Dear Reader, this was penned for a writing class. The assignment was to continue one of the P & P character's stories. It appears I ended Mr. Collins' story instead. Enjoy!

It was the subject of one of the many amiable little compliments Mr. Collins often intimated within his correspondence and discourse. He admired it and cherished it as if it were a fixture associated with his own humble abode. He had searched it over several times for any sign of flaw or blemish, but it had withstood each examination to a satisfactory degree.

His esteem, it may have been assumed by now, was fixed upon the chimney piece at Rosings.

He supposed it deserving of mention at the commencement of every new acquaintance, for one must certainly blush at the disclosure that their excellent furnishings brought to mind those of his revered patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

When Mr. Collins considered the condescension of that great lady, when he pondered that he, naught but a simple clergyman, had been allowed not only entrance at Rosings, but also the honor of joining the family in one of the many drawing rooms of the house as often as every week, he held to the opinion that he was to be envied above all others in his station. And his dear wife had been so fortunate as to be elevated by their marriage so that she too might delight in the benefactorship of Lady Catherine.

It should come as no surprise, then, that this chimney piece is the device that led to Mr. Collins' untimely demise.

He had noticed, as of late, that Lady Catherine's nephews seemed drawn to this very chimney piece when they called on their aunt. Mr. Darcy's elbow had brushed against the fluted columns long ago when his distraction over Miss Bennet drove him to behave in a most impolite manner-he had nudged at a log on the fire with the poker. The poker itself he should not have condescended to touch when it was for the servants' use alone, but to take it up and make use of it was unaccountable. Mr. Collins was embarrassed for the gentleman and looked to ascertain that his wife had experienced no discomfort at this impropriety. Luckily, her exchange with Lady Catherine had spared her the distress.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, it seemed, had completely thrown off the benefits of his rank, for he went about not only the drawing room, but the dining room as well, using various decor and fixtures to lean upon.

When Lady Catherine's indignation over Mr. Darcy's regrettable marriage subsided, she was invited to stay at Pemberly, and to Mr. Collin's utter surprise and consternation, she deigned to accept. She was gone some number of weeks, and she was missed most sorely. Mr. Collins could not justify waiting upon a vacant Rosings and found his spirits downtrodden when this habit of deference was denied him. He looked to Charlotte for sympathy, but she gave no indication that Lady Catherine's absence caused her any disturbance.

Mr. Collins' joy at Lady Catherine's return was diminished by the additional appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy who had traveled to stay at Rosings at her behest. He listened with rapt attention every time Lady Catherine spoke for hints as to how the mistress of Pemberly had maneuvered her way into the good graces of his patroness, but she made no reference to it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had, of course, accompanied the Darcys. The man's effrontery was insufferable to Mr. Collins, and he watched the man with a keen eye. He did not notice Colonel Fitzwilliam's kindness toward the women, even to Charlotte, but he agonized when the colonel placed a hand atop the pianoforte while Mrs. Darcy played. He fretted about when the colonel adjusted the visor on the helmet of a suit of armor Mr. Collins knew to be centuries old and worth thousands of pounds. He waited for Lady Catherine to admonish her nephew, but she seemed to have fallen under his cousin Elizabeth's spell; she took no note of the colonel's failings to adhere to the standards Mr. Collins expected to meet in such company.

It was when Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned his arm upon the mantle that Mr. Collins knew he must advocate for the abused fittings of Rosings. He flattered himself that it was within his right to do so.

"Sir!" Mr. Collins cried. "That chimney piece alone is valued at more than eight hundred pounds! I beg you not to trespass upon the beneficence of my patroness! Do leave the chimney piece be, sir! It is the brightest ornament in the room!"

And so saying, Mr. Collins moved to attend the colonel, to see that he acquiesced his position. He was too hasty, though, for his foot caught on the Oushak carpet that ran before the fireplace, and he lost his footing. He stumbled toward the fire, righted himself, and knelt to correct the misplaced rug.

"Forgive me, Lady Catherine!" cried he. When Charlotte attempted to assist him, he urged her away. "No, my dear, no, leave this to me! It is 17th century! The less it is soiled by human hands, the more it is worth!"

He made no mention of the tainting effects human feet might have upon such a carpet across the scores of years it had laid there.

And here is where Mr. Collins' verbose days ended, for as he arose, the corner of the mantel caught his head, and he fell upon the Oushak and there died, undone by the things he had worshipped. The spark of life was extinguished in an instant by the items he had prized as though they were his own.

Upon his headstone were written these words: Here lies William Collins, distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Mr. Collins' widow mourned for the appropriate period and in due time remarried most advantageously to Colonel Fitzwilliam.