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  • In the depths of winter's despair, where

  • darkness reigns and spirits linger,

  • we invite you to venture into the

  • chilling world of...

  • A Christmas Carol.

  • 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 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 doornail.

  • "I don't mean to say that I know of my

  • own knowledge what there is particularly

  • dead about a doornail. I might have been

  • inclined myself to

  • regard a coffin-nail as

  • the deadest piece of iron-mongery in the

  • trade. But the wisdom of our

  • ancestors is in the simile,

  • and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb

  • it, or the countries done

  • for. You will, therefore,

  • permit me to repeat, emphatically, that

  • Marley was as dead as a doornail."

  • Scrooge knew he was dead. Of course he

  • did. How could it be

  • otherwise? Scrooge and he were

  • partners for "I don't know how many

  • years." Scrooge was his sole executor,

  • his sole administrator,

  • his sole assign, his sole residuary

  • legatee, his sole

  • friend, and sole mourner.

  • And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully

  • cut up by the sad event, but

  • that he was an excellent man

  • of business on the very day of the

  • funeral, and solemnized it

  • with an undoubted bargain.

  • The mention of Marley's funeral brings me

  • back to the point I started

  • from. There is no doubt that

  • Marley was dead. This must be distinctly

  • understood, or nothing

  • wonderful can come of the story I am

  • going to relate. If we were not perfectly

  • convinced that Hamlet's father died

  • before the play began,

  • there would be nothing more remarkable in

  • his taking a stroll at

  • night, in an easterly wind,

  • upon his own ramparts, than there would

  • be in any other middle-aged

  • gentleman rashly turning out

  • after dark in a breezy spot, say St.

  • Paul's churchyard, for instance,

  • literally to astonish his

  • son's weak mind. Scrooge never painted

  • out old Marley's name. There

  • it stood, years afterwards,

  • above the warehouse door. Scrooge and

  • Marley. The firm was

  • known as Scrooge and Marley.

  • Sometimes people knew to the business

  • called Scrooge Scrooge,

  • and sometimes Marley, but he

  • answered to both names. It was all the

  • same to him. Oh, but he was a

  • tight-fisted hand at the

  • grindstone, Scrooge, a squeezing,

  • wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching,

  • covetous old sinner,

  • hard and sharp as flint, from which no

  • steel had ever struck out generous fire,

  • generous fire, secret and

  • secret and self-contained and solitary as

  • an oyster. The cold within

  • him froze his old features,

  • features, nipped his

  • nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his

  • cheek, stiffened his gait,

  • stiffened his gait, made his eyes red,

  • made his eyes red, his thin

  • his thin lips blue, and

  • lips blue, and spoke out shrewdly in his

  • grating voice. A frosty

  • rhyme was on his head and on his

  • eyebrows and his wiry chin. He carried

  • his own low temperature

  • always about with him.

  • about with him. He iced

  • He iced his office in the dog days and

  • didn't thaw at one degree at Christmas.

  • didn't thaw at one degree at Christmas.

  • Christmas. External heat and cold had

  • External heat and cold had little

  • influence on Scrooge. No warmth could

  • warm, no wintry weather

  • could warm, no wintry weather

  • chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer

  • than he. No falling snow was

  • more intent upon its purpose.

  • purpose, no pelting rain less

  • No pelting rain less open to entreaty.

  • open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't

  • Foul weather didn't know where to have

  • him. The heaviest rain

  • heaviest rain and snow and hail

  • and snow and hail and sleet could boast

  • of the advantage over

  • him in only one respect.

  • over him in only one respect. They often

  • They often came down handsomely, and

  • Scrooge never did. Nobody ever stopped

  • him in the street to say

  • to say with gladsome looks,

  • with gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge,

  • "My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will

  • how are you? When will you

  • come to see me?" No beggars

  • implored him to bestow a trifle. No

  • children asked him what it

  • was a clock no man or woman

  • a clock no man or woman

  • ever once in all his life

  • ever once in all his life inquired the

  • way to such and such a

  • place of Scrooge. Even the blind

  • men's dogs appeared to know him, and when

  • they saw him coming on

  • would tug their owners into

  • doorways and up courts, and then would

  • wag their tails as though they said, "No

  • eye at all is better

  • than an evil eye, dark master." But what

  • did Scrooge care? It was the very thing

  • he liked. To edge his

  • way along the crowded paths of life,

  • of life, warning all human sympathy to

  • warning all human sympathy to keep its

  • distance, was what the

  • knowing one's call nuts to Scrooge. Once

  • upon a time, of all the good

  • days in the year on Christmas

  • year on Christmas Eve,

  • eve, old Scrooge sat busy in his counting

  • house. It was cold,

  • bleak, biting weather,

  • bleak, biting weather,

  • foggy withal, and he could hear the

  • people in the court

  • outside go wheezing up and down,

  • beating their hands upon their breasts

  • and stamping their feet upon the pavement

  • stones to warm them.

  • stones to warm them.

  • The city clocks had only just gone three,

  • but it was quite dark

  • already. It had not been light

  • already. It had not been light all

  • all day, and candles were flaring in the

  • windows of the neighboring

  • offices like ruddy smears upon

  • the palpable brown air. The fog came

  • pouring in at every chink and keyhole,

  • pouring in at every chink and keyhole and

  • and was so dense without

  • that, although the court was of the

  • narrowest, the house's opposite were mere

  • phantoms. To see the

  • dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring

  • everything, one might have thought that

  • nature lived hard by

  • and was brewing on a large scale. The

  • door of Scrooge's counting

  • house was open, that he might

  • keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a

  • dismal little cell beyond, a sort of

  • tank, was copying letters.

  • Scrooge had a very small fire, but the

  • clerk's fire was so very much smaller

  • that it looked like one

  • coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for

  • Scrooge kept the coal box in

  • his own room, and so surely

  • as the clerk came in with the shovel, the

  • master predicted that it would be

  • necessary for them to

  • part. Wherefore the clerk put on his

  • white comforter and tried to

  • warm himself at the candle,

  • in which effort, not being a man of

  • strong imagination, he

  • failed. "A merry Christmas,

  • uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful

  • voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's

  • nephew, who came upon

  • him so quickly that this was the first

  • intimation he had of his

  • approach. "Bye!" said Scrooge.

  • "Bast," said Scrooge, "humbug!"

  • He had so heated himself with rapid

  • walking in the fog and

  • frost, this nephew of Scrooge's,

  • that he was all in a glow.

  • that he was all in a glow. His face was

  • His face was ruddy and handsome, his eyes

  • sparkled, and his breath smoked again.

  • again. "Christmas a hum--"

  • "Come then," returned the nephew gaily,

  • "what right have you to be dismal?

  • What reason have you to be morose?

  • You're rich enough."

  • Scrooge, having no better answer, ready

  • on the spur of the

  • moment, said, "Bah!" again,

  • and followed it up with "Humbug."

  • "Don't be cross, uncle," said the nephew.

  • "A Merry Christmas, uncle!

  • God save you!" cried a cheerful voice.

  • "What else can I be?" returned the uncle.

  • "When I live in such a

  • world of fools as this.

  • Merry Christmas, out

  • upon Merry Christmas!

  • What's Christmas time to you but a time

  • for paying bills without money?

  • A time for finding yourself a year older

  • and not an hour richer?

  • A time for balancing your books and

  • having every item in them

  • through a round dozen of

  • months presented dead against you?

  • If I could work my will,"

  • said Scrooge indignantly.

  • Every idiot who goes about with "Merry

  • Christmas" on his lips

  • should be boiled with his own

  • pudding and buried with a

  • stake of holly through his heart.

  • He should.

  • "Uncle!"

  • "Uncle!"

  • pleaded the nephew.

  • pleaded the nephew.

  • "Nephew!" returned the uncle sternly.

  • "Keep Christmas in your own way and let

  • me keep it in mine."

  • "Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew.

  • "But you don't keep it."

  • "Let me leave it

  • alone then," said Scrooge.

  • "Much good may it do you.

  • Much good it has ever done you.

  • There are many things from which I might

  • have derived good, by

  • which I have not profited,

  • I dare say," returned the nephew,

  • Christmas among the rest.

  • "But I am sure I have always thought of

  • Christmas time when it has

  • come round, apart from the

  • veneration due to its sacred name and

  • origin, if anything

  • belonging to it can be apart from

  • that as a good time, a kind, forgiving,

  • charitable, pleasant time.

  • charitable, pleasant time,

  • charitable, pleasant time.

  • the only time I know of, in

  • the long calendar of the year when men

  • and women seem by one

  • consent to open their shut-up

  • hearts freely and to think of people

  • below them as if they

  • really were fellow passengers

  • really were fellow passengers to the

  • to the grave and not another race of

  • creatures bound on other journeys.

