Austen Said:

"You, sir, may say any thing,"

cried Mr. Elton,

"but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other situation would have been much less in character. The naivete of Miss Smith's manners—and altogether— — Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness."

The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were a few difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London; the order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose taste could be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions, must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr. Woodhouse could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in the fogs of December. But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton, than it was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert.

"Might he be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in executing it! he could ride to London at any time. It was impossible to say how much he should be gratified by being employed on such an errand."

"He was too good!—she could not endure the thought!—she would not give him such a troublesome office for the world,"—

brought on the desired repetition of entreaties and assurances,—and a very few minutes settled the business.

Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse the frame, and give the directions; and

Emma thought

she could so pack it as to ensure its safety without much incommoding him,

while he seemed mostly fearful of not being incommoded enough.

"What a precious deposit!"

said he with a tender sigh, as he received it.

"This man is almost too gallant to be in love,"

thought Emma.

"I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet exactly; it will be an

'Exactly so,'

as he says himself; but he does sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could endure as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. But it is his gratitude on Harriet's account."

The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a fresh occasion for Emma's services towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hartfield, as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time, had gone home to return again to dinner: she returned, and sooner than had been talked of, and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something extraordinary to have happened which she was longing to tell. Half a minute brought it all out.

She had heard,

as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard's,

that

Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and finding she was not at home, nor particularly expected, had left a little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away; and on opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him, from Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage.

"Who could have thought it? She was so surprized she did not know what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very much— but she did not know —and so, she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.—"

Emma was half-ashamed of her friend for seeming so pleased and so doubtful.

"Upon my word,"

she cried,

"the young man is determined not to lose any thing for want of asking. He will connect himself well if he can."

"Will you read the letter?"

cried Harriet.

"Pray do. I'd rather you would."

Emma was not sorry to be pressed.

She

read, and

was surprized.

The style of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling.

She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching for her opinion, with a

"Well, well,"

and was at last forced to add,

"Is it a good letter? or is it too short?"

"Yes, indeed, a very good letter,"

replied Emma rather slowly—

"so good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of his sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural talent for— thinks strongly and clearly— and when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet

(returning it,)

than I had expected."

"Well,"

said the still waiting Harriet;—

"well— — and— — and what shall I do?"

"What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regard to this letter?"

"Yes."