Chapter XI: Last Years (1)

MY PRAYER.
(Written October, 1886.)

Courage and patience, these I ask,
Dear Lord, in this my latest strait;
For hard I find my ten years' task,
Learning to suffer and to wait.

Life seems so rich and grand a thing,
So full of work for heart and brain,
It is a cross that I can bring
No help, no offering, but pain.

The hard-earned harvest of these years
I long to generously share;
The lessons learned with bitter tears
To teach again with tender care;

To smooth the rough and thorny way
Where other feet begin to tread;
To feed some hungry soul each day
With sympathy's sustaining bread.

So beautiful such pleasures show,
I long to make them mine;
To love and labor and to know
The joy such living makes divine.

But if I may not, I will only ask
Courage and patience for my fate,
And learn, dear Lord, thy latest task,--
To suffer patiently and wait.

The early part of the year 1880 was in the deep shadow of sadness, from the death of Louisa's sister. Boxes full of May's pictures, clothes, and books came home to call up anew all the memories of the bright spirit who had blossomed into such beautiful life so quickly to fade away.

Miss Alcott tried to rise above her grief and busy herself with new interests. She took an active part in the voting of the women in Concord, and rejoiced in the election of a good school committee. In April she returned to her old rooms at the Bellevue, where she busied herself with dramatizing "Michael Strogoff," which she never completed. She kept up her interest in young girls, and received with pleasure a visit from thirty pupils of the Boston University, and she helped to give the children of the North End Mission a happy day at Walden Pond. She went to York for rest and refreshment during the summer. Her heart was filled with longing for the child, and everything was done with reference to its coming.

As September brought cooler weather, over the sea came the little babe to the warm hearts that were longing to welcome her. No woman as true and loving as Louisa Alcott but has the mother-nature strong in her heart; and she could not help feeling a new spring of love and life when the child of one so dear was put into her arms to be her very own. Rosy and healthy, full of life and energy,--not a model of sainthood, but a real human nature, with a will to be regulated, not broken, with impulses to be trained, talents and tendencies to be studied, and a true, loving heart to be filled with joy,--Louisa found the child a constant source of interest and pleasure. She brought her up as she herself had been trained,--more by influences than by rules,--and sought to follow the leadings which she found in the young nature rather than to make it over after a plan of her own. This new care and joy helped to fill up the void in her life from the loss of the mother for whom she had worked so faithfully and the pet sister to whom she had ever been a good providence.

The principal interest of the next few years was the care of this child. It was a pleasant occupation to Louisa, occupying her heart, and binding her with new ties to younger generations. The journal tells all the simple story of the "voyage across the seas."

Miss Alcott was very attractive to children, especially to the little ones, who thronged about her and pleaded for stories; but this was the first one who ever really filled the mother-longing in her heart. She was now truly a "marmee;" and remembering the blessing which her own mother had been to her, her standard of motherhood must have been very high. Much care was now also given to her father, and she speaks with pride of her handsome old philosopher in his new suit of clothes.

Miss Alcott was gratified by a visit from one of the men to whom she had spoken at Concord Prison. He told her his story, and she assisted him to find work, and had the satisfaction of hearing of his well-doing.

There is little record of writing done at this period, Louisa's time and thoughts being absorbed by the child. In the autumn of 1881 she wrote a preface to a new edition of the "Prayers of Theodore Parker," and also one to the new edition of "Moods."

Louisa kept the birthdays of November, though with saddened heart. She wrote a tale for the Soldiers' Home,--"My Red Cap," in "Proverb Stories,"--and another for the New England Hospital fair,--"A Baby's Birthday;" and also one for her old publisher. Such was the feeling toward her as a universal benefactor, that a poor woman wrote her begging her to send some Christmas gifts to her children, as they had asked her to write to Santa Claus for some. With Lulu's help she got up a box for the poor family, and then made a story out of the incident, for which she received a hundred dollars.

A new project was that of a temperance society, which was felt to be needed in Concord.

Louisa occupied herself much in looking over her mother's papers, and unfortunately destroyed them, instead of preparing a memoir of her as she had intended to do. It is a matter of great regret that she did not feel able to do this work, for Mrs. Alcott's letters would have been a most valuable record of the life of her time, as well as a treasury of bright thought and earnest feeling. Louisa was not willing to commit the task to any other hand, and the opportunity is gone.

_To Mrs. Dodge._

CONCORD, May 29.

DEAR MRS. DODGE,--I was away from home, so your letter did not
reach me till I got back yesterday.

Thanks for your kind thought of me, and recollections of the
pleasant week when the L. L.'s had a lark. I should like another;
but in this work-a-day world busy folk don't get many, as we
know.

If I write a serial, you shall have it; but I have my doubts as
to the leisure and quiet needed for such tasks being possible
with a year-old baby. Of course little Lu is a _very_ remarkable
child, but I fancy I shall feel as full of responsibility as a
hen with one chick, and cluck and scratch industriously for the
sole benefit of my daughter.

She may, however, have a literary turn, and be my assistant, by
offering hints and giving studies of character for my work. She
comes in September, if well.

If I do begin a new story, how would "An Old-Fashioned Boy" and
his life do? I meant that for the title of a book, but another
woman took it. You proposed a revolutionary tale once, but I was
not up to it; for this I have quaint material in my father's
journals, letters, and recollections. He was born with the
century, and had an uncle in the war of 1812; and his life was
very pretty and pastoral in the early days. I think a new sort of
story wouldn't be amiss, with fun in it, and the queer old names
and habits. I began it long ago, and if I have a chance will
finish off a few chapters and send them to you, if you like.

