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Anthony Trollope - "The Prime Minister"

E. Nesbit - "The Phoenix and the Carpet"

Henrik Ibsen - "Rosmersholm"

Kate Douglas Wiggin - "Penelope's English Experiences"

Little Women

L >> Louisa May Alcott >> Little Women




We all are here in perfect health,
None gone from our small band:
Again we see each well-known face,
And press each friendly hand.

Our Pickwick, always at his post,
With reverence we greet,
As, spectacles on nose, he reads
Our well-filled weekly sheet.

Although he suffers from a cold,
We joy to hear him speak,
For words of wisdom from him fall,
In spite of croak or squeak.

Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high,
With elephantine grace,
And beams upon the company,
With brown and jovial face.

Poetic fire lights up his eye,
He struggles 'gainst his lot.
Behold ambition on his brow,
And on his nose, a blot.

Next our peaceful Tupman comes,
So rosy, plump, and sweet,
Who chokes with laughter at the puns,
And tumbles off his seat.

Prim little Winkle too is here,
With every hair in place,
A model of propriety,
Though he hates to wash his face.

The year is gone, we still unite
To joke and laugh and read,
And tread the path of literature
That doth to glory lead.

Long may our paper prosper well,
Our club unbroken be,
And coming years their blessings pour
On the useful, gay `P. C.'.
A. SNODGRASS

________

THE MASKED MARRIAGE
(A Tale Of Venice)

Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble
steps, and left its lovely load to swell the
brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count
Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks
and flower girls, all mingled gaily in the dance.
Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air, and so
with mirth and music the masquerade went on.
"Has your Highness seen the Lady viola tonight?"
asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who
floated down the hall upon his arm.
"Yes, is she not lovely, though so sad! Her
dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds
Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates."

"By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes,
arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask.
When that is off we shall see how he regards the
fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her
stern father bestows her hand," returned the troubadour.

"Tis whispered that she loves the young English
artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the
old Count," said the lady, as they joined the dance.
The revel was at its height when a priest
appeared, and withdrawing the young pair to an alcove,
hung with purple velvet, he motioned them to kneel.
Instant silence fell on the gay throng, and not a
sound, but he dash of fountains or the rustle of
orange groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the
hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus:

"My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which
I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of
my daughter. Father, we wait your services."
All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a
murmur of amazement went through the throng, for
neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity
and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained
all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the
eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding
an explanation.

"Gladly would I give it if I could, but I only
know that it was the whim of my timid Viola, and I
yielded to it. Now, my children, let the play end.
Unmask and receive my blessing."

But neither bent the knee, for the young bridegroom
replied in a tone that startled all listeners
as the mask fell, disclosing the noble face of Ferdinand
Devereux, the artist lover, and leaning on the
breast where now flashed the star of an English earl
was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty.

"My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your
daughter when I could boast as high a name and vast a
fortune as the Count antonio. I can do more, for even
your ambitious soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux
and De Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless
wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady,
now my wife.

The count stood like one changed to stone, and
turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with
a gay smile of triumph, "To you, my gallant friends, I
can only wish that your wooing may prosper as mine has
done, and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have
by this masked marriage."
S. PICKWICK


Why is the P. C. like the Tower of Babel?
It is full of unruly members.

___________

THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH

_____

Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed.
in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became
a vine and bore many squashes. One day in October,
when they were ripe, he picked one and took it
to market. A gorcerman bought and put it in his shop.
That same morning, a little girl in a brown hat
and blue dress, with a round face and snub nose, went
and bought it for her mother. She lugged it home, cut
it up, and boiled it in the big pot, mashed some of it
salt and butter, for dinner. And to the rest she added
a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg,
and some crackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it
till it was brown and nice, and next day it was eaten
by a family named March.
T. TUPMAN

_____________

Mr. Pickwick, Sir:-
I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner
I mean is a man named Winkle who makes trouble in his
club by laughing and sometimes won't write his piece in
this fine paper I hope you will pardon his badness and
let him send a French fable because he can't write out
of his head as he has so many lessons to do and no brains
in future I will try to take time by the fetlock and
prepare some work which will be all commy la fo that
means all right I am in haste as it is nearly school
time
Yours respectably,
N. WINKLE

[The above is a manly and handsome aknowledgment of past
misdemeanors. If our young friend studied punctuation, it
would be well.]

