Austen Said:

"Miss Bates must not be forgotten:"

"Jane!"—

"That is easy—but Miss Fairfax does not disapprove it, I suppose."

"Not at all."

"Ungrateful!—What do you mean?"

"No, do not tell me— I do not want to know what you mean.—Where is my father?—When are we to begin dancing?"

"By the bye,"

"what became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting up his carriage?"

"Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three months ago."

"Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned it as what was certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was extremely happy about it.

she thought

You must remember it now?"

"Never! really, never!—Bless me! how could it be?—Then I must have dreamt it— but I was completely persuaded—Miss Smith, you walk as if you were tired. You will not be sorry to find yourself at home."

"No, sir,"

"I seem to have had it from nobody.—Very odd!—I really was persuaded of Mrs. Weston's having mentioned it in one of her letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all these particulars—but as

she declares

of course it must have been a dream. I am a great dreamer. I dream of every body at Highbury when I am away—and when I have gone through my particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. Perry."

"Miss Woodhouse,"

"have your nephews taken away their alphabets— their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it? This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated rather as winter than summer. We had great amusement with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again."

"I will give it to her— shall I?"—

"His aunt was so much better, that he had not a doubt of getting over to them."—

"As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be spared—but such a point had been made of my coming! You will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met one as I came— — Madness in such weather!—absolute madness!"

"No —he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make him hotter."

"As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,"

"I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at—or my tour to read—or my poem. I shall do something to expose myself."

"They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may be prescribed for her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad. I assure you I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating eyes may fancy— I am sick of England—and would leave it to-morrow, if I could."

"I sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken. I do not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted in every thing material. I do not consider myself at all a fortunate person."

"No—I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my best cure."

"No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening."

"No —It will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be cross."

"But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to think of you all there without me."

"Well;—if you wish me to stay and join the party, I will."

"How much I am obliged to you,"

"for telling me to come to-day!—If it had not been for you, I should certainly have lost all the happiness of this party. I had quite determined to go away again."

"Don't say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat overcame me."

"Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to-day."

"Your command?—Yes."

"It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command without a motive. You order me, whether you speak or not. And you can be always with me. You are always with me."

"Three o'clock yesterday! That is your date. I thought I had seen you first in February."

"I say nothing of which I am ashamed,"

"I saw you first in February. Let every body on the Hill hear me if they can. Let my accents swell to Mickleham on one side, and Dorking on the other. I saw you first in February."

"Our companions are excessively stupid. What shall we do to rouse them? Any nonsense will serve. They shall talk. Ladies and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is, presides) to say, that she desires to know what you are all thinking of?"

"It will not do,"

"they are most of them affronted. I will attack them with more address. Ladies and gentlemen —I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she waives her right of knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires something very entertaining from each of you, in a general way. Here are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she is pleased to say, am very entertaining already,) and she only demands from each of you either one thing very clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated—or two things moderately clever—or three things very dull indeed, and she engages to laugh heartily at them all."

'Three things very dull indeed.'

"Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,"

"but we shall be indulgent— especially to any one who leads the way."

"Happy couple!"

"How well they suit one another!—Very lucky — —marrying as they did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place!—They only knew each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath! Peculiarly lucky!—for as to any real knowledge of a person's disposition that Bath, or any public place, can give— it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is only by seeing women in their own homes, among their own set, just as they always are, that you can form any just judgment. Short of that, it is all guess and luck—and will generally be ill-luck. How many a man has committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest of his life!"

"You were speaking,"