Yours cordially,
L. M. ALCOTT.

_To Mr. Niles, about the new illustrated edition of "Little Women."_

YORK, July 20, 1880.

The drawings are all capital, and we had great fun over them down
here this rainy day.... Mr. Merrill certainly deserves a good
penny for his work. Such a fertile fancy and quick hand as his
should be well paid, and I shall not begrudge him his well-earned
compensation, nor the praise I am sure these illustrations will
earn. It is very pleasant to think that the lucky little story
has been of use to a fellow-worker, and I am much obliged to him
for so improving on my hasty pen-and-ink sketches. What a dear
rowdy boy Teddy is with the felt basin on!

The papers are great gossips, and never get anything quite
straight, and I do mean to set up my own establishment in Boston
(D.V.). Now I have an excuse for a home of my own, and as the
other artistic and literary spinsters have a house, I am going to
try the plan, for a winter at least.

Come and see how cosey we are next October at 81 Pinckney Street.
Miss N. will receive.

Yours truly,
L. M. A.

_To Mrs. Dodge._

81 PINCKNEY STREET, 1880.

DEAR MRS. DODGE,--The editor of "Harper's Young People" asked for
a serial, and I declined; then they wanted a short story for
Christmas, and I sent one. But it was not long enough, though
longer than most of my short $100 tales.

So I said, "If you don't want it, send it to 'Saint Nicholas.'"

Therefore if "How It Happened" comes straying along, you will
know what it means. If you don't want it, please send it to me in
Boston, 81 Pinckney Street; for Christmas tales are always in
demand, and I have no time to write more.

You will like to know that my baby is safely here,--a healthy,
happy little soul, who comes like sunshine to our sad hearts, and
takes us all captive by her winning ways and lovely traits.

I shall soon be settled for the winter, and I hope have good
times after the hard ones.

Affectionately yours,
L. M. A.

_Journal._

_April_, 1880.--So sad and poorly; went to B. for a change. Old
room at the Bellevue.

Amused myself dramatizing "Michael Strogoff;" read, walked, and
rested. Reporters called for story of my life; did not get much.
Made my will, dividing all I have between Nan and the boys, with
Father as a legacy to Nan, and to Lulu her mother's pictures and
small fortune of $500.

_May._--Thirty girls from Boston University called; told stories,
showed pictures, wrote autographs. Pleasant to see so much
innocent enthusiasm, even about so poor a thing as a used-up old
woman. Bright girls! simple in dress, sensible ideas of life, and
love of education. I wish them all good luck.

Ordered a stone for May's grave like Marmee's and Beth's, for
some day I hope to bring her dust home.

Twenty-third is the anniversary of Mother's wedding. If she had
lived, it would have been the golden wedding.

Went to see St. Botolph's Club rooms. Very prim and neat, with
easy chairs everywhere; stained glass, and a pious little _bar_,
with nothing visible but a moral ice-pitcher and a butler like a
bishop. The reverend gentlemen will be comfortable and merry, I
fancy, as there is a smoking-room and card-tables, as well as a
library and picture-gallery. Divines nowadays are not as godly as
in old times, it seems.

Mrs. Dodge wants a new serial, but I doubt if I can do it; boys,
babies, illness, and business of all sorts leave no time for
story-telling.

_June._--We all enjoy the new rooms very much, and Father finds
his study delightful. Prepare the Orchard House for W. T. Harris,
who is to rent it.

North End Mission children at Walden Pond. Help give them a happy
day,--eleven hundred of them. Get Anna and John off to Walpole.
Cleaned house.

Madame N. sends a picture of Lulu,--a funny, fat little thing in
her carriage. Don't realize that it is May's child, and that she
is far away in a French cemetery, never to come home to us again.

It is decided that Baby is to come to us in September.

_24th._--Lizzie's birthday and Johnny's. He is fifteen,--a
lovely, good boy, whom every one loves. Got the Dean a new suit
of clothes, as he must be nice for his duties at the School.
Plato's toga was not so costly, but even he did not look better
than my handsome old philosopher.

_July and August._--To York with boys. Rest and enjoy the fine
air. Home in August, and let Anna go down. Four hundred callers
since the School began. Philosophy is a bore to outsiders.

Got things ready for my baby,--warm wrapper, and all the dear can
need on her long journey. On the 21st saw Mrs. Giles (who went
for baby) off; the last time I went, it was to see May go. She
was sober and sad, not gay as before; seemed to feel it might be
a longer voyage than we knew. The last view I had of her, was
standing alone in the long blue cloak waving her hand to us,
smiling with wet eyes till out of sight. How little we dreamed
what an experience of love, joy, pain, and death she was going
to!

A lonely time with all away. My grief meets me when I come home,
and the house is full of ghosts.

_September._--Put papers in order, and arrange things generally,
to be in order when our Lulu comes. Make a cosey nursery for the
darling, and say my prayers over the little white crib that waits
for her, if she ever comes. God watch over her!

Paid my first _poll_-tax. As my _head_ is my most valuable piece
of property, I thought $2 a cheap tax on it. Saw my townswomen
about voting, etc. Hard work to stir them up; cake and servants
are more interesting.

_18th._--In Boston, waiting for the steamer that brings my
treasure. The ocean seems very wide and terrible when I think of
the motherless little creature coming so far to us.