  • And therefore, uncle, though it has never

  • And therefore, uncle, though it has never

  • put a scrap of gold

  • or silver in my pocket,

  • I believe that it has done me good and

  • will do me good, and

  • I say, God bless it."

  • do me good, and I say, God bless it."

  • The clerk in the tank

  • involuntarily applauded.

  • Becoming immediately sensible of the

  • impropriety, he poked the fire and

  • extinguished the last

  • frail spark forever.

  • "Let me hear another sound from you,"

  • "Let me hear another sound from you,"

  • said Scrooge, "and

  • you'll keep your Christmas by

  • you'll keep your Christmas by

  • losing your situation.

  • You're quite a powerful speaker, sir," he

  • added, turning to his nephew.

  • "I wonder you don't go into Parliament."

  • "I wonder you don't go into Parliament.

  • Don't be angry, uncle.

  • "Don't be angry, uncle.

  • Don't be angry, uncle.

  • Come, dine with us tomorrow."

  • Scrooge said that he would see him.

  • Scrooge said that he would see him.

  • "Yes, indeed he did.

  • He went the whole length of the

  • expression and said that he

  • would see him in that extremity

  • first."

  • "But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew.

  • "But why?"

  • "But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew.

  • cried Scrooge's nephew.

  • "Why?

  • Why did you get married?" said Scrooge.

  • Why did you get married?" said Scrooge.

  • "Because I fell in love."

  • "Because you fell in love?" growled

  • Scrooge, as if that were

  • the only one thing in the

  • world more ridiculous

  • than a merry Christmas.

  • a Merry Christmas.

  • "Good afternoon."

  • "Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me

  • before that happened.

  • before that happened.

  • Why give it as a

  • reason for not coming now?"

  • "Good afternoon," said Scrooge.

  • "I want nothing from you.

  • I ask nothing of you.

  • Why cannot we be friends?"

  • "Good afternoon," said Scrooge.

  • "Good afternoon," said Scrooge.

  • "I am sorry, with all my

  • heart, to find you so resolute.

  • We have never had any quarrel

  • to which I have been a party.

  • But I have made the trial in homage to

  • But I have made the trial in homage to

  • Christmas, and I'll keep my

  • Christmas humor to the last.

  • So a merry Christmas, uncle."

  • So a Merry Christmas, uncle."

  • "Good afternoon," said

  • Scrooge, "and a happy new year."

  • "Good afternoon," said Scrooge.

  • His nephew left the room without an angry

  • word notwithstanding.

  • word notwithstanding.

  • He stopped at the outer door to bestow

  • the greetings of the

  • season on the clerk, who

  • cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge,

  • for he returned them cordially.

  • Are there no prisons? Ask Scrooge.

  • "Nothing," Scrooge replied.

  • and darkness thickened so that people ran

  • about with flaring

  • links, proffering their

  • services to go before horses in carriages

  • and conduct them on their way.

  • The ancient tower of a church, whose

  • gruff old bell was

  • always peeping slyly down its

  • scrooge out of a Gothic window in the

  • wall, became invisible

  • and struck the hours and

  • quarters in the clouds with tremulous

  • vibrations afterwards, as

  • if its teeth were chattering

  • in its frozen head up there.

  • The cold became intense.

  • In the main street, at the corner of the

  • court, some laborers

  • were repairing the gas pipes

  • and had lighted a great fire in a

  • brazier, round which a

  • party of ragged men and boys

  • were gathered, warming their hands and

  • winking their eyes

  • before the blaze in rapture.

  • The waterplug being left in solitude, its

  • overflowing suddenly congealed and turned

  • to misanthropic ice.

  • The brightness of the shops, where holly

  • sprigs and berries

  • crackled in the lamp heat

  • of the windows, made pale

  • faces ruddy as they passed.

  • Pulterers and grocer's trades became a

  • splendid joke, a glorious

  • pageant with which it was

  • next to impossible to believe that such

  • dull principles as

  • bargain and sale had anything

  • to do.

  • The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the

  • mighty mansion house, gave orders to the

  • Foggier yet and colder, piercing,

  • searching, biting cold, if

  • the good Saint Dunstan had

  • but nipped the evil spirit's nose with a

  • touch of such weather as that, instead of

  • using his familiar weapons, then indeed

  • he would have roared to lusty purpose.

  • The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed

  • and mumbled by the

  • hungry cold as bones are

  • gnawed by dogs, stooped down at Scrooge's

  • keyhole to regale him

  • with a Christmas carol.

  • But at the first sound of "God bless you,

  • merry gentlemen, may nothing you dismay,"

  • Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy

  • of action that the singer fled in terror,

  • leaving the keyhole to the fog and even

  • more congenial frost.

  • at the end of a lane of boys 20 times in

  • honor of its being Christmas Eve,

  • and then ran home to Camden Town as hard

  • as he could pelt to

  • play at Blind Man's Buff.

  • Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his

  • usual melancholy tavern,

  • and having read all the

  • newspapers and beguiled the rest of the

  • evening with his

  • banker's book, went home to bed.

  • He lived in chambers which had once

  • belonged to his deceased partner. They

  • were a gloomy suite of

  • rooms, in a lowering pile of building up

  • a yard, where it had so

  • little business to be,

  • that one could scarcely help, fancying it

  • must have run there,

  • when it was a young house,

  • playing at hide and seek with other

  • houses, and have forgotten

  • the way out again. It was old

  • enough now, and dreary enough, for nobody

  • lived in it but Scrooge,

  • the other rooms being all

  • let out as offices. The yard was so dark

  • that even Scrooge, who

  • knew its every stone,

  • was feigned to grope with his hands. The

  • fog and frost so hung about the black old

  • gateway of the house, that it seemed as

  • if the genius of the

  • weather sat in mournful

  • meditation on the threshold. Now it is a

  • fact that there was

  • nothing at all particular about

  • the knocker on the door, except that it

  • was very large. It is also a fact that

  • Scrooge had seen it,

  • night and morning, during his whole

  • residence in that place. Also, that

  • Scrooge had as little of

  • what is called fancy about him as any man

  • in the city of London, even

  • including, which is a bold

  • word, the corporation, aldermen, and

  • livery. Let it also be borne

  • in mind that Scrooge had not

  • bestowed one thought on Marley since his

  • last mention of his

  • seven years dead partner that

  • afternoon, and then let any man explain

  • to me, if he can, how it

  • happened that Scrooge, having his

  • key in the lock of the door, saw in the

  • knocker, without its undergoing any

  • intermediate process

  • of change. Not a knocker, but Marley's

  • face. Marley's face. It was not an

  • impenetrable shadow,

  • as the other objects in the yard were,

  • but had a dismal light

  • about it, like a bad lobster in

  • a dark cellar. It was not angry or

  • ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as

  • Marley used to look,

  • with ghostly spectacles turned up on its

  • with ghostly spectacles turned up on its

  • ghostly forehead. The hair

  • was curiously stirred, as if

  • by breath of hot air, and though the eyes

  • were wide open, they were

  • perfectly motionless. That,

  • and its livid color, made it horrible,

  • and its livid color, made it horrible,

  • but its horror seemed to

  • but its horror seemed to

  • be in spite of the face and

  • beyond its control, rather than a part of

  • its own expression. As

  • Scrooge looked fixedly at this

  • phenomenon, it was a knocker again. To

  • say that he was not

  • startled, or that his blood was not

  • conscious of a terrible sensation, to

  • which it had been a stranger from

  • infancy, would be untrue.

  • infancy, would be untrue.

  • But he put his hand upon the key he had

  • relinquished, turned

  • it sturdily, walked in,

  • and lighted his candle. He did pause,

  • and lighted his candle. He did pause with

  • with a moment's

  • irresolution, before he shut the door,

  • and he did look cautiously behind it

  • first, as if he half expected to be

  • terrified with the sight

  • of Marley's pigtail sticking out into the

  • hall. But there was

  • nothing on the back of the door,

  • except the screws and nuts that held the

  • knocker on. So he said, "Poo-poo."

  • "Sitting room, bedroom,

  • lumber room, all as they should be.

  • Nobody under the table, nobody under the

  • sofa, a small fire in

  • the grate, spoon and basin

  • ready, and the little saucepan of gruel.

  • Scrooge had a cold in his head, upon the

  • hob, nobody under the

  • bed, nobody in the closet,

  • nobody in his dressing gown, which was

  • hanging up in a suspicious

  • attitude against the wall.

  • Scrooge had a room as usual, old fire

  • guard, old shoes, two

  • fish baskets, washing stand

  • on three legs, and a poker.

  • Quite satisfied."

  • Angelic messengers descending through the

  • air on clouds like feather beds,

  • Abrahams, Belchazers, apostles, putting

  • off to sea in butterboats,

  • hundreds of figures to

  • attract his thoughts.

