ce for about thirty years. They
commenced their married life with the charge of a little child, a son of
the celebrated Warren Hastings, who had been committed to the care of Mr.
Austen before his marriage, probably through the influence of his sister,
Mrs. Hancock, whose husband at that time held some office under Hastings
in India. Mr. Gleig, in his 'Life of Hastings,' says that his son
George, the offspring of his first marriage, was sent to England in 1761
for his education, but that he had never been able to ascertain to whom
this precious charge was entrusted, nor what became of him. I am able to
state, from family tradition, that he died young, of what was then called
putrid sore throat; and that Mrs. Austen had become so much attached to
him that she always declared that his death had been as great a grief to
her as if he had been a child of her own.

About this time, the grandfather of Mary Russell Mitford, Dr. Russell,
was Rector of the adjoining parish of Ashe; so that the parents of two
popular female writers must have been intimately acquainted with each
other.

As my subject carries me back about a hundred years, it will afford
occasions for observing many changes gradually effected in the manners
and habits of society, which I may think it worth while to mention. They
may be little things, but time gives a certain importance even to
trifles, as it imparts a peculiar flavour to wine. The most ordinary
articles of domestic life are looked on with some interest, if they are
brought to light after being long buried; and we feel a natural curiosity
to know what was done and said by our forefathers, even though it may be
nothing wiser or better than what we are daily doing or saying ourselves.
Some of this generation may be little aware how many conveniences, now
considered to be necessaries and matters of course, were unknown to their
grandfathers and grandmothers. The lane between Deane and Steventon has
long been as smooth as the best turnpike road; but when the family
removed from the one residence to the other in 1771, it was a mere cart
track, so cut up by deep ruts as to be impassable for a light carriage.
Mrs. Austen, who was not then in strong health, performed the short
journey on a feather-bed, placed upon some soft articles of furniture in
the waggon which held their household goods. In those days it was not
unusual to set men to work with shovel and pickaxe to fill up ruts and
holes in road