_19th._--Lulu and Sophie N. arrived with poor G., worn out by
anxiety. A stormy passage, and much care, being turned out of the
stateroom I had engaged for them and paid for, by a rude New York
dressmaker. No help for it, so poor G. went to a rat-hole below,
and did her best.

As I waited on the wharf while the people came off the ship, I
saw several babies, and wondered each time if that was mine. At
last the captain appeared, and in his arms a little
yellow-haired thing in white, with its hat half off as it looked
about with lively blue eyes and babbled prettily. Mrs. G. came
along by it, and I knew it was Lulu. Behind, walked a lovely
brown-eyed girl with an anxious face, all being new and strange
to Sophie.

I held out my arms to Lulu, only being able to say her name. She
looked at me for a moment, then came to me, saying "Marmar" in a
wistful way, and resting close as if she had found her own people
and home at last,--as she had, thank Heaven! I could only listen
while I held her, and the others told their tale. Then we got
home as soon as we could, and dear baby behaved very well, though
hungry and tired.

The little princess was received with tears and smiles, and being
washed and fed went quietly to sleep in her new bed, while we
brooded over her and were never tired of looking at the little
face of "May's baby."

She is a very active, bright child, not pretty yet, being browned
by sea air, and having a yellow down on her head, and a pug nose.
Her little body is beautifully formed, broad shoulders, fine
chest, and lovely arms. A happy thing, laughing and waving her
hands, confiding and bold, with a keen look in the eyes so like
May, who hated shams and saw through them at once. She always
comes to me, and seems to have decided that I am really "Marmar."
My heart is full of pride and joy, and the touch of the dear
little hands seems to take away the bitterness of grief. I often
go at night to see if she is really _here_, and the sight of the
little head is like sunshine to me. Father adores her, and she
loves to sit in his strong arms. They make a pretty picture as he
walks in the garden with her to "see birdies." Anna tends her as
she did May, who was her baby once, being ten years younger, and
we all find life easier to live now the baby has come. Sophie is
a sweet girl, with much character and beauty. A charming sister
in love as in law.

_October._--Happy days with Lulu and Sophie; getting acquainted
with them. Lulu is rosy and fair now, and grows pretty in her
native air,--a merry little lass, who seems to feel at home and
blooms in an atmosphere of adoration. People come to see "Miss
Alcott's baby," and strangers waylay her little carriage in the
street to look at her; but she does not allow herself to be
kissed.

As Father wants to go West I decide to hire Cousin L. W.'s house
furnished for the winter, so that Sophie and the boys can have a
pleasant time. S. misses the gayety of her home-life in stupid
Concord, where the gossip and want of manners strike her very
disagreeably. Impertinent questions are asked her, and she is
amazed at the queer, rude things people say.

_November 8th._--Lulu's birthday. One year old. Her gifts were
set out on a table for her to see when she came down in the
afternoon,--a little cake with _one_ candle, a rose crown for the
queen, a silver mug, dolly, picture-books, gay ball, toys,
flowers, and many kisses. She sat smiling at her treasures just
under her mother's picture. Suddenly, attracted by the sunshine
on the face of the portrait which she knows is "Marmar," she held
up a white rose to it calling "Mum! Mum!" and smiling at it in a
way that made us all cry. A happy day for her, a sad one to us.

_Thanksgiving._--Family dinner.

Father at Syracuse, having conversations at Bishop Huntington's
and a fine time everywhere.

_December._--Too busy to keep much of a journal. My life is
absorbed in my baby. On the twenty-third she got up and walked
alone; had never crept at all, but when ready ran across the room
and plumped down, laughing triumphantly at her feat.

_Christmas._--Tried to make it gay for the young folks, but a
heavy day for Nan and me. Sixty gifts were set out on different
tables, and all were much pleased. Sophie had many pretty things,
and gave to all generously.

A hard year for all, but when I hold my Lulu I feel as if even
death had its compensations. A new world for me.

Called down one day to see a young man. Found it one of those to
whom I spoke at the prison in Concord last June. Came to thank me
for the good my little story did him, since it kept him straight
and reminded him that it is never too late to mend. Told me about
himself, and how he was going to begin anew and wipe out the
past. He had been a miner, and coming East met some fellows who
made him drink; while tipsy he stole something in a doctor's
office, and having no friends here was sentenced to three years
in prison. Did well, and was now out. Had a prospect of going on
an expedition to South America with a geological surveying party.
An interesting young man. Fond of books, anxious to do well,
intelligent, and seemed eager to atone for his one fault. Gave
him a letter to S. G. at Chicago. Wrote to the warden, who
confirmed D.'s story and spoke well of him. Miss Willard wrote me
later of him, and he seemed doing well. Asked if he might write
to me, and did so several times, then went to S. A. and I hear no
more. Glad to have said a word to help the poor boy.

_March_, 1881.--Voted for school committee.

_October._--Wrote a preface for Parker's Prayers, just got out by
F. B. Sanborn.

_November._--Forty-nine on 29th. Wrote a preface to the new
edition of "Moods."

_8th._--Gave my baby _two_ kisses when she woke, and escorted her
down to find a new chair decked with ribbons, and a doll's
carriage tied with pink; toys, pictures, flowers, and a cake,
with a red and a blue candle burning gayly.

Wrote a tale for the Soldiers' Home,--"My Red Cap,"--and one for
the Woman's Hospital fair,--"A Baby's Birthday." Also a tale for
F.

