There she still sits,
as she sat thirty years since, with her wheel or the stocking,
which she works by the fire in winter and by the window in
summer; or, perhaps, venturing as far as the porch in an
unusually fine summer evening. Her frame, like some well-
constructed piece of mechanics, still performs the operations for
which it had seemed destined--going its round with an activity
which is gradually diminished, yet indicating no probability that
it will soon come to a period.
The solicitude and affection which had made Aunt Margaret the
willing slave to the inflictions of a whole nursery, have now for
their object the health and comfort of one old and infirm man--
the last remaining relative of her family, and the only one who
can still find interest in the traditional stores which she
hoards, as some miser hides the gold which he desires that no one
should enjoy after his death.
My conversation with Aunt Margaret generally relates little
either to the present or to the future. For the passing day we
possess as much as we require, and we neither of us wish for
more; and for that which is to follow, we have, on this side of
the grave, neither hopes, nor fears, nor anxiety. We therefore
naturally look back to the past, and forget the present fallen
fortunes and declined importance of our family in recalling the
hours when it was wealthy and prosperous.
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