country about her own home. It takes the enterprising Mrs. Elton to get her as far as Box Hill, a drive of seven miles, though the view it commands is so fine as to provoke "a burst of admiration" from beholders who have apparently never taken the trouble to look at it before. "We are a very quiet set of people," observes Emma in complacent defence of this apathy, "more disposed to stay at home than engage in schemes of pleasure."
Dr. Johnson's definition of a novel as "a smooth tale, generally of love," fits Miss Austen well. It is not that she assigns to love a heavy rôle; but there is nothing to interfere with its command of the situation. Vague yearnings, tempestuous doubts, combative principles, play no part in her well-ordered world. The poor and the oppressed are discreetly excluded from its precincts. Emma does not teach the orphan boy to read, or the orphan girl to sew. She
