این روزها ترجمه آنلاین به یکی از علایق وبگردهای فارسی زبان تبدیل شده ولی با تمام تلاش هایی که برای فراهم سازی یک مترجم فارسی و قدرتمند آنلاین صورت گرفته هنوز شاهد چنین اتفاقی نیستیم. تحقق این امر به یقین می تواند روند تولید و محتوا را در سایت های فارسی متحول کرده و به عبارت دیگر دامنه محتویات این سایت ها را توسعه دهد. همانقدر که در اینترنت از مترجم فارسی خبری نیست ، کاربران بسیاری از زبانهای دیگر این امکان را دارند که از ترجمه آنلاین بهره بگیرند. در این یادداشت به مهمترین مترجم های آنلاین کنونی در اینترنت اشاره شده است.

 ● مترجم آلتا ویستا: Bable Fish.Altavista.com مترجم آلتا ویستا قدیمی ترین و معروف ترین مترجم روی وب به حساب می آید. این مترجم قادر است صفحات اینترنتی یا بخشی از یک متن اینترنتی را به چند زبان رایج ترجمه کند. موتور ترجمه Bable Fish آلتا ویستا از مترجم قدرتمند سیستران بهره می گیرد. زبان هایی که مورد پشتیبانی مترجم آلتا ویستا هستند، عبارتند از: انگلیسی، آلمانی، هلندی، فرانسوی، اسپانیایی، ایتالیایی، پرتغالی، روسی، ژاپنی، یونانی و دو مورد از زبان های ساده شده چینی.

 ● مترجم گوگل: Translate. Google مترجم گوگل یکی دیگر از مترجم های معروف اینترنت است. البته این اعتبار بیشتر به ارایه آن از سوی کمپانی غول آسای گوگل باز می گردد و نمی توان آن را از نظر کارآیی با مترجم آلتا ویستا مقایسه کرد. مترجم گوگل همانند مترجم آلتا ویستا از دسته مترجم های معمولی (غیر تحصصی) به شمار می رود. این مترجم فعلاً زبان های انگلیسی، آلمانی، فرانسوی، اسپانیایی، پرتغالی و ایتالیایی را پشتیبانی می کند و زبان های چینی، ژاپنی، کره ای و عربی نیز به صورت Beta قابل استفاده اند. گفتنی است زبان عربی که به تازگی به فهرست گوگل اضافه شده هنوز در فهرست آلتا ویستا گنجانده نشده، حال آن که مترجم سیستران از یک سال قبل مترجم عربی خود را معرفی کرده است.

 ● مترجم یاهو: Bable Fish. Yahoo.com سرویس ترجمه یاهو نه محبوبیت گوگل را دارد و نه مقبولیت آلتا ویستا را. به نظر می رسد هدف اصلی یاهو برای ارایه یک مترجم آنلاین، رقابت با مترجم گوگل باشد. مترجم یاهو از تکنولوژی همسان با مترجم Bable Fish آلتا ویستا بهره می برد و تنها در طراحی آن کمی اختلاف دیده می شود. با این حال یاهو با افزودن مترجم خود به نوار ابزار یاهو (yahoo Toolbar) سعی کرده تا استفاده از مترجمش را گسترش دهد. یاهو همچنین امکان اضافه کردن مترجم خود به صفحات وب را به کاربر داده است.

 ● مترجم ورلد لینگو: Worldlingo Translator این مترجم قادر است علاوه بر ترجمه متون و صفحات وب، ایمیل ها را ترجمه کند. همچنین قابلیت ترجمه متون تخصصی را نیز دارد. علاوه براین می توان از کاراکترها در بین متون استفاده کرد و متن ترجمه شده نهایی را در یک نسخه قابل پرینت، تحویل گرفت. مترجم ورلد لینگو این امکان را به کاربر می دهد تا فایل های متنی مثل World، Excel، PDF، HTML را آپلود کرده و متن ترجمه شده آنها را دریافت کند.

 ● مترجم اینتر ترن: Intertran Translator مترجم اینتر ترن بیشتر به واسطه تنوع زبان هایش مورد توجه قرار گرفته است. این مترجم علاوه به زبانهای موجود در فهرست آلتا ویستا، قادر است متونی از زبانهای نروژی، سوئدی، فنلاندی، ایسلندی، ترکی، ولزی، لاتین، اسلونیایی، صربستانی، رومانیایی، مجارستانی، لهستانی، فیلیپینی، بلغاری، برزیلی، پرتغالی، دانمارکی، کرواسی و چک را به یکدیگر ترجمه کند. این مترجم البته قابلیت ترجمه صفحات وب را ندارد. بلکه کاربر می بایست متن خود را به صورت دستی وارد کرده و ترجمه را دریافت کند. آنها که از سرویس رایگان این مترجم استفاده می کنند محدودیت کاربری دارند (چند بار در دقیقه) و در صورت استفاده به دفعات زیاد در فاصله زمانی اندک، از سیستم پیغام خطا دریافت می کنند. سرویس غیر رایگان این مترجم چنین مشکلی ندارد.

 ● مترجم آیم: Im Translator مترجم آیم در مقایسه با نمونه های یاد شده از زبانهای کمتری پشتیبانی می کند، ولی به دلیل داشتن یک سری ویژگیهای جانبی مورد توجه قرار گرفته است. مهمترین ویژگی این مترجم امکان برگردانی متن اصلی به صورت همزمان است که می توان به وسیله آن صحت ترجمه را بررسی و با متن اصلی مقایسه کرد.

منبع: ماهنامه نفت پارس

روش اعجاب انگیز آموزش زبان انگلیسی!

"واقعیت این است که روشهایی برای یادگیری بهتر وجود دارند، روانشناسان با پژوهش های چندین ساله به این واقعیت رسیده اند که چگونگی فرآیند یادگیری از خود فرآیند یادگیری مهم تر است و از این رو باید به روش آموزشی که انتخاب می کنیم توجه ویژه ای داشته باشیم."

احتمالا شما هم این روزها با تبلیغات مختلفی در مجلات و اینترنت برخورد کرده اید که ادعا می کنند زبان انگلیسی را به طور معجزه آسا و در مدتی کوتاه به شما آموزش می دهند. انگلیسی در خواب، آموزش با امواج آلفا، روش X، روش MGM-PLN و ده‌ها اسم نا آشنا و جدید دیگر. ما در مورد این شیوه‌ها ابراز نظر نمی کنیم چون هرگز آنها را تجربه نکرده ایم اما اگر نگاهی به این نوع تبلیغات بیندازید می بینید که اساس همه آنها استفاده تبلیغاتی از تمایل افراد برای یادگیری سریع و بی دردسر زبان است. مسلما همه مشغله‌های درسی و کاری زیادی دارند و یا خود را برای آزمونی آماده می کنند که وقت چندانی تا آن باقی نمانده است. در این هنگام همه می خواهند به بهترین و سریعترین روش به یادگیری زبان بپردازند، اما برخی متاسفانه به این واقعیت توجه نمی کنند که اگر این روش‌های معجزه آسا واقعیت داشت، الان می بایست در بسیاری از کالج‌ها و مدارس دنیا که هر روز به دنبال شیوه‌های مدرن تر هستند به طور گسترده از این روشها استفاده می شد و حال آنکه شیوه‌های سنتی آموزش همچنان به قوت خود باقی هستند و شما هیچ خبری از موفقیت این شیوه‌ها در اخبار و تحقیقات پژوهشی نمی بینید.
اما واقعیت چیست؟ آیا همه این شیوه‌ها کذب محض است؟
واقعیت این است که روشهایی برای یادگیری بهتر وجود دارند، روانشناسان با پژوهش های چندین ساله به این واقعیت رسیده اند که چگونگی فرآیند یادگیری از خود فرآیند یادگیری مهم تر است و از این رو باید به روش آموزشی که انتخاب می کنیم توجه ویژه ای داشته باشیم. آنها همچنین به این اصل رسیده اند که مغز انسان تنها با تصاویر کار می کند، به عبارت دیگر هر چیزی که شما می شنوید، می بیند و یا می خوانید یا احساس می کنید برای پردازش در مغز ابتدا به صورت تصاویر ذهنی در می آیند و بعد مغز آن را درک می کند. برای درک بهتر این موضوع به واژه "درخت" توجه کنید. مغز شما بلافاصله بعد از برخورد با این واژه تصویر یک درخت را در ذهن شما بازسازی می کند، حالا سعی کنید در حالی که به واژه درخت توجه می کنید این تصویر را از ذهن خود خارج کنید، غیر ممکن است که بتوانید چنین کاری کنید و بفهمید درخت چیست و تصویر آن را در ذهن تجسم نکنید. حال به واژه "فلخکولوبیس" توجه کنید، این واژه حتما برای شما بی معنی است، تنها به این دلیل که مغز شما نمی تواند تصویر آن را تجسم کند و حال چنانچه پیوندی در مغز شما بین این واژه و یک تصویر وجود داشته باشد، به راحتی آنرا درک می کنید.
یادگیری یک زبان خارجی هم دقیقا فرآیندی مشابه است. بگذارید یک مثال واقعی بزنیم. شما مشغول مطالعه زبان انگلیسی هستید که ناگهان با لغت جدید “peacock” مواجه می شوید. در ابتدا این لغت کاملا برای شما نامفهوم و بی معنی است تا اینکه با مراجعه به فرهنگ لغت متوجه شوید معنی این لغت "طاووس" است. در این لحظه اتصال ذهنی بین لغت peacock و تصویر طاووس در ذهن شما شکل می گیرد، و البته با تکرار می توانید این پیوند را قوی تر و ماندگارتر کنید. حال اگر بخواهید در همان لحظه یک پیوند قوی بین این دو ایجاد کنید چه می کنید؟ در اینجاست که باید علاوه بر تکرار از تکنیک های کمکی استفاده کنید که به ایجاد هر چه بهتر این تصویر ذهنی کمک می کنند. گفتیم که مغز انسان با تصاویر کار می کند، پس هر چه تصویر ورودی به مغز واضح تر و شفاف تر باشد، به شکل بهتری در مغز ذخیره می شود. حال اگر لغت peacock را بشکافیم می بینیم که این لغت خود از دو لغت pea به معنی نخود سبز و cock به معنی خروش تشکیل شده است. حال می توانیم تصویری در ذهن خود مجسم کنیم که یک طاووس بسیار بزرگ مشغول خوردن نخود سبز است، البته این طاووس به جای دم زیبای خود یک دم خروس دارد. فقط کافی است تا یک لحظه این تصویر را به طور واضح در ذهن خود مجسم کنید تا دیگر به سختی بتوانید آن را فراموش کنید. حال هر وقت کسی از شما بپرسد که طاووس به انگلیسی چه می شود بلافاصله آن تصویر عجیب طاووس با دم خروس در حال خوردن نخودسبز در ذهن شما مجسم می شود و بعد از چند لحظه واژه peacock را به خاطر می آورید.
روشهایی وجود دارند که به وسیله آنها می توانید همه لغات، اعداد و حتی مفاهیم غیر شهودی(مانند دیدن، گرفتن، دوست داشتن و ...) را به صورت تصویر واضح در ذهن خود در بیاورید، به این روشها در اصطلاح "نمونیک" گفته می شود. طبق تعاریف "نمونیک (Mnemonics) عبارتست از تکنیک هایی برای به خاطر سپاری که تنها به تکرار مطالب اکتفا نمی کند. بلکه با ایجاد رابطه بین مفاهیم تازه و اطلاعات قبلی موجود در مغز که به راحتی یادآوری می شوند(تصاویر، ریتم، آهنگ و ...)، در به خاطرسپاری و یادآوری مطالب کمک می کند."
یکی از بهترین جاهایی که می توان از نمونیک استفاده کرد در فرآیند یادگیری یک زبان خارجی است. با این روش به سرعت و با حداقل تکرار می توان دایره لغات خود را تا حد چشمگیری افزایش داد، فراموش نکنید که همه کسانی که دارای حافظه خارق العاده هستند و یا توانایی صحبت کردن به چندین زبان مختلف را دارند به نوعی(شاید هم ندانسته) از این تکنیک ها بهره می برند و بدون استفاده از این تکنیک ها شاید حافظه آنها از افراد عادی هم ضعیف تر باشد. در مورد این تکنیکها در آینده به طور مفصل توضیح خواهیم داد. اما در پایان این نوشته خاطر نشان می کنیم که مبحث نمونیک بسیار گسترده بوده و همچنین اصلی ترین ابزار کمکی حافظه است. پس بهتر است از این به بعد روش اعجاب انگیز یادگیری زبان انگلیسی را به نام نمونیک بشناسیم.


منبع: http://learnenglish.webgah.net/articles.php?rq=283894

داستانهای کوتاه

وقتی سکوت نشانه قدرت است:

در تاریخ مشرق زمین شیوانا را استاد عشق و معرفت و دانایی می دانند، اما در عین حال کشاورز ماهری هم بود و باغ سیب بزرگی را اداره می کرد. درآمد حاصل از این باغ صرف مخارج مدرسه و هزینه زندگی شاگردان و مردم فقیر و درمانده می شد. درختان سیب باغ شیوانا هر سال نسبت به سال قبل بارور تر و شاداب تر می شدند و مردم برای خرید سراغ او می آمدند. یک سال تعداد سیب های برداشت شده بسیار زیادتر از از قبل بود و همه شاگردان نگران خراب شدن میوه‌های بودند. در دهکده ای دور کاهن یک معبد بود که به دلیل محبوبیت بیش از حد شیوانا، دائم پشت سر او بد می گفت و مردم را از خرید سیب های او بر حذر می داشت. چندین بار شاگردان از شیوانا خواستند تا کاهن معبد را گوش‌مالی دهند و او را جلوی معبد رسوا کنند، اما شیوانا دائما" آنها را به صبر و تحمل دعوت می کرد و از شاگردان می‌خواست تا صبور باشند و از دشمنی کاهن به نفع خود استفاده کنند. وقتی به شیوانا گفتند که تعداد سیب‌های برداشت شده امسال بیشتر از قبل است و بیم خراب شدن میوه‌های می‌رود٬ شیوانا به چند نفر از شاگردانش گفت که بخشی از سیب ها را با خود ببرند و به مردم ده به قیمت بالا بفروشند، در عین حال به شاگردان خود گفت که هر جا رسیدند درسهای رایگان شیوانا را برای مردم ده بازگو کنند و در مورد مسیر تفکر و روش معرفتی شیوانا نیز صحبت کنند. هفته بعد وقتی شاگردان برگشتند با تعجب گفتند که مردم ده نه تنها سیب های برده شده را خریدند بلکه سیب های اضافی را نیز پیش خرید کردند. یکی از شاگردان با حیرت پرسید: "اما استاد سوالی که برای ما پیش آمده این است که چرا مردم آن ده با وجود اینکه سال ها از زبان امین معبدشان بدگویی شیوانا را شنیده بودند ولی تا این حد برای خرید سیب های شیوانا سر و دست می‌شکستند؟" شیوانا پاسخ داد: جناب کاهن ناخواسته نام شیوانا را در اذهان مردم زنده نگه داشته بود، شما وقتی درباره مطالب معرفتی و درسهای شیوانا برای مردم ده صحبت کردید، آنها چیزی خلاف آنچه از زبان کاهن شنیده بودند را مشاهده کردند، به همین خاطر این تفاوت را به سیب ها هم عمومیت دادند و روی کیفت سیب های شما هم دقیق شدند و عالی بودن آنها را هم تشخیص دادند. ما سود امسال را مدیون بدگویی های آن کاهن بد زبان هستیم. او باعث شد مردم ده با ذوق و شوق و علاقه و کنجکاوی بیشتری به درس های معرفت روی آودند و در عین حال کاهن خود را بهتر بشناسند! پیشنهاد می کنم به او میدان دهید و بگذارید باز هم بدگویی و بد زبانی اش را بیشتر کند. به همین ترتیب همیشه می توان روی مردم این ده به عنوان خریدار های تضمینی میوه های خود حساب کنید. هر وقت فردی مقابل شما قد علم کرد و روی دشمنی با شما اصرار ورزید. اصلاً مقابلش نایستید، به او اجازه دهید تا یکطرفه در میدان دشمنی یکه تازی کند. زمان که بگذرد سکوت باعث محبوب تر شدن شما و دشمنی او باعث شکست خودش می شود. در این حالت همیشه به خود بگویید، قدرت من بیشتر است چرا که او هیچ تاثیری روی من ندارد و من هرگز به او فکر نمی کنم و بر عکس من باعث می شوم تا به طور دائم در ذهن او جولان دهم و او را وادار به واکنش نمایم، این جور مواقع سکوت نشانه قدرت است.

صفت (دستور زبان)

صِفَت، واژه‌ای است که حالت و چگونگی چیزی یا واژه ای را برساند و اقسام آن از این قرار است : صفت فاعلی، صفت مفعولی، صفت تفضیلی و صفت نسبی.

برای واژه صفت که عربی است برابرهای فارسی «فروزه» و «چگون‌واژه» پیشنهاد شده است.

صفت فاعلی

آن است که بر کنندهٔ کار یا دارندهٔ معنی دلالت کند و علامت آن عبارت است از : 1- " نده" که در پایان فعل امر می آید : پرسنده، خواهنده، شناسنده، بافنده 2- " ان " مثل : خواهان، پرسان، دمان، روان، دوان 3- " الف " که آن نیز در پایان فعل امر می آید، مثل : شکیبا، زیبا، خوانا، گویا، بینا، پویا 4- " ار " غالبا در آخر فعل ماضی می آید، مثل : خریدار، خواستار، برخوردار، نامردار، گرفتار 5- " گار " که بیشتر در آخر فعل امر و ماضی می آید، مثل : آموزگار، پرهیزگار، آمرزگار، آفریدگار 6- " کار " که غالبا به آخر اسم معنی ملحق می‌شود، مثل : ستمکار، فراموشکار 7- " گر " در آخر اسم معنی می آید، مثل : پیروزگر، دادگر، بیدادگر

صفت فاعلی که به " نده " ختم شود، غالبا در عمل و صفت غیر ثابت استعمال می‌شود، مثل : رونده، یعنی کسی که عمل رفتن را انجام می‌دهد

صفاتی که به " ان " ختم می‌شود، بیشتر معنی حال را می‌دهد : سوزان، نالان، روان، دوان صفاتی که به " الف " ختم می‌شود، حالت ثابت را می رساند، مثل : دانا لغاتی که به " گار، کار، گر " ختم می‌شود مبالغه را می رساند مثل : آموزگار، ستمکار، ستمگر

"گار" همیشه بعد از کلماتی که از فعل مشتق می‌شود می آید ولی " کار " پس از اسم معنی و غیر مشتق به کار می‌رود .

" گر " در غیر اسم معنی، شغل را می رساند، مانند : آهنگر و این جز صفات فاعلی نیست .

ترکیب صفت فاعلی

صفت فاعلی چهار قسم دارد :

1- حالت اضافی که صفت، به مابعد ِ خود اضافه می‌شود : فزایندهٔ باد آوردگاه فشانندهٔ خون ز ابر سیاه

2- با تقدّم صفت و حذف کسرهٔ اضافه : جهاندار محمود ِ گیرنده شهر ز شادی به هرکس رساننده بهر

3- با تاخیر صفت بدون آن که در آن تغییری رخ دهد : منم گفت یزدان پرستنده شاه مرا ایزد پاک داد این کلاه

4- با تاخیر صفت و حذف علامت صفت " نده " مانند سرافراز، گردن فراز که سرفرازنده و گردن فرازنده بوده و این کار قیاسی است .

هرگاه صفت فاعلی با مفعول یا یکی از قیود مثل : بیش، کم، بسیار، پیش، پس و نظایر آن ترکیب شود علامت صفت حذف می‌شود مثل : کامجوی، پیش گوی، کم گوی، بسیار دان، پیشرو، پس رو

صفای که به " ان " ختم می‌شود، هرگاه مکرر شود، ممکن است علامت صفت را از اول حذف کنند، مثل : لرزلرزان، جنب جنبان، پرس پرسان، کش کشان

صفت مفعولی

صفت مفعولی بر آنچه فعل بر او واقع شده باشد، دلالت می‌کند، مانند : پوشیده، برده. یعنی آنچه، پوشیدن و بردن بر او واقع شده باشد و علامت آن " ه " ماقبل مفتوح است که در آخر فعل ماضی در می آید .

ترکیبات صفع مفعولی از این قرار است : 1- آن که صفت را مقدم داشته، اضافه کنند، مانند : پرودهٔ نعمت، آلودهٔ منت . 2- با تقدیم صفت و حذف حرکت اضافه، مانند : آلوده نظر 3- آن که صفت را در آخر آورند و هیچ تغییری ندهند، مثل : خوا آلوده، شراب آلوده 4- مانند نوع سوم ولی با حذف علامت صفت، مثل : خاک آلود، نعمت پرورد، دستپحت 5- با تاخیر صفت و حذف " ده " از پایان آن، چنانکه به ترکیب صفت فاعلی شبیه باشد : پناه پرور، دست پرور

هر گاه بخواهند صفت مفعولی را که تخفیف یافته، جمع ببندند آن را به حال اول بر می گردانند، مثلاً : دست پروردگان ولی در تخفیف صفت فاعلی برگردانیدن به حال اصلی لازم نیست، مثل : گردنکشان، سرافرازان، نامداران

صفت تفضیلی

صفت تفضیلی، آن است که در آخر آن لفط " تر " افزوده شود و مفاد آن، ترجیح موصوف است بر شخص دیگر که در وجود صفت با او شریک و همتاست و آن تنها به آخر صفت و کلماتی که در معنی صفت باشد، پیوسته شود، مانند : گوینده تر، شتابنده تر، فزاینده تر، گریانده تر، مردتر، برتر

صفت تفضیلی به یکی از سه طریق زیر استعمال می‌شود :

1- با " از " : خرد از مال سودمندتر است . 2- با " که" : دانش، بهتر که مال. سیرت، پسندیده تر که صورت . 3- با اضافه، چنانکه گوییم : تواناتر ِ مردم کسی است که دانایی او فزونتر باشد .

هر گاه بخواهند صفت تفضیلی را اضفه کنند : " ین " در آخر آن می آورند : بزرگ‌ترین ِ شعرای ایران، فردوسی است .

الفاضی از قبیل : مه، به، که و بیش به معنی صفت تفضیلی استعمال می شوند و در آخر آن نیز " ین " در می آورند، مانند : مهین، بهین، کهین .

هر گاه " ین " در آخر صفات تفضیلی در آید، افادهٔ معنی تخصیص کند، مثل : کمترین، فاضلترین .

در این حالت اگر صفت تفضیلی را اضافه کنند، ما بعد آن را جمع آورند، مثل : بزرگ‌ترین ِ مردان و فاضلترین ِ رجال امروز اوست. و بدون اضافه باید لفظ مفرد استعمال شود : تواناترین مرد، بیناترین شاگرد .