  • And yet that face of

  • Marley, seven years dead,

  • came like the ancient prophet's rod and

  • swallowed up the whole.

  • If each smooth tile had

  • been a blank at first,

  • with power to shape

  • some picture on its surface

  • from the disjointed

  • fragments of his thoughts,

  • there would have been a copy of old

  • Marley's head on everyone.

  • "Humbug," said Scrooge,

  • and walked across the room.

  • Without a pause, it came on through the

  • heavy door and passed into

  • the room before his eyes.

  • Upon its coming in, the dying flame

  • lapped up as though it

  • cried, "I know him, Marley's

  • ghost!" and fell again.

  • The same face, the very same.

  • Marley in his pigtail, usual

  • waistcoat, tights and boots.

  • tights and boots, the

  • The tassels on the ladder bristling like

  • his pigtail and his coat

  • skirts and the hair upon

  • his head.

  • The chain he drew was

  • clasped about his middle.

  • It was long and wound about him like a

  • It was long and wound about him like a

  • tail and it was made, for Scrooge

  • observed it closely,

  • of cash boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers,

  • deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel.

  • His body was transparent, so that

  • Scrooge, observing him and looking

  • through his waistcoat,

  • could see the two

  • buttons on his coat behind.

  • Scrooge had often heard it said that

  • Marley had no bowels,

  • Marley had no bowels,

  • but he had never believed

  • but he had never believed

  • it until now.

  • it until now.

  • No.

  • Nor did he believe it even now.

  • Though he looked the phantom through and

  • through and saw it

  • standing before him, though he

  • felt the chilling influence of its

  • death-cold eyes and marked the very

  • texture of the folded

  • kerchief bound about its head and chin,

  • which wrapper he had not

  • observed before, he was

  • still incredulous and

  • fought against his senses.

  • "How now?" said Scrooge,

  • caustic and cold as ever.

  • "What do you want with me?"

  • "Much," Marley's voice no doubt about it.

  • "You don't believe in

  • me," observed the ghost.

  • "I don't," said Scrooge.

  • "What evidence would you have of my

  • reality beyond that of your own senses?"

  • "I don't know," said Scrooge.

  • "Why do you doubt your senses?"

  • "Because," said Scrooge, "a

  • little thing affects them.

  • A slight disorder of the

  • stomach makes them cheats.

  • You may be an undigested bit of beef, a

  • blot of mustard, a

  • crumb of cheese, a fragment

  • of an underdone potato.

  • There's more of gravy than of grave about

  • you, whatever you are."

  • Scrooge was not much in the habit of--

  • For the specter's voice disturbed the

  • very marrow in his bones.

  • very marrow in his bones.

  • Sit staring at those fixed glazed eyes in

  • silence for a moment

  • would play, Scrooge felt,

  • the very deuce with him.

  • the very deuce with him. There was

  • There was something very awful, too, in

  • the specter's being

  • provided with an infernal

  • an infernal atmosphere of his own.

  • atmosphere of his own.

  • an infernal atmosphere of his own.

  • Scrooge could not feel it himself, but

  • this was clearly the case.

  • For though the ghost sat perfectly

  • motionless, its hair and

  • skirts and tassels were still

  • agitated as by the

  • hot vapor from an oven.

  • oven. "You see this

  • "You see this toothpick?" said Scrooge,

  • returning quickly to the

  • charge for the reason just

  • reason just assigned, and

  • assigned, and wishing, though it were

  • only for a second, to

  • divert the vision's stony

  • gaze from himself.

  • "I do," replied the ghost.

  • "I do," replied the ghost.

  • "You are not looking at it," said

  • "You are not looking

  • at it," said Scrooge.

  • Scrooge. "But I see it,"

  • "But I see it," said the

  • ghost, notwithstanding.

  • "Well," returned Scrooge, "I have but to

  • "Well," returned Scrooge, "I have but to

  • swallow this, and be

  • for the rest of my days

  • the rest of my days persecuted

  • persecuted by a legion of

  • goblins, all of my own creation.

  • creation. Humbug, I tell you, humbug."

  • Humbug, I tell you, humbug."

  • At this the spirit raised a frightful cry

  • and shook its chain

  • with such a dismal and

  • such a dismal and appalling

  • appalling noise that Scrooge held on

  • tight to his chair, to

  • save himself from falling

  • in a swoon.

  • from falling in a swoon.

  • But how much greater was his horror when

  • the phantom, taking

  • off the bandage round his

  • head as if it were too warm to wear

  • indoors, its lower jaw

  • dropped down upon its breast.

  • down upon its breast.

  • Scrooge fell upon his knees and clasped

  • his hands before his face.

  • his hands before his face.

  • "Mercy," he said, "dreadful apparition.

  • Why do you trouble me?"

  • "Man of the worldly mind," replied the

  • "Man of the worldly

  • mind," replied the ghost.

  • ghost. "Do you believe in me or not?"

  • "Do you believe in me or not?"

  • "I do," said Scrooge.

  • "I do," said Scrooge. "I must. But why do

  • "I must.

  • "I do," said Scrooge. "I must. But why do

  • But why do spirits walk the earth, and

  • why do they come to me?"

  • and why do they come to me?"

  • "It is required of every man," the ghost

  • returned, "that the spirit

  • within him should walk abroad

  • among his fellow men,

  • among his fellow men, and travel far and

  • and travel far and wide.

  • wide. And if that spirit

  • And if that spirit goes not forth in

  • life, it is condemned

  • to do so after death.

  • it is condemned to do so after death. It

  • It is doomed to wander through the world,

  • through the world, oh, woe is me,

  • O woe is me, and

  • witness what it cannot share

  • and witness what it cannot share, but

  • but might have shared on

  • earth and turned to happiness."

  • Again the spectre raised a cry and shook

  • Again the spectre raised a cry and shook

  • its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.

  • "You are fettered," said Scrooge,

  • "You are fettered,"

  • "You are fettered," said Scrooge,

  • said Scrooge, trembling.

  • trembling. "Tell me why."

  • "Tell me why."

  • "I wear the chain I forged

  • in life," replied the ghost.

  • replied the ghost. "I made it link by

  • "I made it link by link, and yard by

  • yard, I girded it on of my own free will,

  • I girded it on of my own free will, and

  • and of my own free will I wore it.

  • of my own free will I wore it. Is its

  • Is its pattern strange to you?"

  • patterns strange to you?"

  • Scrooge trembled more and more.

  • Scrooge trembled more and more. "Or would

  • "Or would you know," pursued the ghost,

  • "the weight and length of the

  • "the weight and length of the

  • strong coil you bear yourself?

  • strong coil you bear yourself. It was

  • It was full as heavy, and as long as this

  • seven Christmas eaves ago.

  • eaves ago. You have laboured on it since.

  • You have labored on it

  • since. It is a ponderous chain."

  • It is a ponderous chain."

  • Scrooge glanced about him on

  • Scrooge glanced about him on the floor in

  • the expectation of

  • finding himself surrounded by

  • some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron

  • cable, but he could see nothing.

  • cable, but he could see nothing. "Jacob,"

  • "Jacob," he said imploringly.

  • he said imploringly. "Old

  • "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak

  • comfort to me, Jacob."

  • Speak comfort to me, Jacob." "I have none

  • "I have none to give," the ghost replied.

  • replied. "It comes from other

  • "It comes from other regions," Ebenezer

  • Scrooge, "and is

  • conveyed by other ministers

  • ministers to other kinds of men.

  • to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you

  • what I would. A very little

  • more is all permitted to me.

  • I cannot rest. I cannot stay. I cannot

  • linger anywhere. My

  • spirit never walked beyond our

  • counting house. Mark me. In life, my

  • spirit never roved beyond

  • the narrow limits of our

  • money-changing whole, and

  • weary journeys lie before me."

  • and weary journeys lie before me." It was

  • It was a habit with Scrooge whenever he

  • became thoughtful to put

  • his hands in his breeches

  • pockets, pondering on what the ghost had

  • said he did so now, but

  • without lifting up his eyes or

  • getting off his knees. "You must have

  • getting off his knees. "You must have

  • been very slow about it,

  • Jacob," Scrooge observed in a

  • businesslike manner, though with humility

  • and deference.

  • "Slow," the ghost repeated.

  • "Slow," the ghost repeated. "Seven years

  • "Seven years dead," mused Scrooge, "and

  • traveling all the time."

  • "The whole time," said the ghost. "No

  • "The whole time," said the ghost. "No

  • rest, no peace,

  • rest, no peace,

  • incessant torture of remorse."

  • incessant torture of remorse."

  • "You travel fast?" said Scrooge. "On the

  • wings of the wind," replied the ghost.

  • "You might have got over a great quantity

  • of ground in seven years," said Scrooge.

  • of ground in seven years," said Scrooge.

