Memoir of Jane Austen, page 99 by James Edward Austen-Leigh
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nant of Ireland, accompanying an illustration of a lady reading a novel.
Beats thy quick pulse o'er Inchbald's thrilling leaf, Brunton's high moral, Opie's deep wrought grief? Has the mild chaperon claimed thy yielding heart, Carroll's dark page, Trevelyan's gentle art? Or is it thou, all perfect Austen? Here Let one poor wreath adorn thy early bier, That scarce allowed thy modest youth to claim Its living portion of thy certain fame! Oh! Mrs. Bennet! Mrs. Norris too! While memory survives we'll dream of you. And Mr. Woodhouse, whose abstemious lip Must thin, but not too thin, his gruel sip. Miss Bates, our idol, though the village bore; And Mrs. Elton, ardent to explore. While the clear style flows on without pretence, With unstained purity, and unmatched sense: Or, if a sister e'er approached the throne, She called the rich 'inheritance' her own.
The admiration felt by Lord Macaulay would probably have taken a very practical form, if his life had been prolonged. I have the authority of his sister, Lady Trevelyan, for stating that he had intended to undertake the task upon which I have ventured. He purposed to write a memoir of Miss Austen, with criticisms on her works, to prefix it to a new edition of her novels, and from the proceeds of the sale to erect a monument to her memory in Winchester Cathedral. Oh! that such an idea had been realised! That portion of the plan in which Lord Macaulay's success would have been most certain might have been almost sufficient for his object. A memoir written by him would have been a monument.
I am kindly permitted by Sir Henry Holland to give the following quotation from his printed but unpublished recollections of his past life:--
'I have the picture still before me of Lord Holland lying on his bed, when attacked with gout, his admirable sister, Miss Fox, beside him reading aloud, as she always did on these occasions, some one of Miss Austen's novels, of which he was never wearied. I well recollect the time when these charming novels, almost