Dear Ms. Austen
In your day a truth was universally acknowledged. In ours, there is no such agreement. We divide even as we yearn to relinquish both pride and prejudice, and yet there is no sense, and sensibility is cultivated through widening spheres of ads for perfume, rather than a natural, informed inner scent.
You used your wit to cultivate care. Today, you might type, tap keys, post on website and blog. You might even be on Red Room, blasting with kind and amiable eyes a wider audience than a village, Bath or Brighton could provide.
Your writing is a guide. You traverse a path, a road, an age.
Thank you for observing human nature and giving it to us in a form and language still imitated and admired.
Sincerely through the years,