One of the most delightful things about the author of “Mansfield Park” that we have seen lately is an extract from “Personal Aspects of Jane Austen,” by Miss Austen-Leigh. “Each of the novels,” she says, “gives a description, closely interwoven with the story and concerned with its principal characters, of error committed, conviction following, and improvement effected, all of which may be summed up in the word ‘Repentance.’”
Almost as good is Miss Austen-Leigh’s contradiction of the statement that sermons wearied Jane. She quotes the author’s own words: “I [p 201] />]am very fond of Sherlock’s Sermons, and prefer them to almost any.” What a lot of amusement she must have had, shooting relatives and friends through the hat!
Was there ever a character more delightfully detestable than Mrs. Norris? Was there ever another character presented, so alive and breathing, in so few pen strokes? Jane Austen had no need of psychoanalysis.
As for William Lyons Phelps’ remark, which a contrib has quoted, that “too much modern fiction is concerned with unpleasant characters whom one would not care to have as friends,” how would you like to spend a week-end with the characters in “The Mayor of Casterbridge”? With the exception of the lady in “Two on a Tower,” and one or two others, Mr. Hardy’s characters are not the sort that one would care to be cast away with; yet will we sit the night out, book in hand, to follow their sordid fortunes.
“What I want to know is,” writes Fritillaria, “whether you think Jane Austen drew Edmund and Fanny for models, or knew them for the unconscionable prigs they are. I am collecting votes.” Well, we think that Jane knew they were prigs, but nevertheless had, like ourself, a [p 202] />]warm affection for Fanny. Fanny Price, Elizabeth Bennet, and Anne (we forget her last name) are three of the dearest girls in fiction.
We are reminded by F. B. T. that the last name of the heroine of “Persuasion” was Elliott. Anne is our favorite heroine—except when we think of Clara Middleton.
Space has been reserved for us in the archæological department of the Field Museum for Pre-Dry wheezes, which should be preserved for a curious posterity. We have filed No. 1, which runs:
“First Comedian: ‘Well, what made you get drunk in the first place?’ Second Comedian: ‘I didn’t get drunk in the first place. I got drunk in the last place.’”
Our budding colyumist (who, by the way, has not thanked us for our efforts in his behalf) will want that popular restaurant gag: “Use one lump of sugar and stir like hell. We don’t mind the noise.”
“What,” queries R. W. C., “has become of the little yellow crabs that floated in the o. f. oyster stew?” Junsaypa. We never found out what became of the little gold safety pins that used to come with neckties.