Memoir of Jane Austen, James Edward Austen-Leigh [e reader comics .TXT] 📗

buried at Walcot Church.  The widow and daughters went into lodgings for a few months, and then removed to Southampton.  The only records that I can find about her during those four years are the three following letters to her sister; one from Lyme, the others from Bath.  They shew that she went a good deal into society, in a quiet way, chiefly with ladies; and that her eyes were always open to minute traits of character in those with whom she associated:—

Extract from a letter from Jane Austen to her Sister.

‘Lyme, Friday, Sept. 14 (1804).

‘My dear Cassandra,—I take the first sheet of fine striped paper to thank you for your letter from Weymouth, and express my hopes of your being at Ibthorp before this time.  I expect to hear that you reached it yesterday evening, being able to get as far as Blandford on Wednesday.  Your account of Weymouth contains nothing which strikes me so forcibly as there being no ice in the town.  For every other vexation I was in some measure prepared, and particularly for your disappointment in not seeing the Royal Family go on board on Tuesday, having already heard from Mr. Crawford that he had seen you in the very act of being too late.  But for there being no ice, what could prepare me!  You found my letter at Andover, I hope, yesterday, and have now for many hours been satisfied that your kind anxiety on my behalf was as much thrown away as kind anxiety usually is.  I continue quite well; in proof of which I have bathed again this morning.  It was absolutely necessary that I should have the little fever and indisposition which I had: it has been all the fashion this week in Lyme.  We are quite settled in our lodgings by this time, as you may suppose, and everything goes on in the usual order.  The servants behave very well, and make no difficulties, though nothing certainly can exceed the inconvenience of the offices, except the general dirtiness of the house and furniture, and all its inhabitants.  I endeavour, as far as I can, to supply your place, and be useful, and keep things in order.  I detect dirt in the water decanters, as fast as I can, and keep everything as it was under your administration . . . .  The ball last night was pleasant, but not full for Thursday.  My father staid contentedly till half-past nine (we went a little after eight), and then walked home with James and a lanthorn, though I believe the lanthorn was not lit, as the moon was up; but sometimes this lanthorn may be a great convenience to him.  My mother and I staid about an hour later.  Nobody asked me the two first dances; the two next I danced with Mr. Crawford, and had I chosen to stay longer might have danced with Mr. Granville, Mrs. Granville’s son, whom my dear friend Miss A. introduced to me, or with a new odd-looking man who had been eyeing me for some time, and at last, without any introduction, asked me if I meant to dance again.  I think he must be Irish by his ease, and because I imagine him to belong to the honbl B.’s, who are son, and son’s wife of an Irish viscount, bold queer-looking people, just fit to be quality at Lyme.  I called yesterday morning (ought it not in strict propriety to be termed yester-morning?) on Miss A. and was introduced to her father and mother.  Like other young ladies she is considerably genteeler than her parents.  Mrs. A. sat darning a pair of stockings the whole of my visit.  But do not mention this at home, lest a warning should act as an example.  We afterwards walked together for an hour on the Cobb; she is very converseable in a common way; I do not perceive wit or genius, but she has sense and some degree of taste, and her manners are very engaging.  She seems to like people rather too easily.

‘Yours affectly,
‘J. A.’

Letter from Jane Austen to her sister Cassandra at Ibthorp, alluding to the sudden death of Mrs. Lloyd at that place:—

‘25 Gay Street (Bath), Monday,

April 8, 1805.

‘My dear Cassandra,—Here is a day for you.  Did Bath or Ibthorp ever see such an 8th of April?  It is March and April together; the glare of the one and the warmth of the other.  We do nothing but walk about.  As far as your means will admit, I hope you profit by such weather too.  I dare say you are already the better for change of place.  We were out again last night.  Miss Irvine invited us, when I met her in the Crescent, to drink tea with them, but I rather declined it, having no idea that my mother would be disposed for another evening visit there so soon; but when I gave her the message, I found her very well inclined to go; and accordingly, on leaving Chapel, we walked to Lansdown.  This morning we have been to see Miss Chamberlaine look hot on horseback.  Seven years and four months ago we went to the same riding-house to see Miss Lefroy’s performance! {75a}  What a different set are we now moving in!  But seven years, I suppose, are enough to change every pore of one’s skin and every feeling of one’s mind.  We did not walk long in the Crescent yesterday.  It was hot and not crowded enough; so we went into the field, and passed close by S. T. and Miss S. {75b} again.  I have not yet seen her face, but neither her dress nor air have anything of the dash or stylishness which the Browns talked of; quite the contrary; indeed, her dress is not even smart, and her appearance very quiet.  Miss Irvine says she is never speaking a word.  Poor wretch; I am afraid she is en pénitence.  Here has been that excellent Mrs. Coulthart calling, while my mother was out, and I was believed to be so.  I always respected her, as a good-hearted friendly woman.  And the Browns have been here; I find their affidavits on the table.  The “Ambuscade” reached Gibraltar on the 9th of March, and found all well; so say the papers.  We have had no letters from anybody, but we expect to hear from Edward to-morrow, and from you soon afterwards.  How happy they are at Godmersham now!  I shall be very glad of a letter from Ibthorp, that I may know how you all are, but particularly yourself.  This is nice weather for Mrs. J.  Austen’s going to Speen, and I hope she will have a pleasant visit there.  I expect a prodigious account of the christening dinner; perhaps it brought you at last into the company of Miss Dundas again.

