S. T. Coleridge would sometimes burst out into high encomiums of Miss
Austen's novels as being, 'in their way, perfectly genuine and individual
productions.'

I remember Miss Mitford's saying to me: 'I would almost cut off one of my
hands, if it would enable me to write like your aunt with the other.'

The biographer of Sir J. Mackintosh says: 'Something recalled to his mind
the traits of character which are so delicately touched in Miss Austen's
novels . . . He said that there was genius in sketching out that new
kind of novel . . . He was vexed for the credit of the "Edinburgh
Review" that it had left her unnoticed .{145} . . The "Quarterly" had
done her more justice . . . It was impossible for a foreigner to
understand fully the merit of her works. Madame de Stael, to whom he had
recommended one of her novels, found no interest in it; and in her note
to him in reply said it was "vulgaire": and yet, he said, nothing could
be more true than what he wrote in answer: "There is no book which that
word would so little suit." . . . Every village could furnish matter for
a novel to Miss Austen. She did not need the common materials for a
novel, strong emotions, or strong incidents.' {146}

It was not, however, quite impossible for a foreigner to appreciate these
works; for Mons. Guizot writes thus: 'I am a great novel reader, but I
seldom read German or French novels. The characters are too artificial.
My delight is to read English novels, particularly those written by
women. "C'est toute une ecole de morale." Miss Austen, Miss Ferrier,
&c., form a school which in the excellence and profusion of its
productions resembles the cloud of dramatic poets of the great Athenian
age.'