to as
models; nor have they lost their first distinction of being especially
acceptable to minds of the highest order. I shall indulge myself by
collecting into the next chapter instances of the homage paid to her by
such persons.

CHAPTER IX.

_Opinions expressed by eminent persons--Opinions of others of less
eminence--Opinion of American readers_.

Into this list of the admirers of my Aunt's works, I admit those only
whose eminence will be universally acknowledged. No doubt the number
might have been increased.

Southey, in a letter to Sir Egerton Brydges, says: 'You mention Miss
Austen. Her novels are more true to nature, and have, for my sympathies,
passages of finer feeling than any others of this age. She was a person
of whom I have heard so well and think so highly, that I regret not
having had an opportunity of testifying to her the respect which I felt
for her.'

It may be observed that Southey had probably heard from his own family
connections of the charm of her private character. A friend of hers, the
daughter of Mr. Bigge Wither, of Manydown Park near Basingstoke, was
married to Southey's uncle, the Rev. Herbert Hill, who had been useful to
his nephew in many ways, and especially in supplying him with the means
of attaining his extensive knowledge of Spanish and Portuguese
literature. Mr. Hill had been Chaplain to the British Factory at Lisbon,
where Southey visited him and had the use of a library in those languages
which his uncle had collected. Southey himself continually mentions his
uncle Hill in terms of respect and gratitude.

S. T. Coleridge would sometimes burst out into high encomiums of Miss
Austen's novels as being, 'in their way, perfectly genuine and individual
productions.'

I remember Miss Mitford's saying to me: 'I would almost cut off one of my
hands, if it would enable me to write like your aunt with the other.'

The biographer of Sir J. Mackintosh says: 'Something recalled to his mind
the traits of character which are so delicately touched in Miss Austen's
novels . . . He said that there was genius in sketching out that new
kind of novel . . . He was vexed for the credit of the "Edinburgh
Review" that it had left her unnoticed .{145} . . The "Quarterly" had
done her more justice . . . It was impossible for a foreigner to
understand fully the merit of her works. Madame de Stael, to whom he had
recommended one of her novels, found no interest in it; and in he