of life.

Mary and I were brought up in the strictest seclusion. My mother,
being at once highly accomplished, well informed, and fond of
employment, took the whole charge of our education on herself, with
the exception of Latin--which my father undertook to teach us--so
that we never even went to school; and, as there was no society in
the neighbourhood, our only intercourse with the world consisted in
a stately tea-party, now and then, with the principal farmers and
tradespeople of the vicinity (just to avoid being stigmatized as
too proud to consort with our neighbours), and an annual visit to
our paternal grandfather's; where himself, our kind grandmamma, a
maiden aunt, and two or three elderly ladies and gentlemen, were
the only persons we ever saw. Sometimes our mother would amuse us
with stories and anecdotes of her younger days, which, while they
entertained us amazingly, frequently awoke--in ME, at least--a
secret wish to see a little more of the world.

I thought she must have been very happy: but she never seemed to
regret past times. My father, however, whose temper was neither
tranquil nor cheerful by nature, often unduly vexed himself with
thinking of the sacrifices his dear wife had made for him; and
troubled his head with revolving endless schemes for the
augmentation of his little fortune, for her sake and ours. In vain
my mother assured him she was quite satisfied; and if he would but
lay by a little for the children, we should all have plenty, both
for time present and to come: but saving was not my father's
forte. He would not run in debt (at least, my mother took good
care he should not), but while he had money he must spend it: he
liked to see his house comfortable, and his wife and daughters well