If The World Go Wrong, It Was,

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.

I Only Know That It Was, And Ceased To Be; And That I Have Written, And There I Leave It.

There Are Chords In The Human Heart- Strange, Varying Strings- Which Are Only Struck By Accident; Which Will Remain Mute And Senseless To Appeals The Most Passionate And Earnest, And Respond At Last To The Slightest Casual Touch.

An Unfinished Coffin On Black Tressels, Which Stood In The Middle Of The Shop, Looked So Gloomy And Death-like That A Cold Tremble Came Over Him, Every Time His Eyes Wandered In The Direction Of The Dismal Object: From Which He Almost Expected To See Some Frightful Form Slowly Rear Its Head, To Drive Him Mad With Terror.

Home Is A Name, A Word, It Is A Strong One.