【導讀】息系統(tǒng)的實施在技術上已逐步成熟。管理信息系統(tǒng)是一個不斷發(fā)展的。物等）的有效管理，建立與自身特點相適應的管理信息系統(tǒng)。劃，自下而上地應用開發(fā)”的策略開發(fā)一個管理信息系統(tǒng)的過程。一些主要的窗口和程序。本系統(tǒng)界面友好，操作簡單，比較實用。管理信息系統(tǒng)、財務管理、VisualFoxpro應用。日常必要的各種預測、考察和盡心盡力的實踐。己最重要的企業(yè)，富翁就是一個成功的企業(yè)經(jīng)營者。只有建立充分的自信心和高。個人理財?shù)暮诵氖峭顿Y收益的最大化和個人資產(chǎn)分配合理化的集合，通過?；ㄥX中度過的，人從獨立生活起，就面臨著理財?shù)奶魬?zhàn)。增值；“花錢”，如何用最少的錢獲得最好的服務和最大的滿足。是安排好生活支出，而且是把錢財及相關事務納入有計劃、有系統(tǒng)的管理。資，及為以后工作方面作積蓄。元左右，而我每月總的錢是400元。其中，生活必需的消費是固定的，即在50-60

　　

【正文】 hich each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 39。em in Chiny, and so she might, for the girls39。 tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg39。s had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange tree in it. Jo39。s bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying experiments. This year it was to be a plantation of sun flowers, the seeds of which cheerful land aspiring plant were to feed Aunt Cockletop and her family of chicks. Beth had oldfashioned fragrant flowers in her garden, sweet peas and mignote, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the birds and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers, rather small and earwiggy, but very pretty to look at, with honeysuckle and morningglories hanging their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it, tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blossom there. Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower hunts employed the fine days, and for rainy ones, they had house diversions, some old, some new, all more or less original. One of these was the `39。, for as secret societies were the fashion,it was thought proper to have one, and as all of the girls admired Dickens, they called themselves the Pickw ic k Club. With a few interruptions, they had kept this up for a year, and met every Saturday evening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were as follows: Three cha irs were arranged in a row before a table on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big `.39。 in different colors on each, and the weekly newspaper called, The Pickwick Portfolio, to which all contributed som ething, while Jo, who reveled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven o39。clock, the four members ascended to the clubroom, tied their badges round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Me g, as the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick, Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgrass, Beth, because she was round and rosy, Tracy Tupman, and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn39。t, was Nathaniel W inkle. Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which they goodnaturedly reminded each other of their faults and short ings. On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles without any glass, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and having stared hard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself properly, began to read: Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire, and thinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of dusk. No one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth39。s little red pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away. Her face looked tired, grave, and rathe r sad, for tomorrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to have acplished. Almost twenty five, and nothing to show for it. Jo was mistaken in that. There was a good deal to show, and by andby she saw, and was grateful for it. An old maid, that39。s what I39。m to be. A literary spinster, with a pen for a spouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence a morsel of fame, perhaps, when, like poor Johnson, I39。m old and can39。t enjoy it, solitary, and can39。t share it, independent, and don39。t need it. Well, I needn39。t be a sour saint nor a selfish sinner, and, I dare say, old maids are very fortable when they get used to it, but... And there Jo sighed, as if the prospect was not inviting. It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to f iveandtwenty. But it39。s not as bad as it looks, and one can get on quite happily if one has something in one39。s self to fall back upon. At twenty five, girls begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly resolve that they never will be. At thirty they say nothing about it, but quietly accept the fact, and if sensible, console themselves by remembering that they have twenty more useful, happy years, in which they may be learning to grow old gracefully. Don39。t laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself, make the faded faces beautiful in God39。s sight. Even the sad, sour sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the sweetest part of life, if for no other reason. And looking at them with passion, not contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that they too may miss the blossom time. That rosy cheeks don39。t last forever, that silver threads will e in the bonnie brown hair, and that, by andby, kindness and respect will be as sweet as love and admiration now. Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matter how poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is that which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect the good aunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and petted, too often without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out of, the tips they have given you from their small store, the stitches the patient old fingers have set for you, the steps the willing old feet have taken, and gratefully pay the dear old ladies the little attentions that women love to receive as long as they live. The brighteyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will like you all the better for them, and if death, almost the only power that can part mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find a tender wele and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, who has kept the warmest cor