by Jane Austen (1811)

CHAPTER 1

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.

Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,

in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,

they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage

the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.

The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived

to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life,

had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.

But her death, which happened ten years before his own,

produced a great alteration in his home; for to supply her loss,

he invited and received into his house the family of his nephew

Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritor of the Norland estate,

and the person to whom he intended to bequeath it.

In the society of his nephew and niece, and their children,

the old Gentleman's days were comfortably spent.

His attachment to them all increased. The constant attention

of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded

not merely from interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him

every degree of solid comfort which his age could receive;

and the cheerfulness of the children added a relish

to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his

present lady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man,

was amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had

been large, and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.

By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,

he added to his wealth. To him therefore the succession to

the Norland estate was not so really important as to his sisters;

for their fortune, independent of what might arise to them from

their father's inheriting that property, could be but small.

Their mother had nothing, and their father only seven thousand

pounds in his own disposal; for the remaining moiety of his first

wife's fortune was also secured to her child, and he had only a

life-interest in it.

The old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost

every other will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure.

He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave

his estate from his nephew;--but he left it to him on

such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.

Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife

and daughters than for himself or his son;--but to his son,

and his son's son, a child of four years old, it was secured,

in such a way, as to leave to himself no power of providing for

those who were most dear to him, and who most needed a provision

by any charge on the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.

The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,

in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,

had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by such attractions

as are by no means unusual in children of two or three years old;

an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his

own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise,

as to outweigh all the value of all the attention which,

for years, he had received from his niece and her daughters.

He meant not to be unkind, however, and, as a mark of his

affection for the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds

a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe; but his

temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably

hope to live many years, and by living economically, lay by a

considerable sum from the produce of an estate already large,

and capable of almost immediate improvement. But the fortune,

which had been so tardy in coming, was his only one twelvemonth.

He survived his uncle no longer; and ten thousand pounds,

including the late legacies, was all that remained for his

widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,

and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strength

and urgency which illness could command, the interest of his

mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the family;

but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at such a time,

and he promised to do every thing in his power to make them comfortable.

His father was rendered easy by such an assurance, and Mr. John Dashwood had

then leisure to consider how much there might prudently be in his power to

do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold

hearted and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but he was,

in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety

in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more

amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable

than he was:--he might even have been made amiable himself;

for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.

But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;--

more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself

to increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand

pounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it.

The prospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income,

besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune, warmed his heart,

and made him feel capable of generosity.--"Yes, he would give

them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome!

It would be enough to make them completely easy. Three thousand pounds!

he could spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience."--

He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,

and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood,

without sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law,

arrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute

her right to come; the house was her husband's from the moment

of his father's decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was

so much the greater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation,

with only common feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;--

but in HER mind there was a sense of honor so keen, a generosity

so romantic, that any offence of the kind, by whomsoever given

or received, was to her a source of immoveable disgust.

Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with any of her

husband's family; but she had had no opportunity, till the present,

of shewing them with how little attention to the comfort of other

people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour,

and so earnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it,

that, on the arrival of the latter, she would have quitted

the house for ever, had not the entreaty of her eldest girl

induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going,

and her own tender love for all her three children determined

her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach

with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was so effectual,

possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment,

which qualified her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor

of her mother, and enabled her frequently to counteract,

to the advantage of them all, that eagerness of mind in

Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led to imprudence.

She had an excellent heart;--her disposition was affectionate,

and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them:

it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;

and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to

Elinor's. She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything:

her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous,

amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent.

The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister's sensibility;

but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished.

They encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction.

The agony of grief which overpowered them at first,

was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again and again.

They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase

of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,

and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.

Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could struggle,

she could exert herself. She could consult with her brother,

could receive her sister-in-law on her arrival, and treat her

with proper attention; and could strive to rouse her mother to

similar exertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl;

but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne's romance,

without having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen,

bid fair to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.

CHAPTER 2

Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her

mother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors.

As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility;

and by her husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody

beyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really pressed them,

with some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no

plan appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till

she could accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood,

his invitation was accepted.

A continuance in a place where everything reminded her of former delight,

was exactly what suited her mind. In seasons of cheerfulness, no temper

could be more cheerful than hers, or possess, in a greater degree,

that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness itself.

But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy, and as far

beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond alloy.

Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her husband

intended to do for his sisters. To take three thousand pounds

from the fortune of their dear little boy would be impoverishing

him to the most dreadful degree. She begged him to think

again on the subject. How could he answer it to himself

to rob his child, and his only child too, of so large a sum?

And what possible claim could the Miss Dashwoods, who were

related to him only by half blood, which she considered as no

relationship at all, have on his generosity to so large an amount.

It was very well known that no affection was ever supposed

to exist between the children of any man by different marriages;

and why was he to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry,

by giving away all his money to his half sisters?

"It was my father's last request to me," replied her husband,

"that I should assist his widow and daughters."

