r note
to him in reply said it was "vulgaire": and yet, he said, nothing could
be more true than what he wrote in answer: "There is no book which that
word would so little suit." . . . Every village could furnish matter for
a novel to Miss Austen. She did not need the common materials for a
novel, strong emotions, or strong incidents.' {146}

It was not, however, quite impossible for a foreigner to appreciate these
works; for Mons. Guizot writes thus: 'I am a great novel reader, but I
seldom read German or French novels. The characters are too artificial.
My delight is to read English novels, particularly those written by
women. "C'est toute une ecole de morale." Miss Austen, Miss Ferrier,
&c., form a school which in the excellence and profusion of its
productions resembles the cloud of dramatic poets of the great Athenian
age.'

In the 'Keepsake' of 1825 the following lines appeared, written by Lord
Morpeth, afterwards seventh Earl of Carlisle, and Lord-Lieutenant 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 Maca