Recollections of my Childhood's Days. By Louisa M. Aka& (Sampson
Low and Co.)—The paper from which this little volume takes its title is only too short,—some fourteen small pages. We could well exchange many of the massive volumes of reminis- cences through which we have struggled of late years, for a little more of this most delightful narrative. Louisa Alcott began to write as soon as she could put pen or pencil to paper. This was the ruling passion from the first. Her father and mother added a wholesome training, in which liberty was a large part. We are told that Margaret Fuller, coining one day on a visit with Emerson, said to Mr. Alcoa (a famous educationist, it will be remembered) that she should like to see his "model children." Almost as she spoke, "a wild uproar approached, and round the corner of the house came a wheelbarrow holding baby May arrayed as a queen; I was the horse, bitted and bridled, and driven by my elder sister Anna ; while Lizzie played dog, and barked as loud as her gentle voice permitted." The " horse " tripped, and the whole procession went down in a heap. "These are my model children," said the mother. This same mother, coming back from her visits to the poor "usually much dilapidated, because she would give away her clothes," and the father, whose school "was broken up, because he introduced methods now all the fashion," are mentioned rather than described. The stories which make up the volume are all delightful. Perhaps "The Little Red Purse" is the best. Little Lu, who so bravely denies herself, but not without some natural longings, and even backsliding, is one of the children whom Miss Alcott knew so well how to draw. We do not know which to admire the more, the sound sense, or the sprightly fancy which gives us such little pictures as this, where little Lu dreams that the poor little things who reaped the benefit of her self-denial all had wings, and were flying round her bed with tambourines full of heavenly bonbons, which they showered down upon her ; while Aunty, in an immense night-cap, stood by clapping her hands and saying, 'Eat all you like, dear ; this sort won't hurt you.'" "Music and Maccaroni" we should put next; but all are full of charm.
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