I shall call hills steep, which ought to be bold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular and rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be indistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere.

You must be satisfied with such admiration as I can honestly give.

I call it a very fine country--the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, and the valley looks comfortable and snug--with rich meadows and several neat farm houses scattered here and there.

It exactly answers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility--and I dare say it is a picturesque one too, because you admire it; I can easily believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey moss and brush wood, but these are all lost on me.

I know nothing of the picturesque." "I am afraid it is but too true," said Marianne; "but why should you boast of it ?" "I suspect," said Elinor, "that to avoid one kind of affectation, Edward here falls into another.