Nothing Seemed Impossible In The Beginning.

The Thought That, Insignificant As She Was, She Yet Might Do Some Good, Made Her Very Careful Of Her Acts And Words, And So Anxious To Keep Head Contented And Face Happy, That She Forgot Her Clothes, And Made Others Do The Same. She Did Not Know It, But That Good Old Fashion Of Simplicity Made The Plain Gowns Pretty, And The Grace Of Unconsciousness Beautified Their Little Wearer With The Charm That Makes Girlhood Sweetest To Those Who Truly Love And Reverence It.

Mrs. Jo Did Not Mean The Measles, But That More Serious Malady Called Love, Which Is Apt To Ravage Communities, Spring And Autumn, When Winter Gayety And Summer Idleness Produce Whole Bouquets Of Engagements, And Set Young People To Pairing Off Like The Birds.

She Had A Womanly Instinct That Clothes Possess An Influence More Powerful Over Many Than The Worth Of Character Or The Magic Of Manners.

... Swept Into The Giddy Vortex Which Keeps So Many Young People Revolving Aimlessly, Till They Go Down Or Are Cast Upon The Shore, Wrecks Of What They Might Have Been

A Quick Temper, Sharp Tongue, And Restless Spirit Were Always Getting Her Into Scrapes, And Her Life Was A Series Of Ups And Downs, Which Were Both Comic And Pathetic.