I also recollect, that I soon
found that it was a very dull thing, to live in the country with
little cousins who have a papa and mamma in the house, while my own
dear papa and mamma were in London many miles away.

I have heard my papa observe, girls who are not well managed are
a most quarrelsome race of little people. My cousins very often
quarrelled with me, and then they always said, "I will go and tell my
mamma, cousin Emily;" and then I used to be very disconsolate because
I had no mamma to complain to of my grievances.

My aunt always took Sophia's part because she was so young; and she
never suffered me to oppose Mary, or Elizabeth, because they were
older than me.

The playthings were all the property of one or other of my cousins.
The large dolls belonged to Mary and Elizabeth, and the pretty little
wax dolls were dressed on purpose for Sophia, who always began to cry
the instant I touched them. I had nothing that I could call my own but
one pretty book of stories; and one day as Sophia was endeavouring
to take it from me, and I was trying to keep it, it was all torn to
pieces; and my aunt would not be angry with her. She only said, Sophia
was a little baby and did not know any better. My uncle promised to
buy me another book, but he never remembered it. Very often when he
came home in the evening, he used to say, "I wonder what I have got in
my pocket;" and then they all crowded round him, and I used to creep
towards him, and think, May be it is my book that my uncle has got in
his pocket. But, no; nothing ever came out for me. Yet the first sight
of a plaything, even if it is not one's own, is always a cheerful
thing, and a new toy would put them in a good humour for a while, and
they would say, "Here, Emily, look what I have got. You may take it in
your own hand and look at it." But the pleasure of examining it, was
sure to be stopped in a short time by the old story of "Give that to
me again; you know that is mine." Nobody could help, I think, being a
little out of humour if they were always served so: but if I shewed
any signs of discontent, my aunt always told my uncle I was a little
peevish fretful thing, and gave her more trouble than all her own
children put together. My aunt would often say, what a happy thing
it was, to have such affectionate children as hers were. She was
always praising my cousins because they were affectionate; that was
sure to be her word. She said I had not one atom of affe