How I never could be tired with roaming about that huge mansion, with its vast empty rooms, with their worn-out hangings, fluttering tapestry, and carved oaken panels, with the gilding almost rubbed out---sometimes in the spacious old-fashioned gardens, which I had almost to myself, unless when now and then a solitary gardening man would cross me---and how the nectarines and peaches hung upon the walls, without my ever offering to pluck them, because they were
forbidden fruit, unless now and then, ---and because I had more pleasure in strolling about among the old melancholy-looking yew-trees, or the firs, and picking up the red berries, and the fir-apples, which were good for nothing but to look at
---or in lying about upon the fresh grass, with all the fine garden smells around me---or basking in the orangery, till I could almost fancy myself ripening too along with the oranges and the limes in that grateful warmth-or in watching the dace that darted to and Fro in the fish-pond, at the bottom of the garden,
with here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state, as if it mocked at their impertinent friskiness, ---I had more pleasure in these busy-idle diversions than in all the sweet flavors of peaches, nectarines, oranges, and such like common baits of children.