_________

A SAD ACCIDENT



On Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock
in our basement, followed by cries of distress.
On rushing in a body to the cellar, we discovered our beloved
President prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and
fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect
scene of ruin met our eyes, for in his fall Mr. Pickwick
had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water,
upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form, and torn
his garments badly. On being removed from this perilous
situation, it was discovered that he had suffered
no injury but several bruises, and we are happy to add,
is now doing well.
ED.



THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT

It is our painful duty to record the sudden and
mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs.
Snowball Pat Paw. This lovely and beloved cat was the
pet of a large circle of warm and admiring friends; for
her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues
endeared her to all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt
by the whole community.

When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching
the butcher's cart, and it is feared that some villain,
tempted by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed,
but no trace of her has been discovered, and we relinquish
all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her
dish, and weep for her as one lost to us forever.



A sympathizing friend sends the following gem:


A LAMENT
(FOR S. B. PAT PAW)

We mourn the loss of our little pet,
And sigh o'er her hapless fate,
For never more by the fire she'll sit,
Nor play by the old green gate.

The little grave where her infant sleeps
Is 'neath the chestnut tree.
But o'er her grave we may not weep,
We know not where it may be.

Her empty bed, her idle ball,
Will never see her more;
No gentle tap, no loving purr
Is heard at the parlor door.

Another cat comes after her mice,
A cat with a dirty face,
But she does not hunt as our darling did,
Nor play with her airy grace.

Her stealthy paws tread the very hall
Where Snowball used to play,
But she only spits at the dogs our pet
So gallantly drove away.

She is useful and mild, and does her best,
But she is not fair to see,
And we cannot give her your place dear,
Nor worship her as we worship thee.
A.S.

__________________________________________

ADVERTISEMENTS
__________________________________________

Miss Oranthy Bluggage, the accomplished
strong-minded lecturer, will deliver her
famous lecture on "WOMAN AND HER POSITION"
at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening,
after the usual performances.

___________________________________________

A weekly meeting will be held at Kitchen
place, to teach young ladies how to cook.
Hannah Brown will preside, and all are
invited to attend.



The DUSTPAN SOCIETY will meet on Wednesday
next, and parade in the upper story of the
Club House. All members to appear in uniform
and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely.



Mrs. Beth Bouncer will open her new
assortment of Doll's Millinery next week.
The latest Paris fashions have arrived,
and orders are respectfully solicited.



A new play will appear at the Barnville
Theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which
will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage.
The Greek Slave, or Constantine the Avenger, is the name
of this thrilling drama.!!!



HINTS

If S.P. didn't use so much soap on his hands,
he wouldn't always be late at breakfast. A.S.
is requested not to whistle in the street. T.T
please don't forget Amy's napkin. N.W. must
not fret because his dress has not nine tucks.

_______________________________________________

WEEKLY REPORT

Meg--Good.
Jo--Bad.
Beth--Very Good.
Amy--Middling.

___________________________________________________________________


As the President finished reading the paper (which I beg
leave to assure my readers is a bona fide copy of one written
by bona fide girls once upon a time), a round of applause
followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass rose to make a proposition.

"Mr. President and gentlemen," he began, assuming a
parliamentary attitude and tone, "I wish to propose the admission
of a new member--one who highly deserves the honor, would be
deeply grateful for it, and would add immensely to the spirit
of the club, the literary value of the paper, and be no end
jolly and nice. I propose Mr. Theodore Laurence as an honorary
member of the P. C. Come now, do have him."

Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh, but all
looked rather anxious, and no one said a word as Snodgrass
took his seat.

"We'll put it to a vote," said the President. "All in
favor of this motion please to manifest it by saying, `Aye'."

"Contrary-minded say, `No'."

Meg and Amy were contrary-minded, and Mr. Winkle rose to
say with great elegance, "We don't wish any boys, they only
joke and bounce about. This is a ladies' club, and we wish to
be private and proper."

"I'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us
afterward," observed Pickwick, pulling the little curl on her
forehead, as she always did when doubtful.

Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest. "Sir, I give you
my word as a gentleman, Laurie won't do anything of the sort. He
likes to write, and he'll give a tone to our contributions and
keep us from being sentimental, don't you see? We can do so little
for him, and he does so much for us, I think the least we can do
is to offer him a place here, and make him welcome if he comes."

This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to
his feet, looking as if he had quite made up his mind.

"Yes, we ought to do it, even if we are afraid. I say he may
come, and his grandpa, too, if he likes."

