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Showing: 1-10 results of 74

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... more...

A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY Three men who had gained great fame and honour throughout the world met unexpectedly in front of the bookstall at Paddington Station. Like most of the great ones of the earth they were personally acquainted, and they exchanged surprised greetings. Sir Angus McCurdie, the eminent physicist, scowled at the two others beneath his heavy black eyebrows. "I'm going to a God-forsaken place in Cornwall called Trehenna," said he.... more...

THE INVITATION "Any news, mother?" asked Edna one Friday afternoon when she came home from school. "There's a letter from grandma," replied Mrs. Conway after kissing the lips held up to hers. "There isn't any real news in it, but there is an invitation." "What kind of an invitation?" "A Thanksgiving kind." "Oh, mother, what do you mean?" "I mean that grandma wants us all to spend an old-fashioned Thanksgiving with her; the kind she used to... more...

Santa Claus lives in the Laughing Valley, where stands the big, rambling castle in which his toys are manufactured. His workmen, selected from the ryls, knooks, pixies and fairies, live with him, and every one is as busy as can be from one year's end to another. It is called the Laughing Valley because everything there is happy and gay. The brook chuckles to itself as it leaps rollicking between its green banks; the wind whistles merrily in the... more...

A CHRISTMAS GREETING "Good Will Toward Men"—St. Luke 11-14. There was a time when the spirit of Christmas was of the present. There is a period when most of it is of the past. There shall come a day perhaps when all of it will be of the future. The child time, the present; the middle years, the past; old age, the future. Come to my mind Christmas Days of long ago. As a boy again I enter into the spirit of the Christmas stockings... more...


A TOAST TO SANTA CLAUS Whene'er I find a man who don'tBelieve in Santa Claus,And spite of all remonstrance won'tYield up to logic's laws,And see in things that lie aboutThe proof by no means dim,I straightway cut that fellow out,And don't believe in him. The good old Saint is everywhereAlong life's busy way.We find him in the very airWe breathe day after day—Where courtesy and kindlinessAnd love are joined together,To give to sorrow and... more...

I. An evening sky, broken by wandering clouds, which hastening onward toward the north, bear their rich gifts of longed-for rain to the brown meadows, filling the heavens from east to west with graceful lines and swelling bosoms, save, just at the horizon where the sun descended paints a broad, lurid streak of crimson, glowing amid the deepening shadows, a coal in dead, gray ashes. Darker grows the streak, as a stain of blood, while the clouds... more...

The Baby "A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM" The heavy perfume of rare blossoms, the wild strains of mad music, the patter of flying feet, the murmur of speech, the ring of laughter, filled the great hall. Now and again a pair of dancers, peculiarly graceful and particularly daring, held the center of the floor for a moment while the room rang with applause. Into alcoves, screened and flower-decked, couples wandered. In the dancing-space hands... more...

The maple-bordered street was as still as a country Sunday; so quiet that there seemed an echo to my footsteps. It was four o'clock in the morning; clear October moonlight misted through the thinning foliage to the shadowy sidewalk and lay like a transparent silver fog upon the house of my admiration, as I strode along, returning from my first night's work on the "Wainwright Morning Despatch." I had already marked that house as the finest (to my... more...

CHAPTER I MOLONEY'S It would be hard to find a pleasanter, more friendly-looking place in all Ardenoo than Moloney's of the Crooked Boreen, where Big Michael and the wife lived, a piece up from the high-road. And well might you call the little causey "crooked" that led to their door! for rough and stony that boreen was, twisting and winding along by the bog-side, this way and that way, the same as if it couldn't rightly make up its mind where... more...