صفت نسبی

صفت نسبی، آن اتست که نسبت به چیزی یا محلی را برساند و علامت های آن عبارت است از : 1- " ی " در آخر کلمه مانند : آسمانی، زیمینی، آتشی، هوایی، خاکی، پارسی، اصفهانی، نیشابوری

"ی " نسبت همواره به مفرد، پیوسته می‌شود و کلماتی از قبیل : کاویانی، خسروانی، کیانی، پهلوانی، نادر است و بر آن قیاس نمی‌توان کرد .

2- " ه" مخفی و غیر ملفوظ : دو روزه، یکشبه، یکساله، صده، دهه، هزاره

و این " ه " غالبا در ترکیبات عددی  استعمال می‌شود.  و گاهی  تنهایی  در غیر این مورد استعمال شده است : مثل : نبرده

3- " ین " و این در آخر اسمها در می آید : سفالین، جوین، گندمین، بلورین، گلین و گاهی این ادات را با "ه " جمع می‌کنند و در آخر کلمه می آورند : بلورینه، زرینه، سیمینه، پشمینه

4- " گان " مانند : گروگان، پدرگان

صفات ترکیبی

صفاتی را که از ترکیب دو اسم یا اسم و اداتی حاصل شود، مرکب یا صفت ترکیبی می گویند و اقسام آنم به شرح زیر است : 1- ترکیب تشبیهی که از به هم پیوستن مشبه به به مشبه یا مشبه به به وجه شبه حاصل شود مثل : سرو قد، مشکموی، گلرنگ، مشکبوی

2- ترکیب دو اسم بدون ادات : جفا پیشه، هنر پیشه

3- ترکیب دو اسم به اضافهٔ ادات مثل : نیزه به دست

4- ترکیب اسم با ادات که انواع بسیاری دارد : الف - ترکیب " ب " و اسم : بنام، بخرد ب- ترکیب " با " و اسم : با نام، با عقل، با غیرت ج- ترکیب " هم " با اسم که اشتراک را می رساند : همراه، همنشین د- ترکیب " نا " و "ن " با اسم : ناکام، ناچار، نامرد ه- ترکیب " بی " با اسم : بی خرد، بی شعور و- ترکیب " مند " با اسم : هنرمند، خردمند، تنومند، برومند ز - ترکیب " ور " با اسم : هنرور، دانشور، سرور، جانور، گنجور، رنجور ،مزدور ح- ترکیب اسم با " ناک" که بیشتر افاده معنی علت و آفت می‌باشد : نمناک، بیمناک

"بی " پیوسته بر سر اسم می آید ولی " نا " هم به اسم و هم به صفت می تواند متصل شود ولی استعمال آن با صفت بیشتر است .

صفت سماعی و قیاسی

1- کلمه‌ای را که دارای معنی وصفی باشد و در زبان پارسی ِ کنونی برای آن اشتقاق یا ترکیبی در تصور نباشد، صفت سماعی گویند : گران، سبک، نیک، بد، زشت، تنگ، کوتاه

2- کلماتی که بر رنگ دلالت می‌کنند بیشتر صفت سماعی هستند : سپید، سیاه، سرخ، زرد و گاه قیاسی : نیلی، آبی، سرمه یی

3- صفات سماعی هنگام ترکیب مقدم هستند : گرانسنگ، سبکمغز، کوتاه قد و گاه مؤخر می باشند : چشم سپید، بالابلند

طرز استعمال صفت

1- صفت پیش از موصوف و بعد از آن نیز می آید، و هرگاه موصوف، مقدم باشد به شکل اضافه، استعمال می‌شود و کسرهٔ اضافه بر حرف آخر موصوف وارد می‌شود

2- هرگاه موصوف به " و " و یا " الف " ختم شود، در آخر آن " ی " اضافه می‌شود و وقتی به " ه " مخفی تمام شود، " ی " ملیِّنه اضافه می‌شود

3- صفت های مرکب، غالبا به واسطهٔ یکی از اجزای خود به موصوف، مرتبط می شوند و بنابراین از صفت و موصوف تشکیل می شوند

4- مطابقهٔ صفت با موصوف روا نیست و چون موصوف، جمع باشد صفت را مفرد می آورند و همین روش میان نویسنگان و شاعران معمول بوده و هم اکنون نیز متداول است و برخلاف این نیز مواردی در سخن بزرگان دیده شده که صفت را با موصوف تطبیق می‌دهند

چندی صفت و موصوف

هرگاه موصوفی دارای چند صفت باشد آن را به یکی از سه طریق استعمال می‌کنند : الف - موصوف را مقدم می‌کنند و صفات را به همدیگر اضافه می‌کنند ب- آنکه صفات را به هم عطف می‌کنند ج- بعضی از صفات را پیش از موصوف و بعضی را پس از آن می آورند و در صورتی که در آخر موصوف " ی " وحدت نباشد، اضافه می‌کنند

هرگاه صفت و موصوف ؛ متعدد باشد، ممکن است آن را به یکی از چند طریق استعمال کنند : الف - هر صفتی با موصوف خود ذکر شود ب- موصوف ها مقدم و صفت ها مؤخر باشند و در این صورت یا هر دو صفت به هر دو موصوف ممکن است راجع شود یا آن که هر صغنی به یکی از موصوف ها تعلق گیرد

و نیز ممکن است یک صفت دارای دو موصوف باشد

تقدیم صفت بر مضاف الیه

در موقعی که موصوف را بخواهند اضافه کنند، صفت را می آورند و پس از آن عمل اضافه را انجام می‌دهند و این مطرد و در نظم و نثر متداول است، ولی در بعضی مواقع اضافه را بر وصف، مقدم می‌کنند

"ی" وحدت در موصوف و صفت

" ی " وحدت یا در آخر صفت در می آید چنانکه گوییم : " مرد فاضلی است. طبع لطیفی دارد " و اکنون این طریقه زبان فارسی معمول است. یا در آخر موصوف، مذکور می افتد

هر گاه مقصود از صفت بیان جنس و نوع موصوف باشد، بیشتر آن را با " ی " وحدت همراه می‌کنند و در اول آن لفظ " ازین " می آورند

هر گاه مقصود تعداد و شمردن اوصاف باشد، آن را هم عطف نمی‌کنند

در موقع ندا و الحاق " ی " وحدت به هر یک از صغت ها، مقصود شمردن و تعداد اوصاف باشد و غالبا موصوف ذکر نمی‌شود .

ضمیر موصوف

ضمیر "من" از میانهٔ ضمایر، موصوف واقع می‌شود

در سایر ضمایر، صفت در حکم توضیح و به منزلهٔ بدل است.

• معناشناسی (Semantics)
• آشنایی با چند اصطلاح:
  • Synonym:
  • Antonym:
    • Gradable Antonyms:
    • Ingradable Antonyms:
  • Taxonomic Sisters:
  • Hyponyms and Hypernyms:
  • Meronyms:
  • Homonyms:
  • Polysemy:
  • Homograph:
  • Homophones:
  • Denotation and Connotation:
  • Componential Analysis:
  • Fuzzy Concepts:
  • Prototypes:
  • مشکلی بنام Metaphor:
  • نقش های معنایی:

بطورکلی بررسی ارتباط میان واژه و معنا را معناشناسی می گویند. در منطق نیز بررسی ارتباط میان نمادها و آنچه که نمادها نشان می دهند را معناشناسی (Semantics) می نامند.

خوب است در آغاز به این نکته اشاره کنم که در معناشناسی، میانِ واژه (word) و واژه قاموسی (lexeme) تفاوت وجود دارد. واژه را که همه می شناسیم . اما واژه قاموسی شامل بنِ واژه ، واژه کامل ، و یا یک اصطلاح(idiom) است و بطور کلی واحد و یکان فرهنگ نویسی بشمار می رود. از همین رو فرهنگ زبان یا واژه نامه را نیز Lexicon می نامند. بنابراین، ”dog“، ”happiness“، ”put up with“، هرسه، واژه قاموسی هستند.

دو واژه ی قاموسیِ هم معنی را مترادف می نامند. توجه کنید که هیچ دو واژه ای در زبان بطور کامل هم معنی نیستند. حتی اگر شما ”پوشیدن“ و ”تن کردن“ را مترادف بدانید نیز این دو هرگز کاملا هم معنی نیستند! آشکارترین تفاوت میان این دو آن است که پوشیدن را می توانید برای موارد رسمی نیز بکار برید، اما از ”تن کردن“ تنها برای موارد غیر رسمی می توانید استفاده کنید.
نکته دیگر این است که دو واژه شاید معناهای متفاوتی داشته باشند؛ بنابراین، ممکن است تنها یک معنا از دو واژه با توجه به بافت سخن، مترادف باشند. با این وجود، شما آن دو واژه را در آن بافت، مترادف می خوانید.

دو واژه که در بافت سخن، دارای دو معنای متضاد باشند را antonym می گویند. واژه های متضاد بر دو دسته اند:

مانند سرد و گرم. شما می توانید بگووید سردتر یا گرم تر؛ همچنین می توانید بپرسید که چه اندازه گرم یا چه اندازه سرد؟

مانند مرده و زنده. شما نمی توانید بگویید مرده تر! و نمی توانید بپرسید که چقدر مرده یا چقدر زنده؟!

برای گروهی از واژگان قاموسی بکار می رود که در یک سطح طبقه بندی قرار می گیرند. برای نمونه سگ، خوک، اسب، و... از نظر حیوان بودن، taxonomic sisters هستند. بعضی از ”خواهران رده ای“ که محدود هستند را بسته (closed) می ناند : ”روزهای هفته“. برخی دیگر مانند ”راه های خوش آمدگویی“ را باز یا نامحدود یا open می نامند.

هایپانیم، اشاره به ارتباطِ شمولی دارد. برای نمونه، ”سرخ“ هایپانیمِ رنگ است و ”شیر“ هایپانیمِ گربه سانان است. خودِ رنگ و گربه سانان در اینجا هایپرنیم است.

مرونیم ها مثل هایپانیم ها هستند با این تفاوت که مرونیم ها اشاره به اجزای یک چیز دارند. برای نمونه، ”بال“ جزیی از یک پرنده و ”دستگیره“ جزیی از یک در است.

دو واژه که یک شکل و یک تلفظ دارند، اما از نظر معنایی متفاوت اند. برای نمونه در زبان انگلیسی، bank هم بمعنی بانک و هم به معنی ساحل رود بکار می رود. گرچه هر دوی این واژگان یک جور نوشته می شوند، اما از نظر معنا شناسی، این دو، واژگانی متفاوت هستند. این دو واژه را هومونیم می نامیم.

بعضی از واژگان، تک معنایی (monosemy) هستند و برخی دیگر چندمعنایی (polysemy) اند. تشخیص تفاوت میان هومونیم ها و پالسمی ها بسیار دشوار و کارِ زبان شناسان است. برای نمونه زبان شناسان “table” به معنی ”لوح“ و “table” به معنی ”جدول“ را در زیر یک سرواژه قرار داده و آنرا پالسمی (و نه هومونیم) می دانند.

دو واژه که به یک صورت نوشته می شوند، اما از نظر تلفظ و معنا متفاوت هستند. برای نمونه شکل های اسمی و فعلیِ واژه project هومونیم نیستند، بلکه homograph اند.

واژه های متفاوت با تلفظ یکسان را هوموفون می نامند. برای نمونه: ”hair“ و ”hare“.

معنای صریح و آشکار یک واژه که معمولا در واژه نامه ها به آن اشاره می شود را denotative meaning می نامند. معنای ضمنی یک واژه را connotative meaning می نامند. برای نمونه هنگامیکه کسی به شما می گوید : ”زهرا برای من مادری کرده است“، معنای صریح واژه ”مادری“ در اینجا اینگونه است که زهرا مخاطب شما را بزرگ کرده و پرورش داده است، اما معنای ضمنی آن این است که زهرا در حق مخاطب شما مهر و محبت فراوان روا داشته است.

یکی از روش های نشان دادن معنی واژگان قاموسی، آوردن اجزای معنایی آنها (meaning components) است. به بررسی اجزای مرد، زن، دختر، و پسر توجه کنید:
:مرد : + انسان، - مونث، + بزرگسال
:زن : + انسان، + مونث، + بزرگسال
:دختر: + انسان، + مونث، - بزرگسال
:پسر: + انسان، - مونث، - بزرگسال

این روش، نسبت به شیوه ی آوردن مرجع (reference) برای معنا (sense) برتری دارد. چراکه گاه دو معنای متفاوت، به یک مرجع اشاره دارند! به نمونه زیر توجه کنید:
:رییس جمهور
:رییس شورای عالی امنیت ملی

هر دو معنای اشاره شده در بالا، به یک نفر اشاره دارند. برابر قانون اساسی ایران، رییس جمهور، رییس شورای امنیت ملی است. با این وجود، از نظر معنایی، میان ریاست جمهوری و ریاست شورای امنیت ملی تفاوت آشکار وجود دارد.
البته به تشریح معنی از راه بررسی اجزایی در ظاهر یک اشکال بزرگ نیز وارد است. این روش معمولا برای بیان معنای ضمنی (connotative meaning) کامل نیست:

در نگاه نخست، بچلر متضاد واژه اسپینسر است، اما بار معنایی منفی موجود در واژه دوم را چه کار کنیم؟! واژه نخست را در فارسی می توانیم بصورت ”مرد مجرد“ ترجمه کنیم، اما اگر بخواهیم واژه دوم را ترجمه کنیم باید بگوییم : ”پیردختر“ یا ”دختر ترشیده“ یا چیزی شبیه به اینها!
پاسخ این است که شما برای معنای صریح و معنای ضمنی واژه، دو هویت مستقل قائل می شوید و برای نمونه می توانید برای معنای ضمنی اسپینسر، یک (+ negative feedback) و یا یک (- young) یا هر معنای ضمنی دیگری که برداشت می کنید را نیز می آورید.

همه اجزای معنایی واژگان را نمی توان با آری و نه و یا + و – نشان داد. برای نمونه، در مورد بستنی، ماهیت این واژه آیا + جامد است یا - جامد؟! اشتباه نکنید! این ایراد از معناشناسی نیست، این مفهومِ گنگ دقیقا همان نگاهی است که شما به معنای بستنی دارید. همین حالا به پرسش من پاسخ دهید : ”آیا بستنی جامد است؟“ خوب اگر شما بگویید آری، پس فرق ماهیت سنگ و چوب و پارچه با بستنی چیست؟ آنچه از ماهیت بستنی در ذهن شما نقش می بندد این است که چیزی است میان جامد و مایع؛ نه می توان آنرا جامد خواند و نه می توان آنرا مایع دانست.

برخی واژگان در ذهن انسان به مجموعه ای از مرجع های متفاوت اشاره دارند. برای نمونه واژه ی ورزش اینگونه است. هنگامیکه شما این واژه را به تنهایی می شنوید احتمالا در ذهن شما ”نرمش صبحگاهی“، ”فوتبال“، ”کشتی“، و... نقش می بنند. این حالت را ما بصورت یک دایره ی دارت نشان می دهیم که درآن هرچه به سوی میانه هدف پیش می رویم، مفاهیم معروف تر که با شنیدن واژه زودتر به ذهن خطور می کنند(prototypes) دیده می شوند.
تصویر زیر چیزی است که تصور می کنم یک آمریکایی از ورزش داشته باشد:

شاید بسیاری از آمریکاییان بازی بیس بال را نیز در دایره دارتِ معناییِ خود بگنجانند. شاید برخی بوکس یا کشتی را در منطقه درونی تر دایره جای دهند و فوتبال آمریکایی را به خارج تر برانند. به هر روی، تصویر شکل یافته، همان معنایی است که فرد مورد نظر ما از ورزش در ذهن خود دارد.

متافور یعنی استعاره. استعاره نوعی تشبیه است که در آن از ادات تشبیه استفاده نشده باشد. برای نمونه در فارسی می گوییم ”حسن که خرس است!“. این جمله یعنی حسن که مانند خرس گنده است.
در انگلیسی ممکن است روابط جنسی نامشروع را به ناپاکی و نداشتن اینگونه روابط را به پاکی تشبیه کرده و بصورت استعاره بکار برند:

پرسش: در برخورد با استعاره ها، از دید معناشناسی، آیا باید معنای ظاهری آنها را بررسی نمود یا باید معنای باطنی شان را در نظر گرفت؟
پاسخ: هر دو! فراموش نکنید که معناشناسی دقیقا بررسی همان چیزی است که در ذهن انسان نقش می بنند. هنگامیکه شما با یک استعاره بر می خورید، ابتدا معنای ظاهری و سپس معنای باطنی آن شما را متوجه خود می کند و این ارزش کار استعاره است. برخی مترجمان غیرحرفه ای متاسفانه در ترجمه استعاره ها معنا یا تفسیر خود از آن را بیان می کنند و این بزرگترین خیانت به اثر نویسنده و اشتباهی بزرگ در ترجمه است.

در هنگام خواندن نقش های معنایی، تلاش نکنید مفاهیم ارایه شده را با مفاهیم موجود در دستور سنتی برابری دهید. گرچه می توان برخی از آنها را معادل فعل ، فاعل ، مفعول ، یا... در دستور زبان دانست، با این وجود خواهید دید که برای نمونه فاعل در معناشناسی گونه های متفاوتی دارد:

Agent: کارگزار.

Patient: چیزی که از کارِ کارگزار یا علت تاثیر پذیرفته است.

Location: محل انجام کار (یا حادثه).

Instrument: چیزی که کارگزار برای انجام کار از آن استفاده نموده است.

Time: زمان انجام کار (یا حادثه).

Recipient: دریافت کننده ی نتیجه ی کارِ کارگزار.

Experiencer: گیرنده انگیزه.

Stimulus: انگیزه.

Cause: علت.

Goal: محلِ مقصد.

یکی از دوستان می گفت: ”زمان! کارگزار، انگیزه، و علت، که یکی است!“ باید بگویم بله! در دستور زبان شاید هر سه را فاعل بدانیم، اما در معنا، میان این سه و نیز میان Patient و Recipient تفاوت هایی وجود دارد. برای درک بهتر مفاهیم بالا، به نمونه های زیر توجه کنید:

خانواده های زبان های جهان

در سال 2000، برابر محاسبه ی زبانشناسان، بیش از شش هزار زبان در سراسر جهان استفاده می شده است که بیشتر آنها را ده هزار نفر یا کمتر بکار می برده اند. این تعداد تا سال 2100 یعنی در گذرِ تنها یک قرن نصف خواهد شد. ”یعنی هر دوازده روز = مرگ یک زبان“. بسیاری از فرهنگ های بومی و ملی نیز همراه با این زبان ها به موزه ی تاریخ سپرده خواهد شد. زبان هایی که تعداد سخنگویان بدانها بسیار است (مانند زبان فارسی) دیرتر فراموش خواهند شد. بسیاری معتقدند که زبان هایی باقی خواهد ماند که خاستگاه آنها مهد فن آوری یا اقتصاد باشدبیشتر بر این باورند که زبانی که مردمِ آن بدان عشق ورزند نیز هرگز نخواهد مرد.
برای دسته بندی زبان ها از دیدگاه زبان شناسی، دو شیوه مرسوم است:

شیوه ی وابسته به گونه شناسی (Typology ) در این شیوه، زبان ها بر پایه ساختار شان دسته بندی می شوند. در این روش، برای نمونه، زبان انگلیسی و زبان چینی که هر دو از واژه پردازیِ ”فاعل- فعل- مفعول“ پیروی می کنند، در یک گروه قرار می گیرند.

شیوه ی زادگانی (Genetic) : در این شیوه، زبان ها برپایه ی روند شکل گیری و برمبنای تاریخی دسته بندی می شوند. این روش، بسیار پیچیده تر و علمی تر از شیوه ی وابسته به گونه شناسی است. در شیوه ی زادگانی، گروهی از دانش ها همچون باستان شناسی ، مردم شناسی ، تاریخ، و... توسط زبانشناسان بخدمت گرفته می شود. خانواده های زبان ها نیز با استفاده از همین شیوه دسته بندی شده اند.

گروه زبان های هند و ایرانی

 
گروه زبان های هند و ایرانی ، مهمترین گروه از خانواده ی زبان های هند و اروپایی است؛ چراکه کهن ترین گروه از این خانواده به شمار می رود که متن های بسیاری از آن بجای مانده است. تنها خطِ آ ، خطِ ب ، و متن های موجود از زبان هیتی (Hittite)کهن تر از گروه هند و ایرانی هستند. خط آ ، معدود نوشته هایی متعلق به 1500 سال پیش از میلاد هستند که بر روی گل کنده کاری شده و در جزیره ی کرت پیدا شده اند. خط ب نیز متعلق به 1400 سال پیش از میلاد است و آنهم بر روی لوح های گلی در کرت و یونان پیدا شده است. با این وجود، بدلیل اندک بودن بقایای این دو خط و نیز کم بودن دانسته های ما درباره ی زبانی که با این دو خط نوشته می شده است، نمی توان از آنها چیز زیادی بدست آورد. زبان هیتی نیز در آناتولی و بخش هایی از سوریه امروزی بکار می رفته است. با وجود لوح های بسیاری که از این زبان بجای مانده، زبانشناسان هنوز نتوانسته اند آنرا در یکی از گروه های خانواده ی هند و اروپایی جای دهند و تنها به این نکته بسنده می کنند که این زبان احتمالا هند و اروپایی بوده است.

از سوی دیگر، به دلایل زیر، از خانواده ی هند و ایرانی متن های بسیاری بجای مانده و امروزه مرجعی قابل اطمینان برای پژوهشگران شده است:

1 .زبان سانسکریت «هند باستان)، از قرن 14 پیش از میلاد {برخی این تاریخ را تا چهار قرن پیش از این نیز به عقب برده اند} تا قرن پنجم پیش از میلاد، زبان دینی هندویان بشمار می رفته است و به همین دلیل مهمترین متن های دینی هندیان به این زبان نوشته شده است. از قرن پنجم پیش از میلاد به بعد نیز از زبان سانسکریت بعنوان زبان ادبیات کلاسیک هندی استفاده شده است.

2 .زبان اوستایی (ایران باستان)، زبانی است که اوستا بدان نوشته شده و بدیهی است که مورد احترام و پاسداری ایرانیان بوده است. عین کتاب اوستا هم اکنون موجود است و بعلاوه واژه نامه های چندجلدی از زبان اوستایی نیز انتشار یافته که می تواند مورد توجه پژوهشگران باشد.

3 .زبان پارسی باستان ، از آنجایی که زبان مردم ایران تا قرن سوم پیش از میلاد بوده است، از دید من، بسیار شایان اهمیت است. باقی مانده های این زبان بر روی لوح های سنگی بجامانده از دوران هخامنشی موجود است. معروفترین لوح بجامانده، کتیبه بیستون است که به سه زبان پارسی باستان، ایلامی، و آکِدی نوشته شده است. متاسفانه زبان پارسی باستان از هجوم و تاراج تازیان و دیگران بی نصیب نمانده و بسیاری از شواهد مربوط به آن از میان رفته است. بسیاری دیگر از این شواهد نیز در دوران قاجار به کشورهای غربی صادر شده است. واژه نامه ی پارسه- فارسی که برای نخستین بار در جهان در تارنمای دنبلید آورده شده است، با بهره گیری از گنجینه ی متن ها و واژه نامه ی Parsah-English دانشگاه شیکاگو نوشته شده و از کتابهای تاریخ زبان فارسی و واج شناسی تاریخی زبان فارسی (هر دو اثر دکتر مهری باقری) نیز در گردآوری این واژه نامه استفاده شده است.