"He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say;

ten to one but he was light-headed at the time.

Had he been in his right senses, he could not have thought

of such a thing as begging you to give away half your fortune

from your own child."

"He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny;

he only requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make

their situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do.

Perhaps it would have been as well if he had left it wholly

to myself. He could hardly suppose I should neglect them.

But as he required the promise, I could not do less than give it;

at least I thought so at the time. The promise, therefore, was given,

and must be performed. Something must be done for them whenever

they leave Norland and settle in a new home."

"Well, then, LET something be done for them; but THAT something

need not be three thousand pounds. Consider," she added,

"that when the money is once parted with, it never can return.

Your sisters will marry, and it will be gone for ever.

If, indeed, it could be restored to our poor little boy--"

"Why, to be sure," said her husband, very gravely,

"that would make great difference. The time may come

when Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted with.

If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it would be

a very convenient addition."

"To be sure it would."

"Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the sum

were diminished one half.--Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious

increase to their fortunes!"

"Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would

do half so much for his sisters, even if REALLY his sisters!

And as it is--only half blood!--But you have such a generous spirit!"

"I would not wish to do any thing mean," he replied.

"One had rather, on such occasions, do too much than too little.

No one, at least, can think I have not done enough for them:

even themselves, they can hardly expect more."

"There is no knowing what THEY may expect," said the lady,

"but we are not to think of their expectations: the question is,

what you can afford to do."

"Certainly--and I think I may afford to give them five hundred

pounds a-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will

each have about three thousand pounds on their mother's death--

a very comfortable fortune for any young woman."

"To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no

addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst them.

If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do not, they may

all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten thousand pounds."

"That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon the whole,

it would not be more advisable to do something for their mother while

she lives, rather than for them--something of the annuity kind I mean.--

My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as herself.

A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable."

His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this plan.

"To be sure," said she, "it is better than parting with fifteen

hundred pounds at once. But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood should live

fifteen years we shall be completely taken in."

"Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that purchase."

"Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever

when there is an annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout

and healthy, and hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business;

it comes over and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it.

You are not aware of what you are doing. I have known a great

deal of the trouble of annuities; for my mother was clogged

with the payment of three to old superannuated servants by my

father's will, and it is amazing how disagreeable she found it.

Twice every year these annuities were to be paid; and then there

was the trouble of getting it to them; and then one of them was said

to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be no such thing.

My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not her own,

she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more

unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been

entirely at my mother's disposal, without any restriction whatever.

It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I

would not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world."

"It is certainly an unpleasant thing," replied Mr. Dashwood,

"to have those kind of yearly drains on one's income.

One's fortune, as your mother justly says, is NOT one's own.

To be tied down to the regular payment of such a sum, on every rent day,

is by no means desirable: it takes away one's independence."

"Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it.

They think themselves secure, you do no more than what

is expected, and it raises no gratitude at all. If I were you,

whatever I did should be done at my own discretion entirely.

I would not bind myself to allow them any thing yearly.

It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a hundred, or even

fifty pounds from our own expenses."

"I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there should

by no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them occasionally will be

of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because they would

only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a larger income,

and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end of the year.

It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty pounds,

now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money, and will,

I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father."

"To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced

within myself that your father had no idea of your giving them

any money at all. The assistance he thought of, I dare say,

was only such as might be reasonably expected of you; for instance,

such as looking out for a comfortable small house for them,

helping them to move their things, and sending them presents

of fish and game, and so forth, whenever they are in season.

I'll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed, it would

be very strange and unreasonable if he did. Do but consider,

my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law

and her daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand pounds,

besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls,

which brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course,

they will pay their mother for their board out of it.

Altogether, they will have five hundred a-year amongst them,

and what on earth can four women want for more than that?--

They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will be nothing at all.

They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any servants;

they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of any kind!

Only conceive how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a year!

I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it;

and as to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it.

They will be much more able to give YOU something."

"Upon my word," said Mr. Dashwood, "I believe you are perfectly right.

My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me

than what you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly

fulfil my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them

as you have described. When my mother removes into another house my

services shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can.

Some little present of furniture too may be acceptable then."

"Certainly," returned Mrs. John Dashwood. "But, however, ONE thing

must be considered. When your father and mother moved to Norland,

though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china,

plate, and linen was saved, and is now left to your mother.

Her house will therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon

as she takes it."

"That is a material consideration undoubtedly. A valuable legacy indeed!

And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant addition to our

own stock here."

"Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome

as what belongs to this house. A great deal too handsome,

in my opinion, for any place THEY can ever afford to live in.

But, however, so it is. Your father thought only of THEM.

And I must say this: that you owe no particular gratitude to him,

nor attention to his wishes; for we very well know that if he could,

he would have left almost everything in the world to THEM."

This argument was irresistible. It gave to his intentions

whatever of decision was wanting before; and he finally resolved,

that it would be absolutely unnecessary, if not highly indecorous,

to do more for the widow and children of his father, than such kind

of neighbourly acts as his own wife pointed out.

