Miss Austen’s works are not only to be studied from the point of view of genetics, nor merely by a naturalist whose desire is to classify without inquiry as to the origin of his species; they also supply material for the geographer. I do not know who first identified the Highbury of Emma with Cobham, as being seven miles from Boxhill and 18 from London (“sixteen miles, nay 18, it must be full 18 to Manchester Street”). The identification is confirmed by a slip on the part of the authoress, who, in a single passage, printed Cobham in place of Highbury. By this method of mensuration my friend the Master of Downing has shown Kellynch Hall in Persuasion to be near Buckland St. Mary, and Mansfield Park to coincide roughly with Easton, near Huntingdon.
The geography of Lyme Regis is of interest.
The party from Upper Cross drove in a leisurely way to Lyme, and the afternoon was well advanced as they descended the steep hill into the village. The hill is doubtless much as it was, and nearly at the bottom are the two hotels mentioned; it is, honestly speaking, impossible to say at which of the two the Musgroves put up. I am inclined to believe it was that on the west side, but my reasons, if indeed they exist, are not worth giving.
The house in which Miss Austen is known to have stayed is probably Captain Harville’s. It is near the Cobb, and presents that air of not having much room inside, which we gather from the description in Mansfield Park.
But these points are of trifling interest in comparison with the really important question—where did Louisa’s accident occur? There are three separate flights of steps on the Cobb, and the local photographer, in the interests of trade, had to fix on one of them as the scene of the jump. I cannot believe that he is right. These steps are too high and too threatening for a girl of that period to choose with such a purpose, even for Louisa, whose determination of character we know to have been one of her charms. Then, again, this particular flight is not (so far as I could make out) in the New Cobb, which is where the accident is described as occurring. It is true that at first sight it hardly looks dangerous enough to bring about the sight which delighted the fishermen of Lyme, namely, a “dead young lady,” or rather two, for the sensitive Mary contributed to the situation by fainting. I am, however, confirmed in my belief
by what happened to myself, when I went to view the classic spot. I quite suddenly and inexplicably fell down. The same thing happened to a friend on the same spot, and we concluded that in the surprisingly slippery character of the surface lies the explanation of the accident. It had never seemed comprehensible that an active and capable man should miss so easy a catch as that provided by Louisa. But if Captain Wentworth slipped and fell as she jumped, she would come down with him.
I am told that when Tennyson visited Lyme he repelled the proposals of his friends, who wished him to see something of the beauties of the place, and insisted on going straight to the flight of steps. This is an attractive trait in Tennyson’s character, but it may not have been pleasing to his hosts.
VI.
THE EDUCATION OF A MAN OF SCIENCE
An Address to the Association of University
Women Teachers, January 13, 1911
In the following pages I propose to give my own experience of education, that is to say, not of educating others, but of being educated. It seems to me that the education of one’s youth becomes clear to one in middle life and old age; and that what one sees in this retrospect may be worth some rough record and some sort of criticism. One may, of course, be mistaken about what was bad and what was good in one’s training. But the experience of the pupil is, at the least, one aspect of the question. And I think that the memories of how we were taught is something much more definite and vivid, something that can be more easily made interesting to one’s readers, than the generalised experience gained as a teacher.