به هر روی، گروه زبان های هند و ایرانی به دو زیرگروه ایرانی و هندی تقسیم می شود:

1 .زبان های ایرانی: زبانهای مهم این زیرگروه عبارتند از اوستایی ، پارسی باستان، سکایی (امروزه وجود ندارد)، استی (Ossetic) در قفقاز ، پهلوی ، فارسی ، پشتو در افغانستان ، دُری در افغانستان، فارسی تاجیکی ، کردی ، و بلوچی.

2 .زبان های هندی: زبانهای مهم این زیرگروه عبارتند از سانسکریت، هندی ، اردو ، بنگالی ، گجراتی ، سیلانی ، و نپالی.

زبان‌شناسی رایانه‌ای، جزء علوم بین‌رشته‌ای است که سعی دارد با بهره‌گیری از روش‌های محاسباتی و صوری به مدل‌سازی ماشینی زبان طبیعی بپردازد. زبان شناسی رایانه‌ای همچنین شاخه‌ای از هوش مصنوعی محسوب می‌شود.

در مورد استفاده از آن از جمله میتوان به کاربردهای زیر اشاره کرد:

فرایافت concept و تجزیه زبانهای برنامه نویسی:

 نوآم چامسکی توانست تشابه زبانهای طبیعی و زبانهای برنامه نویسی را به اثبات برساند. یعنی یک زبان رایانه ای مانند زبانهای طبیعی دارای یک دستور زبان و یک فرهنگ می باشد. تفسیر یک متن از تجزیه ی واژه ها lexicon آغاز سپس با تجزیه نحو syntax و در آخر با تجزیه مفهوم semantic آن پایان می یابد.

ترجمه ماشینی (خودکار) :

 این شاخه از زبان شناسی رایانه‌ای‌ زمان درازی کم اهمیت جلوه می کرد اما امروزه یکی از موارد مورد علاقه پژوهشگران این رشته می باشد. پس از مرحله ی تجزیه واژه ها و نحو می باید تجزیه ی مفهوم و سپس پرگماتیک را نیز افزود. در واقع این دو سعی در شناخت مفهوم خاص یک واژه در مکانی که ظاهر می شود را دارد.

پرسش و پاسخ با زبانهای طبیعی:

 این ایده مدتی به عنوان پاسخی قانع کننده به مسئله ارتباط انسان و ماشین تلقی می شد. این دید در واقع جنبه ی وسیع تری از دستور زایشی چامسکی است.

زبان‌شناسی میکوشد تا به پرسشهایی بنیادین همچون «زبان چیست؟» و «زبان چگونه عمل می‌‌کند؟» پاسخ گوید. برای نمونه در این که «زبان آدمی با سامانه ارتباطی دیگر جانوران چه تفاوتی دارد؟»، «کودک چگونه سخن گفتن می‌‌آموزد؟»، «انسان چگونه می‌‌نویسد و از چه راهی زبان نانوشتاری را واکاوی (تحلیل) می‌کند؟»، «چرا زبانها دیگرگون می‌شوند؟» و جز اینها. کسی را که به بررسی‌های زبانشناختی میپردازد، زبان‌شناس می‌‌نامند. زبانشناس اگرچه باید آزمودگی گسترده‌ای در چندین گونه زبان داشته باشد ولی بایستگی و لزومی ندارد که به روانی به چندین زبان سخن بگوید. برای او مهم‌تر این است که بتواند پدیده‌های زبان‌شناختی را مانند سامانه واژه‌های یک زبان یا کارواژه‌های آن را کندوکاو نماید و بازبشکافد. او بیشتر یک مشاهده گر برون گرا و ورزیده است تا یک طرف گفتگو..

دانش زبان‌شناسی با کتاب دستور سانسکریت نوشته پانینی هندی آغاز گشت. پانینی در سده پنجم پیش از زایش مسیح دستور زبان بسیار پیشرفته‌ای نوشت.

دانش زبان‌شناسی شاخه‌های گوناگونی دارد. برخی از آنها از این قرارند: زبان‌شناسی سنجشی-تاریخی، دستور گشتاری، دستور زایشی، آواشناسی، معناشناسی و گونه‌شناسی زبان.عصب شناسی زبان و زبان شناسی بالینی نیز از شاخه های جدید زبان شناسی میباشند

.

موانع راه

در دوران باستان، پادشاهی تخته سنگی بزرگ را بر سر راهی قرار داد و مخفی شد تا ببیند چه کسی آن را از سر راه بر می دارد. تعدادی از تاجران ثروتمند و درباریانش از راه رسیدند و بدون توجه از کنار آن رد شدند. تعدادی هم پادشاه را به این خاطر که جاده ها را برای تردد مناسب سازی نکرده سرزنشش کردند. اما هیچکدامشان کاری برای کنار زدن تخته سنگ انجام ندادند. تا وقتی که یک روستایی با باری از سبزیجات بر دوش از راه رسید وقتی به تخته سنگ رسید بارش را بر روی زمین گذاشت و سعی کرد تا سنگ را به کنار جاده هدایت کند. بعد از کلی تقلا بلاخره موفق شد. وقتی داشت بارش را از زمین بلند می کرد متوجه کیسه ای در جایی که تخته سنگ در آنجا بود، شد. کیسه پر از سکه های طلا بود و یاداشتی از طرف پادشاه با خود داشت که در آن نوشته شده بود: طلا ها برای کسی است که تخته سنگ را از سر راه بردارد. روستایی چیزی را یاد گرفت که هیچ کدام از رهگذران یاد نگرفته بودند.

www.hyperdictionary.com

این فرهنگ لغت معنی یک کلمه را به زبان های انگلیسی، آلمانی، اسپانیایی، فرانسه و ایتالیایی ارائه می دهد و در کنار معنی هر لغت تلفظ آن را هم در اختیار شما می گذارد.

از این فرهنگ لغت هر چی بگم کم گفتم، واقعا دیکشنری قرن هست.اما حیف که تو این سایت تلفظ ندارد. شما می توانید لوح فشرده آن را تهیه کنید.

این سایت فارسی ترجمه لغات را به فارسی و انگلیسی به شما می دهد اما زیاد قوی نیست.بدم نیست.

این فرهنگ لغت فارسی، هم انگلیسی به فارسی است و هم فارسی به انگلیسی و بر عکس قیافش چیز خوبی نشان می دهد.

فرهنگ مریام هم شاید به جرات بشه گفت کامل ترین، به روز ترین و کار راه انداز ترین دیکشنری آن لاین هست.

این فرهنگ ربطی به زبان انگلیسی ندارد و در اصل یک مترجم پینگلیشی است، شما به کمک این فرهنگ لغت می توانید متون پینگلیشی خود را به فارسی ترجمه کنید.

 در این بخش شما را با متن فیلم با Movie Script آشنا می کنیم، شاید جالب باشد که بدانید شما می توانید متن هر فیلم، سریال و نمایشنامه رادیویی و تلویزیونی را در اینترنت پیدا کنید. این متن ها بر اساس سال ساخت و اسم فیلم قابل دسترس می باشند و به شما (در مواردی که فیلم شما زیرنویس دار نمی باشد) کمک می کند که مکالمات و روند داستان فیلم را راحت تر پیگیری نمایید.
ما در ذیل به تعدادی از این سایت ها که به نظرمان قویتر و مفید تر می باشند اشاره می کنیم، مطمئناً شما سایت های بهتری را خواهید یافت و این تنها بهانه است برای آشنایی شما با اینگونه امکانات که به شما کمک می کند زبان انگلیسی را بهتر و عمیق تر بیاموزید. برای مشاهده کامل متن به ادامه مطلب بروید.......

کلمه ی(Few)(کم، اندک، کمی) همیشه با اسمهای قابل شمارش بکار برده می شوند و عدم یا نبودن چیزی یا شخص را رسانده و همیشه با اسم جمع و فعل جمع همراه است و معنی جمله همیشه میل به منفی دارد.

There were Few children in the garden.-

                        جمع                 جمع

Little (کم، اندک، کوچک)

همیشه با اسمهای غیر قابل شمارش همراه است و با اسم و فعل مفرد بکار می رود و عدم وجود چیزی را می رساند و معنی جملات با (Little) همیشه میل بطرف منفی دارد.

- There is little water in the river.

                                                           مفرد                          مفرد

(چند تا) a few

با اسمهای قابل شمارش و با فعل جمع بکار می رود و وجود چند چیز را می رساند (مثبت) حتی به تعداد کم.

-         He has a Few friends in this city.

 A little (کمی)

با اسمهای غیر قابل شمارش و با فعل مفرد بکار رفته و وجود مقدار چیزی را می رساند (مثبت) حتی اگر به مقدار کم باشد.

- He has a little money in his wallet.

تبصره:

 هنگامیکه جواب سوالی با (yes) شروع شود در آن جمله از (a Few) و (a Little) استفاده می کنند و وقتی جواب با کلمه ی (not) شروع شود از (Few) و (Little) استفاده می شود، البته اگر در جمله ای از (only) استفاده شود باید از صفات مثبت 

(a few) و (a little) استفاده کرد.

فرق بین (much) و (many)

Much: فقط با اسمهای غیر قابل شمارش و با فعل مفرد همراه است و در جملات مثبت، منفی و سوالی بکار برده می شود ولی بهتر است که در جملات مثبت از کلمات  (plenty of) و یا (a lot of ) استفاده نمود.

Many: فقط با اسمهای قابل شمارش و با فعل جمع همراه است و در جملات مثبت، منفی و سوالی بکار برده می شود ولی بهتر است در جملات مثبت از کلمات (a lot of) استفاده کرد.

1-               He has not (many-much) money.

2-               There is not (many-much) food in the house.

3-               Are there (many-much) books in the library?

4-               How (many-much) times a day do you go to the mosque?

5-               How (many-much) time do you need to do it?

ترکیب در جمله بوسیله (not only… but also)

جملاتی که دارای فاعل یکسان هستند بوسیله کلمات (not only) و (but also) به هم ربط داده می شوند.

همیشه برای ترکیب دو جمله بوسیله (not only) و (but also) و فاعل و فعل مشترک بین دو جمله را نوشته و سپس (not only) آورده و سپس ادامه جمله اول و قسمت مشترک جمله دوم (که با جمله اول مشترک بود) را حذف کرده و سپس و (but also)

را آورده و بعد ادامه جمله را نوشته .

- He is kind. He is helpful.

- He is not only kind but also helpful.

فرق بین (some) و (any)

کلمه (some) در جملات مثبت و با اسمهای قابل شمارش و غیر قابل شمارش و با فعل مفرد و جمع بکار می رود ولی (any) در جملات منفی و سوالی با اسمهای قابل شمارش و با فعل مفرد و جمع بکار می رود. البته کلمه ی (any) بعضی مواقع با جملات سوالی می آید و موقعی است که سوال کننده انتظار جواب مثبت داشته باشد.

- Can you give me some more information?

• اسم
• حالت اسم
• انواع ضمیر
• حرف تعریف نامعین (a) و (an)
• فعل
• سوالات کوتاه Tag Questions
• جلوگیری از تکرار کلمات بوسیله بکار بردن افعال کمکی
• طریقه بکاربردن کلمات استفهامی مثل:
• طرز ساخت صفات تفصیلی و عالی
• قیود
• طبقه بندی قیدها
• محل قرار گرفتن قیود
• جمع بستن اسمها
• حروف ربط
• صفت
• Who, what, whom, why, whose, where,which

1) meanings (معانی)

الف) time (زمان): just اغلب وقوع انجام کاری را در "زمان حال" و یا "زمان نزدیک به حال" نشان می دهد. مثال:

I’ll be back in a minute – I’m just changing my shirt. (=”right now”)

من یک دقیقه دیگر بر می گردم – در حال عوض کردن پیراهنم هستم. (همین الان)

Alice has just phoned. (=”a short time ago”)

آلیس تلفن کرد. (چند لحظه پیش)

“What’s happened to Alex? He seems to have disappeared.” “No, he’s around. I saw him just yesterday.”

"چه اتفاقی برای الکس افتاده است؟ به نظر می رسد که ناپدید شده باشد." "نه، او همین اطراف است. من او را همین دیروز دیدم."

ب) “only” (فقط):

Complete set of garden tools for just £15.99!

یکدست کامل ابزار باغبانی فقط 15.99 پوند!

“Can I help you?” “No thanks, I’m just looking.” (=”in a shop/store”)

"می توانم به شما کنم؟" "نه ممنون، فقط نگاه می کنم." (در فروشگاه یا مغازه)

ج) “exactly” (دقیقا):

“What’s the time?” “It’s just four o’clock.”

"ساعت چند است؟" "دقیقا چهار"

Thanks. That’s just what I wanted.

ممنونم. دقیقا همان چیزی بود که من می خواستم.

د) emphasiser (تاکید کننده):

You’re just beautiful.

شما واقعا زیبا هستید.

2) tenses (زمانها)

در زبان انگلیسی بریتانیایی هرگاه just انجام کاری را در "زمان حال" و یا "زمان نزدیک به حال" نشان می دهد، معمولا از زمان حال کامل استفاده می شود. مثال:

“Where’s Eric?” “He’s just gone out.”

"اریک کجاست؟" "او همین چند لحظه پیش رفت بیرون."

I’ve just had a call from Sarah.

من همین چند لحظه پیش تماسی از طرف سارا داشتم.

ولی دقت کنید که در زبان انگلیسی آمریکایی هرگاه just انجام کاری را در "زمان حال" و یا "زمان نزدیک به حال" نشان می دهد، معمولا از زمان گذشته استفاده می شود. مثال:

“Where’s Eric?” “He just went out.”

I just had a call from Sarah.

آموزش پنجمين لغت به روش تصوير سازي ذهني ( به خطر انداختن )

تلفظ اين كلمه مثل( جيب پرداز ) است.

 ‌]جيب پرداز مانند خود پرداز [ بانك ملي قرار است از خودپردازهاي انساني استفاده كند. يعني بجای دستگاههای خود پرداز افرادي را استخدام مي كند تا جلو بانك بایستند و از جیب خود به مشتريان بانک پول پرداخت كنند. پس وظيفه اين كارمندان به خطر انداختن خود است.

حالا شما تصور كنيد در چنين پستي استخدام شده ايد. هر لحظه بايد خود را به خطر بياندازيد زيرا هيچ وسيله دفاعي يا امنيتي نداريد و هر آن ممكن است كسي (جيب پرداز ) شما را بزند!

                                                                                    به خطر انداختن   =   Jeopardize

آموزش ششمين لغت به روش تصوير سازي ذهني : ( نور ضعيف ، سوسو  )

كف اتاق يك گليم انداخته ايم. اين گليم با گليمهاي معمولي فرق مي كند. اين گليم يك گليم فوق مدرن است زيرا از آن براي نورپردازي و خلق صحنه هاي هنري استفاده مي شود. به اين صورت كه در تاريكي مطلق، اين گليم سوسو مي زند.

 gleam سوسو زدن =

آموزش هفتمین لغت به روش تصوير سازي ذهني:

( رذل ، پست ، خطرناك ) (يكصدا ، متفق القول)

دو نفر از اهالی اصفهان كنار زاینده رود به تماشاي رودخانه مشغولند كه ناگهان يك سگ ماهي كه چاقو پنجه بكس در دست دارد به سطح آب آمده و به اصفهاني ها چنگ و دندان نشان مي دهد. اصفهاني كوچكتر به اصفهاني بزرگتر مي گويد: اين چي چييس؟!

اصفهاني بزرگتر مي گويد : فيشس ( ماهييس) رذلس، پستس ، خطرناكس. بيا از اينجا فرار كنيم!

بر وزن فيشس) = ‌آدم شرور، پست...) vicious                                                              

آموزش هشتمین لغت به روش تصوير سازي ذهني:

معلوم نيست به چه دليل يوناني ها طرفدار مس هستند. انها در همه جا، از جمله در ميادين ورزشي به جاي تشويق تيم مورد علاقه خود بطور يكصدا و متفق القول فرياد مي زنند : مس

يكصدا، متفق القول = unanimous

آموزش نهمین لغت به روش تصوير سازي ذهني:( شجاع)

شما كنار دريا ايستاده ايد و مشغول تماشاي وال ها هستيد. وال ها يكي يكي به سطح آب مي آيند ولي با ديدن شما فرار مي كنند و دوباره به زير آب مي روند. تا اينكه يك وال روس ( يعني يك وال كه اهل كشور روس است) به سطح آب آمده و بدون اينكه از شما بترسد از آب خارج شده و با شما كشتي مي گيرد. در توصيف چنين والي مي گوييد: وال روس شجاع است.

valorous شجاع =

آموزش دهمين لغت به روش تصوير سازي ذهني:( عجيب)

وقتي شما از چيزي بيزار مي شويد آن چيز براي شما عجيب جلوه مي كند.مثلا از شخصي به دليلي بيزار مي شويد و ناگهان آن شخص دماغش بلند مي شود .موهايش بسيار بلند مي شود. ناخنهايش خيلي بلند مي شود و به همه چيز شباهت دارد بجز آدميزاد! پس اگر مي خواهيد آدمها عجيب نشوند از آنها بيزار نشويد.

bizarre = عجيب

آموزش يازدهمين لغت به روش تصوير سازي ذهني:( كوتاه كردن)

كره تل ( كره اي كه از تل ساخته شده باشد) وقتي در مجاورت حرارت قرار مي گيرد شروع مي كند به كوتاه كردن مو.                                                                                   

 کوتاه شدن   =  Curtail

براي مطالعه درس زبان انگليسي چهارمهارت را بايد فرابگيريم كه عبارتند از:

listening – speaking – reading – writing

گفته مي شود بهتر است براي يادگيري زبان خارجي همان ترتيب يادگيري زبان اول را رعايت كنيم يعني:

1-                              گوش دادن (listening)

2-                              صحبت كردن  (speaking)

3-                              خواندن (reading)

4-                              نوشتن (writing)

تا حدودي اين توصيه درست است اما اگر قرار باشد زبان خارجي را هم مثل زبان اول در طول چندين سال يادبگيريم ممكن است سرخورده شويم و بعد از صرف وقت و عمر و انرژي و هزينه زياد از يادگيري زبان دوم صرف نظر كنيم.بنابر اين بهتر است يك برنامه مدون داشته باشيم و تكنيكهايي را بياموزيم كه در مدت بسيار كوتاهي به اين هدف نايل شويم.اصل مهم و اصولي در آموزش زبان مداومت است. اما بايد بدانيم كه مهارتهاي چهارگانه زبان را چگونه بهتر و سريعتر و با جذابيت بيشتر فرابگيريم.

مهارت گوش دادن و صحبت كردن (listening & speaking skills)

A good listener is a good speaker. اين اصل مبين اين است كه يك شنونده خوب خواهد توانست به خوبي صحبت كند. به عبارت ديگر خوب گوش دادن منجر به خوب صحبت كردن مي شود. يعني گوش دادن مقدمه صحبت كردن است. منظوراز (a good listener) اين است كه زبان آموز بداند به چه مطلبي و چگونه گوش كند. راههاي متفاوتي براي اين منظور وجود دارد.مثلا مي توانيد از كتابهاي  Tactics for Listening استفاده كنيد. همچنين مي توانيد از سايتهاي اينترنتي مانند:  englishtown يا studioclassroom و يا دهها سايت ديگر استفاده كنيد.اين روشها بسيار خوب است اما مستلزم وقت و هزينه است و معمولا موفقيت زيادي در پي ندارد.روش ديگر(كه بسيار مناسب به نظر مي رسد) اين است كه هر شب مدت 5 دقيقه برنامه انگليسي BBC يا VOA را ضبط كنيد.سپس چندين بار به مطلب ضبط شده گوش كنيد.هر بار كه به مطلب گوش مي كنيد بايد فقط به يك مورد خاص توجه كنيد. مثلا بار اول  سعي كنيد فقط افعال را بشنويد(دقت كنيد كه در اين مرحله دانستن معني عبارات شنيده شده هدف نيست) باردوم سعي كنيد فقط حروف اضافه را بشنويد.دفعه بعد به اسامي خاص توجه كنيد.بعد به صفتهاو...به همين ترتيب اين فعاليت را دنبال كنيد و در آخرين مرحله يك بار ديگر گوش كنيد و به معني و مفهوم هم توجه كنيد. و سپس كلماتي را كه مبهم هستند چندين مرتبه ديگر گوش كنيد.اين كاررا بايد هرروز يا هرشب به طور مداوم و در زمان معين انجام دهيد.اين فعاليت را مي توانيد فقط در 20 دقيقه به انجام برسانيد.البته همان طور كه گفته شد بايد با صبروحوصله اين كاررا ادامه دهيد.پس از مدت كوتاهي نتايج شگرف آن را خواهيد ديد و توفيقتان در امر يادگيري باعث شگفتي ديگران و حتي خود شما خواهد شد!

زبان انگليسي با لحن (accent)  هاي مختلفي صحبت مي شود ولي كسي كه مي خواهد انگليسي بياموزد بايد يك لحن استاندارد را دنبال كند. راديو بي بي سي British English و صداي آمريكا American English مي باشد. البته امروزه لحن غالب American Accent يعني همان  VOA است ولي اين كه شما با چه لهجه اي صحبت كنيد انتخاب با خود شمااست. نكته مهم اين است كه شما نبايد از دو لهجه متفاوت استفاده كنيد.يعني نبايد بعضي از كلمات را با لحن British  و بعضي ديگر را با لحن American ادا نماييد. به برخي از تفاوتهاي انگليسي آمريكايي و انگليسي بريتانيايي توجه كنيد:

تفاوت در تلفظ : در انگليسي آمريكايي برخي كلمات با صداي ( اَ )تلفظ مي شوند در حاليكه همان كلمات در انگليسي بريتانيايي با صداي (آ) ادا مي شوند. مثال : pass

البته از اين نظر اكثر كلمات در هر دو لهجه تلفظ يكسان دارند. 

مثال: cat – mat – sad

father – harm – car                                                                                                                                    

البته تفاوتهاي تلفظي ديگري هم وجود دارند كه به تجربه درخواهيديافت.

