S.)

The Poor Traveler 272
CHARLES DICKENS.

The Legend of the Christmas Tree 287
(ANONYMOUS.)

The Peace Egg 290
JULIANA HORATIA EWING.

CHRISTMAS TALES.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

STAVE ONE.

MARLEY'S GHOST.

Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.
The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the
undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name
was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.

Old Marley was dead as a door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise?
Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge
was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole
residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge
was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an
excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized
it with an undoubted bargain.

The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started
from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly
understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to
relate.

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There it stood, years
afterward, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was
known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called
Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It
was all the same to him.

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a
squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old
sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out
generous fire; secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The
cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose,
shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin
lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime on
his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could
warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than
he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain
less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The
heaviest rain, and snow, and