CHAPTER 3

Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months;

not from any disinclination to move when the sight of every

well known spot ceased to raise the violent emotion which it

produced for a while; for when her spirits began to revive,

and her mind became capable of some other exertion than that

of heightening its affliction by melancholy remembrances,

she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her inquiries

for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland;

for to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible.

But she could hear of no situation that at once answered

her notions of comfort and ease, and suited the prudence

of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment rejected

several houses as too large for their income, which her mother

would have approved.

Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn

promise on the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort

to his last earthly reflections. She doubted the sincerity

of this assurance no more than he had doubted it himself,

and she thought of it for her daughters' sake with satisfaction,

though as for herself she was persuaded that a much smaller

provision than 7000L would support her in affluence.

For their brother's sake, too, for the sake of his own heart,

she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust

to his merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity.

His attentive behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced

her that their welfare was dear to him, and, for a long time,

she firmly relied on the liberality of his intentions.

The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance,

felt for her daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther

knowledge of her character, which half a year's residence in her

family afforded; and perhaps in spite of every consideration

of politeness or maternal affection on the side of the former,

the two ladies might have found it impossible to have lived together

so long, had not a particular circumstance occurred to give still

greater eligibility, according to the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood,

to her daughters' continuance at Norland.

This circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and

the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentleman-like and pleasing young man,

who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister's establishment

at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of his time there.

Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of interest,

for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died very rich;

and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, for, except a

trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his mother.

But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration.

It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable, that he loved

her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality. It was contrary

to every doctrine of her's that difference of fortune should keep

any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition;

and that Elinor's merit should not be acknowledged by every one who knew her,

was to her comprehension impossible.

Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any

peculiar graces of person or address. He was not handsome,

and his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing.

He was too diffident to do justice to himself; but when his natural

shyness was overcome, his behaviour gave every indication of an open,

affectionate heart. His understanding was good, and his education

had given it solid improvement. But he was neither fitted by abilities

nor disposition to answer the wishes of his mother and sister,

who longed to see him distinguished--as--they hardly knew what.

They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner

or other. His mother wished to interest him in political concerns,

to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of

the great men of the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise;

but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could

be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving

a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches.

All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet of private life.

Fortunately he had a younger brother who was more promising.

Edward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged

much of Mrs. Dashwood's attention; for she was, at that time,

in such affliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects.

She saw only that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it.

He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation.

She was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a reflection

which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference between him

and his sister. It was a contrast which recommended him most forcibly

to her mother.

"It is enough," said she; "to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough.

It implies everything amiable. I love him already."

"I think you will like him," said Elinor, "when you know more of him."

"Like him!" replied her mother with a smile. "I feel no sentiment

of approbation inferior to love."

"You may esteem him."

"I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love."

Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him.

Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his reserve.

She speedily comprehended all his merits; the persuasion

of his regard for Elinor perhaps assisted her penetration;

but she really felt assured of his worth: and even

that quietness of manner, which militated against all her

established ideas of what a young man's address ought to be,

was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm

and his temper affectionate.

No sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his behaviour to Elinor,

than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and looked forward

to their marriage as rapidly approaching.

"In a few months, my dear Marianne." said she, "Elinor will,

in all probability be settled for life. We shall miss her;

but SHE will be happy."

"Oh! Mamma, how shall we do without her?"

"My love, it will be scarcely a separation. We shall live within

a few miles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives.

You will gain a brother, a real, affectionate brother.

I have the highest opinion in the world of Edward's heart.

But you look grave, Marianne; do you disapprove your sister's choice?"

"Perhaps," said Marianne, "I may consider it with some surprise.

Edward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. But yet--he is not the kind

of young man--there is something wanting--his figure is not striking;

it has none of that grace which I should expect in the man who could

seriously attach my sister. His eyes want all that spirit, that fire,

which at once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all this,

I am afraid, Mamma, he has no real taste. Music seems scarcely

to attract him, and though he admires Elinor's drawings very much,

it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their worth.

It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws,

that in fact he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover,

not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united.

I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide

with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the same

music must charm us both. Oh! mama, how spiritless, how tame was Edward's

manner in reading to us last night! I felt for my sister most severely.

Yet she bore it with so much composure, she seemed scarcely to notice it.

I could hardly keep my seat. To hear those beautiful lines which have

frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness,

such dreadful indifference!"--

"He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose.

I thought so at the time; but you WOULD give him Cowper."

"Nay, Mamma, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!--but we must

allow for difference of taste. Elinor has not my feelings,

and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy with him.

But it would have broke MY heart, had I loved him, to hear

him read with so little sensibility. Mama, the more I

know of the world, the more am I convinced that I shall

never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much!

He must have all Edward's virtues, and his person and manners must

ornament his goodness with every possible charm."

"Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen.

It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness.

Why should you be less fortunate than your mother?

