visit to our house, and observing my lonely ways, and apprehensive of the ill effect of my mode of living upon my health, begged leave to take me home to her house to reside for a short time.  I went, with some reluctance at leaving my closet, my dark walk, and even my aunt, who had been such a source of both love and terror to me.  But I went, and soon found the good effects of a change of scene.  Instead of melancholy closets, and lonely avenues of trees, I saw lightsome rooms and cheerful faces; I had companions of my own age; no books were allowed me but what were rational or sprightly; that gave me mirth, or gave me instruction.  I soon learned to laugh at witch stories; and when I returned after three or four months absence to our own house, my good aunt appeared to me in the same light in which I had viewed her from my infancy, before that foolish fancy possessed me, or rather, I should say, more kind, more fond, more loving than before.  It is impossible to say how much good that lady, the kind relation of my mother’s that I spoke of, did to me by changing the scene.  Quite a new turn of ideas was given to me.  I became sociable and companionable:  my parents soon discovered a change in me, and I have found a similar alteration in them.  They have been plainly more fond of me since that change, as from that time I learned to conform myself more to their way of living.  I have never since had that aversion to company, and going out with them, which used to make them regard me with less fondness than they would have wished to shew.  I impute almost all that I had to complain of in their neglect, to my having been a little unsociable, uncompanionable mortal.  I lived in this manner for a year or two, passing my time between our house, and the lady’s who so kindly took me in hand, till by her advice, I was sent to this school; where I have told to you, ladies, what, for fear of ridicule, I never ventured to tell any person besides, the story of my foolish and naughty fancy.

VIII

CHARLOTTE WILMOT

(By Mary Lamb)

Until I was eleven years of age, my life was one continued series of indulgence and delight.  My father was a merchant, and supposed to be in very opulent circumstances, at least I thought so, for at a very early age I perceived that we lived in a more expensive way than any of my father’s friends did.  It was not the pride of birth, of which, miss Withers, you once imagined you might justly boast, but the mere display of wealth that I was early taught to set an undue value on.  My parents spared no cost for masters to instruct me; I had a French governess, and also a woman servant whose sole business it was to attend on me.  My play-room was crowded with toys, and my dress was the admiration of all my youthful visitors, to whom I gave balls and entertainments as often as I pleased.  I looked down on all my young companions as my inferiors;