This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo
left her seat to shake hands approvingly. "Now then, vote again.
Everybody remember it's our Laurie, and say, `Aye!'"
cried Snodgrass excitedly.

"Aye! Aye! Aye!" replied three voices at once.

"Good! Bless you! Now, as there's nothing like `taking time
by the fetlock', as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me
to present the new member." And, to the dismay of the rest of the
club, Jo threw open the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie
sitting on a rag bag, flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter.

"You rogue! You traitor! Jo, how could you?" cried the three
girls, as Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth, and producing
both a chair and a badge, installed him in a jiffy.

"The coolness of you two rascals is amazing," began Mr. Pickwick,
trying to get up an awful frown and only succeeding in producing
an amiable smile. But the new member was equal to the occasion,
and rising, with a grateful salutation to the Chair, said
in the most engaging manner, "Mr. President and ladies--I beg pardon,
gentlemen--allow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very
humble servant of the club."

"Good! Good!" cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old
warming pan on which she leaned.

"My faithful friend and noble patron," continued Laurie with
a wave of the hand, "who has so flatteringly presented me, is not
to be blamed for the base stratagem of tonight. I planned it, and
she only gave in after lots of teasing."

"Come now, don't lay it all on yourself. You know I proposed
the cupboard," broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke
amazingly.

"Never mind what she says. I'm the wretch that did it, sir,"
said the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. "But
on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth devote myself
to the interest of this immortal club."

"Hear! Hear!" cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming pan
like a cymbal.

"Go on, go on!" added Winkle and Tupman, while the President
bowed benignly.

"I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude
for the honor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations
between adjoining nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge
in the lower corner of the garden, a fine, spacious building with
padlocks on the doors and every convenience for the mails, also the
females, if I may be allowed the expression. It's the old martin
house, but I've stopped up the door and made the roof open, so it
will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time. Letters,
manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there, and as each
nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to
present the club key, and with many thanks for your favor, take my
seat."

Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the
table and subsided, the warming pan clashed and waved wildly, and
it was some time before order could be restored. A long discussion
followed, and everyone came out surprising, for everyone did her
best. So it was an unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn
till a late hour, when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the
new member. No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for
a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have.
He certainly did add `spirit' to the meetings, and `a tone' to the
paper, for his orations convulsed his hearers and his contributions
were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic,
but never sentimental. Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton,
or Shakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect, she
thought.

The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished
wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it as
through the real post office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and
pickles, garden seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread,
rubbers, invitations, scoldings, and puppies. The old gentleman
liked the fun, and amused himself by sending odd bundles,
mysterious messages, and funny telegrams, and his gardener, who was
smitten with Hannah's charms, actually sent a love letter to Jo's
care. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming
how many love letters that little post office would hold in the
years to come.



CHAPTER ELEVEN

"The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow,
and I'm free. Three months' vacation--how I shall enjoy it!"
exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Jo laid
upon the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took
off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment
of the whole party.

"Aunt March went today, for which, oh, be joyful!" said Jo.
"I was mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her. If she
had, I should have felt as if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is
about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused.
We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had a fright every
time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through that
I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she'd find it
impossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the
carriage, and had a final fright, for as it drove of, she popped
out her head, saying, `Josyphine, won't you--?' I didn't hear any
more, for I basely turned and fled. I did actually run, and
whisked round the corner whee I felt safe."

"Poor old Jo! She came in looking as if bears were after her,"
said Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air.

"Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" observed Amy,
tasting her mixture critically.

"She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn't matter. It's
too warm to be particular about one's parts of speech," murmured
Jo.

"What shall you do all your vacation?" asked Amy, changing
the subject with tact.

"I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied Meg, from
the depths of the rocking chair. "I've been routed up early all
winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now
I'm going to rest and revel to my heart's content."

"No," said Jo, "that dozy way wouldn't suit me. I've laid
in a heap of books, and I'm going to improve my shining hours
reading on my perch in the old apple tree, when I'm not having
l..."

"Don't say `larks!'" implored Amy, as a return snub for the
samphire' correction.

"I'll say `nightingales' then, with Laurie. That's proper
and appropriate, since he's a warbler."

"Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play
all the time and rest, as the girls mean to," proposed Amy.

"Well, I will, if Mother doesn't mind. I want to learn some
new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer. They
are dreadfully out of order and really suffering for clothes."

