Jane Austen (1775–1817) was an English novelist best known for her sharp wit, keen observations of 18th and 19th-century English society, and timeless stories centered on love, marriage, and social class. Born on December 16, 1775, in Steventon, Hampshire, England, she was the seventh of eight children in a close-knit and literary family. Her father, George Austen, was a clergyman who encouraged Jane’s early interest in reading and writing.
Austen began writing in her teens, creating satirical pieces and short stories that showcased her humor and insight. Her first major novel, Sense and Sensibility, was published anonymously in 1811, followed by Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814), and Emma (1815). These novels gained popularity for their vivid characters, especially strong, intelligent female protagonists, and their exploration of themes like courtship, money, and social mobility. Despite her success, Austen remained anonymous during her lifetime, with her books published simply as “By a Lady.”
Jane Austen died on July 18, 1817, in Winchester at the age of 41, likely from Addison’s disease or Hodgkin’s lymphoma. After her death, her final two novels, Persuasion and Northanger Abbey, were published posthumously. Today, Austen is celebrated as one of the most important and beloved novelists in the English language. Her works continue to captivate readers and inspire countless adaptations, proving the enduring relevance of her insights into human nature and society.
Happy the Lab’rer
Happy the lab’rer in his Sunday clothes!
In light-drab coat, smart waistcoat, well-darn’d hose,
And hat upon his head, to church he goes;
As oft, with conscious pride, he downward throws
A glance upon the ample cabbage rose
That, stuck in button-hole, regales his nose,
He envies not the gayest London beaux.
In church he takes his seat among the rows,
Pays to the place the reverence he owes,
Likes best the prayers whose meaning least he knows,
Lists to the sermon in a softening doze,
And rouses joyous at the welcome close.
My Dearest Frank, I Wish You Joy
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary’s safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane.–
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents’ Love!–
Endow’d with Art’s and Nature’s Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis William see!–
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit;–
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curly Locks but just descried,
With ‘Bet, my be not come to bide.’–
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten’d very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neighbouring Donkey’s awful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood’s pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father’s mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we’re very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.–
Cassandra’s pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You’ll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and Fanny near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.–
“It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.” – Sense and Sensibility
“A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.” – Pride and Prejudice
“Silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way.” – Emma
“The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.” – Sense and Sensibility
“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading!” – Pride and Prejudice
“It is only a novel… or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language” – Northanger Abbey