the violets in the grass,
familiar words sounded in the whisper of the leaves, and she grew
conscious that an unseen influence filled the air with new delights,
and touched earth and sky with a beauty never seen before. Slowly
these May-flowers budded in her maiden heart, rosily they bloomed, and
silently they waited till some lover of such lowly herbs should catch
their fresh aroma, should brush away the fallen leaves, and lift them
to the sun.

Though the eldest of the three, she had long been overtopped by the
more aspiring maids. But though she meekly yielded the reins of
government, whenever they chose to drive, they were soon restored to
her again; for Di fell into literature, and Laura into love. Thus
engrossed, these two forgot many duties which even blue-stockings and
_innamoratas_ are expected to perform, and slowly all the homely
humdrum cares that housewives know became Nan's daily life, and she
accepted it without a thought of discontent. Noiseless and cheerful as
the sunshine, she went to and fro, doing the tasks that mothers do,
but without a mother's sweet reward, holding fast the numberless
slight threads that bind a household tenderly together, and making
each day a beautiful success.

Di, being tired of running, riding, climbing, and boating, decided at
last to let her body rest and put her equally active mind through what
classical collegians term "a course of sprouts." Having undertaken to
read and know _everything_, she devoted herself to the task with great
energy, going from Sue to Swedenborg with perfect impartiality, and
having different authors as children have sundry distempers, being
fractious while they lasted, but all the better for them when once
over. Carlyle appeared like scarlet-fever, and raged violently for a
time; for, being anything but a "passive bucket," Di became prophetic
with Mahomet, belligerent with Cromwell, and made the French
Revolution a veritable Reign of Terror to her family. Goethe and
Schiller alternated like fever and ague; Mephistopheles became her
hero, Joan of Arc her model, and she turned her black eyes red over
Egmont and Wallenstein. A mild attack of Emerson followed, during
which she was lost in a fog, and her sisters rejoiced inwardly when
she emerged informing them that

"The Sphinx was drowsy,
Her wings were furled."

Poor Di was floundering slowly to her proper place; but she splashed
up a good deal of foam by getting out of her depth, and rathe