تفاوت در نگارش: برخي كلمات در انگليسي بريتانيايي با ou و در انگليسي آمريكايي با o نوشته مي شود مثل colour / color

زبان انگليسي در برخي كشورها second language  است يعني مردم آن كشور به دو زبان صحبت مي كنند و دروس در مراكز علمي معمولا به زبان انگليسي ارايه مي شود بنابراين حتي كودكان در چنين كشورهايي مي توانند به راحتي به زبان انگليسي تكلم كنند. در كشور ما زبان انگليسي foreign language  است.بنابراين ما كسي را نمي يابيم تا با كمك وي speaking practice  داشته باشيم بنابر اين بايد به دنبال راه ديگري باشيم.به اين اصل توجه فرماييدA good reader is a good writer. منظور اين است كه يك خواننده خوب در نوشتن به همان زبان هم مشكلي نخواهد داشت.در واقع اگر بخواهيد قادر به نوشتن باشيد ابتدا بايد يك خواننده خوب باشيد. خواننده خوب كسي است كه مي داند چه مطلبي را بخواند و چگونه بخواند. بهترين كاراين است كه كتابهاي داستان انگليسي را مطالعه كنيد.اين كتابها در سطوح مختلف و تحت عناويني از قبيل Easy English و stage و يا simplified موجود مي باشند.لازم است شما هر ماه دو يا سه عدد از اين كتابها را به اين ترتيب مطالعه نماييد:ابتدا كتاب را با سرعت تمام و بدون توجه به معني از اول تا آخر مطالعه كنيد. دور دوم با تامل بيشتر مطالعه كنيد.در اين مرحله به دو گروه از لغات مشكل برخورد خواهيدكرد.دسته اول لغاتي هستند كه مي شود معني آنها را حدس زد.زيرچنين لغاتي خط بكشيد. دسته دوم لغات كليدي (key words) هستند. دور چنين لغاتي خط بكشيد. سپس با استفاده از يك فرهنگ لغت انگليسي به فارسي فقط معني لغات كليدي را بيابيد و ترجمه آنها را در حاشيه ( و نه بين خطوط) يادداشت كنيد. سپس شروع كنيد به مطالعه كتاب به قصد لذت بردن.در اين مرحله ديگر نبايد به فرهنگ  لغت مراجعه كنيد. حتي نبايد به فارسي فكر كنيد يعني به جاي ترجمه عبارات سعي كنيد جريان داستان را در ذهن خود بازآفريني و تخيل كنيد. چنين مطالعه اي لذت وافري به شما خواهد بخشيد.ضمن اين كه دامنه لغت شما افزايش يافته و دستور زبان هم در شما تقويت خواهد شد و دو ابزار مهم براي نوشتن (يعني واژگان و دستور زبان را به درستي و در مدت بسيار كوتاهي كسب خواهيد كرد.)

براي مهارت نوشتن علاوه بر آنچه گفته شد بايد دفترچه خاطرات همراه داشته باشيد تا وقايع روزمره و نكات جالبي را كه مي بينيد, مي خوانيد و يا به ذهنتان مي رسد به زبان انگليسي يادداشت نماييد. البته نبايد نگران نحوه نگارش باشيد و اصلا نبايد قدرت قلمتان را در انگليسي با زبان فارسي مقايسه كنيد.مهم اين است كه به اين فعاليت مشغول باشيد تا در مدت كوتاهي در نوشتن مهارت پيدا كنيد.

 به طور خلاصه: ابزار لازم براي كسب مهارت listening گوش دادن فعال است. صحبت كردن با خارجي زبانها هم مفيداست كه البته معمولا اين امكان براي همه فراهم نيست.

ابزار لازم براي كسب مهارت speaking توسعه دايره لغات است. براي اين كار راههاي زيادي پيشنهاد مي شود.مثلا مي توانيد هر روز يك ليست لغت روي برگه هاي كاغذ بنويسيد و معني آنها را پشت برگه بنويسيد و در فرصتهايي كه پيش مي آيد آنها را مرور كنيد.از چمله سريع ترين روشهاي يادگيري واژگان تصوير سازي ذهني است که شما در اين وبلاگ با آن آشنا مي شويد.

منبع: http://www.rezalotfian.blogfa.com

دانش واژگانی (Vocabulary  )

1- واژه های دستوری  (Function Words ) : عبارتند ازضمایر، حروف تعریف و غیره ...

2- واژه های معنایی (Content Words ) : عبارتند از  اسم ، فعل ، صفت ، و غیره ...  

    واژگان معنایی به کار رفته در دوره راهنمایی به گونه ای هستند که یا می توان در کلاس

    یافت ، یا با خود به کلاس آورد  ،یا تصویر آن را بر روی تخته کشید ، یا با لوحه به   

    نمایش گذاشت یا با انجام عملی مفهوم آن را منتقل کرد  و در نهایت توضیح مختصری به

    انگلیسی  یا فارسی داده و  از کلمات متضاد و مترادف کمک گرفت.

   روش تدریس لغات جدید :

   الف- مرحله معرفی (:( Presentation

     1- از دانش آموزان بخواهید که کتابهای خود را بسته  و به شما گوس دهند .

       2- واژه جدید را چند بار تلفظ کنید و معنی آن را با استفاده از فلاش کارت ، لوحه ، و یا

           خود شئ ( در صورتی که در کلاس موجود باشد) به دانش آموزان تفهیم کنید .

      3- واژه جدید را در یک یا دو جمله جدید به کار ببرید تا مفهوم آن کاملا درک شود .

      4- هر واژه را روی تخته نوشته و یا از روی فلاش کارت به دانش آموزان نشان دهید .

         در این مرحله هر واژه را چند بار تکرار نمائید تا فرم نوشتاری آن را در حالی که تلفظ

         واژه را می شنوند ، ببیند.

   ب- مرحله تمرین (Practice  )

     1- از دانش آموزان بخواهید به صورت گروهی  و انفرادی واژگان را بعد از شما تکرار

          کنند.

     2- از دانش آموزان بخواهید به صورت گروهی  و انفرادی واژگان را بعد از شما با دیدن 

          تصاویر تکرار کنند .

     3- از دانش آموزان بخواهید به صورت گروهی  و انفرادی واژگان را بعد از شما با دیدن

          فرم نوشتاری تکرار کنند .

ج- مرحله تولید و کاربرد ( Production )

     1- کلمه های تدریس شده را با  به کارگیری از شیوه های زیر ارزشیابی کنید.

         یکی از دستورالعمل های زیر را به دانش آموزان بدهید : 

       - یک .............. به من نشان بده . Show me a ……………          

       - به ................  اشاره کن Point to a ………………….            .

       - یک .............  به من بده.         Give me a ……………….               

       - تصویر یک ........ را بکش.   Draw a picture of a ……..       

    2- جمله ای با یک جای خالی بنویسید و از دانش آموزان بخواهید با یکی از کلمات جدید 

       تدریس شده آن را کامل کنند.

    3- از دانش آموزان بخواهید تا کلمات تدریس شده را در جمله بکار ببرند.

لغات جدید بکمک تصاویر

1- معرفی کلمه :   ضمن اشاره به تصویر و کلمه ، کلمات مربوط به هر تصویر را چند بار

    تکرار کنید . در این مرحله دانش آموزان فقط گوش می دهند.

2- تکرار گروهی : ضمن اشاره به کلمه تصویر را بگویید و از دانش آموزان بخواهید بعد از

     شما تکرار کنند. این عمل را با تک تک  تصاویر انجام دهید.

3 - اشاره معلم و تکرار گروهی : به تصاویر اشاره کنید بدون آنکه کلمات را بر زبان آورید

    با حرکات    دست ، دانش آموزان را به گفتن کلمه مربوط به هر تصویر تشویق کنید.

4- تکرار انفرادی : از چند نفر به طور انفرادی بخواهید تا با اشاره شما به تصاویر ، کلمه

    مربوط به آن را ادا کنند. لازم به یادآوری است که دانش آموزان مجازند فقط بعد از معلم

    کلمات را بطور انفرادی یا گروهی تکرار کنند.

مهارت های چهارگانه :

1- مهارت شنیداری (listening  )

    برای آموزش زبان خارجی لازم است ابتدا دانش آموزان در حد لزوم در معرض زبان قرار گیرند تا

    مهارت های دریافتی زبان (receptive skills  ) را در خود تقویت نمایند و سپس از آنها خواسته  

    شود تا دست به تولیدزبان بزنند ، مهارت شنیداری برای رسیدن به این هدف نقش مهمی ایفا می کند .

    مهارت شنیداری می تواند به دانش آموزان کمک کند تا دانش پایه زبانی را در خود تقویت کنند. انجام

    فعالیت های زیر می تواند به توسعه مهارت شنیداری کمک کند:

      1- شنیدن و تکرار کردن (listen and repeat  )

      2- شنیدن و اشاره کردن یا شنیدن جور کردن (listen and point  or listen and match  )

      3- شنیدن و خواندن (listen and repeat  )

      4- شنیدن و انجام دادن (listen and do  )

2- مهارت گفتاری (Speaking  )

    این مهارت به دانش آموزان فرصت می دهد تا الگوهای زبانی جدید را بطور شفاهی تمرین کرده و

    تولید نمایند . انجام فعالیت های زیر می تواند به توسعه مهارت گفتاری کمک کند:

     1- ایفای نقش (role play )

     2- انجام تمرینات شفاهی (oral drills )

     3- بازگو کردن یک متن کوتاه شنیده شده یا خوانده شده

     4- شرح فعالیت های روزمره

     5- حدس زدن و کامل کردن ادامه یک متن از طریق گوش کردن یا یک متن ناقص

     6- توصیف یک تصویر و یا چند تصویر مربوط به هم.

     7- مقایسه بین دو یا چند تصویر

3- مهارت خواندن  (Reading  )

    در تدریس  مهارت خواندن ، زبان آموزان ابتدا به صورت منظم با حروف الفبا آشنا می شوند. سپس

    با روش دیدن و گفتن (look and say  ) بیان کلمات را به عنوان یک واحد به طور شفاهی تمرین

    می کنند. خواندن کلمات جدید با روش  (listen  and  read  ) انجام می شود و معانی آن نیز به

    وسیله تصا ویر درک می شوند. تشخیص کلمات جدید و تسلط بر شکل نوشتاری آنها به وسیله

    تمرینات موجود در کتاب کار و به کارگیری جداول و غیره  تقویت می گردد. در گام بعدی به دانش

    آموزان کمک میگرد دتا بین حروف نوشته شده در یک کلمه وتلفظ آنها ارتباط برقرار کنند (phonics  ) .

     به تدریج زبان آموزان مهارت خواندن خود را با خواندن جملات کوتاه توسعه می دهند تا جایی که قادر  خواهند  بود تا متون خواندنی را خوانده و درک نمایند و به سئوالات آن پاسخ دهند.

4- مهارت نوشتن (Writing  )

    از آنجایی که نگارش زبان فارسی با انگلیسی که یک زبان خارجی می باشد متفاوت است . لازم ا ست

     که دانش آموزان به  انجام یک سلسله فعالیت های که در اصطلاح  فعالیت های ” پیش نوشتاری“ گفته   میشود

     مبادرت ورزند. هدف از این نوع فعالیت ها ایجاد هماهنگی در کنترل حرکات دست و چشم ، رعایت فاصله و

     تمرین  و ممارست در حرکات روان و سریع قلم با خودکار جهت دست یابی به ریتم طبیعی نوشتن حروف در

    انگلیسی می باشد. مهارت دستخط  با حرکات ساده شروع شده و ابتدا با نمرین الگوهای حروف و سپس به نوشتن

    حروف بزرگ و کوچک ادامه می یابد . در نهایت به ارتباط  حروف با یکدیگر به شکل تقریبا سر هم

    (semi – cursive  ) ختم می گردد . با انجام این کار دانش آموزان به یک دستخط زیبا ، واضح و  روان    دست   پیدا خواهد کرد. در مرحله بعد ، مهارت نوشتن از طریق انجام تمرینات در کتاب درسی و کتاب کار توسعه

    می یابد و در نهایت نوشتن کنترل شده  جملات و ساختارهای گرامری تدریس شده با نظارت معلم انجام می شود.

Chapter 21

Chapter 21
THE discussion of Mr. Collins's offer was now nearly at an end, and Elizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily attending it, and occasionally from some peevish allusion of her mother. As for the gentleman himself, his feelings were chiefly expressed, not by embarrassment or dejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by stiffness of manner and resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke to her, and the assiduous attentions which he had been so sensible of himself, were transferred for the rest of the day to Miss Lucas, whose civility in listening to him, was a seasonable relief to them all, and especially to her friend.
The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Bennet's ill humour or ill health. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did not appear in the least affected by it. He was always to have gone on Saturday, and to Saturday he still meant to stay.

After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton, to inquire if Mr. Wickham were returned, and to lament over his absence from the Netherfield ball. He joined them on their entering the town and attended them to their aunt's, where his regret and vexation, and the concern of every body was well talked over. -- To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged that the necessity of his absence had been self imposed.

``I found,'' said he, ``as the time drew near, that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy; -- that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes might arise unpleasant to more than myself.''

She highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure for a full discussion of it, and for all the commendation which they civilly bestowed on each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back with them to Longbourn, and during the walk he particularly attended to her. His accompanying them was a double advantage; she felt all the compliment it offered to herself, and it was most acceptable as an occasion of introducing him to her father and mother.

Soon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and was opened immediately. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as she read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages. Jane recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation; but Elizabeth felt an anxiety on the subject which drew off her attention even from Wickham; and no sooner had he and his companion taken leave, than a glance from Jane invited her to follow her up stairs. When they had gained their own room, Jane taking out the letter, said,

``This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains, has surprised me a good deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are on their way to town; and without any intention of coming back again. You shall hear what she says.''

She then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information of their having just resolved to follow their brother to town directly, and of their meaning to dine that day in Grosvenor street, where Mr. Hurst had a house. The next was in these words. ``I do not pretend to regret any thing I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend; but we will hope at some future period, to enjoy many returns of the delightful intercourse we have known, and in the mean while may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.'' To these high flown expressions, Elizabeth listened with all the insensibility of distrust; and though the suddenness of their removal surprised her, she saw nothing in it really to lament; it was not to be supposed that their absence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley's being there; and as to the loss of their society, she was persuaded that Jane must soon cease to regard it, in the enjoyment of his.

``It is unlucky,'' said she, after a short pause, ``that you should not be able to see your friends before they leave the country. But may we not hope that the period of future happiness to which Miss Bingley looks forward, may arrive earlier than she is aware, and that the delightful intercourse you have known as friends, will be renewed with yet greater satisfaction as sisters? -- Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London by them.''

``Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you --''

``When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London, might be concluded in three or four days, but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintance are already there for the winter; I wish I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making one in the croud, but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive you.''

``It is evident by this,'' added Jane, ``that he comes back no more this winter.''

``It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean he should.''

``Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. -- He is his own master. But you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you.'' ``Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of her being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already, he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing, her relations all wish the connection as much as his own, and a sister's partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman's heart. With all these circumstances to favour an attachment and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?''

``What think you of this sentence, my dear Lizzy?'' -- said Jane as she finished it. ``Is it not clear enough? -- Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister; that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference, and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?''

``Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. -- Will you hear it?''

``Most willingly.''

``You shall have it in few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to town in the hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you.''

Jane shook her head.

``Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. -- No one who has ever seen you together, can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley I am sure cannot. She is not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is this. We are not rich enough, or grand enough for them; and she is the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion that when there has been one intermarriage, she may have less trouble in achieving a second; in which there is certainly some ingenuity, and I dare say it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But, my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest degree less sensible of your merit than when he took leave of you on Tuesday, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that instead of being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend.''

``If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,'' replied Jane, ``your representation of all this, might make me quite easy. But I know the foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving any one; and all that I can hope in this case is, that she is deceived herself.''

``That is right. -- You could not have started a more happy idea, since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived by all means. You have now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer.''

``But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry elsewhere?''

``You must decide for yourself,'' said Elizabeth, ``and if, upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him.''

``How can you talk so?'' -- said Jane faintly smiling, -- ``You must know that though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate.''

``I did not think you would; -- and that being the case, I cannot consider your situation with much compassion.''

``But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be required. A thousand things may arise in six months!''

The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline's interested wishes, and she could not for a moment suppose that those wishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man so totally independent of every one.

She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Jane's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.

They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the family, without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman's conduct; but even this partial communication gave her a great deal of concern, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go away, just as they were all getting so intimate together. After lamenting it however at some length, she had the consolation of thinking that Mr. Bingley would be soon down again and soon dining at Longbourn, and the conclusion of all was the comfortable declaration that, though he had been invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have two full courses.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22
THE Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and again during the chief of the day, was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. ``It keeps him in good humour,'' said she, ``and I am more obliged to you than I can express.'' Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte's kindness extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception of; -- its object was nothing less than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses, by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and appearances were so favourable that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost sure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon. But here, she did injustice to the fire and independence of his character, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next morning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins, from a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known till its success could be known likewise; for though feeling almost secure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday. His reception however was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.
In as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speeches would allow, every thing was settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they entered the house, he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be waved for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must guard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish for its continuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that establishment were gained.

Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent; and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's present circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom they could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as his decided opinion that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the Longbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their appearance at St. James's. The whole family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte's dying an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had gained her point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr. Collins to be sure was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still, he would be her husband. -- Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstance in the business was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her; and though her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by such disapprobation. She resolved to give her the information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins, when he returned to Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the family. A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return, as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.

As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved for the night; and Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and cordiality, said how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his other engagements might allow him to visit them.

``My dear Madam,'' he replied, ``this invitation is particularly gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and you may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as possible.''

They were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who could by no means wish for so speedy a return, immediately said,

``But is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapprobation here, my good sir? -- You had better neglect your relations, than run the risk of offending your patroness.''

``My dear sir,'' replied Mr. Collins, ``I am particularly obliged to you for this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so material a step without her ladyship's concurrence.''

``You cannot be too much on your guard. Risk any thing rather than her displeasure; and if you find it likely to be raised by your coming to us again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home, and be satisfied that we shall take no offence.''

``Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such affectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will speedily receive from me a letter of thanks for this, as well as for every other mark of your regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though my absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting my cousin Elizabeth.''

With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them equally surprised to find that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished to understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of her younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him. She rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there was a solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and improve himself by such an example as her's, he might become a very agreeable companion. But on the following morning, every hope of this kind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a private conference with Elizabeth related the event of the day before.

The possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying himself in love with her friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two; but that Charlotte could encourage him, seemed almost as far from possibility as that she could encourage him herself, and her astonishment was consequently so great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she could not help crying out,

``Engaged to Mr. Collins! my dear Charlotte, -- impossible!''

The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her story, gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a reproach; though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon regained her composure, and calmly replied,

``Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? -- Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?''

But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort for it, was able to assure her with tolerable firmness that the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished her all imaginable happiness.

``I see what you are feeling,'' replied Charlotte, -- ``you must be surprised, very much surprised, -- so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it all over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state.''

Elizabeth quietly answered ``Undoubtedly;'' -- and after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins's making two offers of marriage within three days, was nothing in comparison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she could not have supposed it possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins, was a most humiliating picture! -- And to the pang of a friend disgracing herself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23
ELIZABETH was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what she had heard, and doubting whether she were authorised to mention it, when Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter to announce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to them, and much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the houses, he unfolded the matter, -- to an audience not merely wondering, but incredulous; for Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken, and Lydia, always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed,
``Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? -- Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?''

Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne without anger such treatment; but Sir William's good breeding carried him through it all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to the truth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence with the most forbearing courtesy.

Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; and endeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters, by the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she was readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks on the happiness that might be expected from the match, the excellent character of Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance of Hunsford from London.

Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal while Sir William remained; but no sooner had he left them than her feelings found a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in disbelieving the whole of the matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins had been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never be happy together; and fourthly, that the match might be broken off. Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole; one, that Elizabeth was the real cause of all the mischief; and the other, that she herself had been barbarously used by them all; and on these two points she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could console and nothing appease her. -- Nor did that day wear out her resentment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without scolding her, a month passed away before she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without being rude, and many months were gone before she could at all forgive their daughter.

Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such as he did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort; for it gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and more foolish than his daughter!

Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness; nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a clergyman; and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news to spread at Meryton.

Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort on Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married; and she called at Longbourn rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs. Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been enough to drive happiness away.

Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious, as Bingley had now been gone a week, and nothing was heard of his return.

Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a twelvemonth's abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many rapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn, whither he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady Catherine, he added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable argument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for making him the happiest of men.

Mr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was as much disposed to complain of it as her husband. -- It was very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient and exceedingly troublesome. -- She hated having visitors in the house while her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and they gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley's continued absence.

Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after day passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the report which shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no more to Netherfield the whole winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs. Bennet, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous falsehood.

Even Elizabeth began to fear -- not that Bingley was indifferent -- but that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, and so dishonourable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its frequently recurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London, might be too much, she feared, for the strength of his attachment.

As for Jane, her anxiety under this suspence was, of course, more painful than Elizabeth's; but whatever she felt she was desirous of concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject was never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her impatience for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that if he did not come back, she should think herself very ill used. It needed all Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable tranquillity.

Mr. Collins returned most punctually on the Monday fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention; and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.

Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of any thing concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill humour, and wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she regarded her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see them she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband.

``Indeed, Mr. Bennet,'' said she, ``it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take my place in it!''

``My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.''

This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and, therefore, instead of making any answer, she went on as before,

``I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate, If it was not for the entail I should not mind it.''

``What should not you mind?''

``I should not mind any thing at all.''

``Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such insensibility.''

``I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for any thing about the entail. How any one could have the conscience to entail away an estate from one's own daughters I cannot understand; and all for the sake of Mr. Collins too! -- Why should he have it more than anybody else?''

``I leave it to yourself to determine,'' said Mr. Bennet.

END OF VOL. I VOLUME II

Chapter 24

Chapter 24
MISS Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first sentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for the winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not having had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.
Hope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest of the letter, she found little, except the professed affection of the writer, that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy's praise occupied the chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former letter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother's being an inmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and mentioned with raptures some plans of the latter with regard to new furniture. Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern for her sister, and resentment against all the others. To Caroline's assertion of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no credit. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done; and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution which now made him the slave of his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice his own happiness to the caprice of their inclinations. Had his own happiness, however, been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport with it in what ever manner he thought best; but her sister's was involved in it, as, she thought, he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. She could think of nothing else, and yet whether Bingley's regard had really died away, or were suppressed by his friends' interference; whether he had been aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had escaped his observation; whichever were the case, though her opinion of him must be materially affected by the difference, her sister's situation remained the same, her peace equally wounded.

A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth; but at last on Mrs. Bennet's leaving them together, after a longer irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could not help saying,

``Oh! that my dear mother had more command over herself; she can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before.''

Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing.

``You doubt me,'' cried Jane, slightly colouring; ``indeed you have no reason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time therefore. -- I shall certainly try to get the better.''

With a stronger voice she soon added, ``I have this comfort immediately, that it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to any one but myself.''

``My dear Jane!'' exclaimed Elizabeth, ``you are too good. Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never done you justice, or loved you as you deserve.''

Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her sister's warm affection.

``Nay,'' said Elizabeth, ``this is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of any body. I only want to think you perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be afraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your privilege of universal good will. You need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately; one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte's marriage. It is unaccountable! in every view it is unaccountable!''

``My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference of situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins's respectability, and Charlotte's prudent, steady character. Remember that she is one of a large family; that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match; and be ready to believe, for every body's sake, that she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin.''

``To oblige you, I would try to believe almost any thing, but no one else could be benefited by such a belief as this; for were I persuaded that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of her understanding, than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is, as well as I do; and you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who marries him, cannot have a proper way of thinking. You shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle and integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger, security for happiness.''

