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“I would,” said Alice, “if they would not like me without.”

“Why, Alice! I should not think you were so fond of admiration.”

“I like to be admired very much,” said Alice, returning to the sofa, “and I suppose every body else does.”

” I don’t care about admiration,” said the little lady. “I would be as well satisfied that people shouldn’t like me as that they should.”

“Then, cousin, I think it’s a pity we all like you so well,” said Alice, with a good-humored smile. If Miss Alice had penetration, she never made a severe use of it.

“But really, cousin,” said the little lady, “I should not think such a girl as you would think any thing about dress, or admiration, and all that.”

“I don’t know what sort of a girl you think I am,” said Alice, “but, for my own part, I only pretend to be a common human being, and am not ashamed of common human feelings. If God has made us so that we love admiration, why should we not honestly say so. I love it– you love it–every body loves it; and why should not every body say it?”

“Why, yes,” said the little lady, “I suppose every body has a–has a–a general love for admiration. I am willing to acknowledge that I have; but—-“

“But you have no love for it in particular,” said Alice, “I suppose you mean to say; that is just the way the matter is commonly disposed of. Every body is willing to acknowledge a general wish for the good opinion of others, but half the world are ashamed to own it when it comes to a particular case. Now I have made up my mind, that if it is correct in general, it is correct in particular; and I mean to own it both ways.”

“But, somehow, it seems mean,” said the little lady.

“It is mean to live for it, to be selfishly engrossed in it, but not mean to enjoy it when it comes, or even to seek it, if we neglect no higher interest in doing so. All that God made us to feel is dignified and pure, unless we pervert it.”

“But, Alice, I never heard any person speak out so frankly as you do.”

“Almost all that is innocent and natural may be spoken out; and as for that which is not innocent and natural, it ought not even to be thought.”

“But can every thing be spoken that may be thought?” said the lady.

“No; we have an instinct which teaches us to be silent sometimes: but, if we speak at all, let it be in simplicity and sincerity.”

“Now, for instance, Alice,” said the lady, “it is very innocent and natural, as you say, to think this, that, and the other nice thing of yourself, especially when every body is telling you of it; now would you speak the truth if any one asked you on this point?”

“If it were a person who had a right to ask, and if it were a proper time and place, I would,” said Alice.

“Well, then,” said the bright lady, “I ask you, Alice, in this very proper time and place, do you think that you are handsome?”

“Now, I suppose you expect me to make a courtesy to every chair in the room before I answer,” said Alice; “but, dispensing with that ceremony, I will tell you fairly, I think I am.”

“Do you think that you are good?”

“Not entirely,” said Alice.

“Well, but don’t you think you are better than most people?”

“As far as I can tell, I think I am better than some people; but really, cousin, I don’t trust my own judgment in this matter,” said Alice.

“Well, Alice, one more question. Do you think James Martyrs likes you or me best?”

“I do not know,” said Alice.

“I did not ask you what you knew, but what you thought,” said the lady; “you must have some thought about it.”

“Well, then, I think he likes me best,” said Alice.

Just then the door opened, and in walked the identical James Martyrs. Alice blushed, looked a little comical, and went on with her sewing, while the little lady began,–

“Really, Mr. James, I wish you had come a minute sooner, to hear Alice’s confessions.”

“What has she confessed?” said James.

“Why, that she is handsomer and better than most folks.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said James.

“O, that’s not all; she wants to look pretty, and loves to be admired, and all—-“

“It sounds very much like her,” said James, looking at Alice.

“O, but, besides that,” said the lady, “she has been preaching a discourse in justification of vanity and self-love—-“

“And next time you shall take notes when I preach,” said Alice, “for I don’t think your memory is remarkably happy.”

“You see, James,” said the lady, “that Alice makes it a point to say exactly the truth when she speaks at all, and I’ve been puzzling her with questions. I really wish you would ask her some, and see what she will say. But, mercy! there is Uncle C. come to take me to ride. I must run.” And off flew the little humming bird, leaving James and Alice tete-a-tete.

“There really is one question—-” said James, clearing his voice.

Alice looked up.

“There is one question, Alice, which I wish you would answer.”

Alice did not inquire what the question was, but began to look very solemn; and just then the door was shut–and so I never knew what the question was–only I observed that James Martyrs seemed in some seventh heaven for a week afterwards, and–and–you can finish for yourself, lady.