  • The ghost, on hearing this, set up

  • another cry and clanked its chain so

  • hideously in the dead

  • silence of the night that the ward would

  • have been justified in

  • indicting it for a nuisance.

  • "Oh, captive, bound, and double-ironed,"

  • cried the phantom. Not to

  • know that ages of incessant labor

  • by immortal creatures for this earth must

  • pass into eternity

  • before the good of which it is

  • before the good of which it is

  • susceptible is all developed. Not to know

  • that any Christian spirit

  • working kindly in its little

  • sphere, whatever it may be, will find its

  • mortal life too short for

  • its vast means of usefulness.

  • Not to know that no space of regret can

  • make amends for one

  • life's opportunities misused.

  • Yet such was I. Oh, such was I. But you

  • Yet such was I. Oh, such was I. "But you

  • were always a good man of

  • business, Jacob," faltered

  • faltered Scrooge, who now

  • Scrooge, who now began to apply this to

  • himself. "Business!" cried

  • the ghost, wringing its hands

  • again. "Mankind was my business. The

  • common welfare was my

  • business. Charity, mercy, forbearance,

  • and benevolence were all my business. The

  • dealings of my trade were

  • but a drop of water in the

  • comprehensive ocean of my business." It

  • held up its chain at arm's

  • length, as if that were the

  • if that were the cause of

  • cause of all its unavailing grief, and

  • flung it heavily upon the

  • ground again. At this time of

  • the rolling year, the specter said, "I

  • suffer most. Why did I walk through

  • crowds of fellow beings

  • with my eyes turned down,

  • with my eyes turned down, and never raise

  • them to that blessed star

  • which led the wise men to a

  • wise men to a poor abode?

  • poor abode? Were there no poor homes to

  • which its light would have conducted me?"

  • light would have conducted me?"

  • Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear

  • the specter going on at

  • this rate, and began to quake

  • exceedingly. "Hear me!" cried the ghost.

  • "My time is nearly gone."

  • "My time is nearly gone." "I

  • will," said Scrooge. "But don't

  • be hard upon me. Don't be flowery, Jacob.

  • flowery, Jacob. Pray."

  • Pray. How it is that I

  • appear before you in a shape that

  • you can see, I may not tell. I have sat

  • invisible beside you

  • many and many a day."

  • many a day." It was

  • It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge

  • shivered and wiped the

  • perspiration from his brow.

  • "That is no light part of my penance,"

  • "That is no light part of my penance,"

  • pursued the ghost. "I am here

  • tonight to warn you that you

  • have yet a chance and hope of escaping my

  • fate, a chance and hope

  • of my procuring Ebenezer."

  • "You were always a good friend to me,"

  • said Scrooge. "Thank ye."

  • said Scrooge. "Thank ye."

  • "You will be haunted," resumed

  • the ghost, "by three spirits."

  • Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low

  • as the ghosts had done.

  • "Is that the chance and hope you

  • mentioned, Jacob?" he demanded in a

  • faltering voice. "It is."

  • "It is. I—I think I'd

  • "I—I think I'd rather not," said

  • Scrooge. "Without their

  • visits," said the ghost,

  • "you cannot hope to shun the path I

  • tread. Expect the first

  • tomorrow when the bell tolls one."

  • tolls one. Couldn't I take

  • "Couldn't I take them all at once and

  • have it over, Jacob?" hinted Scrooge.

  • it over, Jacob?" hinted Scrooge. "Expect

  • "Expect the second on the next night at

  • the same hour. The third upon

  • the next night when the last

  • stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate.

  • Look to see me no more, and look that,

  • Look to see me no more and

  • look that for your own sake

  • for your own sake, you

  • you remember what has passed between us."

  • When it had said these words, the spectre

  • When it had said these

  • words, the spectre took its

  • took its wrapper from the

  • wrapper from the table and bound it round

  • its head as before.

  • head as before. Scrooge knew this by the

  • Scrooge knew this by the smart

  • sound its teeth made when the jaws were

  • brought together by the bandage. He

  • ventured to raise his

  • eyes again and found his supernatural

  • visitor confronting him in

  • an erect attitude, with its

  • chain wound over and about its arm. The

  • apparition walked backward from him and

  • at every step it took,

  • step it took, the window

  • the window raised itself a little so that

  • when the spectre reached it,

  • when the spectre reached it, it was wide

  • it was wide open. It beckoned

  • Scrooge to approach, which he did. When

  • they were within two paces

  • of each other, Marley's ghost

  • other, Marley's ghost held up its hand,

  • held up its hand, warning him to come no

  • nearer. Scrooge stopped,

  • stopped, not so much in

  • not so much in obedience as in

  • surprise and fear, for on the raising of

  • the hand he became sensible

  • of confused noises in the air,

  • incoherent sounds of lamentation and

  • regret, wailings inexpressibly sorrowful

  • and self-accusatory.

  • The spectre, after listening for a

  • moment, joined in the mournful dirge and

  • floated out upon the bleak

  • bleak dark night. Scrooge followed to the

  • dark night. Scrooge followed to the

  • window, desperate in his

  • curiosity. He looked out.

  • curiosity. He looked out. The air

  • The air was filled with phantoms,

  • was filled with phantoms, wandering

  • wandering hither and thither in restless

  • haste and moaning as they

  • moaning as they went.

  • went. Every one of them wore chains like

  • Marley's ghost. Some few, they might be

  • they might be guilty governments,

  • guilty governments, were linked together.

  • were linked together. None were free.

  • None were free. Many had

  • been personally known to

  • Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite

  • familiar with one old ghost

  • in a white waistcoat, with a

  • monstrous iron safe attached to its

  • ankle, who cried piteously at being

  • unable to assist a wretched

  • wretched woman with an

  • woman with an infant whom it saw below

  • upon a doorstep. The misery

  • with them all was, clearly,

  • was, clearly, that they

  • that they sought to interfere for good in

  • human matters and had

  • lost the power forever.

  • power forever. Whether these

  • Whether these creatures faded into mist

  • or mist enshrouded them, he

  • could not tell. But they and

  • their spirit voices faded together and

  • the night became as it had

  • been when he walked home.

  • been when he walked home.

  • Scrooge closed the window and examined

  • the door by which the ghost had entered.

  • It was double-locked

  • It was double locked

  • as he had locked it with his own hands

  • and the bolts were

  • undisturbed. He tried to say humbug,

  • but stopped at the first syllable, and

  • but stopped at the first syllable. And

  • being, from the emotion he

  • had undergone, or the fatigues

  • of the day, or his glimpse of the

  • invisible world, or the

  • dull conversation of the ghost,

  • conversation of the ghost, or the

  • or the lateness of the hour much in need

  • of repose, went straight

  • to bed without undressing

  • undressing and fell asleep

  • and fell asleep upon the instant.

  • When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark that

  • looking out of bed, he could scarcely

  • distinguish the transparent window from

  • the opaque walls of his chamber.

  • He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness

  • with his ferret eyes when the chimes of a

  • neighboring church

  • struck the four quarters.

  • quarters, so he listened for the hower.

  • So he listened for the hour.

  • To his great astonishment, the heavy bell

  • To his great astonishment, the heavy bell

  • went on from six to seven and from seven

  • to eight and regularly up

  • to twelve, then stopped.

  • Twelve.

  • Twelve.

  • It was past two when he went to bed.

  • It was past two when he went to bed.

  • The clock was wrong.

  • An icicle must have gotten to the works.

  • An icicle must have gotten to the works.

  • Twelve.

  • He touched the spring of his repeater to

  • He touched the spring of his repeater to

  • correct this most preposterous clock.

  • Its rapid little pulse

  • Its rapid little pulse

  • beat twelve and stopped.

  • "Why, it isn't possible," said Scrooge,

  • "that I can have slept through a whole

  • day and far into another night.

  • It isn't possible that anything has

  • happened to the sun.

  • happened to the sun, and

  • And this is twelve at noon."

  • The idea being an alarming one, he

  • The idea being an alarming one, he

  • scrambled out of bed and

  • groped his way to the window.

  • He was obliged to rub the frost off with

  • the sleeve of his dressing gown before he

  • could see anything and

  • could see very little then.

  • All he could make out was that it was

  • still very foggy and extremely cold and

  • that there was no noise of people running

  • to and fro and making a great stir,

  • and making a great stir,

  • as there unquestionably

  • as there unquestionably would have been

  • if night had beaten off bright day and

  • taken possession of the world.

  • This was a great relief because three

  • This was a great relief because three

  • days after sight of this first of

  • exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge on

  • his order and so forth

  • so forth would have

  • would have become a mere United States

  • security if there

  • were no days to count by.

  • Scrooge went to bed again and thought and

  • thought and thought it over and over and

  • could make nothing of it.

  • The more he thought, the more perplexed

  • he was and the more he endeavored not to

  • think, the more he thought.

  • Marley's ghost bothered him exceedingly.