``I must think your language too strong in speaking of both,'' replied Jane, ``and I hope you will be convinced of it, by seeing them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to something else. You mentioned two instances. I cannot misunderstand you, but I intreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking that person to blame, and saying your opinion of him is sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more than it does.''

``And men take care that they should.''

``If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have no idea of there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine.''

``I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley's conduct to design,'' said Elizabeth; ``but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other people's feelings, and want of resolution, will do the business,''

``And do you impute it to either of those?''

``Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can.''

``You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him.''

``Yes, in conjunction with his friend.''

``I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish his happiness, and if he is attached to me, no other woman can secure it.''

``Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence; they may wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great connections, and pride.''

``Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to chuse Miss Darcy,'' replied Jane; ``but this may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have known her much longer than they have known me; no wonder if they love her better. But, whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely they should have opposed their brother's. What sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there were something very objectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an affection, you make every body acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken -- or, at least, it is slight, it is nothing in comparison of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in the best light, in the light in which it may be understood.''

Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley's name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.

Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no more, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account for it clearly, there seemed little chance of her ever considering it with less perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured to convince her of what she did not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect of a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw her no more; but though the probability of the statement was admitted at the time, she had the same story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet's best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must be down again in the summer.

Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently. ``So, Lizzy,'' said he one day, ``your sister is crossed in love I find. I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably.''

``Thank you, Sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane's good fortune.''

``True,'' said Mr. Bennet, ``but it is a comfort to think that, whatever of that kind may befall you, you have an affectionate mother who will always make the most of it.''

Mr. Wickham's society was of material service in dispelling the gloom, which the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many of the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now added that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed; and every body was pleased to think how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known any thing of the matter.

Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be any extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society of Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes -- but by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25
AFTER a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity, Mr. Collins was called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival of Saturday. The pain of separation, however, might be alleviated on his side, by preparations for the reception of his bride, as he had reason to hope that shortly after his next return into Hertfordshire, the day would be fixed that was to make him the happiest of men. He took leave of his relations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as before; wished his fair cousins health and happiness again, and promised their father another letter of thanks.
On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sister, as well by nature as education. The Netherfield ladies would have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived by trade, and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so well bred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favourite with all her Longbourn nieces. Between the two eldest and herself especially, there subsisted a very particular regard. They had frequently been staying with her in town.

The first part of Mrs. Gardiner's business on her arrival, was to distribute her presents and describe the newest fashions. When this was done, she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to listen. Mrs. Bennet had many grievances to relate, and much to complain of. They had all been very ill-used since she last saw her sister. Two of her girls had been on the point of marriage, and after all there was nothing in it.

``I do not blame Jane,'' she continued, ``for Jane would have got Mr. Bingley, if she could. But, Lizzy! Oh, sister! it is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it been for her own perverseness. He made her an offer in this very room, and she refused him. The consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I have, and that Longbourn estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucases are very artful people indeed, sister. They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of them, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly, to be thwarted so in my own family, and to have neighbours who think of themselves before anybody else. However, your coming just at this time is the greatest of comforts, and I am very glad to hear what you tell us, of long sleeves.''

Mrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news had been given before, in the course of Jane and Elizabeth's correspondence with her, made her sister a slight answer, and, in compassion to her nieces, turned the conversation.

When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on the subject. ``It seems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane,'' said she. ``I am sorry it went off. But these things happen so often! A young man, such as you describe Mr. Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when accident separates them, so easily forgets her, that these sort of inconstancies are very frequent.''

``An excellent consolation in its way,'' said Elizabeth, ``but it will not do for us. We do not suffer by accident. It does not often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl, whom he was violently in love with only a few days before.''

``But that expression of "violently in love" is so hackneyed, so doubtful, so indefinite, that it gives me very little idea. It is as often applied to feelings which arise from an half-hour's acquaintance, as to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love?''

``I never saw a more promising inclination. He was growing quite inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies by not asking them to dance, and I spoke to him twice myself without receiving an answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?''

``Oh, yes! -- of that kind of love which I suppose him to have felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because, with her disposition, she may not get over it immediately. It had better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed yourself out of it sooner. But do you think she would be prevailed on to go back with us? Change of scene might be of service -- and perhaps a little relief from home, may be as useful as anything.''

Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded of her sister's ready acquiescence.

``I hope,'' added Mrs. Gardiner, ``that no consideration with regard to this young man will influence her. We live in so different a part of town, all our connections are so different, and, as you well know, we go out so little, that it is very improbable they should meet at all, unless he really comes to see her.''

``And that is quite impossible; for he is now in the custody of his friend, and Mr. Darcy would no more suffer him to call on Jane in such a part of London -- ! My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may perhaps have heard of such a place as Gracechurch Street, but he would hardly think a month's ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities, were he once to enter it; and depend upon it, Mr. Bingley never stirs without him.''

``So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does not Jane correspond with the sister? She will not be able to help calling.''

``She will drop the acquaintance entirely.''

But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to place this point, as well as the still more interesting one of Bingley's being withheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude on the subject which convinced her, on examination, that she did not consider it entirely hopeless. It was possible, and sometimes she thought it probable, that his affection might be re-animated, and the influence of his friends successfully combated by the more natural influence of Jane's attractions.

Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure; and the Bingleys were no otherwise in her thoughts at the time, than as she hoped that, by Caroline's not living in the same house with her brother, she might occasionally spend a morning with her, without any danger of seeing him.

The Gardiners staid a week at Longbourn; and what with the Philipses, the Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its engagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment of her brother and sister, that they did not once sit down to a family dinner. When the engagement was for home, some of the officers always made part of it, of which officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one; and on these occasions, Mrs. Gardiner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeth's warm commendation of him, narrowly observed them both. Without supposing them, from what she saw, to be very seriously in love, their preference of each other was plain enough to make her a little uneasy; and she resolved to speak to Elizabeth on the subject before she left Hertfordshire, and represent to her the imprudence of encouraging such an attachment.

To Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure, unconnected with his general powers. About ten or a dozen years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a considerable time in that very part of Derbyshire to which he belonged. They had, therefore, many acquaintance in common; and, though Wickham had been little there since the death of Darcy's father, five years before, it was yet in his power to give her fresher intelligence of her former friends, than she had been in the way of procuring.

Mrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and known the late Mr. Darcy by character perfectly well. Here, consequently, was an inexhaustible subject of discourse. In comparing her recollection of Pemberley with the minute description which Wickham could give, and in bestowing her tribute of praise on the character of its late possessor, she was delighting both him and herself. On being made acquainted with the present Mr. Darcy's treatment of him, she tried to remember something of that gentleman's reputed disposition, when quite a lad, which might agree with it, and was confident at last that she recollected having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy formerly spoken of as a very proud, ill-natured boy.

Chapter 26

Chapter 26
MRS. Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on the first favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone; after honestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on:
``You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against him; he is a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is -- you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.''

``My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.''

``Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise.''

``Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it.''

``Elizabeth, you are not serious now.''

``I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw -- and if he becomes really attached to me -- I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence of it. -- Oh! that abominable Mr. Darcy! -- My father's opinion of me does me the greatest honor; and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but since we see every day that where there is affection, young people are seldom withheld by immediate want of fortune from entering into engagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many of my fellow creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that it would be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my best.''

``Perhaps it will be as well, if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least, you should not remind your mother of inviting him.''

``As I did the other day,'' said Elizabeth, with a conscious smile; ``very true, it will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited this week. You know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think to be wisest; and now, I hope you are satisfied.''

Her aunt assured her that she was; and Elizabeth having thanked her for the kindness of her hints, they parted; a wonderful instance of advice being given on such a point without being resented.

Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted by the Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up his abode with the Lucases, his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as to think it inevitable, and even repeatedly to say in an ill-natured tone that she ``wished they might be happy.'' Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit; and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied her out of the room. As they went down stairs together, Charlotte said,

``I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza.''

``That you certainly shall.''

``And I have another favour to ask. Will you come and see me?''

``We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire.''

``I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford.''

Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit.

``My father and Maria are to come to me in March,'' added Charlotte, ``and I hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome to me as either of them.''

The wedding took place; the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and every body had as much to say or to hear on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend; and their correspondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been; that it should be equally unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over, and, though determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what was. Charlotte's first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness; there could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how she would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself to be; though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte expressed herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen. She wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine's behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit there, to know the rest.

Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the Bingleys.

Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town, without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn had by some accident been lost.

``My aunt,'' she continued, ``is going to-morrow into that part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor-street.''

She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley. ``I did not think Caroline in spirits,'' were her words, ``but she was very glad to see me, and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right, therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I enquired after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy, that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall soon see them here.''

Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister's being in town.

Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the visitor did at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and yet more, the alteration of her manner, would allow Jane to deceive herself no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister, will prove what she felt.

``My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her better judgment, at my expence, when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me. But, my dear sister, though the event has proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be intimate with me, but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday; and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the mean time. When she did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in it; she made a slight, formal, apology for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every respect so altered a creature, that when she went away I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out as she did; I can safely say, that every advance to intimacy began on her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it, I need not explain myself farther; and though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me; and so deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she may feel on his behalf is natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now, because, if he had at all cared about me, we must have met long, long ago. He knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself; and yet it should seem by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But I will endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what will make me happy: your affection, and the invariable kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there.

Your's, &c.''

This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits returned as she considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least. All expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for any renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review of it; and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as, by Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.

Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman, and required information; and Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt than to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over, he was the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see it and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in his case than in Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural; and while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very sincerely wish him happy.

All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and after relating the circumstances, she thus went on: -- ``I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him; they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual; and though I should certainly be a more interesting object to all my acquaintance, were I distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to live on, as well as the plain.''

Chapter 27

Chapter 27
WITH no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did January and February pass away. March was to take Elizabeth to Hunsford. She had not at first thought very seriously of going thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the plan, and she gradually learned to consider it herself with greater pleasure as well as greater certainty. Absence had increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened her disgust of Mr. Collins. There was novelty in the scheme; and as, with such a mother and such uncompanionable sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change was not unwelcome for its own sake. The journey would moreover give her a peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near, she would have been very sorry for any delay. Every thing, however, went on smoothly, and was finally settled according to Charlotte's first sketch. She was to accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The improvement of spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became perfect as plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving her father, who would certainly miss her, and who, when it came to the point, so little liked her going that he told her to write to him, and almost promised to answer her letter.

The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly; on his side even more. His present pursuit could not make him forget that Elizabeth had been the first to excite and to deserve his attention, the first to listen and to pity, the first to be admired; and in his manner of bidding her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of what she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting their opinion of her -- their opinion of every body -- would always coincide, there was a solicitude, an interest which she felt must ever attach her to him with a most sincere regard; and she parted from him convinced that, whether married or single, he must always be her model of the amiable and pleasing.

Her fellow-travellers the next day were not of a kind to make her think him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas and his daughter Maria, a good humoured girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to say that could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had known Sir William's too long. He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his civilities were worn out like his information.

It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch-street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner's door, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival; when they entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth, looking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls, whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, as they had not seen her for a twelvemonth, prevented their coming lower. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away; the morning in bustle and shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.

Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first subject was her sister; and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to her minute enquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however, to hope that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particulars also of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch-street, and repeated conversations occurring at different times between Jane and herself, which proved that the former had, from her heart, given up the acquaintance.

Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion, and complimented her on bearing it so well.

``But, my dear Elizabeth,'' she added, ``what sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.''

``Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end, and avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me, because it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary.''

``If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think.''

``She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.''

``But he paid her not the smallest attention, till her grandfather's death made her mistress of this fortune.''

``No -- why should he? If it was not allowable for him to gain my affections, because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor?''

``But there seems indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her, so soon after this event.''

``A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we?''

``Her not objecting, does not justify him. It only shews her being deficient in something herself -- sense or feeling.''

``Well,'' cried Elizabeth, ``have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish.''

``No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.''

``Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going to-morrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.''

``Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment.''

Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.

``We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us,'' said Mrs. Gardiner, ``but perhaps to the Lakes.''

No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. ``My dear, dear aunt,'' she rapturously cried, ``what delight! what felicity! You give me fresh life and vigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks and mountains? Oh! what hours of transport we shall spend! And when we do return, it shall not be like other travellers, without being able to give one accurate idea of any thing. We will know where we have gone -- we will recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations; nor, when we attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling about its relative situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable than those of the generality of travellers.''

Chapter 28

Chapter 28
EVERY object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth; and her spirits were in a state for enjoyment; for she had seen her sister looking so well as to banish all fear for her health, and the prospect of her northern tour was a constant source of delight.
When they left the high-road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth smiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants.

At length the Parsonage was discernable. The garden sloping to the road, the house standing in it, the green pales and the laurel hedge, everything declared that they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at a small gate, which led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming, when she found herself so affectionately received. She saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; his formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his enquiries after all her family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the neatness of the entrance, taken into the house; and as soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.

Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not help fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though every thing seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance; and rather looked with wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful an air, with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said any thing of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, she involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of which he attended himself. To work in his garden was one of his most respectable pleasures; and Elizabeth admired the command of countenance with which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the excercise, and owned she encouraged it as much as possible. Here, leading the way through every walk and cross walk, and scarcely allowing them an interval to utter the praises he asked for, every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He could number the fields in every direction, and could tell how many trees there were in the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, or which the country, or the kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with the prospect of Rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that bordered the park nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a handsome modern building, well situated on rising ground.

From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows, but the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white frost, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte took her sister and friend over the house, extremely well pleased, probably, to have the opportunity of shewing it without her husband's help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency of which Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really a great air of comfort throughout, and by Charlotte's evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often forgotten. She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining in, observed,

``Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying that she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship's carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of her ladyship's carriages, for she has several.''

``Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed,'' added Charlotte, ``and a most attentive neighbour.''

``Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much deference.''

The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news, and telling again what had been already written; and when it closed, Elizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, had to meditate upon Charlotte's degree of contentment, to understand her address in guiding, and composure in bearing with her husband, and to acknowledge that it was all done very well. She had also to anticipate how her visit would pass, the quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious interruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaieties of their intercourse with Rosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all. About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready for a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the whole house in confusion; and after listening a moment, she heard somebody running up stairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after her. She opened the door, and met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless with agitation, cried out,

``Oh, my dear Eliza! pray make haste and come into the dining-room, for there is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell you what it is. Make haste, and come down this moment.''

Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her nothing more, and down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted the lane, in quest of this wonder; it was two ladies stopping in a low phaeton at the garden gate.

``And is this all?'' cried Elizabeth. ``I expected at least that the pigs were got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter!''

``La! my dear,'' said Maria quite shocked at the mistake, ``it is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them. The other is Miss De Bourgh. Only look at her. She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought she could be so thin and small!''

``She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors in all this wind. Why does she not come in?''

``Oh! Charlotte says, she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours when Miss De Bourgh comes in.''

``I like her appearance,'' said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. ``She looks sickly and cross. -- Yes, she will do for him very well. She will make him a very proper wife.''

Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation with the ladies; and Sir William, to Elizabeth's high diversion, was stationed in the doorway, in earnest contemplation of the greatness before him, and constantly bowing whenever Miss De Bourgh looked that way.

At length there was nothing more to be said; the ladies drove on, and the others returned into the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the two girls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, which Charlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party was asked to dine at Rosings the next day.

Chapter 29

Chapter 29
MR. Collins's triumph in consequence of this invitation was complete. The power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly what he had wished for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be given so soon was such an instance of Lady Catherine's condescension as he knew not how to admire enough.
``I confess,'' said he, ``that I should not have been at all surprised by her Ladyship's asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen. But who could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who could have imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there (an invitation moreover including the whole party) so immediately after your arrival!''

``I am the less surprised at what has happened,'' replied Sir William, ``from that knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which my situation in life has allowed me to acquire. About the Court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncommon.''

Scarcely any thing was talked of the whole day, or next morning, but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner might not wholly overpower them.

When the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth,

``Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us, which becomes herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest, there is no occasion for any thing more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved.''

While they were dressing, he came two or three times to their different doors, to recommend their being quick, as Lady Catherine very much objected to be kept waiting for her dinner. -- Such formidable accounts of her ladyship, and her manner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucas, who had been little used to company, and she looked forward to her introduction at Rosings with as much apprehension, as her father had done to his presentation at St. James's.

As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. -- Every park has its beauty and its prospects; and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire, and was but slightly affected by his enumeration of the windows in front of the house, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had originally cost Sir Lewis De Bourgh.

When they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. -- Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue, and the mere stateliness of money and rank she thought she could witness without trepidation.

From the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out, with a rapturous air, the fine proportion and finished ornaments, they followed the servants through an ante-chamber, to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. -- Her ladyship, with great condescension, arose to receive them; and as Mrs. Collins had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction should be her's, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary.

In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word; and his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene, and could observe the three ladies before her composedly. -- Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them such as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered formidable by silence; but whatever she said was spoken in so authoritative a tone as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr. Wickham immediately to Elizabeth's mind; and from the observation of the day altogether, she believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he had represented.

When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment she soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter, she could almost have joined in Maria's astonishment at her being so thin, and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss De Bourgh was pale and sickly; her features, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very little, except in a low voice to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a screen in the proper direction before her eyes.

After sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to admire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to point out its beauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much better worth looking at in the summer.

The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants, and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. -- He carved, and ate, and praised with delighted alacrity; and every dish was commended, first by him, and then by Sir William, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever his son in law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, and gave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved a novelty to them. The party did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated between Charlotte and Miss De Bourgh -- the former of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her all dinner time. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little Miss De Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fearing she were indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the question, and the gentlemen did nothing but eat and admire.

When the ladies returned to the drawing room, there was little to be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any intermission till coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner as proved that she was not used to have her judgment controverted. She enquired into Charlotte's domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, and gave her a great deal of advice as to the management of them all; told her how every thing ought to be regulated in so small a family as her's, and instructed her as to the care of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that nothing was beneath this great lady's attention, which could furnish her with an occasion of dictating to others. In the intervals of her discourse with Mrs. Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, but especially to the latter, of whose connections she knew the least, and who, she observed to Mrs. Collins, was a very genteel, pretty kind of girl. She asked her at different times, how many sisters she had, whether they were older or younger than herself, whether any of them were likely to be married, whether they were handsome, where they had been educated, what carriage her father kept, and what had been her mother's maiden name? -- Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of her questions, but answered them very composedly. -- Lady Catherine then observed,

``Your father's estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think. For your sake,'' turning to Charlotte, ``I am glad of it; but otherwise I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female line. -- It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh's family. -- Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?''

``A little.''

``Oh! then -- some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to -- You shall try it some day. -- Do your sisters play and sing?''

``One of them does.''

``Why did not you all learn? -- You ought all to have learned. The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an income as your's. -- Do you draw?''

``No, not at all.''

``What, none of you?''

``Not one.''

``That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother should have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters.''

``My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London.''

``Has your governess left you?''

``We never had any governess.''

``No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home without a governess! -- I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must have been quite a slave to your education.''

Elizabeth could hardly help smiling, as she assured her that had not been the case.

``Then, who taught you? who attended to you? Without a governess you must have been neglected.''

``Compared with some families, I believe we were; but such of us as wished to learn, never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to read, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle, certainly might.''

``Aye, no doubt; but that is what a governess will prevent, and if I had known your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage one. I always say that nothing is to be done in education without steady and regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give it. It is wonderful how many families I have been the means of supplying in that way. I am always glad to get a young person well placed out. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my means; and it was but the other day that I recommended another young person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family are quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalfe's calling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. "Lady Catherine," said she, "you have given me a treasure." Are any of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?''

``Yes, Ma'am, all.''

``All! -- What, all five out at once? Very odd! -- And you only the second. -- The younger ones out before the elder are married! -- Your younger sisters must be very young?''

``Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young to be much in company. But really, Ma'am, I think it would be very hard upon younger sisters, that they should not have their share of society and amusement because the elder may not have the means or inclination to marry early. -- The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth, as the first. And to be kept back on such a motive! -- I think it would not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of mind.''

``Upon my word,'' said her ladyship, ``you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. -- Pray, what is your age?''

``With three younger sisters grown up,'' replied Elizabeth smiling, ``your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.''

Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer; and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence!

``You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, -- therefore you need not conceal your age.''

``I am not one and twenty.''

When the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card tables were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat down to quadrille; and as Miss De Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the two girls had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her party. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was uttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson expressed her fears of Miss De Bourgh's being too hot or too cold, or having too much or too little light. A great deal more passed at the other table, Lady Catherine was generally speaking -- stating the mistakes of the three others, or relating some anecdote of herself. Mr. Collins was employed in agreeing to every thing her Ladyship said, thanking her for every fish he won, and apologising if he thought he won too many. Sir William did not say much. He was storing his memory with anecdotes and noble names.

When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose, the tables were broke up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully accepted, and immediately ordered. The party then gathered round the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they were to have on the morrow. From these instructions they were summoned by the arrival of the coach, and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins's side, and as many bows on Sir William's, they departed. As soon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called on by her cousin to give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte's sake, she made more favourable than it really was. But her commendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no means satisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her ladyship's praise into his own hands.

Chapter 30

Chapter 30
SIR WILLIAM staid only a week at Hunsford; but his visit was long enough to convince him of his daughter's being most comfortably settled, and of her possessing such a husband and such a neighbour as were not often met with. While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his mornings to driving him out in his gig and shewing him the country; but when he went away, the whole family returned to their usual employments, and Elizabeth was thankful to find that they did not see more of her cousin by the alteration, for the chief of the time between breakfast and dinner was now passed by him either at work in the garden, or in reading and writing, and looking out of window in his own book room, which fronted the road. The room in which the ladies sat was backwards. Elizabeth at first had rather wondered that Charlotte should not prefer the dining parlour for common use; it was a better sized room, and had a pleasanter aspect; but she soon saw that her friend had an excellent reason for what she did, for Mr. Collins would undoubtedly have been much less in his own apartment, had they sat in one equally lively; and she gave Charlotte credit for the arrangement.
From the drawing room they could distinguish nothing in the lane, and were indebted to Mr. Collins for the knowledge of what carriages went along, and how often especially Miss De Bourgh drove by in her phaeton, which he never failed coming to inform them of, though it happened almost every day. She not unfrequently stopped at the Parsonage, and had a few minutes' conversation with Charlotte, but was scarcely ever prevailed on to get out.

Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and not many in which his wife did not think it necessary to go likewise; and till Elizabeth recollected that there might be other family livings to be disposed of, she could not understand the sacrifice of so many hours. Now and then, they were honoured with a call from her ladyship, and nothing escaped her observation that was passing in the room during these visits. She examined into their employments, looked at their work, and advised them to do it differently; found fault with the arrangement of the furniture, or detected the housemaid in negligence; and if she accepted any refreshment, seemed to do it only for the sake of finding out that Mrs. Collins's joints of meat were too large for her family.

Elizabeth soon perceived that though this great lady was not in the commission of the peace for the county, she was a most active magistrate in her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her by Mr. Collins; and whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be quarrelsome, discontented or too poor, she sallied forth into the village to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into harmony and plenty.

