evening of life, was collecting and transcribing all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with, into a thin quarto of hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented with cyphers and trophies.

In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head teacher at Mrs. Goddard’s, had written out at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse’s help, to get a great many more. Emma assisted with her invention, memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first order, in form as well as quantity.

Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting in. “So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young–he wondered he could not remember them! but he hoped he should in time.” And it always ended in, “Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.”

His good friend Perry too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he had desired Perry to be upon the watch, as he went about so much, something, he thought, might come from that quarter.

It was by no means his daughter’s wish that the intellects of Highbury in general be put under requisition. Mr. Elton was the only one whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good enigmas, charades or conundrums that he might recollect; and she had the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections; and at the same time, she could perceive, most earnestly careful that nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the sex

should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade,

*My first doth affliction denote,

Which my second is destined to feel

And my whole is the best antidote

That affection to soften and heal.–*

made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some pages ago already.

“Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?” said she; “that is the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to you.”

“Oh, no! he had never written, hardly ever, anything of its kind in his life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse”–he stopped a moment–“or Miss Smith could inspire him.”

The very next day however produced proof of inspiration. He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table containing, as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed to a young lady , the object of his admiration, but which from his manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own.

“I do not offer it for Miss Smith’s collection,” said he. “Being my friend’s, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public eye, but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it.”

The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could understand. There was deep consciousness about him, and he found it easier to meet her eye than her friend’s. he was gone the next moment;– after another moment’s pause,

“Take it,” said Emma, smiling, and pushing the