nd justice of Him who sends disappointment, poverty, and sorrow to try
the love of human hearts and make success the sweeter when it comes.
The world saw the prosperity, and kind souls rejoiced over the improved
fortunes of the family; but the success Jo valued most, the happiness
that nothing could change or take away, few knew much about.

It was the power of making her mother's last years happy and serene; to
see the burden of care laid down for ever, the weary hands at rest, the
dear face untroubled by any anxiety, and the tender heart free to pour
itself out in the wise charity which was its delight. As a girl, Jo's
favourite plan had been a room where Marmee could sit in peace and enjoy
herself after her hard, heroic life. Now the dream had become a happy
fact, and Marmee sat in her pleasant chamber with every comfort and
luxury about her, loving daughters to wait on her as infirmities
increased, a faithful mate to lean upon, and grand-children to brighten
the twilight of life with their dutiful affection. A very precious time
to all, for she rejoiced as only mothers can in the good fortunes of
their children. She had lived to reap the harvest she sowed; had seen
prayers answered, hopes blossom, good gifts bear fruit, peace and
prosperity bless the home she had made; and then, like some brave,
patient angel, whose work was done, turned her face heavenward, glad to
rest.

This was the sweet and sacred side of the change; but it had its droll
and thorny one, as all things have in this curious world of ours. After
the first surprise, incredulity, and joy, which came to Jo, with the
ingratitude of human nature, she soon tired of renown, and began to
resent her loss of liberty. For suddenly the admiring public took
possession of her and all her affairs, past, present, and to come.
Strangers demanded to look at her, question, advise, warn, congratulate,
and drive her out of her wits by well-meant but very wearisome
attentions. If she declined to open her heart to them, they reproached
her; if she refused to endow her pet charities, relieve private wants,
or sympathize with every ill and trial known to humanity, she was called
hard-hearted, selfish, and haughty; if she found it impossible to answer
the piles of letters sent her, she was neglectful of her duty to
the admiring public; and if she preferred the privacy of home to the
pedestal upon which she was requested to pose, 'the airs of literary
people' were freely cr