***************************************************************

* *

* THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT. *

* *

* It is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysterious *

* disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs. Snowball Pat *

* Paw. This lovely and beloved cat was the pet of a large *

* circle of warm and admiring friends; for her beauty *

* attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues endeared her to *

* all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole *

* community. *

* *

* When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the *

* butcher's cart; and it is feared that some villain, tempted *

* by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed, but no *

* trace of her has been discovered; and we relinquish all *

* hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, *

* and weep for her as one lost to us forever. *

* *

***************************************************************

* * * * *

A sympathizing friend sends the following gem:--

A LAMENT

FOR S. B. PAT PAW.

We mourn the loss of our little pet,

And sigh o'er her hapless fate,

For never more by the fire she'll sit,

Nor play by the old green gate.

The little grave where her infant sleeps,

Is 'neath the chestnut tree;

But o'er _her_ grave we may not weep,

We know not where it may be.

Her empty bed, her idle ball,

Will never see her more;

No gentle tap, no loving purr

Is heard at the parlor-door.

Another cat comes after her mice,

A cat with a dirty face;

But she does not hunt as our darling did,

Nor play with her airy grace.

Her stealthy paws tread the very hall

Where Snowball used to play,

But she only spits at the dogs our pet

So gallantly drove away.

She is useful and mild, and does her best,

But she is not fair to see;

And we cannot give her your place, dear,

Nor worship her as we worship thee.

A. S.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

MISS ORANTHY BLUGGAGE, the accomplished Strong-Minded Lecturer,

will deliver her famous Lecture on "WOMAN AND HER POSITION," at

Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening, after the usual

performances.

A WEEKLY MEETING will be held at Kitchen Place, to teach young

ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown will preside; and all are

invited to attend.

THE DUSTPAN SOCIETY will meet on Wednesday next, and parade in

the upper story of the Club House. All members to appear in

uniform and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely.

MRS. BETH BOUNCER will open her new assortment of Doll's

Millinery next week. The latest Paris Fashions have arrived, and

orders are respectfully solicited.

A NEW PLAY will appear at the Barnville Theatre, in the course

of a few weeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the

American stage. "THE GREEK SLAVE, or Constantine the Avenger,"

is the name of this thrilling drama!!!

HINTS.

If S. P. didn't use so much soap on his hands, he wouldn't

always be late at breakfast. A. S. is requested not to whistle

in the street. T. T. please don't forget Amy's napkin. N. W.

must not fret because his dress has not nine tucks.

WEEKLY REPORT.

Meg--Good.

Jo--Bad.

Beth--Very good.

Amy--Middling.

As the President finished reading the paper (which I beg leave to assure

my readers is a _bona fide_ copy of one written by _bona fide_ girls

once upon a time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass

rose to make a proposition.

"Mr. President and gentlemen," he began, assuming a parliamentary

attitude and tone, "I wish to propose the admission of a new

member,--one who highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful for

it, and would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary

value of the paper, and be no end jolly and nice. I propose Mr. Theodore

Laurence as an honorary member of the P. C. Come now, do have him."

Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh; but all looked rather

anxious, and no one said a word, as Snodgrass took his seat.

"We'll put it to vote," said the President. "All in favor of this motion

please to manifest it by saying 'Ay.'"

A loud response from Snodgrass, followed, to everybody's surprise, by a

timid one from Beth.

"Contrary minded say 'No.'"

Meg and Amy were contrary minded; and Mr. Winkle rose to say, with great

elegance, "We don't wish any boys; they only joke and bounce about. This

is a ladies' club, and we wish to be private and proper."

"I'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us afterward,"

observed Pickwick, pulling the little curl on her forehead, as she

always did when doubtful.

Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest. "Sir, I give you my word as a

gentleman, Laurie won't do anything of the sort. He likes to write, and

he'll give a tone to our contributions, and keep us from being

sentimental, don't you see? We can do so little for him, and he does so

much for us, I think the least we can do is to offer him a place here,

and make him welcome if he comes."

This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to his feet,

looking as if he had quite made up his mind.

"Yes, we ought to do it, even if we _are_ afraid. I say he _may_ come,

and his grandpa, too, if he likes."

