only alas! of the business.  I shall therefore return his bill, and my mother’s 2l., that you may try your luck.  We did not begin reading till Bentley Green.  Henry’s approbation is hitherto even equal to my wishes.  He says it is different from the other two, but does not appear to think it at all inferior.  He has only married Mrs. R.  I am afraid he has gone through the most entertaining part.  He took to Lady B. and Mrs. N. most kindly, and gives great praise to the drawing of the characters.  He understands them all, likes Fanny, and, I think, foresees how it will all be.  I finished the “Heroine” last night, and was very much amused by it.  I wonder James did not like it better.  It diverted me exceedingly.  We went to bed at ten.  I was very tired, but slept to a miracle, and am lovely to-day, and at present Henry seems to have no complaint.  We left Cobham at half-past eight, stopped to bait and breakfast at Kingston, and were in this house considerably before two.  Nice smiling Mr. Barlowe met us at the door and, in reply to enquiries after news, said that peace was generally expected.  I have taken possession of my bedroom, unpacked my bandbox,