HORTON LODGE





The 31st of January was a wild, tempestuous day: there was a strong

north wind, with a continual storm of snow drifting on the ground and

whirling through the air. My friends would have had me delay my

departure, but fearful of prejudicing my employers against me by such

want of punctuality at the commencement of my undertaking, I persisted

in keeping the appointment.



I will not inflict upon my readers an account of my leaving home on

that dark winter morning: the fond farewells, the long, long journey to

O——, the solitary waitings in inns for coaches or trains—for there were

some railways then—and, finally, the meeting at O—— with Mr. Murray’s

servant, who had been sent with the phaeton to drive me from thence to

Horton Lodge. I will just state that the heavy snow had thrown such

impediments in the way of both horses and steam-engines, that it was

dark some hours before I reached my journey’s end, and that a most

bewildering storm came on at last, which made the few miles’ space

between O—— and Horton Lodge a long and formidable passage. I sat

resigned, with the cold, sharp snow drifting through my veil and

filling my lap, seeing nothing, and wondering how the unfortunate horse

and driver could make their way even as well as they did; and indeed it

was but a toilsome, creeping style of progression, to say the best of

it. At length we paused; and, at the call of the driver, someone

unlatched and rolled back upon their creaking hinges what appeared to

be the park gates. Then we proceeded along a smoother road, whence,

occasionally, I perceived some huge, hoary mass gleaming through the

darkness, which I took to be a portion of a snow-clad tree. After a

considerable time we paused again, before the stately portico of a

large house with long windows descending to the ground.



I rose with some difficulty from under the superincumbent snowdrift,

and alighted from the carriage, expecting that a kind and hospitable

reception would indemnify me for the toils and hardships of the day. A

gentlemanly person in black opened the door, and admitted me into a

spacious hall, lighted by an amber-coloured lamp suspended from the

ceiling; he led me through this, along a passage, and opening the door

of a back room, told me that was the schoolroom. I entered, and found

two young ladies and two young gentlemen—my future pupils, I supposed.

After a formal greeting, the elder girl, who was trifling over a piece

of canvas and a basket of German wools, asked if I should like to go

upstairs. I replied in the affirmative, of course.



“Matilda, take a candle, and show her her room,” said she.



Miss Matilda, a strapping hoyden of about fourteen, with a short frock

and trousers, shrugged her shoulders and made a slight grimace, but

took a candle and proceeded before me up the back stairs (a long,

steep, double flight), and through a long, narrow passage, to a small

but tolerably comfortable room. She then asked me if I would take some

tea or coffee. I was about to answer No; but remembering that I had

taken nothing since seven o’clock that morning, and feeling faint in

consequence, I said I would take a cup of tea. Saying she would tell

“Brown,” the young lady departed; and by the time I had divested myself

of my heavy, wet cloak, shawl, bonnet, &c., a mincing damsel came to

say the young ladies desired to know whether I would take my tea up

there or in the schoolroom. Under the plea of fatigue I chose to take

it there. She withdrew; and, after a while, returned again with a small

tea-tray, and placed it on the chest of drawers, which served as a

dressing-table. Having civilly thanked her, I asked at what time I

should be expected to rise in the morning.



“The young ladies and gentlemen breakfast at half-past eight, ma’am,”

said she; “they rise early; but, as they seldom do any lessons before

breakfast, I should think it will do if you rise soon after seven.”



I desired her to be so kind as to call me at seven, and, promising to

do so, she withdrew. Then, having broken my long fast on a cup of tea

and a little thin bread and butter, I sat down beside the small,

smouldering fire, and amused myself with a hearty fit of crying; after

which, I said my prayers, and then, feeling considerably relieved,

began to prepare for bed. Finding that none of my luggage was brought

up, I instituted a search for the bell; and failing to discover any

signs of such a convenience in any corner of the room, I took my candle

and ventured through the long passage, and down the steep stairs, on a

voyage of discovery. Meeting a well-dressed female on the way, I told

her what I wanted; but not without considerable hesitation, as I was

not quite sure whether it was one of the upper servants, or Mrs. Murray

herself: it happened, however, to be the lady’s-maid. With the air of

one conferring an unusual favour, she vouchsafed to undertake the

sending up of my things; and when I had re-entered my room, and waited

and wondered a long time (greatly fearing that she had forgotten or

neglected to perform her promise, and doubting whether to keep waiting

or go to bed, or go down again), my hopes, at length, were revived by

the sound of voices and laughter, accompanied by the tramp of feet

along the passage; and presently the luggage was brought in by a

rough-looking maid and a man, neither of them very respectful in their

demeanour to me. Having shut the door upon their retiring footsteps,

and unpacked a few of my things, I betook myself to rest; gladly

enough, for I was weary in body and mind.



It was with a strange feeling of desolation, mingled with a strong

sense of the novelty of my situation, and a joyless kind of curiosity

concerning what was yet unknown, that I awoke the next morning; feeling

like one whirled away by enchantment, and suddenly dropped from the

clouds into a remote and unknown land, widely and completely isolated

from all he had ever seen or known before; or like a thistle-seed borne

on the wind to some strange nook of uncongenial soil, where it must lie

long enough before it can take root and germinate, extracting

nourishment from what appears so alien to its nature: if, indeed, it

ever can. But this gives no proper idea of my feelings at all; and no

one that has not lived such a retired, stationary life as mine, can

possibly imagine what they were: hardly even if he has known what it is

to awake some morning, and find himself in Port Nelson, in New Zealand,

with a world of waters between himself and all that knew him.



I shall not soon forget the peculiar feeling with which I raised my

blind and looked out upon the unknown world: a wide, white wilderness

was all that met my gaze; a waste of



Deserts tossed in snow,

And heavy laden groves.





I descended to the schoolroom with no remarkable eagerness to join my

pupils, though not without some feeling of curiosity respecting what a

further acquaintance would reveal. One thing, among others of more

obvious importance, I determined with myself—I must begin with calling

them Miss and Master. It seemed to me a chilling and unnatural piece of

punctilio between the children of a family and their instructor and

daily companion; especially where the former were in their early

childhood, as at Wellwood House; but even there, my calling the little

Bloomfields by their simple names had been regarded as an offensive

liberty: as their parents had taken care to show me, by carefully

designating them _Master_ and _Miss_ Bloomfield, &c., in speaking to

me. I had been very slow to take the hint, because the whole affair

struck me as so very absurd; but now I determined to be wiser, and

begin at once with as much form and ceremony as any member of the

family would be likely to require: and, indeed, the children being so

much older, there would be less difficulty; though the little words

Miss and Master seemed to have a surprising effect in repressing all

familiar, open-hearted kindness, and extinguishing every gleam of

cordiality that might arise between us.



As I cannot, like Dogberry, find it in my heart to bestow all my

tediousness upon the reader, I will not go on to bore him with a minute

detail of all the discoveries and proceedings of this and the following

day. No doubt he will be amply satisfied with a slight sketch of the

different members of the family, and a general view of the first year

or two of my sojourn among them.



To begin with the head: Mr. Murray was, by all accounts, a blustering,

roystering, country squire: a devoted fox-hunter, a skilful

horse-jockey and farrier, an active, practical farmer, and a hearty

_bon vivant_. By all accounts, I say; for, except on Sundays, when he

went to church, I never saw him from month to month: unless, in

crossing the hall or walking in the grounds, the figure of a tall,

stout gentleman, with scarlet cheeks and crimson nose, happened to come

across me; on which occasions, if he passed near enough to speak, an

unceremonious nod, accompanied by a “Morning, Miss Grey,” or some such

brief salutation, was usually vouchsafed. Frequently, indeed, his loud

laugh reached me from afar; and oftener still I heard him swearing and

blaspheming against the footmen, groom, coachman, or some other hapless

dependant.



Mrs. Murray was a handsome, dashing lady of forty, who certainly

required neither rouge nor padding to add to her charms; and whose

chief enjoyments were, or seemed to be, in giving or frequenting

parties, and in dressing at the very top of the fashion. I did not see

her till eleven o’clock on the morning after my arrival; when she

honoured me with a visit, just as my mother might step into the kitchen

to see a new servant-girl: yet not so, either, for my mother would have

seen her immediately after her arrival, and not waited till the next

day; and, moreover, she would have addressed her in a more kind and

friendly manner, and given her some words of comfort as well as a plain

exposition of her duties; but Mrs. Murray did neither the one nor the

other. She just stepped into the schoolroom on her return from ordering

dinner in the housekeeper’s room, bade me good-morning, stood for two

minutes by the fire, said a few words about the weather and the “rather

rough” journey I must have had yesterday; petted her youngest child—a

boy of ten—who had just been wiping his mouth and hands on her gown,

after indulging in some savoury morsel from the housekeeper’s store;

told me what a sweet, good boy he was; and then sailed out, with a

self-complacent smile upon her face: thinking, no doubt, that she had

done quite enough for the present, and had been delightfully

condescending into the bargain. Her children evidently held the same

opinion, and I alone thought otherwise.



After this she looked in upon me once or twice, during the absence of

my pupils, to enlighten me concerning my duties towards them. For the

girls she seemed anxious only to render them as superficially

attractive and showily accomplished as they could possibly be made,

without present trouble or discomfort to themselves; and I was to act

accordingly—to study and strive to amuse and oblige, instruct, refine,

and polish, with the least possible exertion on their part, and no

exercise of authority on mine. With regard to the two boys, it was much

the same; only instead of accomplishments, I was to get the greatest

possible quantity of Latin grammar and Valpy’s Delectus into their

heads, in order to fit them for school—the greatest possible quantity

at least _without_ trouble to themselves. John might be a “little

high-spirited,” and Charles might be a little “nervous and tedious—”



“But at all events, Miss Grey,” said she, “I hope _you_ will keep your

temper, and be mild and patient throughout; especially with the dear

little Charles; he is so extremely nervous and susceptible, and so

utterly unaccustomed to anything but the tenderest treatment. You will

excuse my naming these things to you; for the fact is, I have hitherto

found all the governesses, even the very best of them, faulty in this

particular. They wanted that meek and quiet spirit, which St. Matthew,

or some of them, says is better than the putting on of apparel—you will

know the passage to which I allude, for you are a clergyman’s daughter.

But I have no doubt you will give satisfaction in this respect as well

as the rest. And remember, on all occasions, when any of the young

people do anything improper, if persuasion and gentle remonstrance will

not do, let one of the others come and tell me; for I can speak to them

more plainly than it would be proper for you to do. And make them as

happy as you can, Miss Grey, and I dare say you will do very well.”



I observed that while Mrs. Murray was so extremely solicitous for the

comfort and happiness of her children, and continually talking about

it, she never once mentioned mine; though they were at home, surrounded

by friends, and I an alien among strangers; and I did not yet know

enough of the world, not to be considerably surprised at this anomaly.



Miss Murray, otherwise Rosalie, was about sixteen when I came, and

decidedly a very pretty girl; and in two years longer, as time more

completely developed her form and added grace to her carriage and

deportment, she became positively beautiful; and that in no common

degree. She was tall and slender, yet not thin; perfectly formed,

exquisitely fair, though not without a brilliant, healthy bloom; her

hair, which she wore in a profusion of long ringlets, was of a very

light brown inclining to yellow; her eyes were pale blue, but so clear

and bright that few would wish them darker; the rest of her features

were small, not quite regular, and not remarkably otherwise: but

altogether you could not hesitate to pronounce her a very lovely girl.

I wish I could say as much for mind and disposition as I can for her

form and face.



Yet think not I have any dreadful disclosures to make: she was lively,

light-hearted, and could be very agreeable, with those who did not

cross her will. Towards me, when I first came, she was cold and

haughty, then insolent and overbearing; but, on a further acquaintance,

she gradually laid aside her airs, and in time became as deeply

attached to me as it was possible for _her_ to be to one of my

character and position: for she seldom lost sight, for above half an

hour at a time, of the fact of my being a hireling and a poor curate’s

daughter. And yet, upon the whole, I believe she respected me more than

she herself was aware of; because I was the only person in the house

who steadily professed good principles, habitually spoke the truth, and

generally endeavoured to make inclination bow to duty; and this I say,

not, of course, in commendation of myself, but to show the unfortunate

state of the family to which my services were, for the present,

devoted. There was no member of it in whom I regretted this sad want of

principle so much as Miss Murray herself; not only because she had

taken a fancy to me, but because there was so much of what was pleasant

and prepossessing in herself, that, in spite of her failings, I really

liked her—when she did not rouse my indignation, or ruffle my temper by

_too_ great a display of her faults. These, however, I would fain

persuade myself were rather the effect of her education than her

disposition: she had never been perfectly taught the distinction

between right and wrong; she had, like her brothers and sisters, been

suffered, from infancy, to tyrannize over nurses, governesses, and

servants; she had not been taught to moderate her desires, to control

her temper or bridle her will, or to sacrifice her own pleasure for the

good of others. Her temper being naturally good, she was never violent

or morose, but from constant indulgence, and habitual scorn of reason,

she was often testy and capricious; her mind had never been cultivated:

her intellect, at best, was somewhat shallow; she possessed

considerable vivacity, some quickness of perception, and some talent

for music and the acquisition of languages, but till fifteen she had

troubled herself to acquire nothing;—then the love of display had

roused her faculties, and induced her to apply herself, but only to the

more showy accomplishments. And when I came it was the same: everything

was neglected but French, German, music, singing, dancing, fancy-work,

and a little drawing—such drawing as might produce the greatest show

with the smallest labour, and the principal parts of which were

generally done by me. For music and singing, besides my occasional

instructions, she had the attendance of the best master the country

afforded; and in these accomplishments, as well as in dancing, she

certainly attained great proficiency. To music, indeed, she devoted too

much of her time, as, governess though I was, I frequently told her;

but her mother thought that if _she_ liked it, she _could_ not give too

much time to the acquisition of so attractive an art. Of fancy-work I

knew nothing but what I gathered from my pupil and my own observation;

but no sooner was I initiated, than she made me useful in twenty

different ways: all the tedious parts of her work were shifted on to my

shoulders; such as stretching the frames, stitching in the canvas,

sorting the wools and silks, putting in the grounds, counting the

stitches, rectifying mistakes, and finishing the pieces she was tired

of.



At sixteen, Miss Murray was something of a romp, yet not more so than

is natural and allowable for a girl of that age, but at seventeen, that

propensity, like all other things, began to give way to the ruling

passion, and soon was swallowed up in the all-absorbing ambition to

attract and dazzle the other sex. But enough of her: now let us turn to

her sister.



Miss Matilda Murray was a veritable hoyden, of whom little need be

said. She was about two years and a half younger than her sister; her

features were larger, her complexion much darker. She might possibly

make a handsome woman; but she was far too big-boned and awkward ever

to be called a pretty girl, and at present she cared little about it.

Rosalie knew all her charms, and thought them even greater than they

were, and valued them more highly than she ought to have done, had they

been three times as great; Matilda thought she was well enough, but

cared little about the matter; still less did she care about the

cultivation of her mind, and the acquisition of ornamental

accomplishments. The manner in which she learnt her lessons and

practised her music was calculated to drive any governess to despair.

Short and easy as her tasks were, if done at all, they were slurred

over, at any time and in any way; but generally at the least convenient

times, and in the way least beneficial to herself, and least

satisfactory to me: the short half-hour of practising was horribly

strummed through; she, meantime, unsparingly abusing me, either for

interrupting her with corrections, or for not rectifying her mistakes

before they were made, or something equally unreasonable. Once or

twice, I ventured to remonstrate with her seriously for such irrational

conduct; but on each of those occasions, I received such reprehensive

expostulations from her mother, as convinced me that, if I wished to

keep the situation, I must even let Miss Matilda go on in her own way.



When her lessons were over, however, her ill-humour was generally over

too: while riding her spirited pony, or romping with the dogs or her

brothers and sister, but especially with her dear brother John, she was

as happy as a lark. As an animal, Matilda was all right, full of life,

vigour, and activity; as an intelligent being, she was barbarously

ignorant, indocile, careless and irrational; and, consequently, very

distressing to one who had the task of cultivating her understanding,

reforming her manners, and aiding her to acquire those ornamental

attainments which, unlike her sister, she despised as much as the rest.

Her mother was partly aware of her deficiencies, and gave me many a

lecture as to how I should try to form her tastes, and endeavour to

rouse and cherish her dormant vanity; and, by insinuating, skilful

flattery, to win her attention to the desired objects—which I would not

do; and how I should prepare and smooth the path of learning till she

could glide along it without the least exertion to herself: which I

could not, for nothing can be taught to any purpose without some little

exertion on the part of the learner.



As a moral agent, Matilda was reckless, headstrong, violent, and

unamenable to reason. One proof of the deplorable state of her mind

was, that from her father’s example she had learned to swear like a

trooper. Her mother was greatly shocked at the “unlady-like trick,” and

wondered “how she had picked it up.” “But you can soon break her of it,

Miss Grey,” said she: “it is only a habit; and if you will just gently

remind her every time she does so, I am sure she will soon lay it

aside.” I not only “gently reminded” her, I tried to impress upon her

how wrong it was, and how distressing to the ears of decent people: but

all in vain: I was only answered by a careless laugh, and, “Oh, Miss

Grey, how shocked you are! I’m so glad!” or, “Well! I can’t help it;

papa shouldn’t have taught me: I learned it all from him; and maybe a

bit from the coachman.”



Her brother John, _alias_ Master Murray, was about eleven when I came:

a fine, stout, healthy boy, frank and good-natured in the main, and

might have been a decent lad had he been properly educated; but now he

was as rough as a young bear, boisterous, unruly, unprincipled,

untaught, unteachable—at least, for a governess under his mother’s eye.

His masters at school might be able to manage him better—for to school

he was sent, greatly to my relief, in the course of a year; in a state,

it is true, of scandalous ignorance as to Latin, as well as the more

useful though more neglected things: and this, doubtless, would all be

laid to the account of his education having been entrusted to an

ignorant female teacher, who had presumed to take in hand what she was

wholly incompetent to perform. I was not delivered from his brother

till full twelve months after, when he also was despatched in the same

state of disgraceful ignorance as the former.



Master Charles was his mother’s peculiar darling. He was little more

than a year younger than John, but much smaller, paler, and less active

and robust; a pettish, cowardly, capricious, selfish little fellow,

only active in doing mischief, and only clever in inventing falsehoods:

not simply to hide his faults, but, in mere malicious wantonness, to

bring odium upon others. In fact, Master Charles was a very great

nuisance to me: it was a trial of patience to live with him peaceably;

to watch over him was worse; and to teach him, or pretend to teach him,

was inconceivable. At ten years old, he could not read correctly the

easiest line in the simplest book; and as, according to his mother’s

principle, he was to be told every word, before he had time to hesitate

or examine its orthography, and never even to be informed, as a

stimulant to exertion, that other boys were more forward than he, it is

not surprising that he made but little progress during the two years I

had charge of his education. His minute portions of Latin grammar, &c.,

were to be repeated over to him, till he chose to say he knew them, and

then he was to be helped to say them; if he made mistakes in his little

easy sums in arithmetic, they were to be shown him at once, and the sum

done for him, instead of his being left to exercise his faculties in

finding them out himself; so that, of course, he took no pains to avoid

mistakes, but frequently set down his figures at random, without any

calculation at all.



I did not invariably confine myself to these rules: it was against my

conscience to do so; but I seldom could venture to deviate from them in

the slightest degree, without incurring the wrath of my little pupil,

and subsequently of his mamma; to whom he would relate my

transgressions maliciously exaggerated, or adorned with embellishments

of his own; and often, in consequence, was I on the point of losing or

resigning my situation. But, for their sakes at home, I smothered my

pride and suppressed my indignation, and managed to struggle on till my

little tormentor was despatched to school; his father declaring that

home education was “no go for him, it was plain; his mother spoiled him

outrageously, and his governess could make no hand of him at all.”



A few more observations about Horton Lodge and its ongoings, and I have

done with dry description for the present. The house was a very

respectable one; superior to Mr. Bloomfield’s, both in age, size, and

magnificence: the garden was not so tastefully laid out; but instead of

the smooth-shaven lawn, the young trees guarded by palings, the grove

of upstart poplars, and the plantation of firs, there was a wide park,

stocked with deer, and beautified by fine old trees. The surrounding

country itself was pleasant, as far as fertile fields, flourishing

trees, quiet green lanes, and smiling hedges with wild-flowers

scattered along their banks, could make it; but it was depressingly

flat to one born and nurtured among the rugged hills of ——.



We were situated nearly two miles from the village church, and,

consequently, the family carriage was put in requisition every Sunday

morning, and sometimes oftener. Mr. and Mrs. Murray generally thought

it sufficient to show themselves at church once in the course of the

day; but frequently the children preferred going a second time to

wandering about the grounds all the day with nothing to do. If some of

my pupils chose to walk and take me with them, it was well for me; for

otherwise my position in the carriage was to be crushed into the corner

farthest from the open window, and with my back to the horses: a

position which invariably made me sick; and if I were not actually

obliged to leave the church in the middle of the service, my devotions

were disturbed with a feeling of languor and sickliness, and the

tormenting fear of its becoming worse: and a depressing headache was

generally my companion throughout the day, which would otherwise have

been one of welcome rest, and holy, calm enjoyment.



“It’s very odd, Miss Grey, that the carriage should always make you

sick: it never makes _me_,” remarked Miss Matilda,



“Nor me either,” said her sister; “but I dare say it would, if I sat

where she does—such a nasty, horrid place, Miss Grey; I wonder how you

can bear it!”



“I am obliged to bear it, since no choice is left me,”—I might have

answered; but in tenderness for their feelings I only replied,—“Oh! it

is but a short way, and if I am not sick in church, I don’t mind it.”



If I were called upon to give a description of the usual divisions and

arrangements of the day, I should find it a very difficult matter. I

had all my meals in the schoolroom with my pupils, at such times as

suited their fancy: sometimes they would ring for dinner before it was

half cooked; sometimes they would keep it waiting on the table for

above an hour, and then be out of humour because the potatoes were

cold, and the gravy covered with cakes of solid fat; sometimes they

would have tea at four; frequently, they would storm at the servants

because it was not in precisely at five; and when these orders were

obeyed, by way of encouragement to punctuality, they would keep it on

the table till seven or eight.



Their hours of study were managed in much the same way; my judgment or

convenience was never once consulted. Sometimes Matilda and John would

determine “to get all the plaguy business over before breakfast,” and

send the maid to call me up at half-past five, without any scruple or

apology; sometimes, I was told to be ready precisely at six, and,

having dressed in a hurry, came down to an empty room, and after

waiting a long time in suspense, discovered that they had changed their

minds, and were still in bed; or, perhaps, if it were a fine summer

morning, Brown would come to tell me that the young ladies and

gentlemen had taken a holiday, and were gone out; and then I was kept

waiting for breakfast till I was almost ready to faint: they having

fortified themselves with something before they went.



Often they would do their lessons in the open air; which I had nothing

to say against: except that I frequently caught cold by sitting on the

damp grass, or from exposure to the evening dew, or some insidious

draught, which seemed to have no injurious effect on them. It was quite

right that they should be hardy; yet, surely, they might have been

taught some consideration for others who were less so. But I must not

blame them for what was, perhaps, my own fault; for I never made any

particular objections to sitting where they pleased; foolishly choosing

to risk the consequences, rather than trouble them for my convenience.

Their indecorous manner of doing their lessons was quite as remarkable

as the caprice displayed in their choice of time and place. While

receiving my instructions, or repeating what they had learned, they

would lounge upon the sofa, lie on the rug, stretch, yawn, talk to each

other, or look out of the window; whereas, I could not so much as stir

the fire, or pick up the handkerchief I had dropped, without being

rebuked for inattention by one of my pupils, or told that “mamma would

not like me to be so careless.”



The servants, seeing in what little estimation the governess was held

by both parents and children, regulated their behaviour by the same

standard. I have frequently stood up for them, at the risk of some

injury to myself, against the tyranny and injustice of their young

masters and mistresses; and I always endeavoured to give them as little

trouble as possible: but they entirely neglected my comfort, despised

my requests, and slighted my directions. All servants, I am convinced,

would not have done so; but domestics in general, being ignorant and

little accustomed to reason and reflection, are too easily corrupted by

the carelessness and bad example of those above them; and these, I

think, were not of the best order to begin with.



I sometimes felt myself degraded by the life I led, and ashamed of

submitting to so many indignities; and sometimes I thought myself a

fool for caring so much about them, and feared I must be sadly wanting

in Christian humility, or that charity which “suffereth long and is

kind, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, beareth all things,

endureth all things.”



But, with time and patience, matters began to be slightly ameliorated:

slowly, it is true, and almost imperceptibly; but I got rid of my male

pupils (that was no trifling advantage), and the girls, as I intimated

before concerning one of them, became a little less insolent, and began

to show some symptoms of esteem. “Miss Grey was a queer creature: she

never flattered, and did not praise them half enough; but whenever she

did speak favourably of them, or anything belonging to them, they could

be quite sure her approbation was sincere. She was very obliging,

quiet, and peaceable in the main, but there were some things that put

her out of temper: they did not much care for that, to be sure, but

still it was better to keep her in tune; as when she was in a good

humour she would talk to them, and be very agreeable and amusing

sometimes, in her way; which was quite different to mamma’s, but still

very well for a change. She had her own opinions on every subject, and

kept steadily to them—very tiresome opinions they often were; as she

was always thinking of what was right and what was wrong, and had a

strange reverence for matters connected with religion, and an

unaccountable liking to good people.”