The fundamental principle of his dietary system was the exclusive use of fruits, vegetables, and all kinds of grain, eliminating all animal food. While this was carried to excess, the idea of it does not sound so very strange to modern ears, there being plenty of vegetarians now to commend the theory. These things are mentioned in order to show that in spite of much that was wholly unpractical, he advocated many theories that have not died, but have taken root. It was the intuitive consciousness of the sincerity of his appeal to the world that drew his daughter Louisa so closely to him and led her to express herself so touchingly in the following poems: A. B. A. _Lines Written by Louisa M. Alcott to Her Father_ Like Bunyan's pilgrim with his pack, Forth went the dreaming youth To seek, to find, and make his own Wisdom, virtue, and truth. Life was his book, and patiently He studied each hard page; By turns reformer, outcast, priest, Philosopher and sage. Christ was his Master, and he made His life a gospel sweet; Plato and Pythagoras in him Found a disciple meet. The noblest and best his friends, Faithful and fond, though few; Eager to listen, learn, and pay The love and honor due. Power and place, silver and gold, He neither asked nor sought; Only to serve his fellowmen, With heart and word and thought. A pilgrim still, but in his pack No sins to frighten or oppress; But wisdom, morals, piety, To teach, to warn and bless. The world passed by, nor cared to take The treasure he could give; Apart he sat, content to wait And beautifully live; Unsaddened by long, lonely years Of want, neglect, and wrong, His soul to him a kingdom was, Steadfast, serene, and strong. Magnanimous and pure his life, Tranquil its happy end; Patience and peace his handmaids were, Death an immortal friend. For him no monuments need rise, No laurels make his pall; The mem'ry of the good and wise Outshines, outlives them all. The explanation of the following poem seems to give added color to it. Mr. Alcott had a habit of cutting his own hair--a feat that can certainly be called unusual!--and it was after one of these occasions that Miss Alcott picked up the curl and pasted it on the corner of the paper upon which the poem is written. _Lines Written by Louisa M. Alcott_ A LITTLE GREY CURL A little grey curl from my father's head I find unburned on the hearth, And give it a place in my diary here, With a feeling half sadness, half mirth. For the long white locks are our special pride, Though he smiles at his daughter's praise; But, oh, they have grown each year more thin, Till they are now but a silvery haze.