loneliest glen.
I take you with the flashes of my pen.

'Consider the lilies, how they grow;
They toil not, yet are fair,
Gems and flowers and Solomon's seal.
The geranium of the world is J. M. Bhaer.

'JAMES'

While the boys shouted over this effusion--which is a true one--their
mother read several liberal offers from budding magazines for her to
edit them gratis; one long letter from a young girl inconsolable because
her favourite hero died, and 'would dear Mrs Bhaer rewrite the tale, and
make it end good?' another from an irate boy denied an autograph, who
darkly foretold financial ruin and loss of favour if she did not
send him and all other fellows who asked autographs, photographs, and
auto-biographical sketches; a minister wished to know her religion;
and an undecided maiden asked which of her two lovers she should marry.
These samples will suffice to show a few of the claims made on a busy
woman's time, and make my readers pardon Mrs Jo if she did not carefully
reply to all.

'That job is done. Now I will dust a bit, and then go to my work. I'm
all behind-hand, and serials can't wait; so deny me to everybody, Mary.
I won't see Queen Victoria if she comes today.' And Mrs Bhaer threw down
her napkin as if defying all creation.

'I hope the day will go well with thee, my dearest,' answered her
husband, who had been busy with his own voluminous correspondence. 'I
will dine at college with Professor Plock, who is to visit us today. The
Junglings can lunch on Parnassus; so thou shalt have a quiet time.' And
smoothing the worried lines out of her forehead with his good-bye kiss,
the excellent man marched away, both pockets full of books, an old
umbrella in one hand, and a bag of stones for the geology class in the
other.

'If all literary women had such thoughtful angels for husbands, they
would live longer and write more. Perhaps that wouldn't be a blessing to
the world though, as most of us write too much now,' said Mrs Jo, waving
her feather duster to her spouse, who responded with flourishes of the
umbrella as he went down the avenue.

Rob started for school at the same time, looking so much like him with
his books and bag and square shoulders and steady air that his mother
laughed as she turned away, saying heartily: 'Bless both my dear
professors, for better creatures never lived!'

Emil was already gone to his ship in the city; but Ted lingered to steal
the addres