ving been successfully overcome, if the
girl passes through this peril unscathed, and no weakness is left in her
mental constitution, she will probably be a woman of sane body and mind.
Alice is much given to day-dreams, and to reading novels by stealth; she
is very romantic, and would dearly love to be a heroine, if she could.
The only objection to the scheme, in her mind, is that her eyes have a
very slight cast, and that her nose is _un petit nez retrousse_--in
other words, something of a pug; and Alice has always been under the
impression that a heroine must have straight vision, and a Grecian nose.
Hers is a face that will look very arch and _piquante_, when she
acquires more sense, and lays aside her lack-a-daisical airs; but, at
present, the expression and the features are very incongruous. It is
excessively mortifying! but it cannot be helped; many times a day does
she cast her eyes on the glass, but the obstinate pug remains a pug, and
Alice is forced to conclude that she is not intended for a heroine. Yet
she always holds herself ready for any marvellous adventure that may
turn up, and she is perfectly convinced that there must be concealed
doors, long winding passages in the walls, and perhaps a charmingly
horrible dungeon, at The Grange. Why not? Such things are of constant
occurrence in story books, and that house is the oldest one she knows.
She is determined on this visit to explore it thoroughly, and perhaps
she may become the happy discoverer of a casket of jewels, or a
skeleton, or some other treasure.

Thirteen young people there are in all, with pleasant faces and joyful
hearts; and none of them, I am happy to say were of the perfect sort
you read of in books. Had they been, their Aunt Lucy, who was used to
real children, would have entertained serious fears for their longevity.
They all required a caution or a reprimand now and then, and none were
so wise as not to make an occasional silly speech, or to do a heedless
action. But they were good-tempered and obliging, as healthy children
should always be, and were seldom cross unless they felt a twinge of
toothache. How fast did their tongues run, that first hour! How much had
all to tell, and how much to hear! And how happy did Uncle John appear,
as he sat in the centre of the group, with little Amy on his lap,
leaning her languid head against his broad and manly chest, while a
cluster of the younger ones contended together for possession of the
unoc