FAILING HEALTH
1816-1817
During the last year of Jane Austen's life, when her health was
gradually failing, and she was obliged to depend--ever more and more
exclusively--on her immediate family for society, she had at least the
satisfaction of having her two sailor brothers nearer at hand than had
often been the case.
After Frank's return from the Baltic, early in 1814, nothing occurred of
a more serious nature than the Great Naval Review in June--which only
indirectly affected him, as he was not then in command of a ship--to
prevent his attending to his family. He settled down to a domestic life
with wife and children, first of all occupying the Great House at
Chawton, but soon moving to Alton.
Charles, who for ten years had had active but unexciting work outside
the theatre of war, now came more to the front. Commanding the
_Phoenix_ frigate, he operated against Murat, when that eccentric
sovereign took part with Napoleon on the escape of the latter from Elba.
Charles was sent in pursuit of a Neapolitan squadron cruising in the
Adriatic; and subsequently he blockaded Brindisi, and waited for the
garrison to hoist the white flag of the Bourbons. Later on, he was kept
busy with Greek pirates in the Archipelago, until the _Phoenix_ was
lost off Smyrna in 1816, when he returned home. The _Phoenix_ had been
a lucky ship, Admiral Halsted having made his fortune in her; but her
luck was worn out. When she went down, the pilot was on board; no lives
were lost, and no blame fell on the captain. It must have been, however,
a disappointing end to an exciting time; and, as the war was over, it
might be long before he got another ship.
A letter from Charles to Jane, during this command, written from
Palermo, May 6, 1815, furnishes us with one of the few indications that
exist of fame achieved by her during her lifetime:--
Books became the subject of conversation, and I
praised _Waverley_ highly, when a young man
present observed that nothing had come out for
years to be compared with _Pride and Prejudice_,
_Sense and Sensibility_, &c. As I am sure you must
be anxious to know the name of a person of so much
taste, I shall tell you it is Fox, a nephew of the
late Charles James Fox. That you may not be too
much elated at this morsel of praise, I shall add
that he did not appear to like _Mansfield Park_ so
well as the two first, in which, however, I
believe he is singular.[345]
We may compare this account with the quotation given in the
_Memoir_[346] from Sir Henry Holland's _Recollections_:--
I have the picture before me still of Lord Holland
lying on his bed, when attacked with gout; his
admirable sister, Miss Fox, reading aloud--as she
always did on these occasions--some one of Miss
Austen's novels, of which he was never wearied.
It is as difficult to follow the various stages of Jane's illness as it
is to understand the exact nature of her complaint. She must have begun
to feel her malady early in the year 1816; for some friends at a
distance, whom she visited in the spring, 'thought that her health was
somewhat impaired, and observed that she went about her old haunts and
recalled the old recollections connected with them in a particular
manner--as if she did not expect ever to see them again.'[347] This is,
however, almost the only indication that we have of any diminution of
vigour at that time; for the three letters to Fanny Knight, given by
Lord Brabourne as written in 1816, must be transferred to 1817[348]; and
so must the two short extracts[349] on pp. 150, 151 of the _Memoir_, as
they evidently refer to a family event which occurred in the March of
the later year. The tone of her letters through the remainder of 1816,
and at the beginning of the next year, was almost invariably cheerful,
and she showed by the completion of _Persuasion_ that she was capable of
first-rate literary work during the summer of 1816. The fact is that, as
to health, she was an incurable optimist; her natural good spirits made
her see the best side, and her unselfishness prompted the suppression of
anything that might distress those around her. Nothing, for instance,
could be more lively than the following letter to Edward Austen, written
while he was still at Winchester School, but had come home for his last
summer holidays.
Chawton: July 9, 1816.
MY DEAR EDWARD,--Many thanks. A thank for every
line, and as many to Mr. W. Digweed for coming.