In one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your destiny be

different from her's!"

CHAPTER 4

"What a pity it is, Elinor," said Marianne, "that Edward should

have no taste for drawing."

"No taste for drawing!" replied Elinor, "why should you think so?

He does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure

in seeing the performances of other people, and I assure you

he is by no means deficient in natural taste, though he has

not had opportunities of improving it. Had he ever been

in the way of learning, I think he would have drawn very well.

He distrusts his own judgment in such matters so much,

that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any picture;

but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste,

which in general direct him perfectly right."

Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject;

but the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited

in him by the drawings of other people, was very far from that

rapturous delight, which, in her opinion, could alone be called taste.

Yet, though smiling within herself at the mistake, she honoured

her sister for that blind partiality to Edward which produced it.

"I hope, Marianne," continued Elinor, "you do not consider him as deficient

in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot, for your

behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if THAT were your opinion,

I am sure you could never be civil to him."

Marianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound the feelings

of her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe

was impossible. At length she replied:

"Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every

thing equal to your sense of his merits. I have not had

so many opportunities of estimating the minuter propensities

of his mind, his inclinations and tastes, as you have; but I

have the highest opinion in the world of his goodness and sense.

I think him every thing that is worthy and amiable."

"I am sure," replied Elinor, with a smile, "that his dearest

friends could not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that.

I do not perceive how you could express yourself more warmly."

Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.

"Of his sense and his goodness," continued Elinor,

"no one can, I think, be in doubt, who has seen him

often enough to engage him in unreserved conversation.

The excellence of his understanding and his principles can be

concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps him silent.

You know enough of him to do justice to his solid worth.

But of his minuter propensities, as you call them you have from

peculiar circumstances been kept more ignorant than myself.

He and I have been at times thrown a good deal together, while you

have been wholly engrossed on the most affectionate principle

by my mother. I have seen a great deal of him, have studied

his sentiments and heard his opinion on subjects of literature

and taste; and, upon the whole, I venture to pronounce that his

mind is well-informed, enjoyment of books exceedingly great,

his imagination lively, his observation just and correct,

and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in every respect

improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person.

At first sight, his address is certainly not striking;

and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the expression

of his eyes, which are uncommonly good, and the general sweetness

of his countenance, is perceived. At present, I know him so well,

that I think him really handsome; or at least, almost so.

What say you, Marianne?"

"I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now.

When you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see

imperfection in his face, than I now do in his heart."

Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for

the warmth she had been betrayed into, in speaking of him.

She felt that Edward stood very high in her opinion.

She believed the regard to be mutual; but she required greater

certainty of it to make Marianne's conviction of their

attachment agreeable to her. She knew that what Marianne

and her mother conjectured one moment, they believed the next--

that with them, to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect.

She tried to explain the real state of the case to her sister.

"I do not attempt to deny," said she, "that I think very highly of him--

that I greatly esteem, that I like him."

Marianne here burst forth with indignation--

"Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor!

Oh! worse than cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise.

Use those words again, and I will leave the room this moment."

Elinor could not help laughing. "Excuse me," said she; "and be assured

that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way,

of my own feelings. Believe them to be stronger than I have declared;

believe them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion--

the hope of his affection for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly.

But farther than this you must not believe. I am by no means

assured of his regard for me. There are moments when the extent

of it seems doubtful; and till his sentiments are fully known,

you cannot wonder at my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my

own partiality, by believing or calling it more than it is.

In my heart I feel little--scarcely any doubt of his preference.

But there are other points to be considered besides his inclination.

He is very far from being independent. What his mother really is we

cannot know; but, from Fanny's occasional mention of her conduct

and opinions, we have never been disposed to think her amiable;

and I am very much mistaken if Edward is not himself aware that there

would be many difficulties in his way, if he were to wish to marry a woman

who had not either a great fortune or high rank."

Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother

and herself had outstripped the truth.

"And you really are not engaged to him!" said she. "Yet it certainly

soon will happen. But two advantages will proceed from this delay.

I shall not lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity

of improving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit

which must be so indispensably necessary to your future felicity.

Oh! if he should be so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to

draw himself, how delightful it would be!"

Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister.

She could not consider her partiality for Edward in so

prosperous a state as Marianne had believed it. There was,

at times, a want of spirits about him which, if it did not

denote indifference, spoke a something almost as unpromising.

A doubt of her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not give

him more than inquietude. It would not be likely to produce

that dejection of mind which frequently attended him.

A more reasonable cause might be found in the dependent

situation which forbad the indulgence of his affection.

She knew that his mother neither behaved to him so as to make

his home comfortable at present, nor to give him any assurance

that he might form a home for himself, without strictly attending

to her views for his aggrandizement. With such a knowledge as this,

it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject.

She was far from depending on that result of his preference of her,

which her mother and sister still considered as certain.

Nay, the longer they were together the more doubtful seemed

the nature of his regard; and sometimes, for a few painful minutes,

she believed it to be no more than friendship.

