Here my grandmother drew forth her gold spectacles from a richly-ornamented case, and deliberately scanned my indignant features, while she observed:  “Not much of the Bredforth style—­quite an Arlington.”  I drew myself up with all the offended dignity of sixteen, but it was of no use; my grandmother turned me round, in much the same manner that the giant might have been supposed to handle Tom Thumb, and surveyed me from top to toe.

I was unable to discover the effect of her investigation, but I immediately became convinced that my grandmother’s opinion was one of the greatest importance.  She possessed that indescribable kind of manner which places you under the conviction that you are continually doing, saying, or thinking something wrong; and which makes you humbly obliged to such a person for coinciding in any of your opinions.  Instead of the dignified part I had expected to play, I looked very like a naughty child that has just been taken out of its corner.  The impression left upon my mind by my grandmother’s appearance will never be effaced; her whole tout ensemble was peculiarly striking, with full dark eyes, high Roman nose, mouth of great beauty and firmness of expression, and teeth whose splendor I have never seen equalled—­although she was then past her fiftieth year.  Add to this a tall, well-proportioned figure, and a certain air of authority, and my grandmother stands before you.

As time somewhat diminished our awe, we gained the entree of my grandmother’s apartment, and even ventured to express our curiosity respecting the contents of various trunks, parcels, and curious-looking boxes.  To children, there is no greater pleasure than being permitted to look over and arrange the articles contained in certain carefully-locked up drawers, unopened boxes, and old-fashioned chests; stray jewels from broken rings—­two or three beads of a necklace—­a sleeve or breadth of somebody’s wedding dress—­locks of hair—­gifts of schoolgirl friendships—­and all those little mementoes of the past, that lie neglected and forgotten till a search after some mislaid article brings them again to our view, and excites a burst of feeling that causes us to look sadly back upon the long vista of departed years, with their withered hopes, never-realized expectations, and fresh, joyous tone, seared by disappointment and worldly wisdom.  The reward of patient toil and deep-laid schemes yields not half the pleasure that did the little Indian cabinet, (which always stood so provokingly locked, and just within reach), when during a period of convalescence, we were permitted to examine its recesses—­when floods of sunlight danced upon the wall of the darkened room towards the close of day, and every one seemed so kind!