A Boy's Story Is The Best That

If You Will Take Me For Your Wife, Walter, I Will Love You Dearly. If You Will Let Me Go With You, Walter, I Will Go To The World's End Without Fear. I Can Give Up Nothing For You - I Have Nothing To Resign, And No One To Forsake; But All My Love And Life Shall Be Devoted To You, And With My Last Breath I Will Breathe Your Name To God If I Have Sense And Memory Left.

He Was The Meekest Of His Sex, The Mildest Of Little Men. He Sidled In And Out Of A Room, To Take Up The Less Space. He Walked As Softly As The Ghost In Hamlet, And More Slowly. He Carried His Head On One Side, Partly In Modest Depreciation Of Himself, Partly In Modest Propitiation Of Everybody Else.

I Found Every Breath Of Air, And Every Scent, And Every Flower And Leaf And Blade Of Grass And Every Passing Cloud, And Everything In Nature, More Beautiful And Wonderful To Me Than I Had Ever Found It Yet. This Was My First Gain From My Illness. How Little I Had Lost, When The Wide World Was So Full Of Delight For Me.

The Appearance Presented By The Streets Of London An Hour Before Sunrise, On A Summer's Morning, Is Most Striking Even To The Few Whose Unfortunate Pursuits Of Pleasure, Or Scarcely Less Unfortunate Pursuits Of Business, Cause Them To Be Well Acquainted With The Scene. There Is An Air Of Cold, Solitary Desolation About The Noiseless Streets Which We Are Accustomed To See Thronged At Other Times By A Busy, Eager Crowd, And Over The Quiet, Closely-shut Buildings, Which Throughout The Day Are Swarming With Life And Bustle, That Is Very Impressive.

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.