But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough,

when perceived by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the

same time, (which was still more common,) to make her uncivil.

She took the first opportunity of affronting her mother-in-law

on the occasion, talking to her so expressively of her

brother's great expectations, of Mrs. Ferrars's resolution

that both her sons should marry well, and of the danger

attending any young woman who attempted to DRAW HIM IN;

that Mrs. Dashwood could neither pretend to be unconscious,

nor endeavor to be calm. She gave her an answer which marked

her contempt, and instantly left the room, resolving that,

whatever might be the inconvenience or expense of so sudden

a removal, her beloved Elinor should not be exposed another week

to such insinuations.

In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from

the post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed.

It was the offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to

a relation of her own, a gentleman of consequence and property

in Devonshire. The letter was from this gentleman himself,

and written in the true spirit of friendly accommodation.

He understood that she was in need of a dwelling;

and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage,

he assured her that everything should be done to it which

she might think necessary, if the situation pleased her.

He earnestly pressed her, after giving the particulars of

the house and garden, to come with her daughters to Barton Park,

the place of his own residence, from whence she might judge,

herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses were in the

same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable to her.

He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole

of his letter was written in so friendly a style as could

not fail of giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially

at a moment when she was suffering under the cold and unfeeling

behaviour of her nearer connections. She needed no time for

deliberation or inquiry. Her resolution was formed as she read.

The situation of Barton, in a county so far distant from Sussex

as Devonshire, which, but a few hours before, would have been

a sufficient objection to outweigh every possible advantage

belonging to the place, was now its first recommendation.

To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an evil;

it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison

of the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law's guest;

and to remove for ever from that beloved place would be less painful

than to inhabit or visit it while such a woman was its mistress.

She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton her acknowledgment

of his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal;

and then hastened to shew both letters to her daughters,

that she might be secure of their approbation before her

answer were sent.

Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at some

distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present acquaintance.

On THAT head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her mother's intention

of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as described by Sir John,

was on so simple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate, as to leave

her no right of objection on either point; and, therefore, though it was not

a plan which brought any charm to her fancy, though it was a removal from

the vicinity of Norland beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her

mother from sending a letter of acquiescence.

CHAPTER 5

No sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwood indulged herself

in the pleasure of announcing to her son-in-law and his wife that she was

provided with a house, and should incommode them no longer than till every

thing were ready for her inhabiting it. They heard her with surprise.

Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civilly hoped that she would

not be settled far from Norland. She had great satisfaction in replying

that she was going into Devonshire.--Edward turned hastily towards her,

on hearing this, and, in a voice of surprise and concern, which required

no explanation to her, repeated, "Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there?

So far from hence! And to what part of it?" She explained the situation.

It was within four miles northward of Exeter.

"It is but a cottage," she continued, "but I hope to see

many of my friends in it. A room or two can easily be added;

and if my friends find no difficulty in travelling so far to see me,

I am sure I will find none in accommodating them."

She concluded with a very kind invitation to Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood to

visit her at Barton; and to Edward she gave one with still greater affection.

Though her late conversation with her daughter-in-law had made her resolve

on remaining at Norland no longer than was unavoidable, it had not produced

the smallest effect on her in that point to which it principally tended.

To separate Edward and Elinor was as far from being her object as ever;

and she wished to show Mrs. John Dashwood, by this pointed invitation to

her brother, how totally she disregarded her disapprobation of the match.

Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry

he was that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as

to prevent his being of any service to her in removing her furniture.

He really felt conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very

exertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise

to his father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.--

The furniture was all sent around by water. It chiefly consisted

of household linen, plate, china, and books, with a handsome pianoforte

of Marianne's. Mrs. John Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh:

she could not help feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood's income would

be so trifling in comparison with their own, she should have any handsome

article of furniture.

Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was

ready furnished, and she might have immediate possession.

No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; and she waited

only for the disposal of her effects at Norland, and to determine

her future household, before she set off for the west; and this,

as she was exceedingly rapid in the performance of everything

that interested her, was soon done.--The horses which were left

her by her husband had been sold soon after his death, and an

opportunity now offering of disposing of her carriage, she agreed

to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her eldest daughter.

For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her own wishes,

she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor prevailed.

HER wisdom too limited the number of their servants to three;

two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from

amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland.

The man and one of the maids were sent off immediately into Devonshire,

to prepare the house for their mistress's arrival; for as Lady Middleton

was entirely unknown to Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going directly

to the cottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she relied

so undoubtingly on Sir John's description of the house, as to feel

no curiosity to examine it herself till she entered it as her own.

Her eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from diminution

by the evident satisfaction of her daughter-in-law in the prospect

of her removal; a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be

concealed under a cold invitation to her to defer her departure.

Now was the time when her son-in-law's promise to his father might

with particular propriety be fulfilled. Since he had neglected

to do it on first coming to the estate, their quitting his house

might be looked on as the most suitable period for its accomplishment.