This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo left her

seat to shake hands approvingly. "Now then, vote again. Everybody

remember it's our Laurie, and say 'Ay!'" cried Snodgrass excitedly.

"Ay! ay! ay!" replied three voices at once.

"Good! Bless you! Now, as there's nothing like 'taking time by the

_fetlock_,' as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me to present

the new member;" and, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw

open the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag-bag,

flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter.

[Illustration: Jo threw open the door of the closet]

"You rogue! you traitor! Jo, how could you?" cried the three girls, as

Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth; and, producing both a chair

and a badge, installed him in a jiffy.

"The coolness of you two rascals is amazing," began Mr. Pickwick, trying

to get up an awful frown, and only succeeding in producing an amiable

smile. But the new member was equal to the occasion; and, rising, with a

grateful salutation to the Chair, said, in the most engaging manner,

"Mr. President and ladies,--I beg pardon, gentlemen,--allow me to

introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club."

"Good! good!" cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming-pan

on which she leaned.

"My faithful friend and noble patron," continued Laurie, with a wave of

the hand, "who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for

the base stratagem of to-night. I planned it, and she only gave in after

lots of teasing."

"Come now, don't lay it all on yourself; you know I proposed the

cupboard," broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly.

"Never you mind what she says. I'm the wretch that did it, sir," said

the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. "But on my

honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth _dewote_ myself to the

interest of this immortal club."

"Hear! hear!" cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming-pan like a

cymbal.

"Go on, go on!" added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowed

benignly.

"I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the

honor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations between

adjoining nations, I have set up a post-office in the hedge in the lower

corner of the garden; a fine, spacious building, with padlocks on the

doors, and every convenience for the mails,--also the females, if I may

be allowed the expression. It's the old martin-house; but I've stopped

up the door, and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of

things, and save our valuable time. Letters, manuscripts, books, and

bundles can be passed in there; and, as each nation has a key, it will

be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to present the club key; and,

with many thanks for your favor, take my seat."

Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the table, and

subsided; the warming-pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time

before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and every

one came out surprising, for every one did her best; so it was an

unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it

broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member.

No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted,

well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly did add

"spirit" to the meetings, and "a tone" to the paper; for his orations

convulsed his hearers, and his contributions were excellent, being

patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo

regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare; and remodelled

her own works with good effect, she thought.

The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully,

for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real

office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden-seeds and long

letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings and

puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending

odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams; and his gardener,

who was smitten with Hannah's charms, actually sent a love-letter to

Jo's care. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how

many love-letters that little post-office would hold in the years to

come!

[Illustration: Jo spent the morning on the river]

XI.

EXPERIMENTS.

"The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore to-morrow, and I'm

free. Three months' vacation,--how I shall enjoy it!" exclaimed Meg,

coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual

state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made

lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party.

"Aunt March went to-day, for which, oh, be joyful!" said Jo. "I was

mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her; if she had, I should have

felt as if I ought to do it; but Plumfield is about as gay as a

churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused. We had a flurry getting

the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke to me, for I

was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and

sweet, and feared she'd find it impossible to part from me. I quaked

till she was fairly in the carriage, and had a final fright, for, as it

drove off, she popped out her head, saying, 'Josy-phine, won't you--?'

I didn't hear any more, for I basely turned and fled; I did actually

run, and whisked round the corner, where I felt safe."

"Poor old Jo! she came in looking as if bears were after her," said

Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air.

"Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" observed Amy, tasting

her mixture critically.

"She means _vampire_, not sea-weed; but it doesn't matter; it's too warm

to be particular about one's parts of speech," murmured Jo.

"What shall you do all your vacation?" asked Amy, changing the subject,

with tact.

"I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied Meg, from the depths of

the rocking-chair. "I've been routed up early all winter, and had to

spend my days working for other people; so now I'm going to rest and

revel to my heart's content."

"No," said Jo; "that dozy way wouldn't suit me. I've laid in a heap of

books, and I'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in

the old apple-tree, when I'm not having l------"

"Don't say 'larks!'" implored Amy, as a return snub for the "samphire"

correction.

