Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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dear Emma was of no feeble character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls would have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distance of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female walking, and in Mr. Weston's disposition and circumstances, which would make the approaching season no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in the week together.
he had nothing more to say or surmise about Hartfield.
quietly whether there were any doubts of the air of Randalls.
her own cook at South End, a young woman hired for the time, who never had been able to understand what she meant by a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, but not too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she had never been able to get any thing tolerable.
a seat in his carriage, if the weather were Mr. Elton's only objection,
she should be very glad to be secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time talked of:
the ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing fast, with a strong drifting wind;
he had known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word, lest it should make Mr. Woodhouse uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his hurrying away. As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely to fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke; he was afraid they would find no difficulty. He wished the road might be impassable, that he might be able to keep them all at Randalls;
was sure that accommodation might be found for every body,
to agree with him, that with a little contrivance, every body might be lodged,
Frank's coming two or three months later would be a much better plan; better time of year; better weather; and
he would be able, without any doubt, to stay considerably longer with them than if he had come sooner.
the advantage of such an addition to their confined society in Surry; the pleasure of looking at somebody new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which the sight of him would have made;
he did not know what he was talking about. Used only to a large house himself, and without ever thinking how many advantages and accommodations were attached to its size, he could be no judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small one.
how attentive and pleasant a companion he made himself— how much she saw to like in his disposition altogether.
He appeared to have a very open temper— certainly a very cheerful and lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his notions, a great deal decidedly right; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard, was fond of talking of him— said he would be the best man in the world if he were left to himself; and though there was no being attached to the aunt, he acknowledged her kindness with gratitude, and seemed to mean always to speak of her with respect.
she was going to call on the Bateses, in order to hear the new instrument.
to play as long as they could wish to dance;
having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, &c., set out in the little room;
the evils of it much less than she had supposed before— indeed very trifling;
As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never occurred but for her own convenience.
was unexpectedly summoned to town and must be absent on the very day. He might be able to join them in the evening, but certainly not to dinner.
Mrs. Elton, as elegant as lace and pearls could make her,
only to observe enough for Isabella's information— but Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her.
He had returned to a late dinner, and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over.
That a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day of business in London, should set off again, and walk half a mile to another man's house, for the sake of being in mixed company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise of numbers,
A man who had been in motion since eight o'clock in the morning, and might now have been still, who had been long talking, and might have been silent, who had been in more than one crowd, and might have been alone!—Such a man, to quit the tranquillity and independence of his own fireside, and on the evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the world!—
Could he by a touch of his finger have instantly taken back his wife, there would have been a motive; but his coming would probably prolong rather than break up the party.
he had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in the room.
it was from Frank, and to herself; he had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it.
Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this arrangement, and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing of having two months before him of such near neighbourhood to many dear friends— for the house was taken for May and June.
now he wrote with the greatest confidence of being often with them, almost as often as he could even wish.
It was the very circumstance he could have wished for. Now, it would be really having Frank in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles to a young man?—An hour's ride. He would be always coming over. The difference in that respect of Richmond and London was enough to make the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never. Sixteen miles— — nay, eighteen — —it must be full eighteen to Manchester-street —was a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away, the day would be spent in coming and returning. There was no comfort in having him in London; he might as well be at Enscombe; but Richmond was the very distance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer!
his aunt felt already much better for the change, and
he had no doubt of being able to join them for twenty-four hours at any given time,
neither dear little Henry nor dear little John would have any thing the matter with them, while dear Emma were gone.
Mrs. Elton must be asked to begin the ball; that she would expect it; which interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction.—
he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go together;
as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she had no objection.
to get Frank over to join them, if possible;
if he were come—
she was a little uneasy.—She had some fears of his horse.
he would part with his black mare.
it must be by some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was prevented coming.—
this protestation had done her more good than any thing else in the world could do.
Mrs. Weston had set off to pay the visit in a good deal of agitation herself; and in the first place had wished not to go at all at present, to be allowed merely to write to Miss Fairfax instead, and to defer this ceremonious call till a little time had passed, and Mr. Churchill could be reconciled to the engagement's becoming known; as, considering every thing, she thought such a visit could not be paid without leading to reports:—but Mr. Weston had thought differently; he was extremely anxious to shew his approbation to Miss Fairfax and her family, and did not conceive that any suspicion could be excited by it; or if it were, that it would be of any consequence; for
he observed,
They had gone, in short —and very great had been the evident distress and confusion of the lady. She had hardly been able to speak a word, and every look and action had shewn how deeply she was suffering from consciousness. The quiet, heart-felt satisfaction of the old lady, and the rapturous delight of her daughter—who proved even too joyous to talk as usual, had been a gratifying, yet almost an affecting, scene. They were both so truly respectable in their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation; thought so much of Jane; so much of every body, and so little of themselves, that every kindly feeling was at work for them. Miss Fairfax's recent illness had offered a fair plea for Mrs. Weston to invite her to an airing; she had drawn back and declined at first, but, on being pressed had yielded; and, in the course of their drive, Mrs. Weston had, by gentle encouragement, overcome so much of her embarrassment, as to bring her to converse on the important subject. Apologies for her seemingly ungracious silence in their first reception, and the warmest expressions of the gratitude she was always feeling towards herself and Mr. Weston, must necessarily open the cause; but when these effusions were put by, they had talked a good deal of the present and of the future state of the engagement. Mrs. Weston was convinced that such conversation must be the greatest relief to her companion, pent up within her own mind as every thing had so long been, and was very much pleased with all that she had said on the subject.
She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.—In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again.