We have been wanting very much to hear of your
mother, and are happy to find she continues to
mend, but her illness must have been a very
serious one indeed. When she is really recovered,
she ought to try change of air, and come over to
us. Tell your father I am very much obliged to him
for his share of your letter, and most sincerely
join in the hope of her being eventually much the
better for her present discipline. She has the
comfort moreover of being confined in such weather
as gives one little temptation to be out. It is
really too bad, and has been too bad for a long
time, much worse than anybody _can_ bear, and I
begin to think it will never be fine again. This
is a _finesse_ of mine, for I have often observed
that if one writes about the weather, it is
generally completely changed before the letter is
read. I wish it may prove so now, and that when
Mr. W. Digweed reaches Steventon to-morrow, he may
find you have had a long series of hot dry
weather. We are a small party at present, only
grandmamma, Mary Jane, and myself. Yalden's coach
cleared off the rest yesterday. . . .
I am glad you recollected to mention your being
come home. My heart began to sink within me when I
had got so far through your letter without its
being mentioned. I was dreadfully afraid that you
might be detained at Winchester by severe illness,
confined to your bed perhaps, and quite unable to
hold a pen, and only dating from Steventon in
order, with a mistaken sort of tenderness, to
deceive me. But now I have no doubt of your being
at home, I am sure you would not say it so
seriously unless it actually were so. We saw a
countless number of post-chaises full of boys pass
by yesterday morning[350]--full of future heroes,
legislators, fools, and villains. You have never
thanked me for my last letter, which went by the
cheese. I cannot bear not to be thanked. You will
not pay us a visit yet of course; we must not
think of it. Your mother must get well first, and
you must go to Oxford and _not_ be elected; after
that a little change of scene may be good for you,
and your physicians I hope will order you to the
sea, or to a house by the side of a very
considerable pond.[351] Oh! it rains again. It
beats against the window. Mary Jane and I have
been wet through once already to-day; we set off
in the donkey-carriage for Farringdon, as I wanted
to see the improvements Mr. Woolls is making, but
we were obliged to turn back before we got there,
but not soon enough to avoid a pelter all the way
home. We met Mr. Woolls. I talked of its being bad
weather for the hay, and he returned me the
comfort of its being much worse for the wheat. We
hear that Mrs. S. does not quit Tangier: why and
wherefore? Do you know that our Browning is gone?
You must prepare for a William when you come, a
good-looking lad, civil and quiet, and seeming
likely to do. Good bye. I am sure Mr. W. D. will
be astonished at my writing so much, for the paper
is so thin that he will be able to count the lines
if not to read them.
Yours affec^{ly},
J. AUSTEN.
Mr. J. E. Austen.
There was a second family visit this year to Cheltenham, where Cassandra
and Jane had already been in the spring. Probably their connexion with
this watering-place was through Mrs. James Austen, and _hers_ was
through her sister, Mrs. Fowle of Kintbury. Mr. Fowle had lived at
Elkstone near Cheltenham, and continued to hold that benefice, which was
in the gift of the Craven family. The Fowles would naturally renew
their intercourse with their old friends in the neighbourhood, and _he_
would go to see his curate and acquaint himself with the circumstances
of his parish. The visits to Gloucestershire were therefore for pleasure
and business as well as health.
In August 1816 it was a recent serious illness of Mrs. James Austen
which took the party there; Mrs. Austen being accompanied by her
daughter Caroline, and her sister-in-law Cassandra. Meanwhile, Jane
remained with her mother at Chawton, where she had Edward Austen as a
visitor.
During Cassandra's absence Jane wrote to her as follows:--
Chawton: September 4, 1816.[352]
We go on very well here, Edward is a great
pleasure to me; he drove me to Alton yesterday. I
went principally to carry news of you and Henry,
and made a regular handsome visit, staying there
while Edward went on to Wyards with an invitation
to dinner: it was declined, and will be so again
to-day probably, for I really believe Anna is not
equal to the fatigue. The Alton four drank tea
with us last night, and we were very
pleasant:--Jeu de Violon, &c.--all new to Mr.