_December._--A poor woman in Illinois writes me to send her
children some Christmas gifts, being too poor and ill to get any.
They asked her to write to Santa Claus and she wrote to _me_.
Sent a box, and made a story about it,--$100. Lulu much
interested, and kept bringing all her best toys and clothes "for
poor little boys." A generous baby.

_To Mr. Niles._

FEBRUARY 12, 1881.

DEAR MR. NILES,--Wendell Phillips wrote me a letter begging me to
write a preface for Mrs. Robinson's "History of the Suffrage
Movement;" but I refused him, as I did Mrs. R., because I don't
write prefaces well, and if I begin to do it there will be no
end....

Cannot you do a small edition for her? All the believers will buy
the book, and I think the sketches of L. M. Child, Abby May,
Alcott, and others will add much to the interest of the book.

Has she seen you about it? Will you look at the manuscripts by
and by, or do you scorn the whole thing? Better not; for we are
going to win in time, and the friend of literary ladies ought to
be also the friend of women generally.

We are going to meet the Governor, council, and legislature at
Mrs. Tudor's next Wednesday eve and have a grand set-to. I hope
he will come out of the struggle alive.

Do give Mrs. R. a lift if you can, and your petitioners will ever
pray.

Yours truly,
L. M. A.

February 19, 1881.

DEAR MR. NILES,--Thank you very much for so kindly offering to
look at Mrs. R.'s book. It is always pleasant to find a person
who can conquer his prejudices to oblige a friend, if no more.

I think we shall be glad by and by of every little help we may
have been able to give to this reform in its hard times, for
those who take the tug now will deserve the praise when the work
is done.

I can remember when Antislavery was in just the same state that
Suffrage is now, and take more pride in the very small help we
Alcotts could give than in all the books I ever wrote or ever
shall write.

"Earth's fanatics often make heaven's saints," you know, and it
is as well to try for that sort of promotion in time.

If Mrs. R. does send her manuscripts I will help all I can in
reading or in any other way. If it only records the just and wise
changes Suffrage has made in the laws for women, it will be worth
printing; and it is time to keep account of these first steps,
since they count most.

I, for one, don't want to be ranked among idiots, felons, and
minors any longer, for I am none of the three, but very
gratefully yours,

L. M. A.

_To Mrs. Stearns._

FEBRUARY 21, 1881.

_Dear Mrs. Stearns_,--Many thanks for the tender thoughtfulness
which sends us the precious little notes from the dear dead
hands.

They are so characteristic that they bring both Mother and May
clearly up before me, alive and full of patient courage and happy
hopes. I am resigned to my blessed mother's departure, since life
was a burden, and the heroic past made a helpless future very
hard to think of. But May's loss, just when life was fullest and
sweetest, seems very bitter to me still, in spite of the sweet
baby who is an unspeakable comfort. I wish you could see the
pretty creature who already shows many of her mother's traits and
tastes. Her love of pictures is a passion, but she will not look
at the common gay ones most babies enjoy. She chooses the
delicate, well-drawn, and painted figures of Caldecott and Miss
Greenaway; over these she broods with rapture, pointing her
little fingers at the cows or cats, and kissing the children with
funny prattlings to these dumb playmates. She is a fine, tall
girl, full of energy, intelligence, and health; blonde and
blue-eyed like her mother, but with her father's features, for
which I am glad, for he is a handsome man. Louisa May bids fair
to be a noble woman; and I hope I may live to see May's child as
brave and bright and talented as she was and, much happier in her
fate.

Father is at the West, busy and well. Anna joins me in thanks and
affectionate regards.

Ever yours,
L. M. Alcott.

_Journal._

_March_, 1882.--Helped start a temperance society; much needed in
C. A great deal of drinking, not among the Irish, but young
American gentlemen, as well as farmers and mill hands. Women
anxious to do something, but find no interest beyond a few. Have
meetings, and try to learn how to work. I was secretary, and
wrote records, letters, and sent pledges, etc.; also articles in
"Concord Freeman" and "Woman's Journal" about the union and town
meetings.

_April._--Read over and destroyed Mother's diaries, as she wished
me to do so. A wonderfully interesting record of her life, from
her delicate, cherished girlhood through her long, hard, romantic
married years, old age, and death. Some time I will write a story
or a memoir of it.

Lulu's teeth trouble her; but in my arms she seems to find
comfort, for I tell stories by the dozen; and lambs, piggies, and
"tats" soothe her little woes. Wish I were stronger, so that I
might take all the care of her. We seem to understand each other,
but my nerves make me impatient, and noise wears upon me.

Mr. Emerson ill. Father goes to see him. E. held his hand,
looking up at the tall, sorry old man, and saying, with that
smile of love that has been Father's sunshine for so many years,
"_You_ are very well,--keep so, keep so." After Father left, he
called him back and grasped his hand again, as if he knew it was
for the last time, and the kind eyes said, "Good-by, my friend!"

April 27, 1882, Louisa speaks most tenderly of the death of Mr. Emerson. He had been to her and to her family the truest and best of friends; and her own profound reverence for him had been a strong influence, from the time when she played games with his children in the barn until she followed him to his honored grave. Let critics and philosophers judge him by his intellect; in the hearts of this family, and in many an humble home besides, he will always be remembered as the tenderest, most sympathetic, most loyal of all friends, whose bounty fell on them silently as the dew from heaven, and whose presence could brighten the highest joy and soothe the keenest sorrow they could ever know.

