occupied in writing 'Emma,' could give to
the less matured powers of the niece. They bring out incidentally some
of her opinions concerning compositions of that kind:--

_Extracts_.

'Chawton, Aug. 10, 1814.

'Your aunt C. does not like desultory novels, and is rather fearful
that yours will be too much so; that there will be too frequent a
change from one set of people to another, and that circumstances will
be sometimes introduced, of apparent consequence, which will lead to
nothing. It will not be so great an objection to me. I allow much
more latitude than she does, and think nature and spirit cover many
sins of a wandering story. And people in general do not care much
about it, for your comfort . . .'

'Sept. 9.

'You are now collecting your people delightfully, getting them exactly
into such a spot as is the delight of my life. Three or four families
in a country village is the very thing to work on; and I hope you will
write a great deal more, and make full use of them while they are so
very favourably arranged.'

'Sept. 28.

'Devereux Forrester being ruined by his vanity is very good: but I
wish you would not let him plunge into a "vortex of dissipation." I
do not object to the thing, but I cannot bear the expression: it is
such thorough novel slang; and so old that I dare say Adam met with it
in the first novel that he opened.'

'Hans Place (Nov. 1814).

'I have been very far from finding your book an evil, I assure you. I
read it immediately, and with great pleasure. Indeed, I do think you
get on very fast. I wish other people of my acquaintance could
compose as rapidly. Julian's history was quite a surprise to me. You
had not very long known it yourself, I suspect; but I have no
objection to make to the circumstance; it is very well told, and his
having been in love with the aunt gives Cecilia an additional interest
with him. I like the idea; a very proper compliment to an aunt! I
rather imagine, indeed, that nieces are seldom chosen but in
compliment to some aunt or other. I dare say your husband was in love
with me once, and would never have thought of you if he had not
supposed me dead of a scarlet fever.'

Jane Austen was successful in everything that she attempted with her
fingers. None of us could throw spilikins in so perfect a circle, or
take them off with so steady a hand.