Even to the feelings she vouchsafes no
more than an occasional graceful but distant recognition--too
frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her
progress. Her business is not half so much with the human heart as
with the human eyes, mouth, hands, and feet. What sees keenly,
speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study; but what throbs
fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is
the unseen seat of life and the sentient target of death--this Miss
Austen ignores. She no more, with her mind's eye, beholds the heart
of her race than each man, with bodily vision, sees the heart in his
heaving breast. Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady,
but a very incomplete and rather insensible (_not senseless_) woman.
If this is heresy, I cannot help it. If I said it to some people
(Lewes for instance) they would directly accuse me of advocating
exaggerated heroics, but I am not afraid of your falling into any
such vulgar error.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 9_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have read Lord John Russell's letter with very great
zest and relish, and think him a spirited sensible little man for
writing it.
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