The children are constantly
with me. As for correcting them, I quickly found that was out of the
question; they are to do as they like. A complaint to the mother only
brings black looks on myself, and unjust, partial excuses to screen the
children. I have tried that plan once, and succeeded so notably, I shall
try no more. I said in my last letter that Mrs. --- did not know me. I
now begin to find she does not intend to know me; that she cares nothing
about me, except to contrive how the greatest possible quantity of labour
may be got out of me; and to that end she overwhelms me with oceans of
needle-work; yards of cambric to hem, muslin nightcaps to make, and,
above all things, dolls to dress. I do not think she likes me at all,
because I can't help being shy in such an entirely novel scene,
surrounded as I have hitherto been by strange and constantly changing
faces . . . I used to think I should like to be in the stir of grand
folks' society; but I have had enough of it--it is dreary work to look on
and listen. I see more clearly than I have ever done before, that a
private governess has no existence, is not considered as a living
rational being, except as connected with the wearisome duties she has to
fulfil . . . One of the pleasantest afternoons I have spent here--indeed,
the only one at all pleasant--was when Mr.
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