Austen Said:

"It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,"

"to have no reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered creature in one respect, it is very fit that you should have the satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is necessary— I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and I dare say you understand me."

"How I could so long a time be fancying myself!..."

"It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary in him now.—I do not care whether I meet him or not— except that of the two I had rather not see him—and indeed I would go any distance round to avoid him—but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire her nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable —I shall never forget her look the other night!—However, I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.—No, let them be ever so happy together, it will not give me another moment's pang: and to convince you that I have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy—what I ought to have destroyed long ago— what I ought never to have kept —I know that very well

However, now I will destroy it all—and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?"

"No —I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued very much."

"Now,"

"you must recollect."

"Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what passed in this very room about court-plaister, one of the very last times we ever met in it!—It was but a very few days before I had my sore throat— just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came— I think the very evening.—Do not you remember his cutting his finger with your new penknife, and your recommending court-plaister?—But, as you had none about you, and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took mine out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left, before he gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making a treasure of it—so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now and then as a great treat."

"And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected it, you did it so naturally."

"Here,"

"here is something still more valuable, I mean that has been more valuable, because this is what did really once belong to him, which the court-plaister never did."

"This was really his,"

"Do not you remember one morning?—no, I dare say you do not. But one morning— I forget exactly the day —but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was about spruce-beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment."

"Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect.—It is very odd, but I cannot recollect.—Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am now."—

"Oh! that's all. I have nothing more to shew you, or to say— except that I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do it."

"Yes, simpleton as I was!—but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was—but had not resolution enough to part with them."

"I shall be happier to burn it,"

"It has a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of every thing.—There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton."

"I shall never marry."

"It is one that I shall never change, however."

"Mr. Elton indeed!"

"Oh! no"—

"so superior to Mr. Elton!"

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, believe me I have not the presumption to suppose — Indeed I am not so mad.—But it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a distance—and to think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of the world, with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so proper, in me especially."

"Service! oh! it was such an inexpressible obligation!—The very recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time— when I saw him coming — —his noble look—and my wretchedness before. Such a change! In one moment such a change! From perfect misery to perfect happiness!"

"Why, to own the truth,"

"if I must speak on this subject, there is no denying that Mr. Frank Churchill might have —I do not mean to say that he did not dream it— I am sure I have sometimes the oddest dreams in the world— but if I am questioned about it, I must acknowledge that there was such an idea last spring; for Mrs. Perry herself mentioned it to my mother, and the Coles knew of it as well as ourselves—but it was quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only thought of about three days. Mrs. Perry was very anxious that he should have a carriage, and came to my mother in great spirits one morning because she thought she had prevailed. Jane, don't you remember grandmama's telling us of it when we got home? I forget where we had been walking to— very likely to Randalls; yes, I think it was to Randalls. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my mother —indeed I do not know who is not —and she had mentioned it to her in confidence; she had no objection to her telling us, of course, but it was not to go beyond: and, from that day to this, I never mentioned it to a soul that I know of. At the same time, I will not positively answer for my having never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop out a thing before I am aware. I am a talker, you know; I am rather a talker; and now and then I have let a thing escape me which I should not. I am not like Jane; I wish I were. I will answer for it she never betrayed the least thing in the world. Where is she?—Oh! just behind. Perfectly remember Mrs. Perry's coming.—Extraordinary dream, indeed!"

"Aye, very true, my dear,"

"I was just going to say the same thing. It is time for us to be going indeed. The evening is closing in, and grandmama will be looking for us. My dear sir, you are too obliging. We really must wish you good night."

"Oh! very well,"

"then I need not be uneasy.

That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't I?

Do not you all think I shall?"

"Ah!—well— to be sure. Yes, I see what she means,

and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend."

"If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am quite ready. I was ready to have gone with her, but this will do just as well. We shall soon overtake her. There she is—no, that's somebody else. That's one of the ladies in the Irish car party, not at all like her.—Well, I declare—"

"Well, my dear, I shall say you are laid down upon the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough."

"Very happy and obliged"—

"Ah! Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are!—I suppose you have heard—and are come to give us joy. This does not seem much like joy, indeed, in me—

but it will be very trying for us to part with her, after having had her so long, and she has a dreadful headache just now, writing all the morning:—such long letters, you know, to be written to Colonel Campbell, and Mrs. Dixon. 'My dear,' said I, 'you will blind yourself'—for tears were in her eyes perpetually. One cannot wonder, one cannot wonder. It is a great change; and though she is amazingly fortunate —such a situation, I suppose, as no young woman before ever met with on first going out— do not think us ungrateful, Miss Woodhouse, for such surprising good fortune—

but, poor dear soul! if you were to see what a headache she has. When one is in great pain, you know one cannot feel any blessing quite as it may deserve. She is as low as possible. To look at her, nobody would think how delighted and happy she is to have secured such a situation. You will excuse her not coming to you —she is not able— she is gone into her own room —I want her to lie down upon the bed. 'My dear,' said I, 'I shall say you are laid down upon the bed:' but, however, she is not; she is walking about the room. But, now that she has written her letters,

she says

She will be extremely sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your kindness will excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door —I was quite ashamed—but somehow there was a little bustle—for it so happened that we had not heard the knock, and till you were on the stairs, we did not know any body was coming. 'It is only Mrs. Cole,' said I, 'depend upon it. Nobody else would come so early.'

said she,

But then Patty came in, and said it was you. 'Oh!' said I, 'it is Miss Woodhouse: I am sure you will like to see her.'—

said she; and up she got, and would go away; and that was what made us keep you waiting—and extremely sorry and ashamed we were. 'If you must go, my dear,' said I, 'you must, and I will say you are laid down upon the bed.'"

"So very kind!"

"But you are always kind."

"To a Mrs. Smallridge— charming woman— most superior— — to have the charge of her three little girls —delightful children. Impossible that any situation could be more replete with comfort; if we except, perhaps, Mrs. Suckling's own family, and Mrs. Bragge's; but Mrs. Smallridge is intimate with both, and in the very same neighbourhood:—lives only four miles from Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove."