I believe my mother is not particularly fond of needle-work; for in my father’s lifetime I never saw her amuse herself in this way; yet, to oblige her kind patroness, she undertook to finish a large carpet, which the old lady had just begun when her eye-sight failed her.  All day long my mother used to sit at the frame, talking of the shades of the worsted, and the beauty of the colours;—­Mrs. Beresford seated in a chair near her, and, though her eyes were so dim she could hardly distinguish one colour from another, watching through her spectacles the progress of the work.

When my daily portion of reading was over, I had a task of needle-work, which generally lasted half an hour.  I was not allowed to pass more time in reading or work, because my eyes were very weak, for which reason I was always set to read in the large-print Family Bible.  I was very fond of reading; and when I could unobserved steal a few minutes as they were intent on their work, I used to delight to read in the historical part of the Bible; but this, because of my eyes, was a forbidden pleasure; and the Bible never being removed out of the room, it was only for a short time together that I dared softly to lift up the leaves and peep into it.

As I was permitted to walk in the garden or wander about the house whenever I pleased, I used to leave the parlour for hours together, and make out my own solitary amusement as well as I could.  My first visit was always to a very large hall, which, from being paved with marble, was called the marble hall.  In this hall, while Mrs. Beresford’s husband was living, the tenants used to be feasted at Christmas.

The heads of the twelve Caesars were hung round the hall.  Every day I mounted on the chairs to look at them, and to read the inscriptions underneath, till I became perfectly familiar with their names and features.

Hogarth’s prints were below the Caesars:  I was very fond of looking at them, and endeavouring to make out their meaning.

An old broken battledore, and some shuttlecocks with most of the feathers missing, were on a marble slab in one corner of the hall, which constantly reminded me that there had once been younger inhabitants here than the old lady and her gray-headed servants.  In another corner stood a marble figure of a satyr:  every day I laid my hand on his shoulder to feel how cold he was.

This hall opened into a room full of family portraits.  They were all in the dresses of former times:  some were old men and women, and some were children.  I used to long to have a fairy’s power to call the children down from their frames to play with me.  One little girl in particular, who hung by the side of a glass door which opened into the garden, I often invited to walk there with me, but she still kept her station—­one arm round a little lamb’s neck, and in her hand a large bunch of roses.

From this room I usually proceeded to the garden.