Sweney--and he entered into it very well. It was a
renewal of former agreeable evenings.
We all (except my mother) dine at Alton to-morrow,
and perhaps may have some of the same sports
again, but I do not think Mr. and Mrs. D. will add
much to our wit. Edward is writing a novel--we
have all heard what he has written--it is
extremely clever, written with great ease and
spirit; if he can carry it on in the same way it
will be a first-rate work, and in a style, I
think, to be popular. Pray tell Mary how much I
admire it--and tell Caroline that I think it is
hardly fair upon her and myself to have him take
up the novel line.
Sunday [September 8].
MY DEAREST CASSANDRA,--I have borne the arrival of
your letter to-day extremely well; anybody might
have thought it was giving me pleasure. I am very
glad you find so much to be satisfied with at
Cheltenham. While the waters agree, everything
else is trifling.
* * * * *
Our day at Alton was very pleasant, venison quite
right, children well-behaved, and Mr. and Mrs.
Digweed taking kindly to our charades and other
games. I must also observe, for his mother's
satisfaction, that Edward at my suggestion devoted
himself very properly to the entertainment of Miss
S. Gibson. Nothing was wanting except Mr. Sweney,
but he, alas! had been ordered away to London the
day before. We had a beautiful walk home by
moonlight.
Thank you, my back has given me scarcely any pain
for many days. I have an idea that agitation does
it as much harm as fatigue, and that I was ill at
the time of your going from the very circumstance
of your going. I am nursing myself up now into as
beautiful a state as I can, because I hear that
Dr. White means to call on me before he leaves the
country.
* * * * *
I have not seen Anna since the day you left us;
her father and brother visited her most days.
Edward[353] and Ben called here on Thursday.
Edward was in his way to Selborne. We found him
very agreeable. He is come back from France,
thinking of the French as one could
wish--disappointed in everything. He did not go
beyond Paris.
I have a letter from Mrs. Perigord; she and her
mother are in London again. She speaks of France
as a scene of general poverty and misery: no
money, no trade, nothing to be got but by the
innkeepers, and as to her own present prospects
she is not much less melancholy than before.
* * * * *
I enjoyed Edward's company very much, as I said
before, and yet I was not sorry when Friday came.
It had been a busy week, and I wanted a few days'
quiet and exemption from the thought and
contrivancy which any sort of company gives. I
often wonder how _you_ can find time for what you
do, in addition to the care of the house; and how
good Mrs. West[354] could have written such books
and collected so many hard words, with all her
family cares, is still more a matter of
astonishment. Composition seems to me impossible
with a head full of joints of mutton and doses of
rhubarb.
* * * * *
We do not much like Mr. Cooper's new sermons. They
are fuller of regeneration and conversion than
ever, with the addition of his zeal in the cause
of the Bible Society.
This is the last letter which we have from Jane to Cassandra. Probably
the sisters were not parted again, except when Cassandra went for a few
days to Scarlets, on the death of their uncle, Mr. Leigh Perrot, at the
end of the following March; and if Jane wrote then, it must have been in
such depression of mind and weakness of body, that her sister would not
have preserved the writing for others to see.
In the meanwhile, the autumn of 1816 was probably occupied with the
preparation of _Persuasion_ for the press; and, on the whole, we should
gather from the evidence before us that the earlier part of the winter
saw one of those fallacious instances of temporary improvement which so
often deceive nurses and patients alike, in cases of internal
complaints. 'I have certainly gained strength through the winter,' she
says, on January 24, 1817. On the 23rd: 'I feel myself stronger than I
was half a year ago'; and it was in this spirit of hopefulness that she
had written the following lively letter to Edward Austen, when he had
left Winchester and was about to enter on the career of an Oxford
undergraduate.
Chawton: Monday [December 16, 1816].
