this moment!—The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home—and the folly of people’s not staying comfortably at home when they can! If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this, by any call of duty or business, what a hardship we should deem it;—and here we are, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual, setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can;—here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;—four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home.”

“Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased assent, which no doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to emulate the “Very true, my love,” which must have been usually administered by his travelling companion ; but she had resolution enough to refrain from making any answer at all. She could not be complying, she dreaded being quarrelsome ; her heroism reached only to silence. She allowed him to talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without opening her lips.

They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr. Elton, spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought with pleasure of some change of subject. Mr. Elton was all obligation and cheerfulness ; he was very cheer-ful in his civilities indeed, that she began to think he must have received a different account of Harriet from what had reached her. She had sent while

dressing, and the answer had been, “Much the same—not better.”

“My report from Mrs. Goddard’s,” said she presently, “was not so pleasant as I had hoped—‘Not better,’ was my answer.”

His face lengthened immediately ; and his voice was the voice of sentiment as he answered.

“Oh! no—I am grieved to find—I was on the point of telling you that when I called at Mrs. Goddard’s door, which I did the very last thing before I returned to dress, I was told that Miss Smith was not better, by no means better, rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned—I had flattered myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I know had been given in the morning.”

Emma smiled and answered—“My visit was of use to the nervous part of her complaint, I hope ; but not even I can charm away a sore throat; it is a most severe cold indeed. Mr. Perry has been with her, as you probably heard.”

“Yes—I imagined—that is—I did not”—

“He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope to-morrow morning will bring us both a more comfortable report. But it is impossible not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party to-day!”

“Dreadful!—Exactly so, indeed.—She will be missed every moment.”

This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really estimable; but it should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minutes afterwards he began to speak of other things, and in a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment.

“What an excellent device,” said he, “the use of a sheep-skin for carriages. How very comfortable they make it;—impossible to feel cold with such precautions. The contrivances of modern days in-deed have rendered a gentleman’s carriage perfectly