_Journal._

_Thursday, 27th._--Mr. Emerson died at 9 P.M. suddenly. Our best
and greatest American gone. The nearest and dearest friend Father
has ever had, and the man who has helped me most by his life, his
books, his society. I can never tell all he has been to me,--from
the time I sang Mignon's song under his window (a little girl)
and wrote letters _à la_ Bettine to him, my Goethe, at fifteen,
up through my hard years, when his essays on Self-Reliance,
Character, Compensation, Love, and Friendship helped me to
understand myself and life, and God and Nature. Illustrious and
beloved friend, good-by!

_Sunday, 30th._--Emerson's funeral. I made a yellow lyre of
jonquils for the church, and helped trim it up. Private services
at the house, and a great crowd at the church. Father read his
sonnet, and Judge Hoar and others spoke. Now he lies in Sleepy
Hollow among his brothers, under the pines he loved.

I sat up till midnight to write an article on R. W. E. for the
"Youth's Companion," that the children may know something of him.
A labor of love.

_May._--Twenty-seven boys signed pledge. Temperance work.
Meetings. I give books to schools. Wrote an article for Mrs.
Croly on R. W. E.

_June._--I visited A. B. in Mattapoisset for a week. A queer
time, driving about or talking over our year in Europe. School
children called upon me with flowers, etc.

_24th._--John's seventeenth birthday. A dear boy, good and gay,
full of love, manliness, and all honest and lovely traits, like
his father and mother. Long life to my boy!

_July._--School of Philosophy opens on the 17th in full force. I
arrange flowers, oak branches, etc., and then fly before the
reporters come. Father very happy. Westerners arrive, and the
town is full with ideal speculators. Penny has a new barge; we
call it the "Blue Plato" (not the "Black Maria"), and watch it
rumble by with Margaret Fullers in white muslin and Hegels in
straw hats, while stout Penny grins at the joke as he puts money
in his purse. The first year Concord people stood aloof, and the
strangers found it hard to get rooms. Now every one is eager to
take them, and the School is pronounced a success because it
brings money to the town. Even philosophers can't do without
food, beds, and washing; so all rejoice, and the new craze
flourishes. If all our guests paid we should be well off; several
hundred a month is rather wearing. Father asked why we never
went, and Anna showed him a long list of four hundred names of
callers, and he said no more.

_October._--To Hotel Bellevue with John.

Missed my dear baby, but need quiet. Brain began to work, and
plans for tales to simmer. Began "Jo's Boys," as Mrs. Dodge wants
a serial.

In the autumn of 1882 Mr. Alcott was attacked by a severe stroke of paralysis, from which he never fully recovered; and for the rest of his life his daughters shared in the duty of tending and caring for him in his enfeebled state. It had been the great reward of Louisa's years of hard work that she could surround her mother with every comfort that could make her happy in her last declining years. Not less had she delighted to gratify every wish of her father. His library was fitted up with exquisite taste, his books and manuscripts bound, and he was "throned in philosophic ease" for the rest of his days. What a relief it was now that she could have the faithful nurse ready at his call; that she could give him the pleasant drives which he enjoyed so much; and lighten her sister's labors with every assistance that money could procure!

The Orchard House, which had been the family home for twenty-five years, was sold to Mr. Harris, and Mrs. Pratt's house was the home of all. Louisa spent part of the summer at the seashore, and finally bought a small house at Nonquit, where the children could all spend the summer, while she and her sister alternated in the care of her father.

In the autumn of 1885, Miss Alcott decided to take a furnished house in Louisburg Square. Her nephews were established in Boston, and their mother wished to be with them. Mr. Alcott bore the moving well, and they found many comforts in the arrangement. Louisa's health was very feeble. She had great trouble in the throat, and her old dyspeptic symptoms returned to annoy her. Still she cannot give up work, and busies herself in preparing "Lulu's Library" for publication, and hopes to be able to work on "Jo's Boys."

"Lulu's Library" was a collection of stories which had been the delight of the child. The first series was published in 1885, the second in 1887, and the third in 1889. They are full of Louisa's charming qualities, and have a special interest from the tender feeling with which she gathered them up for her niece. The touching preface to "Jo's Boys" tells of the seven years of occasional work on this book, and reveals the depth of feeling which would not allow her to write as formerly of Marmee and Amy, who were no longer here to accept their own likenesses. During the latter part of her work on this book, she could only write from half an hour to one or two hours a day. This was published in September, 1886. It contains an engraving of her from a bas-relief by Mr. Ricketson.

This book was written under hard circumstances, and cost its author more effort perhaps than any other. It is evidently not the overflow of her delight and fun in life like "Little Women," but it is full of biographical interest. Her account of her own career, and of the annoyances to which her celebrity exposed her, is full of her old spirit and humor. She has expressed many valuable thoughts on education, and her spirit is as hopeful for her boys as in her days of youth and health. She has too many characters to manage; but we feel a keen interest in the fortunes of Dan and Emil, and in the courtship by the warm-hearted Tom of his medical sweetheart.

_Preface to "Jo's Boys."_

Having been written at long intervals during the past seven
years, this story is more faulty than any of its very imperfect
predecessors; but the desire to atone for an unavoidable
disappointment, and to please my patient little friends, has
urged me to let it go without further delay.

To account for the seeming neglect of Amy, let me add, that,
since the original of that character died, it has been impossible
for me to write of her as when she was here to suggest,
criticise, and laugh over her namesake. The same excuse applies
to Marmee. But the folded leaves are not blank to those who knew
and loved them and can find memorials of them in whatever is
cheerful, true, or helpful in these pages.

