these scenes, and to question him more minutely on the objects
that had particularly struck him, when Edward interrupted her by saying, »You
must not inquire too far, Marianne - remember I have no knowledge in the
picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste if we come
to particulars. 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. Because he believes many people pretend to more
admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and is disgusted
with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and less discrimination
in viewing them himself than he possesses. He is fastidious and will have an
affectation of his own.«
    »It is very true,« said Marianne, »that admiration, of landscape scenery is
become a mere jargon. Every body pretends to feel and tries to describe with the
taste and elegance of him who first defined what picturesque beauty was. I
detest jargon of every kind, and sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself,
because I could find no language to describe them in but what was worn and
hackneyed out of all sense and meaning.«
    »I am convinced,« said Edward, »that you really feel all the delight in a
fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister must allow
me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect, but not on
picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire
them much more if they are tall, straight