It was a lovely scene, such an one as causes the eye to brighten and the heart to melt as we gaze upon it, and think, perchance, of its Creator.
Yes, it was a scene worth looking at; but Mrs.Grumbit never looked at it, for the simple reason that she could not have seen it if she had.
Half way across her own little parlour was the extent of her natural vision.

By the aid of spectacles and a steady concentrated effort, she could see the fire-place at the other end of the room; and the portrait of her deceased husband, who had been a sea-captain; and the white kitten that usually sat on the rug before the fire.

To be sure she saw them very indistinctly.

The picture was a hazy blue patch, which was the captain's coat; with a white patch down the middle of it, which was his waistcoat; and a yellow ball on the top of it, which was his head.

It was rather an indistinct and generalized view, no doubt; but she _saw_ it, and that was a great comfort..