Her letters have very seldom the date of the year, or the signature of her christian name at full length; but it has been easy to ascertain their dates, either from the post-mark, or from their contents.

* * * * *

The two following letters are the earliest that I have seen.  They were both written in November 1800; before the family removed from Steventon.  Some of the same circumstances are referred to in both.

The first is to her sister Cassandra, who was then staying with their brother Edward at Godmersham Park, Kent:—­

   ’Steventon, Saturday evening, Nov. 8th.

   ’MY DEAR CASSANDRA,

’I thank you for so speedy a return to my two last, and particularly thank you for your anecdote of Charlotte Graham and her cousin, Harriet Bailey, which has very much amused both my mother and myself.  If you can learn anything farther of that interesting affair, I hope you will mention it.  I have two messages; let me get rid of them, and then my paper will be my own.  Mary fully intended writing to you by Mr. Chute’s frank, and only happened entirely to forget it, but will write soon; and my father wishes Edward to send him a memorandum of the price of the hops.  The tables are come, and give general contentment.  I had not expected that they would so perfectly suit the fancy of us all three, or that we should so well agree in the disposition of them; but nothing except their own surface can have been smoother.  The two ends put together form one constant table for everything, and the centre piece stands exceedingly well under the glass, and holds a great deal most commodiously, without looking awkwardly.  They are both covered with green baize, and send their best love.  The Pembroke has got its destination by the sideboard, and my mother has great delight in keeping her money and papers locked up.  The little table which used to stand there has most conveniently taken itself off into the best bedroom; and we are now in want only of the chiffonniere, which is neither finished nor come.  So much for that subject; I now come to another, of a very different nature, as other subjects are very apt to be.  Earle Harwood has been again giving uneasiness to his family and talk to the neighbourhood; in the present instance, however, he is only unfortunate, and not in fault.

’About ten days ago, in cocking a pistol in the guard-room at Marcau, he accidentally shot himself through the thigh.  Two young Scotch surgeons in the island were polite enough to propose taking off the thigh at once, but to that he would not consent; and accordingly in his wounded state was put on board a cutter and conveyed to Haslar Hospital, at Gosport, where the bullet was extracted, and where he now is, I hope, in a fair way of doing well.  The surgeon of the hospital wrote to the family on the occasion, and John Harwood went down to him immediately, attended by James, {62} whose object