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of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can."

"Me, my love," cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in part.--
"Are you talking about me?--I am sure nobody ought to be, or can be,
a greater advocate for matrimony than I am; and if it had not been
for the misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have thought
of Miss Taylor but as the most fortunate woman in the world;
and as to slighting Mr. Weston, that excellent Mr. Weston, I think
there is nothing he does not deserve. I believe he is one of the
very best-tempered men that ever existed. Excepting yourself
and your brother, I do not know his equal for temper. I shall
never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy day
last Easter--and ever since his particular kindness last September
twelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve o'clock at night,
on purpose to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham,
I have been convinced there could not be a more feeling heart nor
a better man in existence.--If any body can deserve him, it must be
Miss Taylor."

"Where is the young man?" said John Knightley. "Has he been here
on this occasion--or has he not?"

"He has not been here yet," replied Emma. "There was a strong
expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended
in nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately."

"But you should tell them of the letter, my dear," said her father.
"He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her,
and a very proper, handsome letter it was. She shewed it to me.
I thought it very well done of him indeed. Whether it was his own idea
you know, one cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps--"

"My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how time passes."

"Three-and-twenty!--is he indeed?--Well, I could not have thought it--
and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother! Well,
time does fly indeed!--and my memory is very bad. However, it was
an exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston
a great deal of pleasure. I remember it was written from Weymouth,
and dated Sept. 28th--and began, `My dear Madam,' but I forget
how it went on; and it was signed `F. C. Weston Churchill.'--
I remember that perfectly."

"How very pleasing and proper of him!" cried the good-hearted Mrs. John
Knightley. "I have no doubt of his being a most amiable young man.
But how sad it is that he should not live at home with his father!
There is something so shocking in a child's being taken away from his
parents and natural home! I never could comprehend how Mr. Weston
could part with him. To give up one's child! I really never
could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to any body else."

"Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,"
observed Mr. John Knightley coolly. "But you need not imagine
Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel in giving up Henry
or John. Mr. Weston is rather an easy, cheerful-tempered man,
than a man of strong feelings; he takes things as he finds them,

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