Genre - Fiction. You are on the page - 301

iginal Dutch settlers. Many ceremonies and customs, relics of aruder age, and now nearly forgotten, were still practised. TheRaymonds, although pious, and more intelligent than most of theirneighbours, kept up many of the usages of Fatherland on the Christmasoccasion, perhaps more as wafting them back in remembrance of earlyenjoyment in the home circle, than from any present love of thefestivity common at this period.The joyful season drew nigh merrily, and in the watchmaker's family,as in all

e race has, in general, attainedthrough centuries of experience and moralising. The story becomes aninescapable part of the outfit of received ideas on manners and moralswhich is a necessary possession of the heir of civilisation.Children do not object to these stories in the least, if the stories aregood ones. They accept them with the relish which nature seems ever tohave for all truly nourishing material. And the little tales are one ofthe media through which we elders may transmit some very

d as though thegolden floor of heaven had come to rest upon earth. The path, withits sentinel trees, led straight as a rod to a distant house, longand low, surrounded by a vine-covered veranda. There were strange,sweet smells in the air, which felt soft and warm. The sky wasbrilliantly blue, and on the fence across the road a gorgeous parrotsat preening its feathers in the sunshine.Mollie looked about her with curious eyes, wondering where she was.Not in England, of that she was sure--there was

at these good folk meant any harm, quite the contrary, they took the girl for the good of her health and her soul.It so happened that Sal did not know the meaning of the word soul, but it was explained to her. She thought it curious that a certain portion of her body when she died would go to regions far away. If she happened to be good her soul would revel above the blue sky in unrestricted freedom for evermore; if she by any chance turned out badly--well, there was another place where her

now the Inns as Dickens knew them, let us accompany Mr. Pickwick to the Magpie and Stump in search of Mr. Lowten, Mr. Perker's clerk."Is Mr. Lowten here, ma'am?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. "Yes, he is, sir," replied the landlady. "Here, Charley, show the gentleman in to Mr. Lowten." "The gen'lm'n can't go in just now," said a shambling pot-boy, with a red head, "'cos Mr. Lowten's singin' a comic song, and he'll put him out. He'll be done d'rectly,