Austen Said:

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good."

"Oh! but those two lines are"—

"I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,"

"Oh! no— I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you please."

"I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not."

"I have no hesitation in saying,"

"I have no hesitation in saying— at least if my friend feels at all as I do— I have not the smallest doubt that, could he see his little effusion honoured as I see it,

he would consider it as the proudest moment of his life."

"Oh, what a sweet house!—How very beautiful!—There are the yellow curtains that Miss Nash admires so much."

"I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married, or going to be married! so charming as you are!"—

"Ah!—so you say; but I cannot believe it."

"Dear me!—it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!"—

"But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!"

"But still, you will be an old maid! and that's so dreadful!"

"Dear me! but what shall you do? how shall you employ yourself when you grow old?"

"Do you know Miss Bates's niece? That is, I know you must have seen her a hundred times— but are you acquainted?"

"These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How trifling they make every thing else appear!—I feel now as if I could think of nothing but these poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet, who can say how soon it may all vanish from my mind?"

"Very true,"

"Poor creatures! one can think of nothing else."

"Oh! dear, no,"

"Oh! dear, yes,"

"A sore-throat!—I hope not infectious. I hope not of a putrid infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed you should take care of yourself as well as of your friend. Let me entreat you to run no risks. Why does not Perry see her?"

"very cold, certainly very cold,"

"You do quite right,"

"Oh! no —I am grieved to find— I was on the point of telling you that when I called at Mrs. Goddard's door, which I did the very last thing before I returned to dress,

I was told that

Very much grieved and concerned —I had flattered myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I knew had been given her in the morning."

"Yes—I imagined ——that is —I did not—"

"Dreadful!—Exactly so, indeed.—She will be missed every moment."

"What an excellent device,"

"the use of a sheepskin for carriages. How very comfortable they make it;—impossible to feel cold with such precautions. The contrivances of modern days indeed have rendered a gentleman's carriage perfectly complete. One is so fenced and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can find its way unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence. It is a very cold afternoon—but in this carriage we know nothing of the matter.—Ha! snows a little I see."

"Christmas weather,"

"Quite seasonable; and extremely fortunate we may think ourselves that it did not begin yesterday, and prevent this day's party, which it might very possibly have done, for Mr. Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there been much snow on the ground; but now it is of no consequence. This is quite the season indeed for friendly meetings. At Christmas every body invites their friends about them, and people think little of even the worst weather. I was snowed up at a friend's house once for a week. Nothing could be pleasanter. I went for only one night, and could not get away till that very day se'nnight."

"We are sure of excellent fires,"

"and every thing in the greatest comfort. Charming people, Mr. and Mrs. Weston;—Mrs. Weston indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so hospitable, and so fond of society;—it will be a small party, but where small parties are select, they are perhaps the most agreeable of any. Mr. Weston's dining-room does not accommodate more than ten comfortably; and for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances, fall short by two than exceed by two. I think you will agree with me,

I think I shall certainly have your approbation, though Mr. Knightley perhaps, from being used to the large parties of London, may not quite enter into our feelings."

"Indeed!

I had no idea that the law had been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the time must come when you will be paid for all this, when you will have little labour and great enjoyment."

"Did she know?—had she heard any thing about her, since their being at Randalls?—he felt much anxiety —he must confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably."

"Would not she give him her support?—would not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard's till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorder had no infection? He could not be satisfied without a promise— would not she give him her influence in procuring it?"

"So scrupulous for others,"

"and yet so careless for herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day, and yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs. Weston?—Judge between us. Have not I some right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid."

"Miss Smith!—message to Miss Smith!—What could she possibly mean!"—

"Good Heaven!"

"what can be the meaning of this?—Miss Smith!—I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my existence— never paid her any attentions, but as your friend: never cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very sorry— extremely sorry —But, Miss Smith, indeed!—Oh! Miss Woodhouse! who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near! No, upon my honour, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of you. I protest against having paid the smallest attention to any one else. Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You cannot really, seriously, doubt it. No!—

I am sure you have seen and understood me."

"Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret this interesting silence. It confesses that you have long understood me."

"Never, madam,"

"never, I assure you. I think seriously of Miss Smith!—Miss Smith is a very good sort of girl; and I should be happy to see her respectably settled. I wish her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who might not object to— Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am not, I think, quite so much at a loss. I need not so totally despair of an equal alliance, as to be addressing myself to Miss Smith!—No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only; and the encouragement I received —"

"ready wit"