L. M. ALCOTT.
CONCORD, JULY 4, 1886.

_To Mr. Horace Chandler._

DEAR MR. CHANDLER,--The corrections are certainly rather
peculiar, and I fear my struggles to set them right have only
produced greater confusion.

Fortunately punctuation is a free institution, and all can pepper
to suit the taste. I don't care much, and always leave
proof-readers to quibble if they like.

Thanks for the tickets. I fear I cannot come till Thursday, but
will try, and won't forget the office, since I am not that
much-tried soul the editor.

Yours truly,
L. M. A.

_To Mrs. Williams (Betsey Prig)._

NONQUIT, August 25.

DEAR BETSEY,--I am so sorry the darling Doll is ill! Brood over
him, and will him well; for mother-love works wonders.

My poppet is a picture of health, vigor, and delightful
naughtiness. She runs wild in this fine place with some twenty
other children to play with,--nice babies, well-bred, and with
pleasant mammas for me to gossip with.

It would be a good place for your little people, as the air is
delicious, bathing safe and warm, and cottages to be quiet in if
one cares to keep house. Do try it next year. Let me know early.
I can get a nice little cot for you (near mine) for $100, or
perhaps less, from June to October,--if you care to stay; I
do....

We have been here since July, and are all hearty, brown, and gay
as larks.

"John Inglesant" was too political for me. I am too lazy here to
read much; mean to find a den in Boston and work for a month or
two; then fly off to New York, and perhaps run over and see my
Betsey. I shall be at home in October, and perhaps we may see you
then, if the precious little shadow gets nice and well again, and
I pray he may.

Lulu has some trifling ail now and then,--just enough to show me
how dear she is to us all, and what a great void the loss of our
little girl would make in hearts and home. She is very
intelligent and droll. When I told her the other day that the
crickets were hopping and singing in the grass with their mammas,
she said at once, "No; their Aunt Weedys." Aunty is nearer than
mother to the poor baby; and it is very sweet to have it so,
since it must be.

Now, my blessed Betsey, keep a brave heart, and I am sure all
will be well in the nest. Love and kisses to the little birds,
and all good wishes to the turtle-dove and her mate.

Yours ever,
L. M. A.

The older birthdays are 29th of November, Lulu's the 8th; so we
celebrate for Grandpa, Auntie, and Lulu all at once, in great
style,--eighty-three, fifty, and three years old.

When I get on my pins I'm going (D. V.) to devote myself to
settling poor souls who need a gentle boost in hard times.

_To Mr. Niles._

JUNE 23, 1883.

DEAR MR. NILES,--Thanks for the Goethe book. I want everything
that comes out about him. "Princess Amelia" is charming, and the
surprise at the end well done. Did the author of "My Wife's
Sister" write it?

I told L. C. M. she might put "A Modern Mephistopheles" in my
list of books. Several people had found it out, and there was no
use in trying to keep it secret after that.

Mrs. Dodge begged me to consider myself mortgaged to her for
tales, etc., and as I see no prospect of any time for writing
books, I may be able to send her some short stories from time to
time, and so be getting material for a new set of books like
"Scrap-bag," but with a new name. You excel in names, and can be
evolving one meantime....

Yours truly,
L. M. A.

JULY 15, 1884.

I wish I might be inspired to do those dreadful boys ["Jo's
Boys"]; but rest is more needed than money. Perhaps during
August, my month at home, I may take a grind at the old mill.

_Journal._

_October_ 24, 1882.--Telegram that Father had had a paralytic
stroke. Home at once, and found him stricken down. Anxious days;
little hope.

_November._--Gave up our rooms, and I went home to help with the
new care. My Lulu ran to meet me, rosy and gay, and I felt as if
I could bear anything with this little sunbeam to light up the
world for me.

Poor Father dumb and helpless; feeble mind slowly coming back. He
knows us; but he's asleep most of the time. Get a nurse, and wait
to see if he will rally. It is sad to see the change one moment
makes, turning the hale, handsome old man into this pathetic
wreck. The forty sonnets last winter and the fifty lectures at
the School last summer were too much for a man of eighty-three.
He was warned by Dr. W., but thought it folly to stop; and now
poor Father pays the penalty of breaking the laws of health. I
have done the same: may I be spared this end!

_January_, 1883.--Too busy to keep a diary. Can only jot down a
fact now and then.

Father improving. Much trouble with nurses; have no idea of
health; won't walk; sit over the fire, and drink tea three times
a day; ought to be an intelligent, hearty set of women. Could do
better myself; have to fill up all the deficiencies and do double
duty.

People come to see Father; but it excites him, and we have to
deny him.

_February._--To B. for a week of rest, having got Mrs. H. settled
with Father, and all comfortable for November.

Began a book called "Genius." Shall never finish it, I dare say,
but must keep a vent for my fancies to escape at. This double
life is trying, and my head will work as well as my hands.

_March._--To give A. rest I took Lulu and maid to the Bellevue
for a month. Lulu very happy with her new world. Enjoys her
walks, the canary I got her, and the petting _she_ gets from all.
Showed her to friends; want them to know May's child. Had her
picture taken by Notman; very good.

_April 2d._--Town meeting. Seven women vote. I am one of them,
and A. another. A poor show for a town that prides itself on its
culture and independence.

