By the by, the servants are not the least characteristic part of the
household: the housekeeper, for instance, has been born and brought up
at the Hall, and has never been twenty miles from it; yet she has a
stately air, that would not disgrace a lady that had figured at the
court of Queen Elizabeth.

I am half inclined to think that she has caught it from living so much
among the old family pictures. It may, however, be owing to a
consciousness of her importance in the sphere in which she has always
moved; for she is greatly respected in the neighbouring village, and
among the farmers' wives, and has high authority in the household,
ruling over the servants with quiet, but undisputed sway.

She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose and chin. Her
dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small,
well-starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown
festooned and open in front, which, on particular occasions, is of
ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the family, or an
inheritance from her mother, who was housekeeper before her. I have a
reverence for these old garments, as I make no doubt they have figured
about these apartments in days long past, when they have set off the
charms of some peerless family beauty; and I have sometimes looked
from the old housekeeper to the neighbouring portraits, to see whether
I could not recognize her antiquated brocade in the dress of some one
of those long-waisted dames that smile on me from the walls.

Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, and she wears
over it a small cap, nicely plaited, and brought down under the chin.
Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a proper