People Cannot Be Molded Like Clay.

Good, Old-fashioned Ways Keep Hearts Sweet, Heads Sane, Hands Busy.

Jo's Eyes Sparkled, For It's Always Pleasant To Be Believed In; And A Friend's Praise Is Always Sweeter Than A Dozen Newspaper Puffs.

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 Got Father And Mother, And Each Other," Said Beth Contentedly From Her Corner.

Conceit Spoils The Finest Genius.

Mine First --mine Last-- Mine Even In The Grave!