Austen Said:

"Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters. She made me almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the love or good-nature of a brother who will not give himself the trouble of writing anything worth reading to his sisters, when they are separated. I am sure William would never have used me so, under any circumstances. And what right had she to suppose that you would not write long letters when you were absent?"

he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed, and of which she was almost always reminded by a something of the same nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was. Edmund was fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it enough that the Admiral had since been spared;

Edmund should forget her

what could be more natural than that Edmund should be making himself useful, and proving his good-nature by any one?

She could not but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved him the trouble;

it would have been particularly proper and becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr. Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and all his coachmanship, probably knew nothing of the matter, and had no active kindness in comparison of Edmund.

to think it rather hard upon the mare to have such double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered.

"No, I do not know— ot if you want the mare,"

"I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly,"

"I have been out very often lately, and would rather stay at home. You know I am strong enough now to walk very well."

she was on the sofa.

it was not very bad.

"Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat."

"it was a sort of building which she could not look at but with respect,"

"Now, where is the avenue? The house fronts the east, I perceive. The avenue, therefore, must be at the back of it. Mr. Rushworth talked of the west front."

"I am disappointed,"

"This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing awful here, nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no arches, no inscriptions, no banners. No banners, cousin, to be 'blown by the night wind of heaven.' No signs that a 'Scottish monarch sleeps below.'"

"It was foolish of me not to think of all that; but I am disappointed."

"It is a pity,"

"that the custom should have been discontinued. It was a valuable part of former times. There is something in a chapel and chaplain so much in character with a great house, with one's ideas of what such a household should be! A whole family assembling regularly for the purpose of prayer is fine!"

"How distressed she will be at what she said just now,"

"Certainly,"

"I wonder that I should be tired with only walking in this sweet wood; but the next time we come to a seat, if it is not disagreeable to you, I should be glad to sit down for a little while."

"I shall soon be rested,"

"to sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment."

she was rested,

"You will hurt yourself, Miss Bertram,"

"you will certainly hurt yourself against those spikes; you will tear your gown; you will be in danger of slipping into the ha-ha. You had better not go."

"But, Julia, Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment with the key. Do wait for Mr. Rushworth."

she had not seen Mr. Rushworth.

"It is a pity he should have so much trouble for nothing."

she had seen anything of Miss Crawford and Edmund.

"They desired me to stay— my cousin Maria charged me to say that you would find them at that knoll, or thereabouts."

"I am very sorry,"

"it is very unlucky."

"Miss Bertram thought you would follow her."

"I do not think him at all handsome."

"Nothing could be more obliging than your manner, I am sure, and I dare say you walked as fast as you could; but still it is some distance, you know, from this spot to the house, quite into the house; and when people are waiting, they are bad judges of time, and every half minute seems like five."

"It is a pity you should not join them. They expected to have a better view of the house from that part of the park, and will be thinking how it may be improved; and nothing of that sort, you know, can be settled without you."

"But that I am sure it has not,"

"It is the same sort of thing,"

"as for the son of an admiral to go into the navy, or the son of a general to be in the army, and nobody sees anything wrong in that. Nobody wonders that they should prefer the line where their friends can serve them best, or suspects them to be less in earnest in it than they appear."

"Poor William! He has met with great kindness from the chaplain of the Antwerp,"

"No,"

"but we need not give up his profession for all that; because, whatever profession Dr. Grant had chosen, he would have taken a— not a good temper into it; and as he must, either in the navy or army, have had a great many more people under his command than he has now, I think more would have been made unhappy by him as a sailor or soldier than as a clergyman. Besides, I cannot but suppose that whatever there may be to wish otherwise in Dr. Grant would have been in a greater danger of becoming worse in a more active and worldly profession, where he would have had less time and obligation— where he might have escaped that knowledge of himself, the frequency, at least, of that knowledge which it is impossible he should escape as he is now. A man— a sensible man like Dr. Grant, cannot be in the habit of teaching others their duty every week, cannot go to church twice every Sunday, and preach such very good sermons in so good a manner as he does, without being the better for it himself. It must make him think; and I have no doubt that he oftener endeavours to restrain himself than he would if he had been anything but a clergyman."

"Here's harmony!"

"here's repose! Here's what may leave all painting and all music behind, and what poetry only can attempt to describe! Here's what may tranquillise every care, and lift the heart to rapture! When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of Nature were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene."

"You taught me to think and feel on the subject, cousin."

"Yes, and the Bear. I wish I could see Cassiopeia."

"Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had any star-gazing."