Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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And that is all that I can recollect of it—but it is very clever all the way through. But I think, my dear, you said you had got it."
"Aye, very true.—I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was very near being christened Catherine after her grandmama. I hope we shall have her here next week. Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put her—and what room there will be for the children?"
"I do not know, my dear—but it is so long since she was here!—not since last Easter, and then only for a few days.—Mr. John Knightley's being a lawyer is very inconvenient.—Poor Isabella!—she is sadly taken away from us all!—and how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see Miss Taylor here!"
"I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprized when I first heard she was going to be married."
"Yes, my dear, if there is time.—But—
she is coming for only one week. There will not be time for any thing."
"It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be anywhere but at Hartfield."
"But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to stay longer with us. She and the children might stay very well."
"Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they will be to come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet."
"Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama. Henry is the eldest, he was named after me, not after his father. John, the second, is named after his father. Some people are surprized, I believe, that the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I thought very pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed. They are all remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty ways. They will come and stand by my chair, and say,
'Grandpapa, can you give me a bit of string?'
  • Novel: Emma
  • Character: Mr. Woodhouse speaking as Mr Henry Knightley and John Jr Knightley
  • Link to text in chapter 9
  • Text ID: 00790
and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough with them very often."
"And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a very frightful way!"
"Well, I cannot understand it."
whether Mr. Woodhouse's party could be made up in the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every thing else must give way; but otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his dining with him— had made such a point of it, that he had promised him conditionally to come.
"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."
he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them;
"Ah, my dear,"
"poor Miss Taylor— It is a grievous business."
"Pretty well, my dear— I hope —pretty well.—I do not know but that the place agrees with her tolerably."
quietly whether there were any doubts of the air of Randalls.
"Very much to the honour of both,"
"Not near so often, my dear, as I could wish."
"Just as it should be,"
"and just as I hoped it was from your letters. Her wish of shewing you attention could not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and social man makes it all easy. I have been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea of the change being so very material to Hartfield as you apprehended; and now you have Emma's account, I hope you will be satisfied."
"Why, to be sure,"
"yes, certainly—I cannot deny that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston, does come and see us pretty often—but then—she is always obliged to go away again."
"I think, indeed,"
"that Mr. Weston has some little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture to take the part of the poor husband. I, being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims of the man may very likely strike us with equal force. As for Isabella, she has been married long enough to see the convenience of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can."
writing that note,
on purpose
to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham,
"Where is the young man?"
"Has he been here on this occasion—or has he not?"
"But you should tell them of the letter, my dear,"
"He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very proper, handsome letter it was. She shewed it to me. I thought it very well done of him indeed. Whether it was his own idea you know, one cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps—"
"Three-and-twenty!—is he indeed?—Well, I could not have thought it— and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother! Well, time does fly indeed!—and my memory is very bad. However, it was an exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal of pleasure. I remember it was written from Weymouth, and dated Sept. 28th—and began, 'My dear Madam,' but I forget how it went on; and it was signed 'F. C. Weston Churchill.'—I remember that perfectly."
"Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,"
"But you need not imagine Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather an easy, cheerful-tempered man, than a man of strong feelings; he takes things as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them somehow or other, depending, I suspect, much more upon what is called society for his comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking, and playing whist with his neighbours five times a week, than upon family affection, or any thing that home affords."
"If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think alike."
"Yes,"
"and reason good. I was sixteen years old when you were born."
"Yes— a good deal nearer."
"I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now."
"A man cannot be more so,"
"How d'ye do, George?"