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- Herausgeber: Zenith Evergreen Literary Co.
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
📚 Step into the enchanting world of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Tree, a heartwarming tale that captures the magic and wonder of Christmas through the eyes of a nostalgic narrator. This beautifully written story reflects on the joys of childhood and the cherished traditions of the holiday season. ✨ Dickens paints a vivid picture of a Christmas tree adorned with sparkling ornaments, toys, and trinkets, evoking memories of innocence and delight. As the narrator reminisces about the festive gatherings and the whimsical treasures of the past, readers are transported to a time of warmth, laughter, and togetherness. With its rich imagery and heartfelt reflections, A Christmas Tree is a timeless celebration of the spirit of Christmas. 🏆 Praised for its evocative prose and enduring charm, this story is a perfect read for the holiday season. Whether you're revisiting it or discovering it for the first time, A Christmas Tree is sure to fill your heart with joy and nostalgia. 👉 Don't wait! Click "Buy Now" to experience the magic of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Tree today! 📖🛒
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Seitenzahl: 32
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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A Christmas Tree
Charles Dickens
A Christmas Tree
I have been looking on, this evening, at a merry company of children assembled round that pretty German toy, a Christmas Tree. The tree was planted in the middle of a great round table, and towered high above their heads. It was brilliantly lighted by a multitude of little tapers; and everywhere sparkled and glittered with bright objects. There were rosy-cheeked dolls, hiding behind the green leaves; and there were real watches (with movable hands, at least, and an endless capacity of being wound up) dangling from innumerable twigs; there were French-polished tables, chairs, bedsteads, wardrobes, eight-day clocks, and various other articles of domestic furniture (wonderfully made, in tin, at Wolverhampton), perched among the boughs, as if in preparation for some fairy housekeeping; there were jolly, broad-faced little men, much more agreeable in appearance than many real men—and no wonder, for their heads took off, and showed them to be full of sugar-plums; there were fiddles and drums; there were tambourines, books, work-boxes, paint-boxes, sweetmeat-boxes, peep-show boxes, and all kinds of boxes; there were trinkets for the elder girls, far brighter than any grown-up gold and jewels; there were baskets and pincushions in all devices; there were guns, swords, and banners; there were witches standing in enchanted rings of pasteboard, to tell fortunes; there were teetotums, humming-tops, needle-cases, pen-wipers, smelling-bottles, conversation-cards, bouquet-holders; real fruit, made artificially dazzling with gold leaf; imitation apples, pears, and walnuts, crammed with surprises; in short, as a pretty child, before me, delightedly whispered to another pretty child, her bosom friend, “There was everything, and more.” This motley collection of odd objects, clustering on the tree like magic fruit, and flashing back the bright looks directed towards it from every side—some of the diamond-eyes admiring it were hardly on a level with the table, and a few were languishing in timid wonder on the bosoms of pretty mothers, aunts, and nurses—made a lively realisation of the fancies of childhood; and set me thinking how all the trees that grow and all the things that come into existence on the earth, have their wild adornments at that well-remembered time.
Being now at home again, and alone, the only person in the house awake, my thoughts are drawn back, by a fascination which I do not care to resist, to my own childhood. I begin to consider, what do we all remember best upon the branches of the Christmas Tree of our own young Christmas days, by which we climbed to real life.
Straight, in the middle of the room, cramped in the freedom of its growth by no encircling walls or soon-reached ceiling, a shadowy tree arises; and, looking up into the dreamy brightness of its top— for I observe in this tree the singular property that it appears to grow downward towards the earth—I look into my youngest Christmas recollections!
