and everywhere the
effect was the same.

Descriptive of an evening at Edinburgh, he wrote: "Such a pouring of
hundreds into a place already full to the throat, such indescribable
confusion, such a rending and tearing of dresses, and yet such a scene
of good humor on the whole!... I read with the platform crammed with
people. I got them to lie down upon it, and it was like some impossible
tableau or gigantic picnic; one pretty girl in full dress hang on her
side all night, holding on to one of the legs of my table. And yet from
the moment I began to the moment of my leaving off, they never missed a
point, and they ended with a burst of cheers."

Meanwhile Dickens's domestic life had not been happy. He and his wife
were not entirely congenial in temper, and the incompatibility increased
with the years, until in 1858 they agreed to live apart. Most of the
children remained with their father, although they were given perfect
freedom to visit their mother.

Among Dickens's later novels are the _Tale of Two Cities_, _Great
Expectations_, which is one of his very best books, and _Our Mutual
Friend_, which, while as a story it has many faults, yet abounds with
the humor and fancy which are characteristic of Dickens. In October,
1869, was begun _Edwin Drood_, which was published like most of its
predecessors, as a serial. Six numbers appeared, and there the story
closed; for on June 9, 1870, Charles Dickens died, after an illness of
but one day, during all of which he was unconscious.

His family desired to have him buried near his home, the Gad's Hill
which he had admired from his childhood and had purchased in his
manhood; but the general wish was that he should be laid in Westminster
Abbey, and to this wish his family felt that it would be wrong to
object. For days there were crowds of mourners about the grave, shedding
tears, scattering flowers, testifying to the depth of affection they had
felt for the man who had given them so many happy hours.

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 as dead as a door-nail.

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there
is