MY DEAR EDWARD,--One reason for my writing to you
now is, that I may have the pleasure of directing
to you _Esq^{re.}_ I give you joy of having left
Winchester. Now you may own how miserable you were
there; now it will gradually all come out, your
crimes and your miseries--how often you went up by
the Mail to London and threw away fifty guineas at
a tavern, and how often you were on the point of
hanging yourself, restrained only, as some
ill-natured aspersion upon poor old Winton has it,
by the want of a tree within some miles of the
city. Charles Knight and his companions passed
through Chawton about 9 this morning; later than
it used to be. Uncle Henry and I had a glimpse of
his handsome face, looking all health and good
humour. I wonder when you will come and see us. I
know what I rather speculate upon, but shall say
nothing. We think uncle Henry in excellent looks.
Look at him this moment, and think so too, if you
have not done it before; and we have the great
comfort of seeing decided improvement in uncle
Charles, both as to health, spirits, and
appearance. And they are each of them so
agreeable in their different way, and harmonise so
well, that their visit is thorough enjoyment.
Uncle Henry writes very superior sermons. You and
I must try to get hold of one or two, and put them
into our novels: it would be a fine help to a
volume; and we could make our heroine read it
aloud of a Sunday evening, just as well as
Isabella Wardour, in _The Antiquary_, is made to
read the _History of the Hartz Demon_, in the
ruins of St. Ruth; though I believe, upon
recollection, Lovell is the reader. By the bye, my
dear Edward, I am quite concerned for the loss
your mother mentions in her letter. Two chapters
and a half to be missing is monstrous! It is well
that _I_ have not been at Steventon lately, and
therefore cannot be suspected of purloining them:
two strong twigs and a half towards a nest of my
own would have been something. I do not think,
however, that any theft of that sort would be
really very useful to me. What should I do with
your strong, manly, spirited sketches, full of
variety and glow? How could I possibly join them
on to the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on
which I work with so fine a brush, as produces
little effect after much labour?
You will hear from uncle Henry how well Anna is.
She seems perfectly recovered. Ben was here on
Saturday, to ask uncle Charles and me to dine with
them, as to-morrow, but I was forced to decline
it, the walk is beyond my strength (though I am
otherwise very well), and this is not a season for
donkey-carriages; and as we do not like to spare
uncle Charles, he has declined it too.
_Tuesday._ Ah, ha! Mr. Edward. I doubt your seeing
uncle Henry at Steventon to-day. The weather will
prevent your expecting him, I think. Tell your
father, with aunt Cass's love and mine, that the
pickled cucumbers are extremely good, and tell him
also--'tell him what you will.' No, don't tell him
what you will, but tell him that grandmamma begs
him to make Joseph Hall pay his rent, if he can.
You must not be tired of reading the word _uncle_,
for I have not done with it. Uncle Charles thanks
your mother for her letter; it was a great
pleasure to him to know the parcel was received
and gave so much satisfaction, and he begs her to
be so good as to give three shillings for him to
Dame Staples, which shall be allowed for in the
payment of her debt here.
I am happy to tell you that Mr. Papillon will soon
make his offer, probably next Monday, as he
returns on Saturday. His _intention_ can no longer
be doubtful in the smallest degree, as he has
secured the refusal of the house which Mr.
Baverstock at present occupies in Chawton, and is
to vacate soon, which is of course intended for
Mrs. Elizabeth Papillon.
Adieu, Amiable! I hope Caroline behaves well to
you.
Yours affec^{ly},
J. AUSTEN.
J. E. Austen, Esq.
The same bright tone pervades the following letter to Alethea Bigg, from
which one of the remarks quoted above, as to the improvement of her
health, is taken.
Chawton: January 24, 1817.