  • Every time he resolved within himself

  • after mature inquiry that it was all a

  • dream, his mind flew back again,

  • like a strong spring released to its

  • first position and presented the same

  • problem to be worked all through.

  • Was it a dream or not?

  • Scrooge lay in this state until the chime

  • had gone three quarters more when he

  • remembered on a sudden that the ghost had

  • warned him of a

  • visitation when the bell told one.

  • He resolved to lie awake until the hour

  • was passed and considering that he could

  • no more go to sleep than go to heaven,

  • this was perhaps the

  • wisest resolution in his power.

  • The quarter was so long that he was more

  • than once convinced he must have sunk

  • into a doze

  • unconsciously and missed the clock.

  • At length, it broke

  • upon his listening ear.

  • A quarter passed, said Scrooge, counting.

  • "Ding-dong!"

  • "A quarter to it," said Scrooge.

  • "Ding-dong!"

  • "The hour itself," said Scrooge

  • triumphantly, "and nothing else."

  • He spoke before the hour bell sounded,

  • which it now did with a

  • deep, dull, hollow melancholy

  • one.

  • Light flashed up in the room upon the

  • instant, and the

  • curtains of his bed were drawn.

  • The curtains of his bed were drawn aside,

  • I tell you, by a hand.

  • Not the curtains at his feet, nor the

  • curtains at his back, but

  • those to which his face was

  • addressed.

  • The curtains of his bed were drawn aside,

  • and Scrooge, starting

  • up into a half-recumbent

  • attitude, found himself face to face with

  • the unearthly visitor who drew them.

  • "As close to it as I am now to you, and I

  • am standing in the spirit at your elbow."

  • It was a strange figure, like a child,

  • yet not so like a child

  • as like an old man, viewed

  • through some supernatural medium which

  • gave him the appearance

  • of having receded from

  • the view and being diminished to a

  • child's proportions.

  • Its hair, which hung about its neck and

  • down its back, was white

  • as if with age, and yet

  • the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the

  • tenderest bloom was on the skin.

  • The arms were very long and muscular, the

  • hands the same as if

  • its hold were of uncommon

  • strength.

  • Its legs and feet, most delicately

  • formed, were, like

  • those upper members, bare.

  • It wore a tunic of the purest white, and

  • round its waist was bound

  • a lustrous belt, the sheen

  • of which was beautiful.

  • It held a branch of fresh green holly in

  • its hand, and, in

  • singular contradiction of that

  • wintry emblem, had its dress

  • trimmed with summer flowers.

  • But the strangest thing about it was,

  • that from the crown of

  • its head there sprung a

  • bright clear jet of light by which all

  • this was visible, and which

  • was doubtless the occasion

  • of its using in its duller moments, a

  • great extinguisher for a

  • cap which it now held under

  • its arm.

  • In this, though, when Scrooge looked at

  • it with increasing

  • steadiness, was not its strangest

  • quality.

  • For as its belt sparkled and glittered

  • now in one part, and

  • now in another, and what

  • was light one instant, at another time

  • was dark, so the figure

  • itself fluctuated in its

  • distinctness, being now a thing with one

  • arm, now with one leg,

  • now with twenty legs, now

  • a pair of legs without a head, now a head

  • without a body, of

  • which, dissolving parts,

  • no outline would be visible in the dense

  • gloom wherein they

  • melted away, and in the very

  • wonder of this, it would be itself again,

  • distinct and clear as ever.

  • "Are you the spirit, sir, whose coming

  • was foretold to me?" asked Scrooge.

  • "I am."

  • The voice was soft and gentle, singularly

  • low, as if instead of

  • being so close beside

  • him, it were at a distance.

  • "Who and what are you?"

  • Scrooge demanded.

  • and country road with fields on either

  • hand. The city had

  • entirely vanished. Not a vestige

  • of it was to be seen. The darkness and

  • the mist had vanished

  • with it, for it was a clear,

  • cold winter day with

  • snow upon the ground.

  • "Good heaven," said Scrooge, clasping his

  • hands together as he looked about him. "I

  • was bred in this

  • place. I was a boy here."

  • The spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its

  • gentle touch, though it had

  • been light and instantaneous,

  • appeared still present to the old man's

  • sense of feeling. He was

  • conscious of a thousand

  • odors floating in the air, each one

  • connected with a thousand

  • thoughts and hopes and joys

  • and cares long, long forgotten.

  • "Your lip is trembling," said the ghost.

  • "And what is that upon your cheek?"

  • Scrooge muttered, with an unusual

  • catching in his voice, that

  • it was a pimple and begged

  • the ghost to lead him where he would.

  • "You recollect the

  • way," inquired the spirit.

  • "Remember it!" cried Scrooge with

  • fervour. "I could walk it blindfold."

  • "Strange to have forgotten it for so many

  • years," observed the

  • ghost. "Let us go on."

  • They walked along the road, Scrooge

  • recognizing every gate and

  • post and tree until a little

  • market town appeared in the distance with

  • its bridge, its church and winding river.

  • Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting

  • towards them with boys

  • upon their backs, who

  • called to other boys in country gigs and

  • carts driven by

  • farmers. All these boys were in

  • great spirits and shouted to each other

  • until the broad fields

  • were so full of merry music

  • that the crisp air laughed to hear it.

  • These are but shadows of the things that

  • have been," said the ghost. "They have no

  • consciousness of us."

  • The Jokun travelers came on, and as they

  • came, Scrooge knew and

  • named them everyone. Why

  • was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see

  • them? Why did his cold

  • eye glisten and his heart

  • leap up as they went past? Why was he

  • filled with gladness

  • when he heard them give each

  • other merry Christmas as they parted at

  • crossroads and byways for

  • their several homes? What

  • was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon

  • merry Christmas, what

  • good had it ever done to him?

  • "The school is not quite deserted," said

  • the ghost. "A solitary

  • child, neglected by his

  • friends, is left there still." Scrooge

  • said he knew it, and he sobbed.

  • They left the highroad by a

  • well-remembered lane and soon

  • approached a mansion of dull

  • red brick with a little weathercock

  • surmounted cupola on the

  • roof and a bell hanging in it.

  • It was a large house, but one of broken

  • fortunes, for the spacious

  • offices were little used,

  • their walls were damp and mossy, their

  • windows broken and their

  • gates decayed. Fowls clucked

  • and strutted in the stables, and the

  • coachhouses and sheds were overrun with

  • grass. Nor was it more

  • retentive of its ancient state within,

  • for entering the dreary

  • hall and glancing through

  • the open doors of many rooms, they found

  • them poorly furnished,

  • cold and vast. There was an

  • earthy savour in the air, a chilly

  • bareness in the place, which associated

  • itself somehow with too

  • much getting up by candlelight and not

  • too much to eat. They went,

  • the ghost and Scrooge, across

  • the hall, to a door at the back of the

  • house. It opened before them and

  • disclosed a long, bare,

  • melancholy room, made barer still by

  • lines of plain deal forms and desks. At

  • one of these, a lonely

  • boy was reading near a feeble fire, and

  • Scrooge sat down upon a

  • form and wept to see his poor,

  • forgotten self as he used to be. Not a

  • latent echo in the house,

  • not a squeak and scuffle from

  • the mice behind the panelling, not a drip

  • from the half-thawed water

  • spout in the dull yard behind,

  • not a sigh among the leafless boughs of

  • one despondent poplar,

  • not the idle swinging of

  • an empty storehouse door, no, not a

  • clicking in the fire, but

  • fell upon the heart of Scrooge

  • with a softening influence and gave a

  • freer passage to his

  • tears. The spirit touched him

  • on the arm and pointed to his younger

  • self, intent upon his

  • reading. Suddenly a man in foreign

  • garments, wonderfully real and distinct

  • to look at, stood outside

  • the window with an axe stuck in

  • his belt and leading by the bridle, an

  • ass laden with wood. "Why,

  • it's Alibaba!" Scrooge exclaimed

  • in ecstasy. "It's dear old honest

  • Alibaba. Yes, yes, I know. One Christmas

  • time, when yonder solitary

  • child was left here all alone, he did

  • come for the first time

  • just like that." "Poor boy."

  • "And Valentine," said Scrooge, "and his

  • wild brother, Orson, there

  • they go. And what's his name,

  • who was put down in his drowers asleep at

  • the gate of Damascus? Don't you see him?"

  • And the sultan's groom turned upside down

  • by the genie. "There he

  • is upon his head. Serve him

  • right. I'm glad of it. What business had

  • he to be married to the princess?" To

  • hear Scrooge expending

  • all the earnestness of his nature on such

  • subjects in a most extraordinary voice

  • between laughing and

  • crying and to see his heightened and

  • excited face would have been a surprise

  • to his business friends

  • in the city indeed. "There's the parrot,"

  • cried Scrooge, "green body and yellow

  • tail with a thing like

  • a lettuce growing out of the top of his

  • head. There he is. Poor

  • Robin Crusoe," he called him

  • when he came home again after sailing

  • round the island. "Poor Robin Crusoe.

