That is court.

    Another view of man, my second brings;
      Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!

That is ship;—­plain as it can be.—­Now for the cream.

    But ah! united, (courtship, you know,) what reverse we have! 
      Man’s boasted power and freedom, all are flown. 
    Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
      And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.

A very proper compliment!—­and then follows the application, which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in comprehending.  Read it in comfort to yourself.  There can be no doubt of its being written for you and to you.”

Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion.  She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness.  She could not speak.  But she was not wanted to speak.  It was enough for her to feel.  Emma spoke for her.

“There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment,” said she, “that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton’s intentions.  You are his object—­and you will soon receive the completest proof of it.  I thought it must be so.  I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you.  Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen what has happened.  I could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were most desirable or most natural.  Its probability and its eligibility have really so equalled each other!  I am very happy.  I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart.  This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride in creating.  This is a connexion which offers nothing but good.  It will give you every thing that you want—­consideration, independence, a proper home—­it will fix you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever.  This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in either of us.”

“Dear Miss Woodhouse!”—­and “Dear Miss Woodhouse,” was all that Harriet, with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when they did arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear to her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered just as she ought.  Mr. Elton’s superiority had very ample acknowledgment.

“Whatever you say is always right,” cried Harriet, “and therefore I suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise I could not have imagined it.  It is so much beyond any thing I deserve.  Mr. Elton, who might marry any body!  There cannot be two opinions about him.  He is so very superior.  Only think of those sweet verses--`To Miss --------.’  Dear me, how clever!--Could it really be meant for me?”

“I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that.  It is a certainty.  Receive it on my judgment.  It is a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose.”