No More Learning

--“The best fruit in England--every body’s favourite--always
wholesome. --These the finest beds and finest sorts. --Delightful to
gather for one’s self--the only way of really enjoying them. --Morning
decidedly the best time--never tired--every sort good--hautboy
infinitely superior--no comparison--the others hardly eatable--hautboys
very scarce--Chili preferred--white wood finest flavour of all--price
of strawberries in London--abundance about Bristol--Maple
Grove--cultivation--beds when to be renewed--gardeners thinking exactly
different--no general rule--gardeners never to be put out of their
way--delicious fruit--only too rich to be eaten much of--inferior
to cherries--currants more refreshing--only objection to gathering
strawberries the stooping--glaring sun--tired to death--could bear it no
longer--must go and sit in the shade. ”

Such, for half an hour, was the conversation--interrupted only once by
Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her solicitude after her son-in-law, to
inquire if he were come--and she was a little uneasy. --She had some
fears of his horse.

Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now Emma was obliged
to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of. --A
situation, a most desirable situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton had
received notice of it that morning, and was in raptures. It was not
with Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity and
splendour it fell short only of them: it was with a cousin of Mrs.
Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady known at Maple Grove.
Delightful, charming, superior, first circles, spheres, lines, ranks,
every thing--and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the offer closed with
immediately. --On her side, all was warmth, energy, and triumph--and she
positively refused to take her friend’s negative, though Miss Fairfax
continued to assure her that she would not at present engage in any
thing, repeating the same motives which she had been heard to urge
before. --Still Mrs. Elton insisted on being authorised to write an
acquiescence by the morrow’s post. --How Jane could bear it at all, was
astonishing to Emma. --She did look vexed, she did speak pointedly--and
at last, with a decision of action unusual to her, proposed a
removal. --“Should not they walk? Would not Mr. Knightley shew them the
gardens--all the gardens? --She wished to see the whole extent. ”--The
pertinacity of her friend seemed more than she could bear.

It was hot; and after walking some time over the gardens in a scattered,
dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed one
another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes, which
stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the river, seemed
the finish of the pleasure grounds. --It led to nothing; nothing but a
view at the end over a low stone wall with high pillars, which seemed
intended, in their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to
the house, which never had been there. Disputable, however, as might be
the taste of such a termination, it was in itself a charming walk, and
the view which closed it extremely pretty. --The considerable slope, at
nearly the foot of which the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper
form beyond its grounds; and at half a mile distant was a bank of
considerable abruptness and grandeur, well clothed with wood;--and at
the bottom of this bank, favourably placed and sheltered, rose the
Abbey Mill Farm, with meadows in front, and the river making a close and
handsome curve around it.

It was a sweet view--sweet to the eye and the mind. English verdure,
English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without being
oppressive.

In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others assembled; and
towards this view she immediately perceived Mr. Knightley and Harriet
distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr. Knightley and
Harriet! --It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see it. --There
had been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion, and
turned from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant
conversation. There had been a time also when Emma would have been sorry
to see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey Mill Farm; but now
she feared it not. It might be safely viewed with all its appendages of
prosperity and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in
blossom, and light column of smoke ascending. --She joined them at the
wall, and found them more engaged in talking than in looking around. He
was giving Harriet information as to modes of agriculture, etc. and Emma
received a smile which seemed to say, “These are my own concerns. I have
a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected of
introducing Robert Martin. ”--She did not suspect him. It was too old
a story. --Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet. --They
took a few turns together along the walk. --The shade was most
refreshing, and Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day.

The next remove was to the house; they must all go in and eat;--and they
were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not come. Mrs.
Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would not own himself
uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured of wishing
that he would part with his black mare. He had expressed himself as to
coming, with more than common certainty. “His aunt was so much better,
that he had not a doubt of getting over to them. ”--Mrs. Churchill’s
state, however, as many were ready to remind her, was liable to such
sudden variation as might disappoint her nephew in the most reasonable
dependence--and Mrs. Weston was at last persuaded to believe, or to say,
that it must be by some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was
prevented coming. --Emma looked at Harriet while the point was under
consideration; she behaved very well, and betrayed no emotion.

The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once more to see
what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps get as far
as the clover, which was to be begun cutting on the morrow, or, at
any rate, have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool again. --Mr.
Woodhouse, who had already taken his little round in the highest part
of the gardens, where no damps from the river were imagined even by him,
stirred no more; and his daughter resolved to remain with him, that
Mrs. Weston might be persuaded away by her husband to the exercise and
variety which her spirits seemed to need.

Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse’s
entertainment. Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals,
shells, and every other family collection within his cabinets, had been
prepared for his old friend, to while away the morning; and the kindness
had perfectly answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly well amused.
Mrs. Weston had been shewing them all to him, and now he would shew them
all to Emma;--fortunate in having no other resemblance to a child, than
in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and
methodical. --Before this second looking over was begun, however, Emma
walked into the hall for the sake of a few moments’ free observation of
the entrance and ground-plot of the house--and was hardly there, when
Jane Fairfax appeared, coming quickly in from the garden, and with a
look of escape. --Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there
was a start at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in
quest of.

“Will you be so kind,” said she, “when I am missed, as to say that I am
gone home? --I am going this moment. --My aunt is not aware how late it
is, nor how long we have been absent--but I am sure we shall be wanted,
and I am determined to go directly. --I have said nothing about it to any
body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the
ponds, and some to the lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be
missed; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am
gone? ”

“Certainly, if you wish it;--but you are not going to walk to Highbury
alone? ”

“Yes--what should hurt me? --I walk fast. I shall be at home in twenty
minutes. ”

“But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let my
father’s servant go with you. --Let me order the carriage. It can be
round in five minutes. ”

“Thank you, thank you--but on no account. --I would rather walk. --And
for _me_ to be afraid of walking alone! --I, who may so soon have to
guard others! ”

She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied, “That
can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order the
carriage. The heat even would be danger. --You are fatigued already. ”

“I am,”--she answered--“I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of
fatigue--quick walking will refresh me. --Miss Woodhouse, we all know
at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are
exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me, will be to let me have
my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary. ”

Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering into
her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and
watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting look was
grateful--and her parting words, “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of
being sometimes alone! ”--seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and
to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her,
even towards some of those who loved her best.

“Such a home, indeed! such an aunt! ” said Emma, as she turned back into
the hall again. “I do pity you. And the more sensibility you betray of
their just horrors, the more I shall like you. ”

Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only
accomplished some views of St. Mark’s Place, Venice, when Frank
Churchill entered the room. Emma had not been thinking of him, she had
forgotten to think of him--but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston
would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; _they_ were right
who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by
a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had
lasted some hours--and he had quite given up every thought of coming,
till very late;--and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and
how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have
come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing
like it--almost wished he had staid at home--nothing killed him
like heat--he could bear any degree of cold, etc. , but heat was
intolerable--and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the
slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse’s fire, looking very deplorable.

“You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,” said Emma.

“As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be
spared--but such a point had been made of my coming! You will all be
going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met _one_ as I
came--Madness in such weather! --absolute madness! ”

Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill’s
state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of
humour. Some people were always cross when they were hot. Such might be
his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often
the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking
some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing in the
dining-room--and she humanely pointed out the door.

“No--he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make him
hotter. ” In two minutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and
muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off. Emma returned all her
attention to her father, saying in secret--

“I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like a man
who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet’s sweet easy temper
will not mind it. ”

He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and came
back all the better--grown quite cool--and, with good manners, like
himself--able to draw a chair close to them, take an interest in their
employment; and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late.
He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them; and,
at last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably. They were looking
over views in Swisserland.

“As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,” said he. “I shall
never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my
sketches, some time or other, to look at--or my tour to read--or my
poem. I shall do something to expose myself. ”

“That may be--but not by sketches in Swisserland. You will never go to
Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave England. ”

“They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may be prescribed for
her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad. I
assure you I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I
shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I
want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating
eyes may fancy--I am sick of England--and would leave it to-morrow, if
I could. ”

“You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot you invent a few
hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay? ”

“_I_ sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken. I do
not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted
in every thing material. I do not consider myself at all a fortunate
person. ”

“You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came. Go and
eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well. Another slice of
cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on
a par with the rest of us. ”

“No--I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my best cure. ”

“We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;--you will join us. It is not
Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so much in want of
a change. You will stay, and go with us? ”

“No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening. ”

“But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning. ”

“No--It will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be cross. ”

“Then pray stay at Richmond. ”

“But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to think of you
all there without me. ”

“These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself. Chuse your
own degree of crossness. I shall press you no more. ”

The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected.
With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others
took it very composedly; but there was a very general distress and
disturbance on Miss Fairfax’s disappearance being explained. That it was
time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and with a short final
arrangement for the next day’s scheme, they parted. Frank Churchill’s
little inclination to exclude himself increased so much, that his last
words to Emma were,

“Well;--if _you_ wish me to stay and join the party, I will. ”

She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from Richmond
was to take him back before the following evening.