  • Where have you been,

  • Robin Crusoe?" The man thought he was

  • dreaming, but he wasn't.

  • It was the parrot, you know.

  • There goes Friday, running for his life

  • to the little creek.

  • Hallo, hoop, hallo. Then, with a

  • rapidity of transition very foreign to

  • his usual character, he said

  • in pity for his former self,

  • "Poor boy," and cried again. "I wish,"

  • Scrooge muttered, putting

  • his hand in his pocket and

  • looking about him after drying his eyes

  • with his cuff. "But it's

  • too late now." "What is the

  • matter?" asked the spirit. "Nothing,"

  • said Scrooge. "Nothing. There

  • was a boy singing a Christmas

  • carol at my door last night. I should

  • like to have given him

  • something. That's all."

  • The ghost smiled thoughtfully and waved

  • its hand, saying as it did so, "Let us

  • see another Christmas."

  • Scrooge's former self grew larger at the

  • words, and the room became a little

  • darker and more dirty.

  • The panel shrunk, the windows cracked,

  • fragments of plaster

  • fell out of the ceiling,

  • and the naked laths were shown instead.

  • But how all this was brought about,

  • Scrooge knew no more

  • than you do. He only knew that it was

  • quite correct, that every

  • Although they had but that moment left

  • the school behind them,

  • they were now in the busy

  • thoroughfares of a city,

  • where shadowy

  • passengers passed and repassed,

  • where shadowy carts and

  • coaches battle for the way,

  • and all the strife and

  • tumult of a real city were.

  • It was made plain enough

  • by the dressing of the shops

  • that here too it was

  • Christmas time again,

  • but it was evening, and

  • the streets were lighted up.

  • The ghost stopped at a

  • certain warehouse door

  • and asked Scrooge if he knew it.

  • "Know it," said Scrooge.

  • "I was apprenticed here."

  • They went in.

  • Scrooge's former self, now grown a young

  • man, came briskly in,

  • accompanied by his fellow

  • Prentice.

  • "Dick Wilkins, to be sure,"

  • said Scrooge to the ghost.

  • "Bless me, yes, there he is.

  • He was very much

  • attached to me, was Dick.

  • Poor Dick.

  • Dear, dear."

  • "Yo ho, my boys," said Fezziwig.

  • "No more work tonight.

  • Christmas Eve, Dick, Christmas Ebenezer.

  • Christmas have the shutters up," cried

  • old Fezziwig with a

  • sharp clap of his hands,

  • before a man can say, "Jack Robinson."

  • You wouldn't believe how

  • those two fellows went at it.

  • They charged into the street with the

  • shutters, one, two, three,

  • had them up in their places,

  • four, five, six, barred them and pinned

  • then, seven, eight, nine,

  • and came back before you

  • could have got to twelve

  • panting like race horses.

  • "Hilly ho!" cried old

  • Fezziwig, skipping down from the high

  • desk with wonderful agility.

  • "Clear away, my lads, and

  • let's have lots of room here.

  • Hilly ho, Dick.

  • Cheer up, Ebenezer."

  • Clear away.

  • In came a fiddler with a music book and

  • went up to the lofty desk and made an

  • orchestra of it and

  • tuned like 50 stomachaches.

  • In came Mrs. Fezziwig,

  • one vast, substantial smile.

  • In came the three Miss

  • Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable.

  • In came the six young

  • followers whose hearts they broke.

  • In came all the young men and women

  • employed in the business.

  • In came the housemaid

  • with her cousin, the baker.

  • In came the cook with her brother's

  • particular friend, the milkman.

  • In came the boy from over the way, who

  • was suspected of not having

  • bored enough from his master,

  • trying to hide himself behind the girl

  • from next door, but one who was proved to

  • have had her ears pulled by her mistress.

  • In they all came, one after another, some

  • shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some

  • awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling.

  • In they all came, anyhow and everyhow.

  • Away they all went, 20 couples at once,

  • hands half round and back again the other

  • way, down the middle and up again, round

  • and round in various stages of

  • affectionate grouping,

  • old top couple always turning up in the

  • wrong place, new top couple starting off

  • again as soon as they got there,

  • all top couples at last and

  • not a bottom one to help them.

  • When this result was brought about, old

  • Fezziwig clapping his hands to stop the

  • dance, cried out, "Well done."

  • And the fiddler plunged his hot face into

  • a pot of porter, especially

  • provided for that purpose.

  • But scorning rest upon his reappearance,

  • he instantly began again, though there

  • were no dancers yet,

  • as if the other fiddler had been carried

  • home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he

  • were a brand new man resolved to beat him

  • out of sight or perish.

  • There were more dances and there were

  • forfeits and more dances and there was

  • cake and there was negus and there was a

  • great piece of cold roast

  • and there was a great piece of cold

  • boiled and there were

  • mince pies and plenty of beer.

  • But the great effect of the evening came

  • after the roast and boiled when the

  • fiddler, an artful dog mind,

  • the sort of man who knew his business

  • better than you or I,

  • could have told it him.

  • Struck up, Sir Roger de Coverley.

  • Then old Fezziwig stood out

  • to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig.

  • Top couple too, with a good stiff piece

  • of work cut out for them, three or four

  • and twenty pair of partners, people who

  • were not to be trifled with,

  • people who would dance and

  • had no notion of walking.

  • But if they had been twice as many, ah,

  • four times, old Fezziwig would have been

  • a match for them and

  • so would Mrs. Fezziwig.

  • As to her, she was worthy to be his

  • partner in every sense of the term.

  • If that's not high praise,

  • tell me higher and I'll use it.

  • A positive light appeared to

  • issue from Fezziwig's cabs.

  • They shone in every part

  • of the dance like moons.

  • You couldn't have predicted at any given

  • time what would have become of them next.

  • And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig

  • had gone all through the

  • dance, advance and retire,

  • both hands to your partner, bow and

  • curtsy, corkscrew, thread the needle and

  • back again to your place.

  • Fezziwig cut, cut so deftly that he

  • appeared to wink with his legs and came

  • upon his feet again without a stagger.

  • When the clock struck eleven, this

  • domestic ball broke up.

  • Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their

  • stations, one on either side of the door

  • and shaking hands with every person

  • individually as he or she went out,

  • wished him or her a merry Christmas.

  • When everybody had retired but the two

  • Prentices, they did the same to them.

  • And thus the cheerful voices died away

  • and the lads were left to their beds,

  • which were under a

  • counter in the back shop.

  • During the whole of this time, Scrooge

  • had acted like a man out of his wits.

  • His heart and soul were in the scene and

  • with his former self.

  • He corroborated everything, remembered

  • everything, enjoyed everything and

  • underwent the strangest agitation.

  • It was not until now when the bright

  • faces of his former self and dick were

  • turned from them that he remembered the

  • ghost and became conscious that it was

  • looking full upon him while the light

  • upon its head burnt very clear.

  • "A small matter," said the ghost, "to

  • make these silly folks

  • so full of gratitude."

  • "Small," echoed Scrooge.

  • The spirit signed to him to listen to the

  • two apprentices who were pouring out

  • their hearts in praise of Fezziwig and

  • when he had done so said,

  • "Why, is it not? He has spent but a few

  • pounds of your mortal money, three or

  • four perhaps. Is that so much that he

  • deserves this praise?"

  • "It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by

  • the remark and speaking unconsciously

  • like his former self.

  • He was older now, a

  • man in the prime of life.

  • His face had not the harsh and rigid

  • lines of later years, but

  • it had begun to wear the

  • signs of care and avarice.

  • There was an eager, greedy, restless

  • motion in the eye, which

  • showed the passion that

  • had taken root, and where the shadow of

  • the growing tree would fall.

  • He was not alone, but sat by the side of

  • a fair young girl in a

  • morning dress, in whose

  • eyes there were tears, which sparkled in

  • the light that shone out

  • of the ghost of Christmas

  • past.

  • "It matters little," she said

  • softly, "to you very little.

  • Another idol has displaced me, and if it

  • can cheer and comfort

  • you in time to come, as

  • I would have tried to do, I

  • have no just cause to grieve."

  • "What idol has

  • displaced you?" he rejoined.

  • "A golden one."

  • "This is the even-handed

  • dealing of the world," he said.

  • "There is nothing on which it is so hard

  • as poverty, and there

  • is nothing it professes

  • to condemn with such

  • severity as the pursuit of wealth."

  • "You fear the world too

  • much," she answered gently.

  • "All your other hopes have merged into

  • the hope of being beyond

  • the chance of its sordid

  • reproach.

  • I have seen your nobler aspirations fall

  • off one by one, until

  • the master-passion gain

  • engrosses you.