"I'll say 'nightingales,' then, with Laurie; that's proper and

appropriate, since he's a warbler."

"Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time,

and rest, as the girls mean to," proposed Amy.

"Well, I will, if mother doesn't mind. I want to learn some new songs,

and my children need fitting up for the summer; they are dreadfully out

of order, and really suffering for clothes."

"May we, mother?" asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing, in

what they called "Marmee's corner."

"You may try your experiment for a week, and see how you like it. I

think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as

bad as all work and no play."

"Oh, dear, no! it will be delicious, I'm sure," said Meg complacently.

"I now propose a toast, as my 'friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp,' says.

Fun forever, and no grubbing!" cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the

lemonade went round.

They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the

rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o'clock; her

solitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely and

untidy; for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy's

books lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but "Marmee's

corner," which looked as usual; and there Meg sat, to "rest and read,"

which meant yawn, and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get

with her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river, with Laurie, and the

afternoon reading and crying over "The Wide, Wide World," up in the

apple-tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet,

where her family resided; but, getting tired before half done, she left

her establishment topsy-turvy, and went to her music, rejoicing that she

had no dishes to wash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white

frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw, under the honeysuckles,

hoping some one would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no

one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-long-legs, who examined her work

with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home

dripping.

[Illustration: Amy sat down to draw]

At tea-time they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a

delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping in the

afternoon, and got a "sweet blue muslin," had discovered, after she had

cut the breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made her

slightly cross. Jo had burnt the skin off her nose boating, and got a

raging headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion

of her closet, and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at

once; and Amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for Katy

Brown's party was to be the next day; and now, like Flora McFlimsey, she

had "nothing to wear." But these were mere trifles; and they assured

their mother that the experiment was working finely. She smiled, said

nothing, and, with Hannah's help, did their neglected work, keeping home

pleasant, and the domestic machinery running smoothly. It was

astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was

produced by the "resting and revelling" process. The days kept getting

longer and longer; the weather was unusually variable, and so were

tempers; an unsettled feeling possessed every one, and Satan found

plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury,

Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily that

she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes, in her attempts to

furbish them up à la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out, and she was

sick of books; got so fidgety that even good-natured Laurie had a

quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished

she had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on pretty well, for she was

constantly forgetting that it was to be _all play, and no work_, and

fell back into her old ways now and then; but something in the air

affected her, and, more than once, her tranquillity was much disturbed;

so much so, that, on one occasion, she actually shook poor dear Joanna,

and told her she was "a fright." Amy fared worst of all, for her

resources were small; and when her sisters left her to amuse and care

for herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self

a great burden. She didn't like dolls, fairy-tales were childish, and

one couldn't draw all the time; tea-parties didn't amount to much,

neither did picnics, unless very well conducted. "If one could have a

fine house, full of nice girls, or go travelling, the summer would be

delightful; but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a

grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a Boaz," complained Miss

Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and _ennui_.

No one would own that they were tired of the experiment; but, by Friday

night, each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was

nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who

had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an

appropriate manner; so she gave Hannah a holiday, and let the girls

enjoy the full effect of the play system.

When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen,

no breakfast in the dining-room, and no mother anywhere to be seen.

"Mercy on us! what _has_ happened?" cried Jo, staring about her in

dismay.

Meg ran upstairs, and soon came back again, looking relieved, but rather

bewildered, and a little ashamed.

"Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay

quietly in her room all day, and let us do the best we can. It's a very

queer thing for her to do, she doesn't act a bit like herself; but she

says it has been a hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble, but take

care of ourselves."

"That's easy enough, and I like the idea; I'm aching for something to

do--that is, some new amusement, you know," added Jo quickly.

In fact it _was_ an immense relief to them all to have a little work,

and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah's

saying, "Housekeeping ain't no joke." There was plenty of food in the

larder, and, while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast,

wondering, as they did so, why servants ever talked about hard work.

"I shall take some up to mother, though she said we were not to think of

her, for she'd take care of herself," said Meg, who presided, and felt

quite matronly behind the teapot.

