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A Christmas carol Charles DICKENS - Pitbook.com

A Christmas carol Charles DICKENS - Pitbook.com

have aught to teach me,

have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.'`Touch my robe.'Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game,poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies,puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So didthe room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, andthey stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where(for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, butbrisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping thesnow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, andfrom the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delightto the boys to see it come plumping down into the roadbelow, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.The house fronts looked black enough, and the windowsblacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snowupon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground;which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrowsby the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows thatcrossed and recrossed each other hundreds of times wherethe great streets branched off; and made intricatechannels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icywater. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets werechoked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen,whose heavier particles descended in shower of sootyatoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by oneconsent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dearhearts' content. There was nothing very cheerful in the

climate or the town, and yet was there an air ofcheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air andbrightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffusein vain.For, the people who were shovelling away on thehousetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to oneanother from the parapets, and now and then exchanginga facetious snowball -- better-natured missile far thanmany a wordy jest, laughing heartily if it went right andnot less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shopswere still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant intheir glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets ofchestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly oldgentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into thestreet in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy,brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Friars, and winkingfrom their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as theywent by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe.There were pears and apples, clustered high in bloomingpyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in theshopkeepers' benevolence to dangle from conspicuoushooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as theypassed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown,recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among thewoods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep throughwithered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab andswarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons,and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons,

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