CHAPTER VII


They had a very fine day for Box Hill; and all the other outward
circumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and punctuality, were in
favour of a pleasant party. Mr. Weston directed the whole, officiating
safely between Hartfield and the Vicarage, and every body was in good
time. Emma and Harriet went together; Miss Bates and her niece, with
the Eltons; the gentlemen on horseback. Mrs. Weston remained with Mr.
Woodhouse. Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there.
Seven miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and every body
had a burst of admiration on first arriving; but in the general amount
of the day there was deficiency. There was a languor, a want of spirits,
a want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much
into parties. The Eltons walked together; Mr. Knightley took charge of
Miss Bates and Jane; and Emma and Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill.
And Mr. Weston tried, in vain, to make them harmonise better. It seemed
at first an accidental division, but it never materially varied. Mr. and
Mrs. Elton, indeed, shewed no unwillingness to mix, and be as agreeable
as they could; but during the two whole hours that were spent on the
hill, there seemed a principle of separation, between the other parties,
too strong for any fine prospects, or any cold collation, or any
cheerful Mr. Weston, to remove.

At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had never seen Frank
Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing--looked
without seeing--admired without intelligence--listened without knowing
what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet
should be dull likewise; and they were both insufferable.

When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better,
for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object.
Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her.
To amuse her, and be agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared
for--and Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be flattered, was gay
and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission
to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating
period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own estimation,
meant nothing, though in the judgment of most people looking on it must
have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very
well describe. “Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted together
excessively. ” They were laying themselves open to that very phrase--and
to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to
Ireland by another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any
real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she had
expected. She laughed because she was disappointed; and though she liked
him for his attentions, and thought them all, whether in friendship,
admiration, or playfulness, extremely judicious, they were not winning
back her heart. She still intended him for her friend.

“How much I am obliged to you,” said he, “for telling me to come
to-day! --If it had not been for you, I should certainly have lost all
the happiness of this party. I had quite determined to go away again. ”

“Yes, you were very cross; and I do not know what about, except that you
were too late for the best strawberries. I was a kinder friend than you
deserved. But you were humble. You begged hard to be commanded to come. ”

“Don’t say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat overcame me. ”

“It is hotter to-day. ”

“Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to-day. ”

“You are comfortable because you are under command. ”

“Your command? --Yes. ”

“Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-command. You had,
somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, and run away from your own
management; but to-day you are got back again--and as I cannot be always
with you, it is best to believe your temper under your own command
rather than mine. ”

“It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command without a
motive. You order me, whether you speak or not. And you can be always
with me. You are always with me. ”

“Dating from three o’clock yesterday. My perpetual influence could not
begin earlier, or you would not have been so much out of humour before. ”

“Three o’clock yesterday! That is your date. I thought I had seen you
first in February. ”

“Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But (lowering her voice)--nobody
speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too much to be talking
nonsense for the entertainment of seven silent people. ”

“I say nothing of which I am ashamed,” replied he, with lively
impudence. “I saw you first in February. Let every body on the Hill
hear me if they can. Let my accents swell to Mickleham on one side,
and Dorking on the other. I saw you first in February. ” And then
whispering--“Our companions are excessively stupid. What shall we do
to rouse them? Any nonsense will serve. They _shall_ talk. Ladies
and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is,
presides) to say, that she desires to know what you are all thinking
of? ”

Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss Bates said a great
deal; Mrs. Elton swelled at the idea of Miss Woodhouse’s presiding; Mr.
Knightley’s answer was the most distinct.

“Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all
thinking of? ”

“Oh! no, no”--cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could--“Upon no
account in the world. It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt
of just now. Let me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking
of. I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps, (glancing
at Mr. Weston and Harriet,) whose thoughts I might not be afraid of
knowing. ”

“It is a sort of thing,” cried Mrs. Elton emphatically, “which _I_
should not have thought myself privileged to inquire into. Though,
perhaps, as the _Chaperon_ of the party--_I_ never was in any
circle--exploring parties--young ladies--married women--”

Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he murmured, in reply,

“Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed--quite unheard
of--but some ladies say any thing. Better pass it off as a joke. Every
body knows what is due to _you_. ”

“It will not do,” whispered Frank to Emma; “they are most of them
affronted. I will attack them with more address. Ladies and gentlemen--I
am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she waives her right of
knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires
something very entertaining from each of you, in a general way. Here
are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she is pleased to say, am very
entertaining already,) and she only demands from each of you either one
thing very clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated--or two
things moderately clever--or three things very dull indeed, and she
engages to laugh heartily at them all. ”

“Oh! very well,” exclaimed Miss Bates, “then I need not be uneasy.
‘Three things very dull indeed. ’ That will just do for me, you know. I
shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth,
shan’t I? (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every
body’s assent)--Do not you all think I shall? ”

Emma could not resist.

“Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me--but you will be
limited as to number--only three at once. ”

Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not
immediately catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not
anger, though a slight blush shewed that it could pain her.

“Ah! --well--to be sure. Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr.
Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very
disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend. ”

“I like your plan,” cried Mr. Weston. “Agreed, agreed. I will do my
best. I am making a conundrum. How will a conundrum reckon? ”

“Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,” answered his son;--“but we shall be
indulgent--especially to any one who leads the way. ”

“No, no,” said Emma, “it will not reckon low. A conundrum of Mr.
Weston’s shall clear him and his next neighbour. Come, sir, pray let me
hear it. ”

“I doubt its being very clever myself,” said Mr. Weston. “It is too much
a matter of fact, but here it is. --What two letters of the alphabet are
there, that express perfection? ”

“What two letters! --express perfection! I am sure I do not know. ”

“Ah! you will never guess. You, (to Emma), I am certain, will never
guess. --I will tell you. --M. and A. --Em-ma. --Do you understand? ”

Understanding and gratification came together. It might be a very
indifferent piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at and
enjoy in it--and so did Frank and Harriet. --It did not seem to touch
the rest of the party equally; some looked very stupid about it, and Mr.
Knightley gravely said,

“This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr. Weston
has done very well for himself; but he must have knocked up every body
else. _Perfection_ should not have come quite so soon. ”

“Oh! for myself, I protest I must be excused,” said Mrs. Elton; “_I_
really cannot attempt--I am not at all fond of the sort of thing. I had
an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name, which I was not at all
pleased with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy! --You know
who I mean (nodding to her husband). These kind of things are very
well at Christmas, when one is sitting round the fire; but quite out of
place, in my opinion, when one is exploring about the country in summer.
Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. I am not one of those who have witty
things at every body’s service. I do not pretend to be a wit. I have a
great deal of vivacity in my own way, but I really must be allowed to
judge when to speak and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you please,
Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E. , Knightley, Jane, and myself. We have nothing
clever to say--not one of us.

“Yes, yes, pray pass _me_,” added her husband, with a sort of sneering
consciousness; “_I_ have nothing to say that can entertain Miss
Woodhouse, or any other young lady. An old married man--quite good for
nothing. Shall we walk, Augusta? ”

“With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long on one spot.
Come, Jane, take my other arm. ”

Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off.
“Happy couple! ” said Frank Churchill, as soon as they were out of
hearing:--“How well they suit one another! --Very lucky--marrying as they
did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place! --They only knew
each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath! Peculiarly lucky! --for as to
any real knowledge of a person’s disposition that Bath, or any public
place, can give--it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is
only by seeing women in their own homes, among their own set, just as
they always are, that you can form any just judgment. Short of that, it
is all guess and luck--and will generally be ill-luck. How many a man
has committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest
of his life! ”

Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among her own
confederates, spoke now.

“Such things do occur, undoubtedly. ”--She was stopped by a cough. Frank
Churchill turned towards her to listen.

“You were speaking,” said he, gravely. She recovered her voice.

“I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circumstances
do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine them to be
very frequent. A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise--but there is
generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be understood to
mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters, (whose happiness
must be always at the mercy of chance,) who will suffer an unfortunate
acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever. ”

He made no answer; merely looked, and bowed in submission; and soon
afterwards said, in a lively tone,

“Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever I
marry, I hope some body will chuse my wife for me. Will you? (turning to
Emma. ) Will you chuse a wife for me? --I am sure I should like any body
fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know, (with a smile at
his father). Find some body for me. I am in no hurry. Adopt her, educate
her. ”

“And make her like myself. ”

“By all means, if you can. ”

“Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall have a charming wife. ”

“She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes. I care for nothing else.
I shall go abroad for a couple of years--and when I return, I shall come
to you for my wife. Remember. ”

Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commission to touch every
favourite feeling. Would not Harriet be the very creature described?
Hazle eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished.
He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could say?