Adèle and I returned yesterday from a visit to Austen country. More specifically, we'd been to Chawton to see the house where Jane Austen lived from 1809 until the last few weeks of her life, in 1817. The house is now a museum, and we walked about it looking at everything in a suitably reverent way. For me the highlight of the visit was this - the table at which she wrote. The very one. I stood before it in wonder.
We then had a bite to eat in a place across the road called 'Cassandra's Cup', before heading off to Winchester. There we went to the house at 8 College Street where Jane died on 18 July 1817, and to Winchester Cathedral where she is buried. Her gravestone bears the words:
The benevolence of her heart, the sweetness of her temper, and the extraordinary endowments of her mind obtained the regard of all who knew her and the warmest love of her intimate connections.And of how many thousands of readers?
(There's an old piece here from the New York Times on the Chawton house.)