Shortly after Miss Alcott’s “Little Women” was published a quiet-looking lady entered a Boston circulating library and asked a lady clerk to pick her out “a good book that would rest and amuse her.” Naturally “Little Women” was offered, and declined. “It’s very nice; you’d like it,” urged the clerk. “I should not care to read it,” said the other. “But at least look at it.” “No,” came the answer, firmly and with an odd smile; “it is not a book that I should care to read.” Then the clerk, pretty angry, walked away to the chief librarian and cried: “There’s a woman down there wants a book, and if you want her waited on somebody else must do it. I won’t.” “Why, why not?” “Why, she says ‘Little Women’ isn’t good enough for her to read.” “Do you know who that lady is?” “No, and I don’t care.” “Well, I’ll tell you. That is Louise M. Alcott. Now go and get her a book.”
A Michigan girl told her young man that she would never marry him until he was worth $100,000. So he started out with a brave heart to make it.
“How are you getting on George?” she asked at the expiration of a couple of months.
“Well,” George said hopefully, “I have saved up $22.”
The girl dropped her eyelashes and blushingly remarked: “I reckon that’s near enough, George.”
The elegant equipment of coaches and sleepers being added to its various through routes is gaining it many friends. Its patrons fear no accidents. Its perfect track of steel, and solid road-bed, are a guarantee against them.