"May we, Mother?" asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who
sat sewing in what they called `Marmee's corner'.
"You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like
it. I think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no
work is as bad as all work and no play."

"Oh, dear, no! It will be delicious, I'm sure," said Meg
complacently.

"I now propose a toast, as my `friend and pardner,
Sairy Gamp', says. Fun forever, and no grubbing!"
cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the lemonade went round.

They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by
lounging for the rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not
appear till ten o'clock. Her solitary breakfast did not taste
nice, and the room seemed lonely and untidy, for Jo had not
filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy's books lay
scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but `Marmee's
corner', which looked as usual. And there Meg sat, to `rest and
read', which meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses
she would get with her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river
with Laurie and the afternoon reading and crying over The Wide,
Wide World, up in the apple tree. Beth began by rummaging everything
out of the big closet where her family resided, but getting
tired before half done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy
and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash.
Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her
curls, and sat down to draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone
would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared
but an inquisitive daddy-longlegs, who examined her work with interest,
she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping.

At teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had
been a delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping
in the afternoon and got a `sweet blue muslin, had discovered,
after she had cut the breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which
mishap made her slightly cross. Jo had burned the skin off her
nose boating, and got a raging headache by reading too long. Beth
was worried by the confusion of her closet and the difficulty of
learning three or four songs at once, and Amy deeply regretted the
damage done her frock, for Katy Brown's party was to be the next
day and now like Flora McFlimsey, she had `nothing to wear'. But
these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that the
experiment was working finely. She smiled, said nothing, and with
Hannah's help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and
the domestic machinery running smoothly. It was astonishing what
a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was produced by the
`resting and reveling' process. The days kept getting longer and
longer, the weather was unusually variable and so were tempers, and
unsettled feeling possessed everyone, and Satan found plenty of
mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury, Meg
put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily that
she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes in her attempts to
furbish them up a`la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out and
she was sick of books, got so fidgety that even good-natured Laurie
had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately
wished she had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on pretty well,
for she was constantly forgetting that it was to be all play and
no work, and fell back into her old ways now and then. But something
in the air affected her, and more than once her tranquility was much
disturbed, so much so that on one occasion she actually shook poor
dear Joanna and told her she was a fright'. Amy fared worst of all,
for her resources were small, and when her sisters left her to amuse
herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self
a great burden. She didn't like dolls, fairy tales were childish,
and one couldn't draw all the time. Tea parties didn't amount to
much neither did picnics unless very well conducted. "If one could
have a fine house, full of nice girls, or go traveling, the summer
would be delightful, but to stay at home with three selfish sisters
and a grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a Boaz,"
complained Miss Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure,
fretting, and ennui.

No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but
by Friday night each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the
week was nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply,
Mrs. March, who had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off
the trial in an appropriate manner, so she gave Hannah a holiday and
let the girls enjoy the full effect of the play system.

When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in
the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother
anywhere to be seen.

"Mercy on us! What has happened?" cried Jo, staring about
her in dismay.

Meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved
but rather bewildered, and a little ashamed.

"Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is
going to stay quietly in her room all day and let us do the best
we can. It's a very queer thing for her to do, she doesn't act
a bit like herself. But she says it has been a hard week for
her, so we mustn't grumble but take care of ourselves."

"That's easy enough, and I like the idea, I'm aching for
something to do, that is, some new amusement, you know," added
Jo quickly.

In fact it was an immense relief to them all to have a little
work, and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth
of Hannah's saying, "Housekeeping ain't no joke." There was plenty
of food in the larder, and while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and
Jo got breakfast, wondering as they did why servants ever talked
about hard work.

"I shall take some up to Mother, though she said we were not
to think of her, for she'd take care of herself," said Meg, who
presided and felt quite matronly behind the teapot.

So a tray was fitted out before anyone began, and taken up
with the cook's compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the
omelet scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus, but
Mrs. March received her repast with thanks and laughed heartily
over it after Jo was gone.

"Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid,
but they won't suffer, and it will do them good," she said,
producing the more palatable viands with which she had provided
herself, and disposing of the bad breakfast, so that their
feelings might not be hurt, a motherly little deception for which
they were grateful.

Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of
the head cook at her failures. "Never mind, I'll get the dinner
and be servant, you be mistress, keep your hands nice, see
company, and give orders," said Jo, who knew still less than Meg,
about culinary affairs.

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