  • Have I not?"

  • "What then?" he retorted.

  • "Even if I have grown

  • so much wiser, what then?

  • I am not changed towards you."

  • She shook her head.

  • "Am I?"

  • "Our contract is an old one.

  • It was made when we were both poor and

  • content to be so, until in

  • good season we could improve

  • our worldly fortune by

  • our patient industry.

  • You are changed.

  • When it was made, you were another man."

  • "I was a boy," he said impatiently.

  • "Your own feeling tells you that you were

  • not what you are," she returned.

  • "I am.

  • That which promised happiness when we

  • were one in heart is

  • fraught with misery now that

  • we are two.

  • How often and how keenly I have thought

  • of this, I will not say.

  • It is enough that I have thought of it

  • and can release you.

  • Have I ever sought release?"

  • In words, no, never.

  • In what then?

  • In a changed nature, in an altered

  • spirit, in another

  • atmosphere of life, another hope

  • as its great end, in everything that made

  • my love of any worth

  • or value in your sight.

  • If this had never been between us," said

  • the girl, looking

  • mildly but with steadiness

  • upon him, "tell me, would you seek me out

  • and try to win me now?"

  • "Ah, no."

  • He seemed to yield to the justice of this

  • supposition in spite

  • of himself, but he said

  • with a struggle, "You think not."

  • "I would gladly think otherwise if I

  • could," she answered.

  • "Heaven knows.

  • When I have learned a truth like this, I

  • know how strong and

  • irresistible it must be.

  • But if you were free today, tomorrow,

  • yesterday, can even, I

  • believe, that you would choose

  • a dourless girl.

  • You who, in your very confidence with

  • her, weigh everything by gain.

  • Or choosing her.

  • If for a moment you were false enough to

  • your one guiding

  • principle to do so, do I not know

  • that your repentance and

  • regret would surely follow?

  • I do, and I release you with a full heart

  • for the love of him you once were."

  • He was about to speak, but with her head

  • turned from him, she resumed, "You may.

  • The memory of what is past half makes me

  • hope you will have pain in this.

  • A very, very brief time, and you will

  • dismiss the recollection of

  • it gladly as an unprofitable

  • dream from which it

  • happened well that you awoke.

  • May you be happy in the

  • life you have chosen."

  • She left him, and they parted.

  • "Spirit," said Scrooge, "show me no more.

  • Conduct me home.

  • Why do you delight to torture me?"

  • "One shadow more," exclaimed the ghost.

  • "No more!" cried Scrooge.

  • "No more!

  • I don't wish to see it.

  • Show me no more!"

  • But the relentless ghost pinioned him in

  • both his arms and forced

  • him to observe what happened

  • next.

  • They were in another scene and place, a

  • room not very large or

  • handsome, but full of comfort.

  • Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful

  • young girl, so like that

  • last that Scrooge believed

  • it was the same, until he saw her, now a

  • comely matron, sitting

  • opposite her daughter.

  • The noise in this room was perfectly

  • tumultuous, for there were

  • more children there than Scrooge,

  • in his agitated state

  • of mind, could count.

  • And unlike the celebrated herd in the

  • poem, they were not forty children

  • conducting themselves

  • like one, but every

  • child was conducting itself.

  • and never raised a blush, to have let

  • loose waves of hair,

  • an inch of which would be

  • a keepsake beyond price.

  • In short, I should

  • have liked, I do confess,

  • to have had the

  • lightest license of a child,

  • and yet to have been man

  • enough to know its value.

  • But now a knocking at the door was heard,

  • and such a rush immediately ensued

  • that she, with laughing

  • face and plundered dress,

  • was born towards it the center of a

  • flushed and boisterous group,

  • just in time to greet the father,

  • who came home attended by a man laden

  • with Christmas toys and presents.

  • of every package was received.

  • The terrible announcement

  • that the baby had been taken

  • in the act of putting a

  • doll's frying pan into his mouth

  • and was more than

  • suspected of having swallowed

  • a fictitious turkey

  • glued on a wooden platter.

  • The immense relief of

  • finding this a false alarm.

  • The joy and gratitude and ecstasy.

  • They are all indescribable alike.

  • It is enough that by degrees,

  • the children and their

  • emotions got out of the parlor

  • and by one stare at a time,

  • up to the top of the house,

  • where they went to bed and so subsided.

  • And now Scrooge looked on more

  • attentively than ever

  • when the master of the house,

  • having his daughter

  • leaning fondly on him,

  • sat down with her and her

  • mother at his own fireside.

  • And when he thought

  • that such another creature,

  • quite as graceful and as full of promise,

  • might have called him father

  • and been a springtime in the

  • haggard winter of his life,

  • his sight grew very dim indeed.

  • Belle said the husband,

  • turning to his wife with a smile.

  • I saw an old friend of

  • yours this afternoon.

  • Who was it?

  • Yes?

  • How can I?

  • Tut.

  • Its own part was undisturbed by any

  • effort of its adversary.

  • Scrooge observed that its light was

  • burning high and bright,

  • and dimly connecting that

  • with its influence over him,

  • he seized the extinguisher cap, and by a

  • sudden action pressed

  • it down upon its head.

  • Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously

  • tough snore and sitting up

  • in bed to get his thoughts

  • together, Scrooge had no occasion to be

  • told that the bell was

  • again upon the stroke of

  • one.

  • He felt that he was restored to

  • consciousness in the right

  • nick of time for the especial

  • purpose of holding a conference with the

  • second messenger

  • dispatched to him through Jacob

  • Marley's intervention, but finding that

  • he turned

  • uncomfortably cold when he began

  • to wonder which of his curtains this new

  • spectre would draw back.

  • He put them everyone aside with his own

  • hands and lying down

  • again, established a sharp

  • lookout all round the bed, for he wished

  • to challenge the

  • spirit on the moment of its

  • appearance and did not wish to be taken

  • by surprise and made nervous.

  • Gentlemen of the free and easy sort, who

  • plumed themselves on

  • being acquainted with a move

  • or two and being usually equal to the

  • time of day, express the

  • wide range of their capacity

  • for adventure by observing that they are

  • good for anything from

  • pitch and toss to manslaughter.

  • Between which opposite extremes no doubt,

  • there lies a tolerably

  • wide and comprehensive

  • range of subjects.

  • Without venturing for Scrooge quite as

  • heartily as this, I don't

  • mind calling on you to believe

  • that he was ready for a good broad field

  • of strange appearances

  • and that nothing between

  • a baby and rhinoceros would have

  • astonished him very much.

  • Now being prepared for almost anything,

  • he was not by any

  • means prepared for nothing

  • and consequently when the bell struck one

  • and no shape

  • appeared, he was taken with a

  • violent fit of trembling.

  • Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of

  • an hour went by, yet nothing came.

  • All this time he lay upon his bed the

  • very core and center of

  • a blaze of ruddy light

  • which streamed upon it when the clock

  • proclaimed the hour and

  • which, being only light, was

  • more alarming than a dozen ghosts as he

  • was powerless to make

  • out what it meant or would

  • be at and was sometimes apprehensive that

  • he might be at that

  • very moment, an interesting

  • case of spontaneous combustion without

  • having the consolation of knowing it.

  • At last, however, he began to think as

  • you or I would have

  • thought at first, for it is

  • always the person not in the predicament

  • who knows what ought to

  • have been done in it and

  • would unquestionably have done it too.

  • At last, I say, he began to think that

  • the source and secret of

  • this ghostly light might

  • be in the adjoining room from whence, on

  • further tracing it, it seemed to shine.

  • This idea, taking full possession of his

  • mind, he got up softly

  • and shuffled in his slippers

  • to the door.

  • The moment Scrooge's hand was on the

  • lock, a strange voice

  • called him by his name and

  • bade him enter.

  • He obeyed.

  • It was his own room.

  • There was no doubt about that, but it had

  • undergone a surprising transformation.

  • The walls and ceiling were so hung with

  • living green that it

  • looked a perfect grove.

  • From every part of which,

  • bright gleaming berries glistened.

  • The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and

  • ivy reflected back

  • the light, as if so many

  • little mirrors had been scattered there,

  • and such a mighty blaze

  • went roaring up the chimney,

  • as that dull petrification of a hearth

  • had never known in

  • Scrooge's time, or Marley's,

  • or for many and many

  • a winter season gone.

  • Heaped up on the floor to form a kind of

  • throne were turkeys,

  • geese, game, poultry, brawn,

  • great joints of meat, sucking pigs, long

  • wreaths of sausages, mince

  • pies, plum puddings, barrels

  • of oysters, red hot chestnuts,

  • cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges,

  • luscious pears, immense

  • twelfth cakes, and seething bowls of

  • punch that made the

  • chamber dim with their delicious

  • steam.