But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly to give over every hope of the kind,

and to be convinced, from the general drift of his discourse,

that his assistance extended no farther than their maintenance for six

months at Norland. He so frequently talked of the increasing expenses

of housekeeping, and of the perpetual demands upon his purse, which a man

of any consequence in the world was beyond calculation exposed to,

that he seemed rather to stand in need of more money himself than to have

any design of giving money away.

In a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John Middleton's first

letter to Norland, every thing was so far settled in their future abode

as to enable Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their journey.

Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place

so much beloved. "Dear, dear Norland!" said Marianne, as she wandered

alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there;

"when shall I cease to regret you!--when learn to feel a home elsewhere!--

Oh! happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing you

from this spot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more!--

And you, ye well-known trees!--but you will continue the same.--

No leaf will decay because we are removed, nor any branch become

motionless although we can observe you no longer!--No; you will continue

the same; unconscious of the pleasure or the regret you occasion,

and insensible of any change in those who walk under your shade!--

But who will remain to enjoy you?"

CHAPTER 6

The first part of their journey was performed in too melancholy

a disposition to be otherwise than tedious and unpleasant.

But as they drew towards the end of it, their interest in the appearance

of a country which they were to inhabit overcame their dejection,

and a view of Barton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness.

It was a pleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture.

After winding along it for more than a mile, they reached their own house.

A small green court was the whole of its demesne in front; and a neat

wicket gate admitted them into it.

As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable and compact;

but as a cottage it was defective, for the building was regular,

the roof was tiled, the window shutters were not painted green,

nor were the walls covered with honeysuckles. A narrow passage

led directly through the house into the garden behind.

On each side of the entrance was a sitting room, about sixteen

feet square; and beyond them were the offices and the stairs.

Four bed-rooms and two garrets formed the rest of the house.

It had not been built many years and was in good repair. In comparison

of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!--but the tears which recollection

called forth as they entered the house were soon dried away.

They were cheered by the joy of the servants on their arrival,

and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy.

It was very early in September; the season was fine, and from first

seeing the place under the advantage of good weather, they received

an impression in its favour which was of material service in recommending

it to their lasting approbation.

The situation of the house was good. High hills rose

immediately behind, and at no great distance on each side;

some of which were open downs, the others cultivated and woody.

The village of Barton was chiefly on one of these hills,

and formed a pleasant view from the cottage windows.

The prospect in front was more extensive; it commanded

the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond.

The hills which surrounded the cottage terminated the valley

in that direction; under another name, and in another course,

it branched out again between two of the steepest of them.

With the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwood was upon

the whole well satisfied; for though her former style of life rendered

many additions to the latter indispensable, yet to add and improve

was a delight to her; and she had at this time ready money enough

to supply all that was wanted of greater elegance to the apartments.

"As for the house itself, to be sure," said she, "it is too small

for our family, but we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable

for the present, as it is too late in the year for improvements.

Perhaps in the spring, if I have plenty of money, as I dare say I shall,

we may think about building. These parlors are both too small for

such parties of our friends as I hope to see often collected here;

and I have some thoughts of throwing the passage into one of them

with perhaps a part of the other, and so leave the remainder

of that other for an entrance; this, with a new drawing room

which may be easily added, and a bed-chamber and garret above,

will make it a very snug little cottage. I could wish

the stairs were handsome. But one must not expect every thing;

though I suppose it would be no difficult matter to widen them.

I shall see how much I am before-hand with the world in the spring,

and we will plan our improvements accordingly."

In the mean time, till all these alterations could be made

from the savings of an income of five hundred a-year by a woman

who never saved in her life, they were wise enough to be contented

with the house as it was; and each of them was busy in arranging

their particular concerns, and endeavoring, by placing around

them books and other possessions, to form themselves a home.

Marianne's pianoforte was unpacked and properly disposed of;

and Elinor's drawings were affixed to the walls of their sitting room.

In such employments as these they were interrupted soon after breakfast

the next day by the entrance of their landlord, who called to welcome

them to Barton, and to offer them every accommodation from his own

house and garden in which theirs might at present be deficient.

Sir John Middleton was a good looking man about forty.

He had formerly visited at Stanhill, but it was too long for his young

cousins to remember him. His countenance was thoroughly good-humoured;

and his manners were as friendly as the style of his letter.

Their arrival seemed to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfort

to be an object of real solicitude to him. He said much of his earnest

desire of their living in the most sociable terms with his family,

and pressed them so cordially to dine at Barton Park every day till they

were better settled at home, that, though his entreaties were carried

to a point of perseverance beyond civility, they could not give offence.

His kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour after he left them,

a large basket full of garden stuff and fruit arrived from the park,

which was followed before the end of the day by a present of game.

He insisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to and from the post

for them, and would not be denied the satisfaction of sending them his

newspaper every day.

Lady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him,

denoting her intention of waiting on Mrs. Dashwood as soon as she

could be assured that her visit would be no inconvenience;

and as this message was answered by an invitation equally polite,

her ladyship was introduced to them the next day.