MY DEAR ALETHEA,--I think it time there should be
a little writing between us, though I believe the
epistolary debt is on _your_ side, and I hope this
will find all the Streatham party well, neither
carried away by the flood, nor rheumatic through
the damps. Such mild weather is, you know,
delightful to _us_, and though we have a great
many ponds, and a fine running stream through the
meadows on the other side of the road, it is
nothing but what beautifies us and does to talk
of. . . . _I_ have certainly gained strength through
the winter and am not far from being well; and I
think I understand my own case now so much better
than I did, as to be able by care to keep off any
serious return of illness. I am more and more
convinced that _bile_ is at the bottom of all I
have suffered, which makes it easy to know how to
treat myself. You . . . will be glad to hear thus
much of me, I am sure. . . . We have just had a few
days' visit from Edward, who brought us a good
account of his father, and the very circumstance
of his coming at all, of his father's being able
to spare him, is itself a good account. . . . He
grows still, and still improves in appearance, at
least in the estimation of his aunts, who love him
better and better, as they see the sweet temper
and warm affections of the boy confirmed in the
young man: I tried hard to persuade him that he
must have some message for William,[355] but in
vain. . . . This is not a time of year for
donkey-carriages, and our donkeys are necessarily
having so long a run of luxurious idleness that I
suppose we shall find they have forgotten much of
their education when we use them again. We do not
use two at once, however; don't imagine such
excesses. . . . Our own new clergyman[356] is
expected here very soon, perhaps in time to assist
Mr. Papillon on Sunday. I shall be very glad when
the first hearing is over. It will be a nervous
hour for our pew, though we hear that he acquits
himself with as much ease and collectedness, as if
he had been used to it all his life. We have no
chance we know of seeing you between Streatham and
Winchester: you go the other road and are engaged
to two or three houses; if there should be any
change, however, you know how welcome you would
be. . . .
We have been reading the _Poet's Pilgrimage to
Waterloo_,[357] and generally with much
approbation. Nothing will please all the world,
you know; but parts of it suit me better than much
that he has written before. The opening--_the
proem_ I believe he calls it--is very beautiful.
Poor man! one cannot but grieve for the loss of
the son so fondly described. Has he at all
recovered it? What do Mr. and Mrs. Hill know about
his present state?
Yours aff^{ly},
J. AUSTEN.
The real object of this letter is to ask you for a
receipt, but I thought it genteel not to let it
appear early. We remember some excellent orange
wine at Manydown, made from Seville oranges,
entirely or chiefly. I should be very much obliged
to you for the receipt, if you can command it
within a few weeks.
Three days later, Jane felt well enough to set to work on a fresh novel:
thoroughly fresh, for it bore no resemblance to any of her previous
stories. A short _resume_ of this beginning is given in the _Memoir_,
and from it the reader will see that the scene is laid at a new
watering-place,[358] which is being exploited by two of the leading
characters. In the twelve chapters which she wrote, the _dramatis
personae_ are sketched in with vigour and decision; but there is little
of the subtle refinement which we are accustomed to associate with her
work, and certainly nothing of the tender sentiment of _Persuasion_. It
is unfair, however, to judge from the first draft of a few introductory
chapters, written as they no doubt were to relieve the tedium of long
hours of confinement, and written perhaps also to comfort her friends by
letting them see that she was still able to work. It is probable, too,
that a long step in the downward progress of her condition was taken in
the course of the seven weeks during which she was writing for the last
time. It began 'in her usual firm and neat hand, but some of the latter
pages were first traced in pencil--probably, when she was too ill to sit
long at a desk--and afterwards written over in ink.'[359] The last date
on the MS. is March 17. She was, no doubt, by this time making frequent
use of the temporary couch, which, as we are told, she had contrived out
of two or three chairs, so as to leave the one real sofa free for her
mother. She professed to like her own couch best; but the importunity of
a young niece obliged her to confess that she used it always, because
she thought that her mother would not use the sofa enough unless it were
absolutely reserved for her service.
In February and March followed the three letters written to Fanny
Knight--portions of which are given in the last chapter. They chiefly
concern Fanny's own affairs, and show how lively Jane's mind still was,
and with what unselfish care she could divert it from her own sufferings
to the concerns which interested those nearest to her.
