Lonely!—in a house with eight children and sixteen servants! A likely thing! Here, however, I may be as solitary, if I like, as a nun in her cell; but as it is now ascertained that I enjoy the family ways, I am continually having little visits from one and another. Firstly, Mrs. Kent peeps in before I am up, to see whether the under-housemaid has lighted my fire, and to inquire how I have slept; and to ask whether I will have tea, coffee, or chocolate, in bed or out of it. Then, the aforesaid housemaid (Mary, her name is) helps me to dress, as nicely as Mrs. Kent could do. Then I step into the dressing-room, where I find a clear fire, and breakfast for one awaiting me; chocolate and rusks, may-be, or milk-coffee and French roll; or tea, toast, and a new-laid egg. After this I commence my little prayer-service and Bible-reading, as at home, while a prayer-bell, in some far-off quarter, which they tell me is much too cold for me, summons the household to prayers. Immediately after this, the three little ones steal in from the nursery, saying,—“Will oo like to—to—hear our texts?” Of course I say “Yes;” and then one little creature says, “God is love;” and another reverently repeats, “Little children, love one another;” and another, “Live peaceably with all men.” They learn something fresh every day. Then Arbell comes in, and we have long, delightful talks, till Mrs. Pevensey, who sleeps late, is ready to hear her read a portion of Scripture: I think they talk it over a good deal together afterwards. Meanwhile, cheerful “Aunt Kate” looks in on me; brings me _The Times_, or “Pinelli’s Etchings,” or something by the Etching Club, or Dickens’ last number, or anything she thinks I shall like; makes up the fire, and has a cheerful chat; but she does not stay long. After this, I see no one till the one o’clock dinner, except Rosaline and Flora, who are happy to give me as much of their company as they may, till called off for their walk. At one, we all assemble to a very bountiful meal, presided over by Miss Pevensey and Arbell, who, I am happy to see, already carves neatly and quickly. Then they generally carry me off to the conservatory, music-room, or library, the weather not inviting the delicate to indulge even in carriage exercise. Towards dusk, comes the grand treat of all: Miss Pevensey, Arbell, and I, repair to Mrs. Pevensey’s dressing-room, where we find her lying like a statue, perfectly still and colourless, but with her active mind ready to enter on any subject, gay, or grave, that may be started. These conversations are truly enjoyable. They insist on my occupying a couch opposite Mrs. Pevensey’s; Miss Pevensey establishes herself between us, in her brother’s easy-chair, and Arbell sits on a cushion at her mother’s feet. By the uncertain light of the fire, we harmoniously discuss all sorts of subjects, in a style not quite equal to that of “_Friends in Council_,” but that suits our requirements equally well.