So a tray was fitted out before any one began, and taken up, with the

cook's compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelette

scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus; but Mrs. March

received her repast with thanks, and laughed heartily over it after Jo

was gone.

"Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid; but they

won't suffer, and it will do them good," she said, producing the more

palatable viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of

the bad breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt,--a motherly

little deception, for which they were grateful.

Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook

at her failures. "Never mind, I'll get the dinner, and be servant; you

be mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders," said

Jo, who knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs.

This obliging offer was gladly accepted; and Margaret retired to the

parlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the

sofa, and shutting the blinds, to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, with

perfect faith in her own powers, and a friendly desire to make up the

quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting Laurie to

dinner.

"You'd better see what you have got before you think of having company,"

said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act.

"Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of potatoes; and I shall get some

asparagus, and a lobster, 'for a relish,' as Hannah says. We'll have

lettuce, and make a salad. I don't know how, but the book tells. I'll

have blanc-mange and strawberries for dessert; and coffee, too, if you

want to be elegant."

"Don't try too many messes, Jo, for you can't make anything but

gingerbread and molasses candy, fit to eat. I wash my hands of the

dinner-party; and, since you have asked Laurie on your own

responsibility, you may just take care of him."

"I don't want you to do anything but be civil to him, and help to the

pudding. You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you?"

asked Jo, rather hurt.

"Yes; but I don't know much, except about bread, and a few trifles. You

had better ask mother's leave before you order anything," returned Meg

prudently.

"Of course I shall; I'm not a fool," and Jo went off in a huff at the

doubts expressed of her powers.

"Get what you like, and don't disturb me; I'm going out to dinner, and

can't worry about things at home," said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke to

her. "I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a vacation

to-day, and read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself."

The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably, and

reading, early in the morning, made Jo feel as if some natural

phenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic

eruption would hardly have seemed stranger.

"Everything is out of sorts, somehow," she said to herself, going down

stairs. "There's Beth crying; that's a sure sign that something is wrong

with this family. If Amy is bothering, I'll shake her."

Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor to

find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage, with

his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for

want of which he had died.

"It's all my fault--I forgot him--there isn't a seed or a drop left. O

Pip! O Pip! how could I be so cruel to you?" cried Beth, taking the poor

thing in her hands, and trying to restore him.

[Illustration: O Pip! O Pip!]

Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him

stiff and cold, shook her head, and offered her domino-box for a coffin.

"Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive," said Amy

hopefully.

"He's been starved, and he sha'n't be baked, now he's dead. I'll make

him a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden; and I'll never have

another bird, never, my Pip! for I am too bad to own one," murmured

Beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands.

"The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go. Now, don't

cry, Bethy; it's a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip has

had the worst of the experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in my box;

and, after the dinner-party, we'll have a nice little funeral," said Jo,

beginning to feel as if she had undertaken a good deal.

Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which

was in a most discouraging state of confusion. Putting on a big apron,

she fell to work, and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when

she discovered that the fire was out.

"Here's a sweet prospect!" muttered Jo, slamming the stove-door open,

and poking vigorously among the cinders.

Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the

water heated. The walk revived her spirits; and, flattering herself that

she had made good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying a very

young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid

strawberries. By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived, and

the stove was red-hot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had

worked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and

forgotten it. Meg was entertaining Sallie Gardiner in the parlor, when

the door flew open, and a floury, crocky, flushed, and dishevelled

figure appeared, demanding tartly,--

"I say, isn't bread 'riz' enough when it runs over the pans?"

Sallie began to laugh; but Meg nodded, and lifted her eyebrows as high

as they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish, and put the

sour bread into the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out,

after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word

of comfort to Beth, who sat making a winding-sheet, while the dear

departed lay in state in the domino-box. A strange sense of helplessness

fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner; and

despair seized them, when, a few minutes later, Miss Crocker appeared,

and said she'd come to dinner. Now, this lady was a thin, yellow

spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything,

and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but had been taught

to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor, and had few

friends. So Meg gave her the easy-chair, and tried to entertain her,

while she asked questions, criticised everything, and told stories of

the people whom she knew.