We now append the sentences in those letters which refer to her own
state of health, and which certainly read as if some serious accession
of illness had intervened while the correspondence was in progress.
_February 20, 1817._--I am almost entirely cured
of my rheumatism--just a little pain in my knee,
now and then, to make me remember what it was and
keep on flannel. Aunt Cassandra nursed me so
beautifully.
* * * * *
_March 13._--I am got tolerably well again, quite
equal to walking about and enjoying the air, and
by sitting down and resting a good while between
my walks I get exercise enough. I have a scheme
however for accomplishing more, as the weather
grows spring-like. I mean to take to riding the
donkey; it will be more independent and less
troublesome than the use of the carriage, and I
shall be able to go about with Aunt Cassandra in
her walks to Alton and Wyards.
_March 23._--Many thanks for your kind care of my
health; I certainly have not been well for many
weeks, and about a week ago I was very poorly. I
have had a good deal of fever at times, and
indifferent nights; but I am considerably better
now and am recovering my looks a little, which
have been bad enough--black and white and every
wrong colour. I must not depend upon being ever
very blooming again. Sickness is a dangerous
indulgence at my time of life.
_Evening._--I was languid and dull and very bad
company when I wrote the above; I am better now,
to my own feelings at least, and wish I may be
more agreeable. We are going to have rain, and
after that very pleasant genial weather, which
will exactly do for me, as my saddle will then be
completed, and air and exercise is what I want.
* * * * *
_Tuesday._--I took my first ride yesterday, and
liked it very much. I went up Mounter's Lane and
round by where the new cottages are to be, and
found the exercise and everything very pleasant;
and I had the advantage of agreeable companions,
as Aunt Cass and Edward walked by my side. Aunt
Cass is such an excellent nurse, so assiduous and
unwearied! But you know all that already.
At the end of March she made her will--a brief and simple document of
which the operative part was in these words: 'To my dearest sister
Cassandra Elizabeth, everything of which I may die possessed, or which
may hereafter be due to me, subject to the payment of my funeral
expenses and to a legacy of L50 to my brother Henry and L50 to Madame
Bigeon.'[360]
About the same time another will was causing great disappointment to the
Austen family; and as Jane was affected by anything that affected her
nearest relations, we must probably attribute to it some share in the
rapid decay of her bodily strength.
Her uncle, Mr. Leigh Perrot, died at Scarlets on March 28. He was
childless, and left a considerable fortune. As he was also a
kind-hearted man and had always shown particular favour to the Austens,
it was reasonably expected that they would reap some immediate benefit
under his will. Most of the family were in narrow circumstances, and
they had lately been crippled by the failure of Henry's business and the
lawsuit about Edward's Hampshire property; a legacy, therefore, would
have been very acceptable. Mr. Leigh Perrot, however, was actuated in
making his will by a stronger motive than love to sister and
nephews.[361] He was devoted to his wife, and was perhaps anxious to
show that his devotion was increased in consequence of the false
accusation with which she had been assailed at Bath in 1799-1800. He
showed it by leaving everything to her for her life, and placing
Scarlets and a considerable sum at her free disposal. At the same time
he left a large sum (subject to her life interest) to James Austen and
his heirs, and L1000 apiece to _each_ of Mrs. Austen's children who
should survive his wife. Mrs. Leigh Perrot, also, at a later date, gave
allowances to some members of the family, and eventually made Edward
Austen her heir. None of these advantages, however, fell to them
immediately; and the disappointment caused by their uncle's disposition
of his property is reflected in the following letter from Jane to her
brother Charles.
[April 6, 1817.]
MY DEAREST CHARLES,--Many thanks for your
affectionate letter. I was in your debt before,
but I have really been too unwell the last
fortnight to write anything that was not
absolutely necessary. I have been suffering from a
bilious attack attended with a good deal of fever.