_6th._--Go home to stay; Father needs me. New nurse; many
callers; Lulu fretful, Anna tired, Father feeble,--hard times for
all.

Wrote a story for "St. Nicholas" at odd moments. Nurses and
doctors take a deal of money.

_May._--Take care of Lulu, as we can find no good woman to walk
and dress and play with her. The ladies are incapable or proud;
the girls vulgar or rough; so my poor baby has a bad time with
her little temper and active mind and body. Could do it myself if
I had the nerves and strength, but am needed elsewhere, and must
leave the child to some one. Long to go away with her and do as I
like. Shall never lead my own life.

_July._--Go to Nonquit with Miss H. and Lulu for the summer. A
quiet, healthy place, with pleasant people and fine air. Turn
Lulu loose, with H. to run after her, and try to rest.

Lulu takes her first bath in the sea. Very bold; walks off toward
Europe up to her neck, and is much afflicted that I won't let her
go to the bottom and see the "little trabs;" makes a cupid of
herself, and is very pretty and gay.

The boys revel in the simple pleasures of Nonquit,--a fine place
for them to be in.

Wrote a tale for "St. Nicholas,"--"Sophie's Secret,"--$100.

_August._--Home to C., and let A. come for her holiday. Much
company.

P. C. Mozoomdar preached, and had a conversation at Mrs.
Emerson's; a most interesting man. Curious to hear a Hindu tell
how the life of Christ impressed him.

_November 27th._--Decide to lessen care and worry at home; so
take rooms in Boylston Street, and with Lulu set forth to make a
home of our own. The whole parlor floor gives my lady room to run
in doors, and the Public Garden opposite is the out-door
play-ground. Miss C. comes as governess, and we settle down. Fred
boards with us. Heard Mathew Arnold.

_29th._--Birthday,--fifty-one. Home with gifts to poor
Father,--eighty-four. Found a table full for myself.

_December 25th._--Home with gifts for all; sad day. See H.
Martineau's statue; very fine.

_January_, 1884.--New Year's Day is made memorable by my solemnly
spanking my child. Miss C. and others assure me it is the only
way to cure her wilfulness. I doubt it; but knowing that mothers
are usually too tender and blind, I correct my dear in the
old-fashioned way. She proudly says, "Do it, do it!" and when it
is done is heartbroken at the idea of Aunt Wee-wee's giving her
pain. Her bewilderment was pathetic, and the effect, as I
expected, a failure. Love is better; but also endless patience.

_February 2d._--Wendell Phillips died. I shall mourn for him next
to R. W. E. and Parker.

_6th._--Funeral at Hollis Street Church. Sat between Fred
Douglas and his wife. A goodly gathering of all left of the old
workers. Glad and proud to be among them.

* * * * *

_June._--Sell the Orchard House to W. T. Harris. Glad to be done
with it, though after living in it twenty-five years, it is full
of memories; but places have not much hold on me when the dear
persons who made them dear are gone....

Bought a cottage at Nonquit, with house and furniture. All like
it, and it is a good investment I am told.

_24th._--To Nonquit with Lulu and K. and John. Fixed my house,
and enjoyed the rest and quiet immensely. Lulu wild with joy at
the freedom....

_July and August._--Restful days in my little house, which is
cool and quiet, and without the curse of a kitchen to spoil it.

Lulu happy and well, and every one full of summer fun.

On the 7th of August I went home, and let A. go for her holiday.

Took care of Father and house, and idled away the hot days with
books and letters. Drove with Father, as he enjoyed it very
much....

_October._--To Boston with John, and take rooms at the Bellevue.
Very tired of home-worry, and fly for rest to my old refuge, with
J. and L. to look after and make a home for.

Saw Irving. Always enjoy him, though he is very queer. Ellen
Terry always the same, though charming in her way.

_November._--Find Bellevue uncomfortable and expensive, so take
rooms in Chestnut Street for self and boys.

_8th._--My Lulu's birthday. Go home with flowers, gifts, and a
grateful heart that the dear little girl is so well and happy and
good. A merry day with the little queen of the house.

_29th._--Our birthday,--Father eighty-five; L. M. A. fifty-two.
Quiet day; always sad for thinking of Mother and John and May,
who all left us at this season.

_December._--Began again on "Jo's Boys," as T. N. wants a new
book very much, and I am tired of being idle. Wrote two hours for
three days, then had a violent attack of vertigo, and was ill for
a week. Head won't bear work yet. Put away papers, and tried to
dawdle and go about as other people do.

Pleasant Christmas with Lulu and Nan and poor Father, who loves
to see us about him. A narrow world now, but a happy one for him.

Last day of the year. All well at home except myself; body
feeble, but soul improving.

_January_ 1, 1885.--Pleasant greeting from brother Ernest by
telegram,--never forgets us. Opera in the evening,--Emma Nevada.
Sent box home. Very cold.

John had his first dress-suit. Happy boy! Several pleasant Sunday
evenings at E. P. W.'s. See Mrs. Burnett, and like her.

Visit Blind Asylum and North End Mission. Lulu passed a week with
me for a change.

_19th._--An old-fashioned party in an old-time house. All in
antique costume; Lulu very pretty in hers. Country kitchen and
country fare; spinning and weaving; old songs and dances;
tally-ho coach with P. as an ancient Weller,--very funny.

* * * * *

_June._--Read Life of Saint Elizabeth by D'Alembert,--quaint and
sweet; also French novels. Write out the little tales I tell Lulu
for a new Christmas book, having nothing else. Send one, "The
Candy Country," to "St. Nicholas."