They were, of course, very anxious to see a person on whom

so much of their comfort at Barton must depend; and the elegance

of her appearance was favourable to their wishes. Lady Middleton

was not more than six or seven and twenty; her face was handsome,

her figure tall and striking, and her address graceful.

Her manners had all the elegance which her husband's wanted.

But they would have been improved by some share of his frankness

and warmth; and her visit was long enough to detract something

from their first admiration, by shewing that, though perfectly

well-bred, she was reserved, cold, and had nothing to say for

herself beyond the most common-place inquiry or remark.

Conversation however was not wanted, for Sir John was very chatty,

and Lady Middleton had taken the wise precaution of bringing

with her their eldest child, a fine little boy about six years old,

by which means there was one subject always to be recurred to by

the ladies in case of extremity, for they had to enquire his name

and age, admire his beauty, and ask him questions which his mother

answered for him, while he hung about her and held down his head,

to the great surprise of her ladyship, who wondered at his being

so shy before company, as he could make noise enough at home.

On every formal visit a child ought to be of the party, by way

of provision for discourse. In the present case it took up ten

minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his father

or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of course

every body differed, and every body was astonished at the opinion

of the others.

An opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods of debating

on the rest of the children, as Sir John would not leave the house

without securing their promise of dining at the park the next day.

CHAPTER 7

Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The ladies had passed

near it in their way along the valley, but it was screened from their view

at home by the projection of a hill. The house was large and handsome;

and the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality and elegance.

The former was for Sir John's gratification, the latter for that of his lady.

They were scarcely ever without some friends staying with them in the house,

and they kept more company of every kind than any other family in

the neighbourhood. It was necessary to the happiness of both; for however

dissimilar in temper and outward behaviour, they strongly resembled each other

in that total want of talent and taste which confined their employments,

unconnected with such as society produced, within a very narrow compass.

Sir John was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot,

and she humoured her children; and these were their only resources.

Lady Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all

the year round, while Sir John's independent employments were in existence

only half the time. Continual engagements at home and abroad, however,

supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the good

spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his wife.

Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her table,

and of all her domestic arrangements; and from this kind

of vanity was her greatest enjoyment in any of their parties.

But Sir John's satisfaction in society was much more real;

he delighted in collecting about him more young people than his house

would hold, and the noisier they were the better was he pleased.

He was a blessing to all the juvenile part of the neighbourhood,

for in summer he was for ever forming parties to eat cold ham and

chicken out of doors, and in winter his private balls were numerous

enough for any young lady who was not suffering under the unsatiable

appetite of fifteen.

The arrival of a new family in the country was always a matter

of joy to him, and in every point of view he was charmed with

the inhabitants he had now procured for his cottage at Barton.

The Miss Dashwoods were young, pretty, and unaffected.

It was enough to secure his good opinion; for to be unaffected

was all that a pretty girl could want to make her mind as

captivating as her person. The friendliness of his disposition

made him happy in accommodating those, whose situation might

be considered, in comparison with the past, as unfortunate.

In showing kindness to his cousins therefore he had the real

satisfaction of a good heart; and in settling a family of females

only in his cottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman;

for a sportsman, though he esteems only those of his sex who are

sportsmen likewise, is not often desirous of encouraging their

taste by admitting them to a residence within his own manor.

Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the door of the house

by Sir John, who welcomed them to Barton Park with unaffected sincerity;

and as he attended them to the drawing room repeated to the young ladies

the concern which the same subject had drawn from him the day before,

at being unable to get any smart young men to meet them. They would see,

he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a particular friend

who was staying at the park, but who was neither very young nor very gay.

He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of the party, and could

assure them it should never happen so again. He had been to several

families that morning in hopes of procuring some addition to their number,

but it was moonlight and every body was full of engagements.

Luckily Lady Middleton's mother had arrived at Barton within the last hour,

and as she was a very cheerful agreeable woman, he hoped the young ladies

would not find it so very dull as they might imagine. The young ladies,

as well as their mother, were perfectly satisfied with having two entire

strangers of the party, and wished for no more.

Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton's mother, was a good-humoured, merry, fat,

elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar.

She was full of jokes and laughter, and before dinner was over had said

many witty things on the subject of lovers and husbands; hoped they had not

left their hearts behind them in Sussex, and pretended to see them blush

whether they did or not. Marianne was vexed at it for her sister's sake,

and turned her eyes towards Elinor to see how she bore these attacks,

with an earnestness which gave Elinor far more pain than could arise from such

common-place raillery as Mrs. Jennings's.

Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted

by resemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was

to be his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton's mother.

He was silent and grave. His appearance however was not unpleasing,

in spite of his being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an

absolute old bachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty;

but though his face was not handsome, his countenance was sensible,

and his address was particularly gentlemanlike.

There was nothing in any of the party which could recommend them

as companions to the Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady

Middleton was so particularly repulsive, that in comparison

of it the gravity of Colonel Brandon, and even the boisterous

mirth of Sir John and his mother-in-law was interesting.

