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    Louisa May Alcott

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    To R.A. Lawrence This Little Book is Affectionately Inscribed by Her Grateful Friend, L.M. Alcott These stories were written for my own amusement during a period of enforced seclusion. The flowers which were my solace and pleasure suggested titles for the tales and gave an interest to the work. If my girls find a little... Read More
    ‘If anyone had told me what wonderful changes were to take place here in ten years, I wouldn’t have believed it,’ said Mrs Jo to Mrs Meg, as they sat on the piazza at Plumfield one summer day, looking about them with faces full of pride and pleasure. ‘This is the sort of magic that... Read More
    "It is too bad to have our jolly vacation spoiled by this provoking storm. Didn't mind it yesterday, because we could eat all the time; but here we are cooped up for a week, perhaps, and I'd like to know what we are to do," growled Geoff, as he stood at the window looking gloomily... Read More
    A Village Story
    To the schoolmates of ELLSWORTH DEVENS, Whose lovely character will not soon be forgotten, This Village Story is affectionately inscribed by their friend, L.M.A. 1880 Jack and Jill went up the hill To coast with fun and laughter; Jack fell down and broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after. “Clear the lulla!” was the... Read More
    To Emma, Ida, Carl, and Lina Over the Sea, This Little Book is Affectionately Inscribed By Their New Friend and Sister, L.M.A. The elm-tree avenue was all overgrown, the great gate was never unlocked, and the old house had been shut up for several years. Yet voices were heard about the place, the lilacs nodded... Read More
    And A Whisper in the Dark
    Without, a midwinter twilight, where wandering snowflakes eddied in the bitter wind between a leaden sky and frost-bound earth. Within, a garret; gloomy, bare, and cold as the bleak night coming down. [center/] A haggard youth knelt before a little furnace, kindling a fire, with an expression of quiet desperation on his face, which made... Read More
    A Sequel to "Eight Cousins"
    As authors may be supposed to know better than anyone else what they intended to do when writing a book, I beg leave to say that there is no moral to this story. Rose is not designed for a model girl, and the Sequel was simply written in fulfillment of a promise, hoping to afford... Read More
    The Author is quite aware of the defects of this little story, many of which were unavoidable, as it first appeared serially. But, as Uncle Alec’s experiment was intended to amuse the young folks, rather than suggest educational improvements for the consideration of the elders, she trusts that these shortcomings will be overlooked by the... Read More
    "AUNT BETSEY, there's going to be a new Declaration of Independence." "Bless and save us, what do you mean, child?" And the startled old lady precipitated a pie into the oven with destructive haste. "I mean that, being of age, I'm going to take care of myself, and not be a burden any longer. Uncle... Read More
    Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
    To Freddy and Johnny, The Little Men To Whom She Owes Some of the Best and Happiest Hours of Her Life, This Book is Gratefully Dedicated By Their Loving "Aunt Weedy" “Please, sir, is this Plumfield?” asked a ragged boy of the man who opened the great gate at which the omnibus left him. “Yes.... Read More
    AS a preface is the only place where an author can with propriety explain a purpose or apologize for shortcomings, I venture to avail myself of the privilege to make a statement for the benefit of my readers. As the first part of “An Old-Fashioned Girl” was written in 1869, the demand for a sequel,... Read More
    Being forbidden to write anything at present I have collected various waifs and strays to appease the young people who clamor for more, forgetting that mortal brains need rest. As many girls have asked to see what sort of tales Jo March wrote at the beginning of her career, I have added "The Baron's Gloves,"... Read More
    or, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy
    "Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. "It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. "I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff. "We've... Read More
    Trevlyn lands and Trevlyn gold, Heir nor heiress e'er shall hold, Undisturbed, till, spite of rust, Truth is found in Trevlyn dust. "This is the third time I've found you poring over that old rhyme. What is the charm, Richard? Not its poetry I fancy." And the young wife laid a slender hand on the... Read More
    or, Maurice Treherne's Temptation - A Christmas Story
    “How goes it, Frank? Down first, as usual.” “The early bird gets the worm, Major.” “Deuced ungallant speech, considering that the lovely Octavia is the worm,” and with a significant laugh the major assumed an Englishman’s favorite attitude before the fire. His companion shot a quick glance at him, and an expression of anxiety passed... Read More
    or, a Woman's Power
    “Has she come?” “No, Mamma, not yet.” “I wish it were well over. The thought of it worries and excites me. A cushion for my back, Bella.” And poor, peevish Mrs. Coventry sank into an easy chair with a nervous sigh and the air of a martyr, while her pretty daughter hovered about her with... Read More
    These Sketches Are Respectfully Dedicated To Her Friend Miss Hannah Stevenson By L.M.A. "I want something to do." This remark being addressed to the world in general, no one in particular felt it their duty to reply; so I repeated it to the smaller world about me, received the following suggestions, and settled the matter... Read More
    or, The Little Old Shoe, and Other Stories
    Among green New England hills stood an ancient house, many-gabled, mossy-roofed, and quaintly built, but picturesque and pleasant to the eye; for a brook ran babbling through the orchard that encompassed it about, a garden-plat stretched upward to the whispering birches on the slope, and patriarchal elms stood sentinel upon the lawn, as they had... Read More
    To Ellen Emerson For Whom They Were Fancied, These Flower Fables Are Inscribed, By Her Friend, The Author Boston, Dec. 9, 1854. THE summer moon shone brightly down upon the sleeping earth, while far away from mortal eyes danced the Fairy folk. Fire-flies hung in bright clusters on the dewy leaves, that waved in the... Read More