* * * * *

_August 8th._--Go home, and A. goes to N. Take care of Father,
arrange the little tales, and look at houses in B. Have a plan to
take a furnished house for the winter, and all be together. A. is
lonely in C.; boys must be near business. I want Lulu, and Father
will enjoy a change.

Sorted old letters, and burned many. Not wise to keep for curious
eyes to read and gossip-lovers to print by and by.

Lived in the past for days, and felt very old, recalling all I
have been through. Experiences go deep with me, and I begin to
think it might be well to keep some record of my life, if it will
help others to read it when I'm gone. People seem to think our
lives interesting and peculiar.

_September._--After a lively time with house-brokers, I take a
house in Louisburg Square for two years. It is a large house,
furnished, and well suited to our needs,--sunny, trees in front,
good air, and friends near by. All are pleased, and we prepare to
move October 1st....

Father drove down very nicely. Pleased with his new room; Lulu
charmed with her big, sunny nursery and the play-house left for
her; boys in clover; and Nan ready for the new sort of
housekeeping.

I shall miss my quiet, care-free life in B.; but it is best for
all, so I shall try to bear the friction and the worry many
persons always bring me.

It will be an expensive winter; but T. N. tells me the books
never sold better, so a good run in January will make all safe.

"Lulu's Library" as a "pot-boiler" will appease the children, and
I may be able to work on "Jo's Boys."

_March_, 1886.--To Mrs. H.'s to hear Mr. Snyder read the "Iliad;"
enjoyed it.

Sixteen little girls call, and the autograph fiend is abroad.

_27th._--Another attack of vertigo,--ill for a week; sleepless
nights. Head worked like a steam-engine; would not stop. Planned
"Jo's Boys" to the end, and longed to get up and write it. Told
Dr. W. that he had better let me get the ideas _out_, then I
could rest. He very wisely agreed, and said, "As soon as you can,
write half an hour a day, and see if it does you good. Rebellious
brains want to be attended to, or trouble comes." So I began as
soon as able, and was satisfied that we were right; for my head
felt better very soon, and with much care about not overdoing, I
had some pleasant hours when I forgot my body and lived in my
mind.

_April._--Went on writing one or two hours a day, and felt no ill
effects.

_May._--Began to think of Concord, and prepare to go back for the
summer. Father wants his books; Lulu, her garden; Anna, her small
house; and the boys, their friends. I want to go away and rest.

Anna goes up the last of the month and gets the house ready. We
send Lulu and Father later, and the boys and I shut up No. 10....

_June._--Home in C.,--sunny, clean, and pleasant. Put Lulu in
order, and get ready for a month in Princeton with Mrs. H. Very
tired.

A quiet three weeks on the hillside,--a valley pink with laurel
in front, Mount Wachusett behind us, and green hills all round. A
few pleasant people. I read, sleep, walk, and write,--get fifteen
chapters done. Instinct was right; after seven years of rest, the
old brain was ready for work and tired of feeding on itself,
since work it must at something. Enjoyed Hedge's "Hours with
German Classics," and "Baldwin," by Vernon Lee.

Home in time to get Anna and Lulu off to N. for the summer. A.
needs the rest very much, and Lulu the freedom. I shall revel in
the quiet, and finish my book.

_July._--The seashore party get off, and peace reigns. I rest a
day, and then to work. Finish "Jo's Boys," and take it to T. N.
Much rejoicing over a new book. Fifty thousand to be the first
edition; orders coming in fast. Not good,--too great intervals
between the parts, as it was begun long ago; but the children
will be happy, and my promise kept. Two new chapters were needed,
so I wrote them, and gladly corked my inkstand.

What next? Mrs. Dodge wants a serial, and T. N. a novel. I have a
dozen plots in my head, but think the serial better come first.
Want a great deal of money for many things; every poor soul I
ever knew comes for help, and expenses increase. I am the only
money-maker, and must turn the mill for others, though my own
grist is ground and in the barn.

The School begins. Father feeble, but goes,--for the last time, I
think.

A series of letters to her father's friend, Mrs. Stearns, show how tenderly and carefully Louisa watched over the slow decline of the stricken man, but they are too full of details of the sickroom for publication. A few extracts will give her feeling.

MAY 23 [1885].

DEAR MRS. STEARNS,--Many thanks for the sweet nosegay you sent
me. It came in good time, for to-day is the anniversary of
Father's wedding-day and my sister's silver wedding. Rather sad
for both mateless ones; but we have done our best to cheer them
up, and the soft rain is very emblematic of the memories their
own quiet tears keep green.

Father remembered you, and smelled his flowers with pleasure. He
is very tired of living, and wants to "go up," as he expresses
it. A little more or little less light would make him happier;
but the still active mind beats against the prison bars, and
rebels against the weakness of body that prevents the old
independent life. I am afraid the end is not to be peaceful
unless it is sudden, as I hope it may be for all our sakes; it is
so wearing to see this slow decline, and be able to do little but
preach and practise patience.

* * * * *

Affectionately yours,
L. M. A.

SUNDAY.

* * * * *

It is only a temporary change, perhaps; but I still hope that it
will last, and his mind grow still clearer. These painless,
peaceful days have a certain sweetness, sad as it is to see the
dear, hale old man so feeble. If he can know us, and enjoy
something of the old life, it is worth having, though the end may
come at any moment....