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68 Alice. We know what is coming when his eye lights on a certain portion of that young woman's dress—nothing more or less, in short, than a crinoline row. The fact is Alice loves a big crinoline; papa, accustomed to the straight up and down charms of his mother and grandmother, hates it; and as sure as ever her petticoats swell beyond a certain limit, there is a fearful to-do, and the whole house is turned upside down, and out of windows. Now, Alice knows the length of tether permitted to her perfectly well, but she is under a mistaken impression that the more balloon-like her skirts, the more charming her pretty form appears; and when she wants to look particularly ravishing, puts on a little more crinoline, just as a South Sea islander puts on a little more paint: so that in the excitement and novelty of the Periwinkle life, she has forgotten her parent's little prejudices, and stands before him confessed in all her amplitude of five yards and a half.

It is odd that she should be caught, though, for her crinoline is like some magical flower that opens and shuts, expands and contracts, according to the state of the weather, i.e. papa's temper. If he is in an amiable or engrossed mood, she usually lets out an extra reef or two: if he is in a bad one, she collapses at a moment's notice, and looks like a folded butterfly: but Alice's admirers have evidently turned her ideas topsy-turvy.

"You disgusting spectacle!" says papa, deliberately looking at her from top to toe, "you object! Go to your room and take that vile barrel off, and if you ever dare appear before me in it again I'll pull it off and burn it."

Off goes Alice, whisking a pile of books from the table in her passage to the door: she does not mean to do it, poor, pretty Alice, it is only an evil trick played her by that fatal combination of whalebone and calico, but the governor thinks she does, and flies after her. Thank God, she is too old to have her ears boxed, and he soon returns: but, oh! we heartily wish we had no ears at all,