The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week; and, allowing for the loss of Sir William, and there being only one card table in the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart of the first. Their other engagements were few; as the style of living of the neighbourhood in general was beyond the Collinses' reach. This, however, was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time comfortably enough; there were half hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and the weather was so fine for the time of year, that she had often great enjoyment out of doors. Her favourite walk, and where she frequently went while the others were calling on Lady Catherine, was along the open grove which edged that side of the park, where there was a nice sheltered path, which no one seemed to value but herself, and where she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine's curiosity.

In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away. Easter was approaching, and the week preceding it was to bring an addition to the family at Rosings, which in so small a circle must be important. Elizabeth had heard, soon after her arrival, that Mr. Darcy was expected there in the course of a few weeks, and though there were not many of her acquaintance whom she did not prefer, his coming would furnish one comparatively new to look at in their Rosings parties, and she might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley's designs on him were, by his behaviour to his cousin, for whom he was evidently destined by Lady Catherine; who talked of his coming with the greatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration, and seemed almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by Miss Lucas and herself.

His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage, for Mr. Collins was walking the whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hunsford Lane, in order to have the earliest assurance of it; and after making his bow as the carriage turned into the park, hurried home with the great intelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay his respects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his uncle, Lord ----; and to the great surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins returned, the gentlemen accompanied him. Charlotte had seen them, from her husband's room, crossing the road, and immediately running into the other, told the girls what an honour they might expect, adding,

``I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me.''

Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliment, before their approach was announced by the door-bell, and shortly afterwards the three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, paid his compliments, with his usual reserve, to Mrs. Collins; and whatever might be his feelings towards her friend, met her with every appearance of composure. Elizabeth merely curtseyed to him, without saying a word.

Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly; but his cousin, after having addressed a slight observation on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to any body. At length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to enquire of Elizabeth after the health of her family. She answered him in the usual way, and after a moment's pause, added,

``My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her there?''

She was perfectly sensible that he never had; but she wished to see whether he would betray any consciousness of what had passed between the Bingleys and Jane; and she thought he looked a little confused as he answered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The subject was pursued no farther, and the gentlemen soon afterwards went away.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11
WHEN the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister, and, seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into the drawing-room; where she was welcomed by her two friends with many professions of pleasure; and Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared. Their powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.
But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object. Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned towards Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed himself directly to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he was ``very glad;'' but diffuseness and warmth remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first half hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room; and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fireplace, that she might be farther from the door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to any one else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.

When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table -- but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do but to stretch himself on one of the sophas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother's conversation with Miss Bennet.

Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy's progress through his book, as in reading her own; and she was perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her question, and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, ``How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! -- When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.''

No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest of some amusement; when, hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said,

``By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? -- I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.''

``If you mean Darcy,'' cried her brother, ``he may go to bed, if he chuses, before it begins -- but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards.''

``I should like balls infinitely better,'' she replied, ``if they were carried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day.''

``Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball.''

Miss Bingley made no answer; and soon afterwards got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well; -- but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation of her feelings she resolved on one effort more; and turning to Elizabeth, said,

``Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. -- I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.''

Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr. Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their chusing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives his joining them would interfere. ``What could he mean? she was dying to know what could be his meaning'' -- and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand him?

``Not at all,'' was her answer; ``but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it.''

Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in any thing, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives.

``I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,'' said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. ``You either chuse this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; -- if the first, I should be completely in your way; -- and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.''

``Oh! shocking!'' cried Miss Bingley. ``I never heard any thing so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?''

``Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,'' said Elizabeth. ``We can all plague and punish one another. Teaze him -- laugh at him. -- Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.''

``But upon my honour I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Teaze calmness of temper and presence of mind! No, no -- I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself.''

``Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!'' cried Elizabeth. ``That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh.''

``Miss Bingley,'' said he, ``has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.''

``Certainly,'' replied Elizabeth -- ``there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. -- But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without.''

``Perhaps that is not possible for any one. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.''

``Such as vanity and pride.''

``Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride -- where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.''

Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.

``Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,'' said Miss Bingley; -- ``and pray what is the result?''

``I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise.''

``No'' -- said Darcy, ``I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. -- It is I believe too little yielding -- certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. -- My good opinion once lost is lost for ever.''

``That is a failing indeed!'' -- cried Elizabeth. ``Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. -- I really cannot laugh at it; you are safe from me.''

``There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.''

``And your defect is a propensity to hate every body.''

``And yours,'' he replied with a smile, ``is wilfully to misunderstand them.''

``Do let us have a little music,'' -- cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. -- ``Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst.''

Her sister made not the smallest objection, and the piano-forte was opened, and Darcy, after a few moments recollection, was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.

Chapter 12

Chapter 12
IN consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next morning to her mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive hem with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeth's wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added that, if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. -- Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively resolved -- nor did she much expect it would be asked; and fearful, on the contrary, as being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately, and at length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned, and the request made.
The communication excited many professions of concern; and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day, to work on Jane; and till the morrow their going was deferred. Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.

The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her -- that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.

To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence -- Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked -- and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more teazing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.

On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. -- Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the liveliest spirits.

They were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much trouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. -- But their father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle. The evening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of its animation, and almost all its sense, by the absence of Jane and Elizabeth.

They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough bass and human nature; and had some new extracts to admire, and some new observations of thread-bare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information for them of a different sort. Much had been done and much had been said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the officers had dined lately with their uncle, a private had been flogged, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13
``I HOPE my dear,'' said Mr. Bennet to his wife as they were at breakfast the next morning, ``that you have ordered a good dinner to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.''
``Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in, and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home.''

``The person of whom I speak, is a gentleman and a stranger.''

Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. -- ``A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure. Why Jane -- you never dropt a word of this; you sly thing! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. -- But -- good lord! how unlucky! there is not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill, this moment.''

``It is not Mr. Bingley,'' said her husband; ``it is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life.''

This roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters at once.

After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained. ``About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.''

``Oh! my dear,'' cried his wife, ``I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own children; and I am sure if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it.''

Jane and Elizabeth attempted to explain to her the nature of an entail. They had often attempted it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason; and she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about.

``It certainly is a most iniquitous affair,'' said Mr. Bennet, ``and nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself.''

``No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it was very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why could not he keep on quarrelling with you, as his father did before him?''

``Why, indeed, he does seem to have had some filial scruples on that head, as you will hear.''

``Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent,

15th October.

DEAR SIR,

THE disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with any one with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.'' -- ``There, Mrs. Bennet.'' -- ``My mind however is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her Ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends, -- but of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'nnight following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,

WILLIAM COLLINS.''

``At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peacemaking gentleman,'' said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. ``He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word; and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him come to us again.''

``There is some sense in what he says about the girls however; and if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him.''

``Though it is difficult,'' said Jane, ``to guess in what way he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is certainly to his credit.''

Elizabeth was chiefly struck with his extraordinary deference for Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever it were required.

``He must be an oddity, I think,'' said she. ``I cannot make him out. -- There is something very pompous in his stile. -- And what can he mean by apologizing for being next in the entail? -- We cannot suppose he would help it, if he could. -- Can he be a sensible man, sir?''

``No, my dear; I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him.''

``In point of composition,'' said Mary, ``his letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed.''

To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they had received pleasure from the society of a man in any other colour. As for their mother, Mr. Collins's letter had done away much of her ill-will, and she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure which astonished her husband and daughters.

Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet, indeed, said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy looking young man of five and twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters, said he had heard much of their beauty, but that, in this instance, fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage. This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, but Mrs. Bennet who quarrelled with no compliments, answered most readily,

``You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove so; for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly.''

``You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate.''

``Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things, I know, are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed.''

``I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, -- and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted --''

He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture were examined and praised; and his commendation of every thing would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner too, in its turn, was highly admired; and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins, the excellence of its cookery was owing. But here he was set right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a quarter of an hour.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14
DURING dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes, and consideration for his comfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him to more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect he protested that he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank -- such affability and condescension, as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses which he had already had the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people he knew, but he had never seen any thing but affability in her. She had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest objection to his joining in the society of the neighbourhood, nor to his leaving his parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit his relations. She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had once paid him a visit in his humble parsonage; where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself, -- some shelves in the closets up stairs.
``That is all very proper and civil I am sure,'' said Mrs. Bennet, ``and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?''

``The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence.''

``I think you said she was a widow, sir? has she any family?''

``She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property.''

``Ah!'' cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, ``then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? is she handsome?''

``She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not otherwise have failed of; as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies.''

``Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court.''

``Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea, and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. -- These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay.''

``You judge very properly,'' said Mr. Bennet, ``and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?''

``They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.''

Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance, and, except in an occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner in his pleasure.

By tea-time, however, the dose had been enough, and Mr. Bennet was glad to take his guest into the drawing-room again, and when tea was over, glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and a book was produced; but on beholding it (for every thing announced it to be from a circulating library), he started back, and begging pardon, protested that he never read novels. -- Kitty stared at him, and Lydia exclaimed. -- Other books were produced, and after some deliberation he chose Fordyce's Sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity, read three pages, she interrupted him with,

``Do you know, mama, that my uncle Philips talks of turning away Richard, and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town.''

Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue; but Mr. Collins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said,

``I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess; -- for certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.''

Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters apologised most civilly for Lydia's interruption, and promised that it should not occur again, if he would resume his book; but Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore his young cousin no ill will, and should never resent her behaviour as any affront, seated himself at another table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.

Chapter 15

Chapter 15
MR. COLLINS was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society; the greatest part of his life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful acquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up had given him originally great humility of manner, but it was now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected prosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her high rank and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.
Having now a good house and very sufficient income, he intended to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to chuse one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends -- of atonement -- for inheriting their father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own part.

His plan did not vary on seeing them. -- Miss Bennet's lovely face confirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what was due to seniority; and for the first evening she was his settled choice. The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a quarter of an hour's te^te-a`-te^te with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a conversation beginning with his parsonage-house, and leading naturally to the avowal of his hopes that a mistress for it might be found at Longbourn, produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. -- ``As to her younger daughters she could not take upon her to say -- she could not positively answer -- but she did not know of any prepossession; -- her eldest daughter, she must just mention -- she felt it incumbent on her to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged.''

Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth -- and it was soon done -- done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course.

Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon have two daughters married; and the man whom she could not bear to speak of the day before was now high in her good graces.

Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them, at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him, and have his library to himself; for thither Mr. Collins had followed him after breakfast, and there he would continue, nominally engaged with one of the largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr. Bennet, with little cessation, of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been always sure of leisure and tranquillity; and though prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other room in the house, he was used to be free from them there; his civility, therefore, was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in their walk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted for a walker than a reader, was extremely well pleased to close his large book, and go.

In pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him. Their eyes were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window, could recall them.

But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with an officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny, concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air, all wondered who he could be, and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under pretence of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, had reached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say, had accepted a commission in their corps. This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best part of beauty -- a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation -- a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat -- a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? -- It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

In another minute Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what passed, took leave and rode on with his friend.

Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips's house, and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they would come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Philips' throwing up the parlour window and loudly seconding the invitation.

Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces, and the two eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which, as their own carriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing about, if she had not happened to see Mr. Jones's shop boy in the street, who had told her that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield because the Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more, apologising for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself, however, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to her notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding; but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put an end to by exclamations and inquiries about the other, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and that he was to have a lieutenant's commission in the ----shire. She had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street, and had Mr. Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation, but unluckily no one passed the windows now except a few of the officers, who in comparison with the stranger, were become ``stupid, disagreeable fellows.'' Some of them were to dine with the Philipses the next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips protested that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured with unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have defended either or both, had they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such behaviour than her sister.

Mr. Collins, on his return, highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Philips's manners and politeness. He protested that except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman; for she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but had even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before. Something he supposed might be attributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much attention in the whole course of his life.

Chapter 16

Chapter 16
As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt, and all Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and the girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then in the house.
When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr. Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlour at Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey much gratification; but when Mrs. Philips understood from him what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor, when she had listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with the housekeeper's room.

In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode and the improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the gentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs. Philips a very attentive listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin, and who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and examine their own indifferent imitations of china on the mantlepiece, the interval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last, however. The gentlemen did approach; and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. The officers of the -----shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party; but Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior to the broad-faced stuffy uncle Philips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.

Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, and on the probability of a rainy season, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker.

With such rivals for the notice of the fair, as Mr. Wickham and the officers, Mr. Collins seemed likely to sink into insignificance; to the young ladies he certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals a kind listener in Mrs. Philips, and was, by her watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin.

When the card tables were placed, he had an opportunity of obliging her in return, by sitting down to whist.

``I know little of the game, at present,'' said he, ``but I shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation of life --'' Mrs. Philips was very thankful for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.

Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely for she was a most determined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets and exclaiming after prizes, to have attention for any one in particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to be told, the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity however was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in an hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

``About a month,'' said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, ``He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.''

``Yes,'' replied Wickham; -- ``his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself -- for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.''

Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

``You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. -- Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?''

``As much as I ever wish to be,'' cried Elizabeth warmly, -- ``I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable.''

``I have no right to give my opinion,'' said Wickham, ``as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and to well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish -- and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. -- Here you are in your own family.''

``Upon my word I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Every body is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by any one.''

``I cannot pretend to be sorry,'' said Wickham, after a short interruption, ``that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts; but with him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chuses to be seen.''

``I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man.'' Wickham only shook his head.

``I wonder,'' said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, ``whether he is likely to be in this country much longer.''

``I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.''

``Oh! no -- it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him but what I might proclaim to all the world; a sense of very great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been scandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him any thing and every thing, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.''

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented farther inquiry.

Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter especially, with gentle but very intelligible gallantry.

``It was the prospect of constant society, and good society,'' he added, ``which was my chief inducement to enter the ----shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me farther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession -- I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.''

``Indeed!''

``Yes -- the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.''

``Good heavens!'' cried Elizabeth; ``but how could that be? -- How could his will be disregarded? -- Why did not you seek legal redress?''

``There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it -- or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short any thing or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done any thing to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me.''

``This is quite shocking! -- He deserves to be publicly disgraced.''

``Some time or other he will be -- but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.''

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.

``But what,'' said she after a pause, ``can have been his motive? -- what can have induced him to behave so cruelly?''

``A thorough, determined dislike of me -- a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon attachment to me, irritated him I believe very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood -- the sort of preference which was often given me.''

``I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this -- though I have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him -- I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!''

After a few minutes reflection, however, she continued, ``I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful.''

``I will not trust myself on the subject,'' replied Wickham, ``I can hardly be just to him.''

Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, ``To treat in such a manner, the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!'' -- She could have added, ``A young man too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable'' -- but she contented herself with ``And one, too, who had probably been his own companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!''

``We were born in the same parish, within the same park, the greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. My father began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr. Philips, appears to do so much credit to -- but he gave up every thing to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy, and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged. himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's active superintendance, and when immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to him, as of affection to myself.''

``How strange!'' cried Elizabeth. ``How abominable! -- I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! -- If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest, -- for dishonesty I must call it.''

``It is wonderful,'' -- replied Wickham, -- ``for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; -- and pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent; and in his behaviour to me, there were stronger impulses even than pride.''

``Can such abominable pride as his, have ever done him good?''

``Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, -- to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and filial pride, for he is very proud of what his father was, have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also brotherly pride, which with some brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister; and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers.''

``What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy,?''

He shook his head. -- ``I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother, -- very, very proud. -- As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her education.''

After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not help reverting once more to the first, and saying,

``I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? -- Do you know Mr. Bingley?''

``Not at all.''

``He is a sweet tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is.''

``Probably not; -- but Mr. Darcy can please where he chuses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable, -- allowing something for fortune and figure.''

The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round the other table, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips. -- The usual inquiries as to his success were made by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every point; but when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern thereupon, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance, that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged she would not make herself uneasy.

``I know very well, madam,'' said he, ``that when persons sit down to a card table, they must take their chance of these things, -- and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters.''

Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation were very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

``Lady Catherine de Bourgh,'' she replied, ``has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long.''

``You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy.''

``No, indeed, I did not. -- I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday.''

``Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.''

This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already self-destined to another.

``Mr. Collins,'' said she, ``speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter; but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.''

``I believe her to be both in a great degree,'' replied Wickham; ``I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who chuses that every one connected with him should have an understanding of the first class.''

Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and they continued talking together with mutual satisfaction till supper put an end to cards; and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to every body. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all the way home; but there was not time for her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the fish she had won, and Mr. Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Philips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing that he crouded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.

Chapter 17

Chapter 17
ELIZABETH related to Jane the next day, what had passed between Mr. Wickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern; -- she knew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard; and yet, it was not in her nature to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. -- The possibility of his having really endured such unkindness, was enough to interest all her tender feelings; and nothing therefore remained to be done, but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and throw into the account of accident or mistake, whatever could not be otherwise explained.
``They have both,'' said she, ``been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side.''

``Very true, indeed; -- and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? -- Do clear them too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody.''

``Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father's favourite in such a manner, -- one, whom his father had promised to provide for. -- It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? oh! no.''

``I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night; names, facts, every thing mentioned without ceremony. -- If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks.''

``It is difficult indeed -- it is distressing. -- One does not know what to think.''

``I beg your pardon; -- one knows exactly what to think.''

But Jane could think with certainty on only one point, -- that Mr. Bingley, if he had been imposed on, would have much to suffer when the affair became public.

The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery where this conversation passed, by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their personal invitation for the long expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising from their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.

The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a ceremonious card; Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attention of their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of every thing in Mr. Darcy's looks and behaviour. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia, depended less on any single event, or any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.

``While I can have my mornings to myself,'' said she, ``it is enough. -- I think it no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all; and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for every body.''

Elizabeth's spirits were so high on the occasion that, though she did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation, and, if he did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's amusement; and she was rather surprised to find that he entertained no scruple whatever on that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke either from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to dance.

``I am by no means of opinion, I assure you,'' said he, ``that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character to respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially, -- a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her.''

Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being engaged by Wickham for those very dances: -- and to have Mr. Collins instead! her liveliness had been never worse timed. There was no help for it however. Mr. Wickham's happiness and her own was perforce delayed a little longer, and Mr. Collins's proposal accepted with as good a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something more. -- It now first struck her that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors. The idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing civilities toward herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity; and though more astonished than gratified herself by this effect of her charms, it was not long before her mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage was exceedingly agreeable to her. Elizabeth, however, did not chuse to take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make the offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.

If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a pitiable state at this time, for from the day of the invitation to the day of the ball, there was such a succession of rain as prevented their walking to Meryton once. No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after; -- the very shoe-roses for Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have found some trial of her patience in weather which totally suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and nothing less than a dance on Tuesday, could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday endurable to Kitty and Lydia.

Chapter 18

Chapter 18
TILL Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed her. She had dressed with more than usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than might be won in the course of the evening. But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy's pleasure in the Bingleys' invitation to the officers; and though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile,
``I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.''

This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by Elizabeth, and as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable for Wickham's absence than if her first surmise had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make. -- Attention, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to Wickham. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and turned away with a degree of ill humour, which she could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind partiality provoked her.

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her spirits; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice. The two first dances, however, brought a return of distress; they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of her release from him was exstacy.

She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking of Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those dances were over she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of mind; Charlotte tried to console her.

``I dare say you will find him very agreeable.''

``Heaven forbid! -- That would be the greatest misfortune of all! -- To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! -- Do not wish me such an evil.''

When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her, in a whisper, not to be a simpleton, and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence. Elizabeth made no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbours' looks their equal amazement in beholding it. They stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances, and at first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with:

``It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. -- I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.''

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

``Very well. -- That reply will do for the present. -- Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. -- But now we may be silent.''

``Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?''

``Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as as possible.''

``Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?''

``Both,'' replied Elizabeth archly; ``for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. -- We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb.''

``This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,'' said he. ``How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. -- You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.''

``I must not decide on my own performance.''

He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist the temptation, added, ``When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.''

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said,

``Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends -- whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.''

``He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,'' replied Elizabeth with emphasis, ``and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.''

Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At that moment Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy he stopt with a bow of superior courtesy, to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

``I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley), shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy: -- but let me not interrupt you, Sir. -- You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.''

The latter part of this address was scarcely, heard by Darcy; but Sir William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to his partner, and said,

``Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.''

``I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. -- We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.''

``What think you of books?'' said he, smiling.

``Books -- Oh! no. -- I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.''

``I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. -- We may compare our different opinions.''

``No -- I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.''

``The present always occupies you in such scenes -- does it?'' said he, with a look of doubt.

``Yes, always,'' she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming,

``I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.''

``I am,'' said he, with a firm voice.

``And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?''

``I hope not.''

``It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.''

``May I ask to what these questions tend?''

``Merely to the illustration of your character,'' said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. ``I am trying to make it out.''

``And what is your success?''

She shook her head. ``I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.''

``I can readily believe,'' answered he gravely, ``that report may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.''

``But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.''

``I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,'' he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.

They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain thus accosted her,

``So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! -- Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young man forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy, in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that though my brother thought he could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all, is a most insolent thing indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favorite's guilt; but really, considering his descent one could not expect much better.''

``His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,'' said Elizabeth angrily; ``for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself.''

``I beg your pardon,'' replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. ``Excuse my interference. -- It was kindly meant.''

``Insolent girl!'' said Elizabeth to herself. -- ``You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy.'' She then sought her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. -- Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies and every thing else gave way before the hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for happiness.

``I want to know,'' said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her sister's, ``what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person, in which case you may be sure of my pardon.''

``No,'' replied Jane, ``I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received; and I am sorry to say that by his account as well as his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's regard.''

``Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?''

``No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.''

``This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly satisfied. But what does he say of the living?''

``He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to him conditionally only.''

``I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity,'' said Elizabeth warmly; ``but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr. Bingley's defence of his friend was a very able one I dare say, but since he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, I shall venture still to think of both gentlemen as I did before.''

She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on which there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley's regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last partner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them and told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.

``I have found out,'' said he, ``by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of this house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with -- perhaps -- a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! -- I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology.''

``You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?''

``Indeed I am. I shall intreat his pardon for not having done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine's nephew. It will be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se'nnight.''

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme; assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that it was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either side, and that if it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, to begin the acquaintance. -- Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined air of following his own inclination and when she ceased speaking, replied thus,

``My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding, but permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the clergy; for give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom -- provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant guide, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like yourself.'' And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words ``apology,'' ``Hunsford,'' and ``Lady Catherine de Bourgh.'' -- It vexed her to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

``I have no reason, I assure you,'' said he, ``to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.''

As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley, and the train of agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth to, made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her, in idea, settled in that very house, in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could bestow; and she felt capable, under such circumstances, of endeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness which placed them within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed to find that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas) freely, openly, and of nothing else but of her expectation that Jane would be soon married to Mr. Bingley. -- It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from them, were the first points of self-gratulation; and then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister, that she might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was necessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure, because on such occasions it is the etiquette, but no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in staying at home at any period of her life. She concluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother's words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her mother only scolded her for being nonsensical.

``What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear.''

``For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. -- What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? -- You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing.''

Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently glancing her eye at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression of his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.

