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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
209
Teaching
was,
of
course,
the
first
thing
that
suggested
itself.
If
Miss
Matty
could
teach
children
anything,
it
would
throw
her
among
the
little
elves
in
whom
her
soul
delighted.
I
ran
over
her
accomplishments.
Once
upon
a
time
I
had
heard
her
say
she
could
play
“Ah!
vous
dirai-je,
maman?”
on
the
piano,
but
that
was
long,
long
ago;
that
faint
shadow
of
musical
acquirement
had
died
out
years
before.
She
had
also
once
been
able
to
trace
out
patterns
very
nicely
for
muslin
embroidery,
by
dint
of
placing
a
piece
of
silver
paper
over
the
design
to
be
copied,
and
holding
both
against
the
window-pane
while
she
marked
the
scollop
and
eyelet-holes.
But
that
was
her
nearest
approach
to
the
accomplishment
of
drawing,
and
I
did
not
think
it
would
go
very
far.
Then
again,
as
to
the
branches
of
a
solid
English
education—
fancy
work
and
the
use
of
the
globes—
such
as
the
mistress
of
the
Ladies’
Seminary,
to
which
all
the
tradespeople
in
Cranford
sent
their
daughters,
professed
to
teach.
Miss
Matty’s
eyes
were
failing
her,
and
I
doubted
if
she
could
discover
the
number
of
threads
in
a
worsted-work
pattern,
or
rightly
appreciate
the
different
shades
required
for
Queen
Adelaide’s
face
in
the
loyal
wool-work
now
fashionable
in
Cranford.
As
for
the
use
of
the
globes,
I
had
never
been
able
to
find
it
out
myself,
so
perhaps
I
was
not
a
good
judge
of
Miss
Matty’s
capability
of
instructing
in
this
branch
of
education;
but
it
struck
me
that
equators
and
tropics,
and
such
mystical
circles,
were
very
imaginary
lines
indeed
to
her,
and
that
she
looked
upon
the
signs
of
the
Zodiac
as
so
many
remnants
of
the
Black
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