sister’s love.  When they parted, he expressed his intention of soon seeing them again; and Cassandra felt no doubt as to his motives.  But they never again met.  Within a short time they heard of his sudden death.  I believe that, if Jane ever loved, it was this unnamed gentleman; but the acquaintance had been short, and I am unable to say whether her feelings were of such a nature as to affect her happiness.

Any description that I might attempt of the family life at Steventon, which closed soon after I was born, could be little better than a fancy-piece.  There is no doubt that if we could look into the households of the clergy and the small gentry of that period, we should see some things which would seem strange to us, and should miss many more to which we are accustomed.  Every hundred years, and especially a century like the last, marked by an extraordinary advance in wealth, luxury, and refinement of taste, as well as in the mechanical arts which embellish our houses, must produce a great change in their aspect.  These changes are always at work; they are going on now, but so silently that we take no

note of them.  Men soon forget the small objects which they leave behind them as they drift down the stream of life.  As Pope says—

Nor does life’s stream for observation stay;
It hurries all too fast to mark their way.

Important inventions, such as the applications of steam, gas, and electricity, may find their places in history; but not so the alterations, great as they may be, which have taken place in the appearance of our dining and drawing-rooms.  Who can now record the degrees by which the custom prevalent in my youth of asking each other to take wine together at dinner became obsolete?  Who will be able to fix, twenty years hence, the date when our dinners began to be carved and handed round by servants, instead of smoking before our eyes and noses on the table?  To record such little matters would indeed be ‘to chronicle small beer.’  But, in a slight memoir like this, I may be allowed to note some of those changes in social habits which give a colour to history, but which the historian has the greatest difficulty in recovering.

At that time the dinner-table presented a far less splendid appearance than it does now.  It was appropriated to solid food, rather than to flowers, fruits, and decorations.  Nor was there much glitter of plate upon it; for the early dinner hour rendered candlesticks unnecessary, and silver forks had not come into general use: while the broad rounded

end of the knives indicated the substitute generally used instead of them. {31}

The dinners too were more homely, though not less plentiful and savoury; and the bill of fare in one house would not be so like that in another as it is now, for family receipts were held in high estimation.  A grandmother of culinary talent could bequeath to her descendant fame for some particular dish, and might influence the family dinner for many generations.

Dos est magna parentium
   Virtus.

One house would pride itself on its ham, another on its game-pie, and a third on its superior furmity, or tansey-pudding.  Beer and home-made wines, especially mead, were more largely consumed.  Vegetables were less plentiful and less various.  Potatoes were used, but not so abundantly as now; and there was an idea that they were to be eaten only with roast meat.  They were novelties to a

tenant’s wife who was entertained at Steventon Parsonage, certainly less than a hundred years ago; and when Mrs. Austen advised her to plant them in her own garden, she replied, ‘No, no; they are very well for you gentry, but they must be terribly costly to rear.’

But a still greater difference would be found in the furniture of the rooms, which would appear to us lamentably scanty.  There was a general deficiency of carpeting in sitting-rooms, bed-rooms, and passages.  A pianoforte, or rather a spinnet or harpsichord, was by no means a necessary appendage.  It was to be found only where there was a decided taste for music, not so common then as now, or in such great houses as would probably contain a billiard-table.  There would often be but one sofa in the house, and that a stiff, angular, uncomfortable article.  There were no deep easy-chairs, nor other appliances for lounging; for to lie down, or even to lean back, was a luxury permitted only to old persons or invalids.  It was said of a nobleman, a personal friend of George III. and a model gentleman of his day, that he would have made the tour of Europe without ever touching the back of his travelling carriage.  But perhaps we should be most struck with the total absence of those elegant little articles which now embellish and encumber our drawing-room tables.  We should miss the sliding bookcases and picture-stands, the letter-weighing machines and envelope cases, the

periodicals and illustrated newspapers—above all, the countless swarm of photograph books which now threaten to swallow up all space.  A small writing-desk, with a smaller work-box, or netting-case, was all that each young lady contributed to occupy the table; for the large family work-basket, though often produced in the parlour, lived in the closet.

There must have been more dancing throughout the country in those days than there is now: and it seems to have sprung up more spontaneously, as if it were a natural production, with less fastidiousness as to the quality of music, lights, and floor.  Many country towns had a monthly ball throughout the winter, in some of which the same apartment served for dancing and tea-room.  Dinner parties more frequently ended with an extempore dance on the carpet, to the music of a harpsichord in the house, or a fiddle from the village.  This was always supposed to be for the entertainment of the young people, but many, who had little pretension to youth, were very ready to join in it.  There can be no doubt that Jane herself enjoyed dancing, for she attributes this taste to her favourite heroines; in most of her works, a ball or a private dance is mentioned, and made of importance.

Many things connected with the ball-rooms of those days have now passed into oblivion.  The barbarous law which confined the lady to one partner throughout the evening must indeed have been abolished before Jane went to balls.  It must

be observed, however, that this custom was in one respect advantageous to the gentleman, inasmuch as it rendered his duties more practicable.  He was bound to call upon his partner the next morning, and it must have been convenient to have only one lady for whom he was obliged

To gallop all the country over,
The last night’s partner to behold,
And humbly hope she caught no cold.

But the stately minuet still reigned supreme; and every regular ball commenced with it.  It was a slow and solemn movement, expressive of grace and dignity, rather than of merriment.  It abounded in formal bows and courtesies, with measured paces, forwards, backwards and sideways, and many complicated gyrations.  It was executed by one lady and gentleman, amidst the admiration, or the criticism, of surrounding spectators.  In its earlier and most palmy days, as when Sir Charles and Lady Grandison delighted the company by dancing it at