At length however Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval of tranquillity; for when supper was over, singing was talked of, and she had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent entreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof of complaisance, -- but in vain; Mary would not understand them; such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song. Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations; and she watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which was very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving amongst the thanks of the table, the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed on to favour them again, after the pause of half a minute began another. Mary's powers were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner affected. -- Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane, to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued however impenetrably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his interference, lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud,

``That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.''

Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and Elizabeth sorry for her, and sorry for her father's speech, was afraid her anxiety had done no good. -- Others of the party were now applied to.

``If I,'' said Mr. Collins, ``were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. -- I do not mean however to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. -- In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards every body, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards any body connected with the family.'' And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room. -- Many stared. -- Many smiled; but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

To Elizabeth it appeared, that had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit, or finer success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he must have witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations was bad enough, and she could not determine whether the silent contempt of the gentleman, or the insolent smiles of the ladies, were more intolerable.

The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teazed by Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side, and though he could not prevail with her to dance with him again, put it out of her power to dance with others. In vain did she entreat him to stand up with somebody else, and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room. He assured her that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it; that his chief object was by delicate attentions to recommend himself to her, and that he should therefore make a point of remaining close to her the whole evening. There was no arguing upon such a project. She owed her greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins's conversation to herself.

She was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy's farther notice; though often standing within a very short distance of her, quite disengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the probable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in it.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart; and by a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet, had to wait for their carriages a quarter of an hour after every body else was gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and by so doing, threw a languor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of ``Lord how tired I am!'' accompanied by a violent yawn.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn; and addressed herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make them by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on her, after his return from London, whither he was obliged to go the next day for a short time.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied; and quitted the house under the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or four months. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought with equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the man and the match were quite good enough for her, the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.

Chapter 19

Chapter 19
THE next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his declaration in form. Having resolved to do it without loss of time, as his leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and having no feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself even at the moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the observances which he supposed a regular part of the business. On finding Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words,
``May I hope, Madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this morning?''

Before Elizabeth had time for any thing but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet instantly answered,

``Oh dear! -- Yes -- certainly. -- I am sure Lizzy will be very happy -- I am sure she can have no objection. -- Come, Kitty, I want you up stairs.'' And gathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out,

``Dear Ma'am, do not go. -- I beg you will not go. -- Mr. Collins must excuse me. -- He can have nothing to say to me that any body need not hear. I am going away myself.''

``No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. -- I desire you will stay where you are.'' -- And upon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks, about to escape, she added, ``Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins.''

Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction -- and a moment's consideration making her also sensible that it would be wisest to get it over as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again, and tried to conceal by incessant employment the feelings which were divided between distress and diversion. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone Mr. Collins began.

``Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother's permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying -- and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did.''

The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him farther, and he continued:

``My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly -- which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford -- between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's foot-stool, that she said, "Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. -- Chuse properly, chuse a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her." Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond any thing I can describe; and your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views were directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer), I could not satisfy myself without resolving to chuse a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place -- which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds in the 4 per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.''

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

``You are too hasty, Sir,'' she cried. ``You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without farther loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me, I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.''

``I am not now to learn,'' replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, ``that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.''

``Upon my word, Sir,'' cried Elizabeth, ``your hope is rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. -- You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so, -- Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation.''

``Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so,'' said Mr. Collins very gravely -- ``but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of you. And you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her again I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualifications.''

``Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn estate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may be considered, therefore, as finally settled.'' And rising as she thus spoke, she would have quitted the room, had not Mr. Collins thus addressed her,

``When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on this subject I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character.''

``Really, Mr. Collins,'' cried Elizabeth with some warmth, ``you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one.''

``You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these: -- It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in its favor; and you should take it into farther consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.''

``I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart.''

``You are uniformly charming!'' cried he, with an air of awkward gallantry; ``and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable.''

To such perseverance in wilful self-deception, Elizabeth would make no reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew; determined, that if he persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, and whose behaviour at least could not be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20
MR. COLLINS was not left long to the silent contemplation of his successful love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule to watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open the door and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, than she entered the breakfast room, and congratulated both him and herself in warm terms on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result of which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since the refusal which his cousin had stedfastly given him would naturally flow from her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character.
This information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet; -- she would have been glad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage him by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not to believe it, and could not help saying so.

``But depend upon it, Mr. Collins,'' she added, ``that Lizzy shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself directly. She is a very headstrong foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but I will make her know it.''

``Pardon me for interrupting you, Madam,'' cried Mr. Collins; ``but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If therefore she actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.''

``Sir, you quite misunderstand me,'' said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. ``Lizzy is only headstrong in such matters as these. In every thing else she is as good natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure.''

She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her husband, called out as she entered the library,

``Oh! Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar. You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will not have him, and if you do not make haste he will change his mind and not have her.''

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them on her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by her communication.

``I have not the pleasure of understanding you,'' said he, when she had finished her speech. ``Of what are you talking?''

``Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzy.''

``And what am I to do on the occasion? -- It seems an hopeless business.''

``Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her marrying him.''

``Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion.''

Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the library.

``Come here, child,'' cried her father as she appeared. ``I have sent for you on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?'' Elizabeth replied that it was. ``Very well -- and this offer of marriage you have refused?''

``I have, Sir.''

``Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accepting it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?''

``Yes, or I will never see her again.''

``An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. -- Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.''

Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning; but Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the affair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.

``What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me to insist upon her marrying him.''

``My dear,'' replied her husband, ``I have two small favours to request. First, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the present occasion; and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be.''

Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did Mrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and again; coaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane in her interest but Jane with all possible mildness declined interfering; -- and Elizabeth, sometimes with real earnestness and sometimes with playful gaiety, replied to her attacks. Though her manner varied, however, her determination never did.

Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed. He thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motive his cousin could refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other way. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her deserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret.

While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend the day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to her, cried in a half whisper, ``I am glad you are come, for there is such fun here! -- What do you think has happened this morning? -- Mr. Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him.''

Charlotte had hardly time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty, who came to tell the same news, and no sooner had they entered the breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise began on the subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating her to persuade her friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all her family. ``Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas,'' she added in a melancholy tone, ``for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me, I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves.''

Charlotte's reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.

``Aye, there she comes,'' continued Mrs. Bennet, ``looking as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided she can have her own way. -- But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at all -- and I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead. -- I shall not be able to keep you -- and so I warn you. -- I have done with you from this very day. -- I told you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children, -- Not that I have much pleasure indeed in talking to any body. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! -- But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.''

Her daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that any attempt to reason with or sooth her would only increase the irritation. She talked on, therefore, without interruption from any of them till they were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered with an air more stately than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to the girls,

``Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues, and let Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation together.''

Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed, but Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and Charlotte, detained first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after herself and all her family were very minute, and then by a little curiosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window and pretending not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. Bennet thus began the projected conversation. -- ``Oh! Mr. Collins!'' --

``My dear Madam,'' replied he, ``let us be for ever silent on this point. Far be it from me,'' he presently continued, in a voice that marked his displeasure, ``to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evils is the duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a young man who has been so fortunate as I have been in early preferment; and I trust I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt of my positive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with her hand; for I have often observed that resignation is never so perfect as when the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation. You will not, I hope, consider me as shewing any disrespect to your family, my dear Madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your daughter's favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the compliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf. My conduct may, I fear, be objectionable in having accepted my dismission from your daughter's lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my manner has been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise.''

Chapter 1

Chapter 1
IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

``My dear Mr. Bennet,'' said his lady to him one day, ``have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?''

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

``But it is,'' returned she; ``for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.''

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

``Do not you want to know who has taken it?'' cried his wife impatiently.

``You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.''

This was invitation enough.

``Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.''

``What is his name?''

``Bingley.''

``Is he married or single?''

``Oh! single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!''

``How so? how can it affect them?''

``My dear Mr. Bennet,'' replied his wife, ``how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.''

``Is that his design in settling here?''

``Design! nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.''

``I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for, as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.''

``My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.''

``In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.''

``But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood.''

``It is more than I engage for, I assure you.''

``But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know they visit no new comers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not.''

``You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying which ever he chuses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.''

``I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference.''

``They have none of them much to recommend them,'' replied he; ``they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters.''

``Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.''

``You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.''

``Ah! you do not know what I suffer.''

``But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.''

``It will be no use to us if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.''

``Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty I will visit them all.''

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2
MR. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He had always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid, she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her with,
``I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.''

``We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes,'' said her mother resentfully, ``since we are not to visit.''

``But you forget, mama,'' said Elizabeth, ``that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.''

``I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her.''

``No more have I,'' said Mr. Bennet; ``and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you.''

Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but unable to contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters.

``Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.''

``Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,'' said her father; ``she times them ill.''

``I do not cough for my own amusement,'' replied Kitty fretfully.

``When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?''

``To-morrow fortnight.''

``Aye, so it is,'' cried her mother, ``and Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before; so it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself.''

``Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley to her.''

``Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teazing?''

``I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if we do not venture, somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself.''

The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, ``Nonsense, nonsense!''

``What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?'' cried he. ``Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you, Mary? for you are a young lady of deep reflection I know, and read great books, and make extracts.''

Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.

``While Mary is adjusting her ideas,'' he continued, ``let us return to Mr. Bingley.''

``I am sick of Mr. Bingley,'' cried his wife.

``I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me so before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.''

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs. Bennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.

``How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved our girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning, and never said a word about it till now.''

``Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you chuse,'' said Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.

``What an excellent father you have, girls,'' said she, when the door was shut. ``I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so pleasant I can tell you, to be making new acquaintance every day; but for your sakes, we would do any thing. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.''

``Oh!'' said Lydia stoutly, ``I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I'm the tallest.''

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr. Bennet's visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3
NOT all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could ask on the subject was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him in various ways; with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Bingley's heart were entertained.
``If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,'' said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, ``and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for.''

In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet's visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining, from an upper window, that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently unable to accept the honour of their invitation, &c. Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a large number of ladies; but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing that, instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London, his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room, it consisted of only five altogether; Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the oldest, and another young man.

Mr. Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien; and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud, to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and every body hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.

Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes to press his friend to join it.

``Come, Darcy,'' said he, ``I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.''

``I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.''

``I would not be so fastidious as you are,'' cried Bingley, ``for a kingdom! Upon my honour I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty.''

``You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,'' said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.

``Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.''

``Which do you mean?'' and turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, ``She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.''

Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings towards him. She told the story however with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in any thing ridiculous.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough to be never without partners, which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book, he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that all his wife's views on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found that he had a very different story to hear.

``Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet,'' as she entered the room, ``we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Every body said how well she looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice. Only think of that my dear; he actually danced with her twice; and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her; but, however, he did not admire her at all: indeed, nobody can, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So, he enquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then, the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger --''

``If he had had any compassion for me,'' cried her husband impatiently, ``he would not have danced half so much! For God's sake, say no more of his partners. Oh! that he had sprained his ancle in the first dance!''

``Oh! my dear,'' continued Mrs. Bennet, ``I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! and his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw any thing more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs. Hurst's gown --''

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.

``But I can assure you,'' she added, ``that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set downs. I quite detest the man.''

Chapter 4

Chapter 4
WHEN Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him.
``He is just what a young man ought to be,'' said she, ``sensible, good humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! -- so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!''

``He is also handsome,'' replied Elizabeth, ``which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.''

``I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.''

``Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other women in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.''

``Dear Lizzy!''

``Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in any body. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life.''

``I would wish not to be hasty in censuring any one; but I always speak what I think.''

``I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! Affectation of candour is common enough; -- one meets it every where. But to be candid without ostentation or design -- to take the good of every body's character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad -- belongs to you alone. And so, you like this man's sisters too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his.''

``Certainly not; at first. But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her.''

Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced. Their behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and with a judgment, too, unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very little disposed to approve them. They were in fact very fine ladies, not deficient in good humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of being agreeable where they chose it; but proud and conceited. They were rather handsome, had been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the habit of spending more than they ought, and of associating with people of rank; and were therefore in every respect entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in the north of England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their brother's fortune and their own had been acquired by trade.

Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly an hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it. -- Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and sometimes made choice of his county; but as he was now provided with a good house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those who best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to purchase.

His sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but though he was now established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his table, nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it and into it for half an hour, was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.

Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a great opposition of character. -- Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy's regard Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared; Darcy was continually giving offence.

The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with pleasanter people or prettier girls in his life; every body had been most kind and attentive to him, there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all the room; and as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel more beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest, and from none received either attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty, but she smiled too much.

Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so -- but still they admired her and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom they should not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorised by such commendation to think of her as he chose.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5
WITHIN a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune and risen to the honour of knighthood by an address to the King during his mayoralty. The distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business and to his residence in a small market town; and quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge, where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For though elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to every body. By nature inoffensive, friendly and obliging, his presentation at St. James's had made him courteous.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. -- They had several children. The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth's intimate friend.

That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.

``You began the evening well, Charlotte,'' said Mrs. Bennet with civil self-command to Miss Lucas. ``You were Mr. Bingley's first choice.''

``Yes; -- but he seemed to like his second better.''

``Oh! -- you mean Jane, I suppose -- because he danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her -- indeed I rather believe he did -- I heard something about it -- but I hardly know what -- something about Mr. Robinson.''

``Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson's asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and which he thought the prettiest? and his answering immediately to the last question -- "Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet beyond a doubt, there cannot be two opinions on that point."''

``Upon my word! -- Well, that was very decided indeed -- that does seem as if -- but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.''

``My overhearings were more to the purpose than yours, Eliza,'' said Charlotte. ``Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend, is he? -- Poor Eliza! -- to be only just tolerable.''

``I beg you would not put it into Lizzy's head to be vexed by his ill-treatment; for he is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half an hour without once opening his lips.''

``Are you quite sure, Ma'am? -- is not there a little mistake?'' said Jane. -- ``I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.''

``Aye -- because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; -- but she said he seemed very angry at being spoke to.''

``Miss Bingley told me,'' said Jane, ``that he never speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.''

``I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; every body says that he is ate up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise.''

``I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,'' said Miss Lucas, ``but I wish he had danced with Eliza.''

``Another time, Lizzy,'' said her mother, ``I would not dance with him, if I were you.''

``I believe, Ma'am, I may safely promise you never to dance with him.''

``His pride,'' said Miss Lucas, ``does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, every thing in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud.''

``That is very true,'' replied Elizabeth, ``and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.''

``Pride,'' observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, ``is a very common failing I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonimously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.''

``If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,'' cried a young Lucas who came with his sisters, ``I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.''

``Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,'' said Mrs. Bennet; ``and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.''

The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6
THE ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit was returned in due form. Miss Bennet's pleasing manners grew on the good will of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was found to be intolerable and the younger sisters not worth speaking to, a wish of being better acquainted with them was expressed towards the two eldest. By Jane this attention was received with the greatest pleasure; but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment of every body, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them; though their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had a value, as arising in all probability from the influence of their brother's admiration. It was generally evident whenever they met, that he did admire her; and to her it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united with great strength of feeling a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of manner, which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.
``It may perhaps be pleasant,'' replied Charlotte, ``to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely -- a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better shew more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.''

``But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton indeed not to discover it too.''

``Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do.''

``But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out.''

``Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chuses.''

``Your plan is a good one,'' replied Elizabeth, ``where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married; and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard, nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined in company with him four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character.''

``Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have been also spent together -- and four evenings may do a great deal.''

``Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.''

``Well,'' said Charlotte, ``I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always contrive to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.''

``You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.''

Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; -- to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable no where, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.

He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing with her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing so drew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas's, where a large party were assembled. ``What does Mr. Darcy mean,'' said she to Charlotte, ``by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?''

``That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.''

``But if he does it any more, I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.''

On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such a subject to him, which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she turned to him and said,

``Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teazing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?''

``With great energy; -- but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.''

``You are severe on us.''

``It will be her turn soon to be teazed,'' said Miss Lucas. ``I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.''

``You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! -- always wanting me to play and sing before any body and every body! -- If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.'' On Miss Lucas's persevering, however, she added, ``Very well; if it must be so, it must.'' And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, ``There is a fine old saying, which every body here is of course familiar with -- "Keep your breath to cool your porridge," -- and I shall keep mine to swell my song.''

Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.

Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.

Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too much engrossed by his own thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began.

``What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! -- There is nothing like dancing after all. -- I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished societies.''

``Certainly, Sir; -- and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. -- Every savage can dance.''

Sir William only smiled. ``Your friend performs delightfully;'' he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; -- ``and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.''

``You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, Sir.''

``Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James's?''

``Never, sir.''

``Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?''

``It is a compliment which I never pay to any place, if I can avoid it.''

``You have a house in town, I conclude?''

Mr. Darcy bowed.

``I had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself -- for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.''

He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed to make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the notion of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to her,

``My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing? -- Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. -- You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.'' And taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy, who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William,

``Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. -- I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.''

Mr. Darcy with grave propriety requested to be allowed the honour of her hand; but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.

``You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour.''

``Mr. Darcy is all politeness,'' said Elizabeth, smiling.

``He is indeed -- but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance; for who would object to such a partner?''

Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley.

``I can guess the subject of your reverie.''

``I should imagine not.''

``You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner -- in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! -- What would I give to hear your strictures on them!''

``Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.''

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity,

``Miss Elizabeth Bennet.''

``Miss Elizabeth Bennet!'' repeated Miss Bingley. ``I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? -- and pray when am I to wish you joy?''

``That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.''

``Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you.''

He listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to entertain herself in this manner, and as his composure convinced her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7
MR. BENNET'S property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two thousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed, in default of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother's fortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply the deficiency of his. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton, and had left her four thousand pounds.
She had a sister married to a Mr. Phillips, who had been a clerk to their father, and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled in London in a respectable line of trade.

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most convenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted thither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt, and to a milliner's shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family, Catherine and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions; their minds were more vacant than their sisters', and when nothing better offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning hours and furnish conversation for the evening; and however bare of news the country in general might be, they always contrived to learn some from their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both with news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in the neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the head quarters.

Their visits to Mrs. Philips were now productive of the most interesting intelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the officers' names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret, and at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity unknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley's large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of an ensign.

After listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed,

``From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced.''

Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the next morning to London.

``I am astonished, my dear,'' said Mrs. Bennet, ``that you should be so ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly of any body's children, it should not be of my own, however.''

``If my children are silly I must hope to be always sensible of it.''

``Yes -- but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.''

``This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish.''

``My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. -- When they get to our age, I dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well -- and indeed, so I do still at my heart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him; and I thought Colonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William's in his regimentals.''

``Mama,'' cried Lydia, ``my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson's as they did when they first came; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke's library.''

Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a note for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter read,

``Well, Jane, who is it from? what is it about? what does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.''

``It is from Miss Bingley,'' said Jane, and then read it aloud.

``My dear Friend,

IF you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's te^te-a`-te^te between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers. Yours ever,

CAROLINE BINGLEY.''

``With the officers!'' cried Lydia. ``I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that.''

``Dining out,'' said Mrs. Bennet, ``that is very unlucky.''

``Can I have the carriage?'' said Jane.

``No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain; and then you must stay all night.''

``That would be a good scheme,'' said Elizabeth, ``if you were sure that they would not offer to send her home.''

``Oh! but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley's chaise to go to Meryton; and the Hursts have no horses to theirs.''

``I had much rather go in the coach.''

``But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?''

``They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.''

``But if you have got them to-day,'' said Elizabeth, ``my mother's purpose will be answered.''

She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses were engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her mother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad day. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long before it rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was delighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission; Jane certainly could not come back.

``This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!'' said Mrs. Bennet, more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next morning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her contrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield brought the following note for Elizabeth:

``My dearest Lizzy,

I FIND myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones -- therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me -- and excepting a sore throat and head-ache, there is not much the matter with me.

Yours, &c.''

``Well, my dear,'' said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, ``if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness, if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.''

``Oh! I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long is she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her, if I could have the carriage.''

Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horse-woman, walking was her only alternative. She declared her resolution.

``How can you be so silly,'' cried her mother, ``as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.''

``I shall be very fit to see Jane -- which is all I want.''

``Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,'' said her father, ``to send for the horses?''

``No, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing, when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.''

``I admire the activity of your benevolence,'' observed Mary, ``but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.''

``We will go as far as Meryton with you,'' said Catherine and Lydia. -- Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off together.

``If we make haste,'' said Lydia, as they walked along, ``perhaps we may see something of Captain Carter before he goes.''

In Meryton they parted; the two youngest repaired to the lodgings of one of the officers' wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles with impatient activity, and finding herself at last within view of the house, with weary ancles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing with the warmth of exercise.

She was shewn into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane were assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise. -- That she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt for it. She was received, however, very politely by them; and in their brother's manners there was something better than politeness; there was good humour and kindness. -- Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.

Her enquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish and not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving alarm or inconvenience, from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal, however, to much conversation, and when Miss Bingley left them together, could attempt little beside expressions of gratitude for the extraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended her.

When breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters, and Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude they shewed for Jane. The apothecary came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact nothing to do elsewhere.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go; and very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern in parting with her that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer of the chaise into an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was dispatched to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay, and bring back a supply of clothes.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8
AT five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil enquiries which then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley's, she could not make a very favourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves, and then thought no more of the matter; and their indifference towards Jane, when not immediately before them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.
Their brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could regard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented her feeling herself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the others. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr. Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards, who, when he found her prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.

When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no stile, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added,

``She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.''

``She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!''

``Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.''

``Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,'' said Bingley; ``but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well, when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.''

``You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,'' said Miss Bingley, ``and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.''

``Certainly not.''

``To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ancles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by it? It seems to me to shew an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country town indifference to decorum.''

``It shews an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,'' said Bingley.

``I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,'' observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, ``that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.''

``Not at all,'' he replied; ``they were brightened by the exercise.'' -- A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again.

``I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.''

``I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.''

``Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.''

``That is capital,'' added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.

``If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,'' cried Bingley, ``it would not make them one jot less agreeable.''

``But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,'' replied Darcy.

To this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their dear friend's vulgar relations.

With a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to her room on leaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all till late in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and when it appeared to her rather right than pleasant that she should go down stairs herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.

``Do you prefer reading to cards?'' said he; ``that is rather singular.''

``Miss Eliza Bennet,'' said Miss Bingley, ``despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.''

``I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,'' cried Elizabeth; ``I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.''

``In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,'' said Bingley; ``and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.''

Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards a table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others; all that his library afforded.

``And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into.''

Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room.

``I am astonished,'' said Miss Bingley, ``that my father should have left so small a collection of books. -- What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!''

``It ought to be good,'' he replied, ``it has been the work of many generations.''

``And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books.''

``I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these,''

``Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.''

``I wish it may.''

``But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire.''

``With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it.''

``I am talking of possibilities, Charles.''

``Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation.''

Elizabeth was so much caught by what passed, as to leave her very little attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister to observe the game.

``Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?'' said Miss Bingley; ``will she be as tall as I am?''

``I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller.''

``How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite.''

``It is amazing to me,'' said Bingley, ``how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.''

``All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?''

``Yes all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover skreens, and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.''

``Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,'' said Darcy, ``has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a skreen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.''

``Nor I, I am sure,'' said Miss Bingley.

``Then,'' observed Elizabeth, ``you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished women.''

``Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.''

``Oh! certainly,'' cried his faithful assistant, ``no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.''

``All this she must possess,'' added Darcy, ``and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.''

``I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.''

``Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?''

``I never saw such a woman, I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united.''

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.

``Eliza Bennet,'' said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, ``is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.''

``Undoubtedly,'' replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, ``there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.''

Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject.

Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones's being sent for immediately; while his sisters, convinced that no country advice could be of any service, recommended an express to town for one of the most eminent physicians. This she would not hear of, but she was not so unwilling to comply with their brother's proposal; and it was settled that Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters declared that they were miserable. They solaced their wretchedness, however, by duets after supper, while he could find no better relief to his feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every possible attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9
ELIZABETH passed the chief of the night in her sister's room, and in the morning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the enquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid, and some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his sisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her own judgment of her situation. The note was immediately dispatched, and its contents as quickly complied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.
Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been very miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her, that her illness was not alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her restoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She would not listen therefore to her daughter's proposal of being carried home; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think it at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss Bingley's appearance and invitation the mother and three daughters all attended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.

``Indeed I have, Sir,'' was her answer. ``She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.''

``Removed!'' cried Bingley. ``It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.''

``You may depend upon it, Madam,'' said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, ``that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us.''

Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.

``I am sure,'' she added, ``if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world -- which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease.''

``Whatever I do is done in a hurry,'' replied he; ``and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.''

``That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,'' said Elizabeth.

``You begin to comprehend me, do you?'' cried he, turning towards her.

``Oh! yes -- I understand you perfectly.''

``I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful.''

``That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.''

``Lizzy,'' cried her mother, ``remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.''

``I did not know before,'' continued Bingley immediately, ``that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.''

``Yes; but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.''

``The country,'' said Darcy, ``can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.''

``But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever.''

``Yes, indeed,'' cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a country neighbourhood. ``I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town.''

Every body was surprised; and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete victory over him, continued her triumph.

``I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?''

``When I am in the country,'' he replied, ``I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.''

``Aye -- that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,'' looking at Darcy, ``seemed to think the country was nothing at all.''

``Indeed, Mama, you are mistaken,'' said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. ``You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there were not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which you must acknowledge to be true.''

``Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four and twenty families.''

Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eye towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother's thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since her coming away.

``Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley -- is not he? so much the man of fashion! so genteel and so easy! -- He has always something to say to every body. -- That is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very important and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter.''

``Did Charlotte dine with you?''

``No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up differently. But every body is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain -- but then she is our particular friend.''

``She seems a very pleasant young woman,'' said Bingley.

``Oh! dear, yes; -- but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane -- one does not often see any body better looking. It is what every body says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner's in town, so much in love with her, that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But however he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.''

``And so ended his affection,'' said Elizabeth impatiently. ``There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!''

``I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,'' said Darcy.

``Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every thing nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.''

Darcy only smiled, and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth tremble lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed to speak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was unaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part, indeed, without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of her daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and the result of it was, that the youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.

Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early age. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the attentions of the officers, to whom her uncle's good dinners and her own easy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was very equal, therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to this sudden attack was delightful to their mother's ear.

``I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement, and when your sister is recovered, you shall if you please, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill.''

Lydia declared herself satisfied. ``Oh! yes -- it would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball,'' she added, ``I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not.''

Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations' behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of her, in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms on fine eyes.

Chapter 10

Chapter 10
THE day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with her opinion of each.

``How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!''

He made no answer.

``You write uncommonly fast.''

``You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.''

``How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!''

``It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.''

``Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.''

``I have already told her so once, by your desire.''

``I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.''

``Thank you -- but I always mend my own.''

``How can you contrive to write so even?''

He was silent.

``Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's.''

``Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? -- At present I have not room to do them justice.''

``Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?''

``They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.''

``It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter, with ease, cannot write ill.''

``That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,'' cried her brother -- ``because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. -- Do not you, Darcy?''

``My stile of writing is very different from yours.''

``Oh!'' cried Miss Bingley, ``Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.''

``My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them -- by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.''

``Your humility, Mr. Bingley,'' said Elizabeth, ``must disarm reproof.''

``Nothing is more deceitful,'' said Darcy, ``than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.''

``And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?''

``The indirect boast; -- for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing any thing with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself -- and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one else?''

``Nay,'' cried Bingley, ``this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to shew off before the ladies.''

``I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependant on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, "Bingley, you had better stay till next week," you would probably do it, you would probably not go -- and, at another word, might stay a month.''

``You have only proved by this,'' cried Elizabeth, ``that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shewn him off now much more than he did himself.''

``I am exceedingly gratified,'' said Bingley, ``by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could.''

``Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?''

``Upon my word I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for himself.''

``You expect me to account for opinions which you chuse to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety.''

``To yield readily -- easily -- to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you.''

``To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either.''

``You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?''

``Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?''

``By all means,'' cried Bingley; ``Let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more aweful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.''

Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended; and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.

``I see your design, Bingley,'' said his friend. -- ``You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.''

``Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.''

``What you ask,'' said Elizabeth, ``is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter,''

Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.

When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the piano-forte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the way, which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she seated herself.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great man; and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine however, at last, that she drew his notice because there was a something about her more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her --

``Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?''

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.

``Oh!'' said she, ``I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say "Yes," that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all -- and now despise me if you dare.''

``Indeed I do not dare.''

Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed, that were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected, enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.

She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.

``I hope,'' said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next day, ``you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. -- And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses.''

``Have you any thing else to propose for my domestic felicity?''

``Oh! yes. -- Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle, the judge. They are in the same profession, you know; only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?''

``It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.''

At that moment they were met from another walk, by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself.

``I did not know that you intended to walk,'' said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.

``You used us abominably ill,'' answered Mrs. Hurst, ``in running away without telling us that you were coming out.'' Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three.

Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness and immediately said, --

``This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.''

But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them, laughingly answered,

``No, no; stay where you are. -- You are charmingly group'd, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good bye.''

She then ran gaily off, rejoicing, as she rambled about, in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.

Pride and Prejudice

Abou Pride and Prejudice

» Jane Austen » Pride and Prejudice>>Chapter 21-30 of 61

» Jane Austen » Pride and Prejudice>>Chapter 11-20 of 61

» Jane Austen » Pride and Prejudice>>Chapter 1-10 of 61

Jane Austen began her second novel, Pride and Prejudice, before she was twenty-one. It was originally titled First Impression because the appearances of the characters created the plot of the novel. However, because the novel is also concerned with the effects of the character’s first impressions, that is their prejudice, Austen found the title Pride and Prejudice more appropriate.

Pride and Prejudice, similar to other Austen novels, is written in gentle or Horacian satire. The main object of Austen’s satire in the novel is the mercenary and the ignorance of the people, a common criticism of the 18th century. Characters in the novel which best carries these qualities are:

Mrs. Bennet, a foolish woman who talks too much and is obsessed with getting her daughters married;
Lydia Bennet, the youngest of the Bennet daughter who is devoted to a life of dancing, fashions, gossips and flirting; and
Mr. Williams Collins, the silly and conceited baboon who is completely stupify by Lady Catherine in every aspect of his life that he has forgotten his own morals and duty.

The tone of the novel is light, satirical, and vivid. Scenes such as Mr. Collins proposal to Elizabeth, and Lady Catherine visits to Lizzy at Longbourn, provides comic relief to the reader while at the same time revealing certain traits of the characters. For example, Lydia’s lack of common sense and responsibility is revealed when she takes pride in being the first Bennet girl to be married. Lydia does not take into consideration the circumstance of her marriage, the personality of her husband, or the prospects of their marriage for the future. Elizabeth Bennet’s ability to laugh off her misfortune and to continue to be optimistic, considering her situation, also contributes to the tone of the novel.

The point of view in Pride and Prejudice is limited omniscient; the story is told through Elizabeth, but not in first person. As a result, the mood of the novel lacks dramatic emotions. The atmosphere is intellectual and cold; there are little descriptions of the setting. The main actions of the novel are the interactions between opinions, ideas, and attitudes, which weaves and advances the plot of the novel. The emotions in the novel are to be perceived beneath the surface of the story and are not to be expressed to the readers directly.

Austen’s powers of subtle discrimination and shrewd perceptiveness is revealed in Pride and Prejudice; she is able to convey such a complex message using a simple, yet witty, style.

The main subject in the novel is stated in the first sentence of the novel: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." In this statement, Austen has cleverly done three things: she has declared that the main subject of the novel will be courtship and marriage, she has established the humorous tone of the novel by taking a simple subject to elaborate and to speak intelligently of, and she has prepared the reader for a chase in the novel of either a husband in search of a wife, or a women in pursuit of a husband.

The first line also defines Austen's book as a piece of literature that connects itself to the 18th century period. Pride and Prejudice is 18th century because of the emphasis on man in his social environment rather than in his individual conditions. The use of satire and wit, a common form of 18th century literature, also contributes to label the book as 18th century. However, because Austen had allowed personal feelings of the characters to be expressed in her work, she can also be classified as Romantic. In the figure of Elizabeth, Austen shows passion attempting to find a valid mode of existence in society. Passion and reason also comes together in the novel to show that they are complementary of marriage.

There are seven different marriages presented in the novel. Excluding the Gardiner and the Lucas, the remaining five marriages contrasts each other to reveal Austen’s opinions and thoughts on the subject of marriage.

The marriage between Darcy and Elizabeth reveals the characteristics that constitute a successful marriage. One of these characteristics is that the feeling cannot be brought on by appearances, and must gradually develop between the two people as they get to know one another. In the beginning, Elizabeth and Darcy were distant from each other because of their prejudice. The series of events which they both experienced gave them the opportunity to understand one another and the time to reconcile their feelings for each other. Thus, their mutual understanding is the foundation of their relationship and will lead them to a peaceful and lasting marriage. This relationship between Elizabeth and Darcy reveals the importance of getting to know one’s partner before marrying.

The marriage between Jane Bennet and Bingley is also an example of successful marriage. Austen, through Elizabeth, expresses her opinion of this in the novel:

"....really believed all his [Bingley] expectations of felicity, to be rationally founded, because they had for basis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent disposition of Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and himself." (Chapter 55)

However, unlike Darcy and Elizabeth, there is a flaw in their relationship. The flaw is that both characters are too gullible and too good-hearted to ever act strongly against external forces that may attempt to separate them:

"You [Jane and Bingley] are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income." (Chapter 55)

Obviously, Lydia and Wickham’s marriage is an example of a bad marriage. Their marriage was based on appearances, good looks, and youthful vivacity. Once these qualities can no longer be seen by each other, the once strong relationship will slowly fade away. As in the novel, Lydia and Wickham’s marriage gradually disintegrates; Lydia becomes a regular visitor at her two elder sister’s home when "her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath." Through their relationship, Austen shows that hasty marriage based on superficial qualities quickly cools and leads to unhappiness.

Although little is told of how Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet got together, it can be inferred by their conversions that their relationship was similar to that of Lydia and Wickham--Mr. Bennet had married a woman he found sexually attractive without realizing she was an unintelligent woman. Mrs. Bennet’s favoritism towards Lydia and her comments on how she was once as energetic as Lydia reveals this similarity. Mr. Bennet’s comment on Wickham being his favorite son-in-law reinforces this parallelism. The effect of the relationships was that Mr. Bennet would isolate himself from his family; he found refuge in his library or in mocking his wife. Mr. Bennet’s self-realization at the end of the novel in which he discovers that his lack of attention towards his family had led his family to develop the way they are, was too late to save his family. He is Austen’s example of a weak father. In these two latter relationships, Austen shows that it is necessary to use good judgement to select a spouse, otherwise the two people will lose respect for each other.

The last example of a marriage is of a different nature than the ones mentioned above. The marriage between Mr. Collins and Charlotte is based on economics rather than on love or appearance. It was a common practice during Austen’s time for women to marry a husband to save herself from spinsterhood or to gain financial security. In Pride and Prejudice, Austen dramatizes gender inequality and shows that women who submit themselves to this type of marriage will have to suffer in tormenting silence as Charlotte does:

"When Mr. Collins said any thing of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, she [Elizabeth] would involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear." (Chapter 28)

These five marriages contribute to the theme that a happy and strong marriage takes time to build and must be based on mutual feeling, understanding, and respect. Hasty marriages acting on impulse, and based on superficial qualities will not survive and will lead to inevitable unhappiness.

In Pride and Prejudice, Austen has denounced the elements of marriage and society that she found distasteful. These are the conclusions of her observation of the people in her world. However in her writing, Jane has also reflected her own enjoyment in life among these people with and without their faults.

A LITTLE while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.

Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart--
What thought, what scene invites thee now
What spot, or near or far apart,
Has rest for thee, my weary brow?

There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,
Where winter howls, and driving rain;
But, if the dreary tempest chills,
There is a light that warms again.

The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight's dome;
But what on earth is half so dear--
So longed for--as the hearth of home?

The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
I love them--how I love them all!

Still, as I mused, the naked room,
The alien firelight died away;
And from the midst of cheerless gloom,
I passed to bright, unclouded day.

A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains circling every side.

A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.

THAT was the scene, I knew it well;
I knew the turfy pathway's sweep,
That, winding o'er each billowy swell,
Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.

Could I have lingered but an hour,
It well had paid a week of toil;
But Truth has banished Fancy's power:
Restraint and heavy task recoil.

Even as I stood with raptured eye,
Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear,
My hour of rest had fleeted by,
And back came labour, bondage, care.

فوايد و كاركردها گوش دادن

 
1 – تمركز بر پيام هاي ديگران
2 – برداشت كامل و درك مناسب تر منظور ديگران
3 – ابراز علاقه، نگراني و توجه به ديگران
4- تشويق ديگران به بيان و ابراز آزادانه و صادقانه مسائل خود
5 – تقويت ارتباط و تعامل خود با ديگران
6 – افزايش تفاهم ما با ديگران
7 – جلوگيري از سوء تفاهم ها
8 – افزايش قدرت يادگيري
9 – كمك به خودآگاهي و گسترش شناخت از خود و ديگران
10 – افزايش روحيه ي مشاركت جويي و كار گروهي


مهارت هاي اساسي گوش دادن فعال

منبع: http://salajegheh7.blogfa.com

نمود (یا جنبه) Aspect

برجسته کردن مرحله ای از حادثه که فعل به آن دلالت دارد. جنبه دو گونه تظاهر دارد: یا واژگانی‌است      (Lexical) است، و یا دستوری (Grammatical). برای مثال در افعالی مانند باران گرفت- در مقابل باران آمد، نمود Aspect)) تظاهر واژگانی دارد. در باران گرفت فعل گرفتن نشان گر آغاز عمل است، اما هیچ گونه عنصر دستوری معرف نمود نمی باشد، و در معنای واژگانی آن تجلی می یابد.

1.                          نمود واژگانی (Lexical Aspect) نمود واژگانی مربوط به معنای ذاتی فعل می شود. در فعل باران گرفت نمود در معنای فعل وجود دارد. یعنی این مولفه معنایی است، که نمود را می رساند.

در فارسی برای ساختن فعل مرکب از فعل ساده استفاده می شود. در زبان ها افعال سنگین(heavy Verb) مستقل به کار می روند؛ در ساخت فعل مرکب ما این افعال سنگین را تبدیل به افعال سبک می کنیم، و آنگاه آن ها را برای فعل مرکب به کار می بریم. افعالی مانند: کشیدن(آه کشیدن)، زدن (در زدن)، کردن(کار کردن)، خوردن(فریب خوردن)، داشتن(قصد داشتن) افعال سنگین می باشند، که در ترکیب با عناصر واژگانی فعل مرکب را می سازند، اما جز فعلی دیگر معنای اولیه خود را از دست می دهد( تبدیل به فعل سبک light Verb می شود).

کار این افعال سبک این است، که نحوه تحقق جز غیر فعلی را نشان می دهد. نوع کنش(Aktionsart= اصطلاحی آلمانی برابر mode of Action)

برای مثال اتو زدن(لحظه ای)، اتو کردن(کنش کلی)، اتو کشیدن(دیرش عمل) نحوه تحقق جز غیر فعلی در افعال سبک نمود یافته است.

2.                          نمود دستوری (Grammatical Aspect):در نمود دستوری یک نقش نمای دستوری مفهوم نمود را نشان می دهد. مانند تکواژ گسته be+ (V) + ing

در زبان آموزی، کودکان Aspect را زود تر از tense می آموزند. زبان هایی نیز وجود دارند، که tense Marker ندارند، اما هیچ زبانی یافت نشده است، که وسیله ای برای بیان نمود نداشته باشد.

در همین راستا برای اطلاع در خصوص فعل های لحظه ای و تداومی ر.ک. به مقاله زیر:

-          جهان پناه تهرانی، سیمین دخت. " فعل های لحظه ای و تدامی در فارسی امروز"، مجله زبانشناسی، سال 1 ش. 2، پاییز و زمستان 1363.

ساختواژه هموندیProsodic Morphology    

مقدمه

وقتی ساختواژه واژگانی را بررسی می کنیم توجه اصلی  تنها به پسوند وپیشوند افزایی است، در مدلی دیگر از ساختواژه علاوه بر پسوند وپیشوند افزایی به میانوند افزایی (infixing) نیز توجه می شود. برای آن که بتوان ساختواژه هموندی را شناخت، نخست باید واجشناسی  خودزنجیره‌ایی             (autosegmental phonology) را شناخت.

واجشناسی خود زنجیره ای

            این نوع از واجشناسی صور متقدمی هم داشته است. (بنا به نقل گلد اسمیث1990)این نظریه واجی فرزند خلف واجشناسی زایشی است که اساس آن را چامسکی/هله  در SPE (1968) مطرح کردند. صورت های متقدم آن را می توان در واجشناسی مکتب لندن وبعضاً در واجشناسی ساختگرای آمریکایی) Hockett) ملاحظه کرد. این نظریه چنین فرضیه سازی می کند،که نمود های واجی شامل چندین لایه(tiers) مستقل وموازی است (سطوح نمود=level of representation )

در واجشناسی زایا روساخت  نمای واجی زیر بنایی (underlying phonological representation )را مشخص می سازد. نمای واجی خود از راه عمل کرد قاعده های واجی به صورت نمای صوتی ظاهر می شود که چگونگی تلفظ جمله را نشان می دهد... در واجشناسی زایا ، نظام همگانی اصولی که در زیر بنای ساخت آوایی همه زبانهای انسانی قرار دارد نیز مورد بررسی قرار می گیرد.(ساخت آوایی زبان، دکتر مهدی مشکوة الدینی ،مشهد:دانشگاه فردوسی،1377)

واجشناسی خود زنجیری نوعی از واجشناسی است که در تقابل با واجشناسی های زنجیری قرار می گیرد. واجشناسی های زنجیری مجموعه ای از نمود هایی است که شامل ترتیب های خطی زنجیره ها (یا مجموعه نامنظم مشخصات) و مرز هایی است که وابسته به ملاک های نحوی یا ساختواژی می باشند. برعکس دیدگاه خود- زنجیری(autosegmental) واجشناسی را به عنوان مجموعه ای ازلایه ها یا قشر هایی(Tiers) می نگرد که هر لایه ای متشکل از ترتب خطی(linear arrangement)زنجیره هاست(Segments)؛ این لایه ها به توسط ارتباط خط هایی که دلالت دارد بر این که چگونه همساخته شده اند(coarticulated) به هم متصل می شوند.

(A Dictionary of Linguistics and Phonetics, David Crystal)

http://www.sahbaii.blogfa.com منبع

-

'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

-

To the
Right Honorable Henry Wriothesly,
Earl of Southampton, and,
Baron of Tichfield.

Right Honorable,

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

-

Venus and Adonis

EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'

He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy!
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!

'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,--
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red--
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning:
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear:
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.

'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him and by Venus' side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks cries 'Fie, no more of love!
The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.

'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dun and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred!
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction.'

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth he wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.

'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.'

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes are more increasing;
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
'Pity,' she cries, 'some favour, some remorse!'
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.

But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say 'Lo, thus my strength is tried,
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whether he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He veils his tail that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent:
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he is enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.

His testy master goeth about to take him;
When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.

All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

O, what a sight it was, wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy!
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy!
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.

O, what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
'O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee!

'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'
'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it:
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'

'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

'How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee;
O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never lost again.'

I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.

'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;
For where a heart is hard they make no battery.'

'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?
O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding,
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible:
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by
smelling.

'But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?'

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;
A smile recures the wounding of a frown;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And all amazed brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth;
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye;

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?
But now I lived, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.

'O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again:
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

'Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!
O, never let their crimson liveries wear!
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.

'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years:
Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.

'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the west;
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, ''Tis very late;'
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light
Do summon us to part and bid good night.

'Now let me say 'Good night,' and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,'
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry:

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing,
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering,
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward,
But then woos best when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolved no longer to restrain him;
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?'
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

'The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds missing
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:
She hath assay'd as much as may be proved;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee;
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.
'Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me; let me go;
You have no reason to withhold me so.'

'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

'On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;
His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay.

'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
But having thee at vantage,--wondrous dread!--
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
Come not within his danger by thy will;
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

'Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white?
Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.

'For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry 'Kill, kill!'
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire.

'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heat and whispers in mine ear
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:

'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.

'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at the imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination:
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare:
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy
hounds.

'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles
How he outruns the wind and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
The many musets through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

'Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

'For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.

'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,
To harken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.

'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low never relieved by any.

'Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
Applying this to that, and so to so;
For love can comment upon every woe.

'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he,
'Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?' quoth she.
'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends;
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all

'But if thou fall, O, then imagine this,
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.

'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;
Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day and her by night.

'And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery;

'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair,
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.

'And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.

'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.

'What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

'So in thyself thyself art made away;
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.'

'Nay, then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme:
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

'If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there;

'Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

'What have you urged that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger:
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase: O strange excuse,
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse!

'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.

'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen:
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'

With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace,
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times 'Woe, woe!'
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

She marking them begins a wailing note
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Her song was tedious and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight
In such-like circumstance, with suchlike sport:
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End without audience and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal
But idle sounds resembling parasites,
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says ''Tis so:' they answer all ''Tis so;'
And would say after her, if she said 'No.'

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay;
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:--
And with that word she spied the hunted boar,

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for murther.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
She treads the path that she untreads again;
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

'Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,'--thus chides she Death,--
'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

'If he be dead,--O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it:--
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.

'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike dead.

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best: then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo;
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught:
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
Then, gentle shadow,--truth I must confess,--
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

''Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he's author of thy slander:
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.'

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories
His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head:

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

Whereat each tributary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed.

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept til now.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

'Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you:
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:

'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off and, being gone,
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

'To see his face the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey
And never fright the silly lamb that day.

'When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave:
If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

''Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'
With this, she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies;

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,
That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

'Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy:
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end,
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.

'It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.

'It shall be sparing and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.

'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire:
Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,
They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.'

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy fathers guise--
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire--
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.

'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure herself and not be seen.