Lady Middleton seemed to be roused to enjoyment only by the entrance

of her four noisy children after dinner, who pulled her about,

tore her clothes, and put an end to every kind of discourse except

what related to themselves.

In the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical,

she was invited to play. The instrument was unlocked, every body

prepared to be charmed, and Marianne, who sang very well,

at their request went through the chief of the songs which Lady

Middleton had brought into the family on her marriage, and which

perhaps had lain ever since in the same position on the pianoforte,

for her ladyship had celebrated that event by giving up music,

although by her mother's account, she had played extremely well,

and by her own was very fond of it.

Marianne's performance was highly applauded. Sir John was

loud in his admiration at the end of every song, and as loud

in his conversation with the others while every song lasted.

Lady Middleton frequently called him to order, wondered how any one's

attention could be diverted from music for a moment, and asked

Marianne to sing a particular song which Marianne had just finished.

Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, heard her without being

in raptures. He paid her only the compliment of attention;

and she felt a respect for him on the occasion, which the others

had reasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste.

His pleasure in music, though it amounted not to that ecstatic

delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was estimable

when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the others;

and she was reasonable enough to allow that a man of five

and thirty might well have outlived all acuteness of feeling

and every exquisite power of enjoyment. She was perfectly disposed

to make every allowance for the colonel's advanced state of life

which humanity required.

CHAPTER 8

Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure. She had only two daughters,

both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had

now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world.

In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as far as

her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting weddings

among all the young people of her acquaintance. She was remarkably

quick in the discovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the advantage

of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by insinuations

of her power over such a young man; and this kind of discernment

enabled her soon after her arrival at Barton decisively to pronounce

that Colonel Brandon was very much in love with Marianne Dashwood.

She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening of

their being together, from his listening so attentively while she

sang to them; and when the visit was returned by the Middletons'

dining at the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening

to her again. It must be so. She was perfectly convinced of it.

It would be an excellent match, for HE was rich, and SHE was handsome.

Mrs. Jennings had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married,

ever since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge;

and she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl.

The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable,

for it supplied her with endless jokes against them both.

At the park she laughed at the colonel, and in the cottage

at Marianne. To the former her raillery was probably,

as far as it regarded only himself, perfectly indifferent;

but to the latter it was at first incomprehensible; and when its

object was understood, she hardly knew whether most to laugh

at its absurdity, or censure its impertinence, for she considered

it as an unfeeling reflection on the colonel's advanced years,

and on his forlorn condition as an old bachelor.

Mrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years younger than herself,

so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of her daughter,

ventured to clear Mrs. Jennings from the probability of wishing to throw

ridicule on his age.

"But at least, Mamma, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation,

though you may not think it intentionally ill-natured. Colonel

Brandon is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old

enough to be MY father; and if he were ever animated enough to be

in love, must have long outlived every sensation of the kind.

It is too ridiculous! When is a man to be safe from such wit,

if age and infirmity will not protect him?"

"Infirmity!" said Elinor, "do you call Colonel Brandon infirm?

I can easily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than

to my mother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having

the use of his limbs!"

"Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not

that the commonest infirmity of declining life?"

"My dearest child," said her mother, laughing, "at this rate you must

be in continual terror of MY decay; and it must seem to you a miracle

that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty."

"Mamma, you are not doing me justice. I know very well that Colonel

Brandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of losing

him in the course of nature. He may live twenty years longer.

But thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony."

"Perhaps," said Elinor, "thirty-five and seventeen had

better not have any thing to do with matrimony together.

But if there should by any chance happen to be a woman who is

single at seven and twenty, I should not think Colonel Brandon's

being thirty-five any objection to his marrying HER."

"A woman of seven and twenty," said Marianne, after pausing

a moment, "can never hope to feel or inspire affection again,

and if her home be uncomfortable, or her fortune small, I can

suppose that she might bring herself to submit to the offices

of a nurse, for the sake of the provision and security of a wife.

In his marrying such a woman therefore there would be nothing unsuitable.

It would be a compact of convenience, and the world would be satisfied.

In my eyes it would be no marriage at all, but that would be nothing.

To me it would seem only a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be

benefited at the expense of the other."

"It would be impossible, I know," replied Elinor, "to convince you

that a woman of seven and twenty could feel for a man of thirty-five

anything near enough to love, to make him a desirable companion to her.

But I must object to your dooming Colonel Brandon and his wife to the constant

confinement of a sick chamber, merely because he chanced to complain yesterday

(a very cold damp day) of a slight rheumatic feel in one of his shoulders."

"But he talked of flannel waistcoats," said Marianne;

"and with me a flannel waistcoat is invariably connected

with aches, cramps, rheumatisms, and every species of ailment

that can afflict the old and the feeble."

"Had he been only in a violent fever, you would not have

despised him half so much. Confess, Marianne, is not there

something interesting to you in the flushed cheek, hollow eye,

a