‘Tuesday.—I received your letter last night, and wish it may be soon followed by another to say that all is over; but I cannot help thinking that nature will struggle again, and produce a revival.  Poor woman!  May her end be peaceful and easy as the exit we have witnessed!  And I dare say it will.  If there is no revival, suffering must be all over; even the consciousness of existence, I suppose, was gone when you wrote.  The nonsense I have been writing in this and in my last letter seems out of place at such a time, but I will not mind it; it will do you no harm, and nobody else will be attacked by it.  I am heartily glad that you can speak so comfortably of your own health and looks, though I can scarcely comprehend the latter being really approved.  Could travelling fifty miles produce such an immediate change?  You were looking very poorly here, and everybody seemed sensible of it.  Is there a charm in a hack postchaise?  But if there were, Mrs. Craven’s carriage might have undone it all.  I am much obliged to you for the time and trouble you have bestowed on Mary’s cap, and am glad it pleases her; but it will prove a useless gift at present, I suppose.  Will not she leave Ibthorp on her mother’s death?  As a companion you are all that Martha can be supposed to want, and in that light, under these circumstances, your visit will indeed have been well timed.

‘Thursday.—I was not able to go on yesterday; all my wit and leisure were bestowed on letters to Charles and Henry.  To the former I wrote in consequence of my mother’s having seen in the papers that the “Urania” was waiting at Portsmouth for the convoy for Halifax.  This is nice, as it is only three weeks ago that you wrote by the “Camilla.”  I wrote to Henry because I had a letter from him in which he desired to hear from me very soon.  His to me was most affectionate and kind, as well as entertaining; there is no merit to him in that; he cannot help being amusing.  He offers to meet us on the sea coast, if the plan of which Edward gave him some hint takes place.  Will not this be making the execution of such a plan more desirable and delightful than ever?  He talks of the rambles we took together last summer with pleasing affection.

‘Yours ever,
‘J. A.’

From the same to the same.

‘Gay St. Sunday Evening,
‘April 21 (1805).

My dear Cassandra,—I am much obliged to you for writing to me again so soon; your letter yesterday was quite an unexpected pleasure.  Poor Mrs. Stent! it has been her lot to be always in the way; but we must be merciful, for perhaps in time we may come to be Mrs. Stents ourselves, unequal to anything, and unwelcome to everybody . . . .  My morning engagement was with the Cookes, and our party consisted of George and Mary, a Mr. L., Miss B., who had been with us at the concert, and the youngest Miss W.  Not Julia; we have done with her; she is very ill; but Mary.  Mary W.’s turn is actually come to be grown up, and have a fine complexion, and wear great square muslin shawls.  I have not expressly enumerated myself among the party, but there I was, and my cousin George was very kind, and talked sense to me every now and then, in the intervals of his more animated fooleries with Miss B., who is very young, and rather handsome, and whose gracious manners, ready wit, and solid remarks, put me somewhat in mind of my old acquaintance L. L.  There was a monstrous deal of stupid quizzing and common-place nonsense talked, but scarcely any wit; all that bordered on it or on sense came from my cousin George, whom altogether I like very well.  Mr. B. seems nothing more than a tall young man.  My evening engagement and walk was with Miss A., who had called on me the day before, and gently upbraided me in her turn with a change of manners to her since she had been in Bath, or at least of late.  Unlucky me! that my notice should be of such consequence, and my manners so bad!  She was so well disposed, and so reasonable, that I soon forgave her, and made this engagement with her in proof of it.  She is really an agreeable girl, so I think I may like her; and her great want of a companion at home, which may well make any tolerable acquaintance important to her, gives her another claim on my attention.  I shall endeavour as much as possible to