A few days ago my complaint appeared removed, but
I am ashamed to say that the shock of my uncle's
will brought on a relapse, and I was so ill on
Friday and thought myself so likely to be worse
that I could not but press for Cassandra's
returning with Frank after the funeral last night,
which she of course did; and either her return, or
my having seen Mr. Curtis, or my disorder's
chusing to go away, have made me better this
morning. I live upstairs however for the present,
and am coddled. I am the only one of the legatees
who has been so silly, but a weak body must excuse
weak nerves.
My mother has borne the forgetfulness of _her_
extremely well--her expectations for herself were
never beyond the extreme of moderation, and she
thinks with you that my Uncle always looked
forward to surviving her. She desires her best
love, and many thanks for your kind feelings; and
heartily wishes that her younger children had
more, and all her children something
immediately. . . .
Nothing can be kinder than Mrs. Cooke's enquiries
after you [and Harriet] in all her letters, and
there was no standing her affectionate way of
speaking of _your_ countenance, after her seeing
you. God bless you all.
Conclude me to be going on well if you hear
nothing to the contrary.
Yours ever truly,
J. A.
Tell dear Harriet that whenever she wants me in
her service again she must send a hackney chariot
all the way for me--for I am not strong enough to
travel any other way, and I hope Cassy will take
care that it is a green one. . . .
We will end this chapter with Caroline Austen's account of her last
visit to her Aunt Jane, which occurred about this time.
It had been settled[362] that about the end of
March, or the beginning of April, I should spend a
few days at Chawton, in the absence of my father
and mother, who were just then engaged with Mrs.
Leigh Perrot in arranging her late husband's
affairs; but Aunt Jane became too ill to have me
in the house, and so I went instead to my sister
Mrs. Lefroy at Wyards. The next day we walked over
to Chawton to make enquiries after our aunt. She
was then keeping her room, but said she would see
us, and we went up to her. She was in her
dressing-gown, and was sitting quite like an
invalid in an arm-chair, but she got up and kindly
greeted us, and then, pointing to seats which had
been arranged for us by the fire, she said 'There
is a chair for the married lady, and a little
stool for you, Caroline.' It is strange, but
those trifling words were the last of hers that I
can remember, for I retain no recollection of what
was said by anyone in the conversation that
ensued. I was struck by the alteration in herself.
She was very pale, her voice was weak and low, and
there was about her a general appearance of
debility and suffering; but I have been told that
she never had much acute pain. She was not equal
to the exertion of talking to us, and our visit to
the sick room was a very short one, Aunt Cassandra
soon taking us away. I do not suppose we stayed a
quarter of an hour; and I never saw Aunt Jane
again.
FOOTNOTES:
[345] _Sailor Brothers_, p. 270.
[346] Page 139.
[347] _Memoir_, p. 150.
[348] See note on p. 347.
[349] One is quoted from a letter to Charles, dated April 6, 1817 (p.
385); the other from a letter written at Winchester shortly before her
death (p. 391).
[350] The road by which many Winchester boys returned home ran close to
Chawton Cottage.
[351] A small pond close to Chawton Cottage, at the junction of the
Winchester and Gosport roads.
[352] Unpublished fragment.
[353] Edward Lefroy, brother of Ben.
[354] See p. 360. Mrs. West was a farmer's wife who lived to the age of
ninety-three, and left behind her eighteen volumes of novels, plays, and
poetry.
[355] Miss Bigg's nephew, afterwards Sir William Heathcote.
[356] Henry Austen.
[357] The poem by Southey, who had lost his eldest son early in 1816. It
has been already stated that Southey was a nephew of Mr. Hill.
[358] The watering-place is called 'Sanditon,' and this name has been
given to the twelve chapters by the family.
[359] _Memoir_, p. 181.
[360] Mme. Bigeon had perhaps lost her savings in the crash that ended
her master's banking business.
[361] We ought not to forget that he had just lost L10,000 in the
bankruptcy of his nephew Henry.
[362] _Memoir_, p. 161.