  • In easy state upon this couch there sat a

  • jolly giant, glorious to

  • see, who bore a glowing

  • torch in shape not unlike plenty's horn,

  • and held it up high up to

  • shed its light on Scrooge

  • as he came peeping round the door.

  • "Come in," exclaimed the ghost, "come in

  • and know me better, man."

  • Scrooge entered timidly and

  • hung his head before this spirit.

  • He was not the dogged Scrooge he had

  • been, and though the

  • spirit's eyes were clear and

  • kind he did not like to meet them.

  • "I am the Ghost of

  • Christmas Present," said the spirit.

  • "Look upon me."

  • Scrooge reverently did so.

  • It was clothed in one simple green robe

  • or mantle, bordered with white fur.

  • This garment hung so loosely on the

  • figure that its

  • capacious breast was bare, as if

  • distaining to be warded or

  • concealed by any artifice.

  • Its feet, observable beneath the ample

  • folds of the garment,

  • were also bare, and on its

  • head it wore no other covering than a

  • holly wreath, set here and

  • there with shining icicles.

  • Its dark brown curls were long and free,

  • free as its genial

  • face, its sparkling eye,

  • its open hand, its cheery voice, its

  • unconstrained

  • demeanor, and its joyful air.

  • Girded round its middle was an antique

  • scabbard, but no sword was

  • in it, and the ancient shath

  • was eaten up with rust.

  • "You have never seen the like of me

  • before," exclaimed the spirit.

  • "Never."

  • Scrooge made answer to it.

  • "Have never walked forth with the younger

  • members of my family,

  • meaning, for I am very

  • young, my elder brothers born in these

  • later years," pursued the phantom.

  • "I don't think I have," said Scrooge.

  • "I am afraid I have not.

  • Have you had many brothers, spirit?"

  • "More than eighteen

  • hundred," said the ghost.

  • "A tremendous family to

  • provide for," muttered Scrooge.

  • The ghost of Christmas present rose.

  • "Spirit," said Scrooge submissively,

  • "conduct me where you will.

  • I went forth last night on compulsion,

  • and I learnt a lesson

  • which is working now.

  • Tonight, if you have ought to teach me,

  • let me profit by it."

  • Touch my robe.

  • Scrooge did as he was

  • told and held it fast.

  • Holly, mistletoe, redberries, ivy,

  • turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn,

  • meat, pigs, sausages,

  • oysters, pies, puddings, fruit and punch,

  • all vanished instantly.

  • So did the room, the fire, the ruddy

  • glow, the hour of night,

  • and they stood in the city

  • streets on Christmas morning, where, for

  • the weather was severe,

  • the people made a rough

  • but brisk and not unpleasant kind of

  • music, in scraping the

  • snow from the pavement in

  • front of their dwellings and from the

  • tops of their houses,

  • whence it was mad delight

  • to the boys to see it come plumping down

  • into the road below and

  • splitting into artificial

  • little snowstorms.

  • The house fronts looked black enough, and

  • the windows blacker, contrasting with the

  • smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs

  • and with the dirtier

  • snow upon the ground,

  • which last deposit had been plowed up in

  • deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts

  • and wagons, furrows that crossed and

  • re-crossed each other

  • hundreds of times where the great

  • streets branched off and made intricate

  • channels hard to trace in

  • the thick yellow mud and

  • icy water.

  • The sky was gloomy, and the shortest

  • streets were choked up with

  • a dingy mist, half thawed,

  • half frozen, whose heavier particles

  • descended in shower of sooty

  • atoms as if all the chimneys

  • in Great Britain had, by one consent,

  • caught fire, and were

  • blazing away to their dear

  • heart's content.

  • There was nothing very cheerful in the

  • climate or the town, and yet

  • was there an air of cheerfulness

  • abroad that the clearest summer air and

  • brightest summer sun might have

  • endeavoured to diffuse

  • in vain.

  • For the people who were shoveling away on

  • the housetops were

  • jovial and full of glee,

  • calling out to one another from the

  • parapets and now and then

  • exchanging a facetious snowball,

  • better-natured missile far than many a

  • wordy jest, laughing

  • heartily if it went right and

  • not less heartily if it went wrong.

  • The polteras' shops were still half open,

  • and the fruiterers were

  • radiant in their glory.

  • There were great round, round,

  • pot-bellied baskets of

  • chestnuts shaped like the waistcoats

  • of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the

  • doors and tumbling out

  • into the street in their

  • apoplectic opulence.

  • There were ruddy, brown-faced,

  • broad-girth Spanish

  • onions, shining in the fatness of

  • their growth like Spanish fryers and

  • winking from their

  • shelves in wanton slyness at the

  • girls as they went by, and glanced

  • demurely at the hung-up mistletoe.

  • There were pears and apples, clustered

  • high in blooming pyramids.

  • There were bunches of grapes made in the

  • shopkeeper's benevolence to

  • dangle from conspicuous hooks

  • that people's mouths might

  • water gratis as they passed.

  • There were piles of filberts, mossy and

  • brown, recalling in

  • their fragrance ancient walks

  • among the woods and pleasant shufflings

  • ankle-deep through withered leaves.

  • There were Norfolk Biffins, squab and

  • swarthy, setting off the

  • yellow of the oranges and

  • lemons and in the great compactness of

  • their juicy persons,

  • urgently entreating and beseeching

  • to be carried home in paper

  • bags and eaten after dinner.

  • The very gold and silver fish set forth

  • among these choice fruits

  • in a bowl, though members

  • of a dull and stagnant-blooded race

  • appeared to know that

  • there was something going on,

  • and to a fish went gasping round and

  • round, their little

  • world in slow and passionless

  • excitement.

  • The grocers, oh, the grocers, nearly

  • closed, with perhaps two

  • shutters down, or one, but

  • through those gaps such glimpses.

  • It was not alone that the scales

  • descending on the counter

  • made a merry sound, or that

  • the twine and roller parted company so

  • briskly, or that the

  • canisters were rattled up and

  • down like juggling tricks, or even that

  • the blended scents of tea

  • and coffee were so grateful

  • to the nose, or even that the raisins

  • were so plentiful and

  • rare, the almonds so extremely

  • white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and

  • straight, the other

  • spices so delicious, the

  • candied fruits so caked and spotted with

  • molten sugar as to make

  • the coldest lookers unfeel

  • faint and subsequently bilious.

  • Or was it that the figs were moist and

  • pulpy, or that the

  • French plums blushed in modest

  • tartness from their highly decorated

  • boxes, or that

  • everything was good to eat and in

  • its Christmas dress?

  • But the customers were all so hurried and

  • so eager in the

  • hopeful promise of the day

  • that they tumbled up against each other

  • at the door, crashing

  • their wicker baskets wildly,

  • and left their purchases upon the

  • counter, and came running

  • back to fetch them and committed

  • hundreds of the like

  • mistakes in the best humor possible.

  • While the grocer and his people were so

  • frank and fresh that the

  • polished hearts with which

  • they fastened their aprons behind might

  • have been their own, worn

  • outside for general inspection

  • and for Christmas daws

  • to peck at if they chose.

  • But soon the steeples called good people

  • all to church and

  • chapel, and away they came,

  • walking through the streets in their best

  • clothes and with their gayest faces.

  • And at the same time there emerged from

  • scores of by-streets,

  • lanes, and nameless turnings

  • innumerable people carrying their dinners

  • to the baker's shops.

  • The sight of these poor revelers appeared

  • to interest the spirit

  • very much, for he stood

  • with Scrooge beside him in a baker's

  • doorway, and taking off

  • the covers as their bearers

  • passed sprinkled incense on

  • their dinners from his torch.

  • And it was a very uncommon kind of torch,

  • for once or twice, when

  • there were angry words

  • between some dinner carriers who had

  • jostled each other, he

  • shed a few drops of water on

  • them from it, and their good

  • humor was restored directly.

  • For they said, "It was a shame to quarrel

  • upon Christmas day, and so it was.

  • God love it, so it was."

  • In time the bells ceased, and the bakers

  • were shut up, and yet

  • there was a genial shadowing

  • forth of all these dinners and the

  • progress of their cooking

  • in the thawed blotch of wet

  • above each baker's oven, where the

  • pavement smoked as if its

  • stones were cooking too.

  • "Is there a peculiar flavor in what you

  • sprinkle from your torch?" asked Scrooge.

  • "There is, my own."

  • "Would it apply to any kind of dinner on

  • this day?" asked Scrooge.

  • "To any kindly given?

  • To a poor one most."

  • "Why, to a poor one most?" asked Scrooge.

  • "Because it needs it most."

  • "Spirit," said Scrooge, after a moment's

  • thought, "I wonder you, of all the beings

  • in the many worlds about us, should

  • desire to cramp these people's

  • opportunities of innocent

  • enjoyment."

  • "I," cried the Spirit, "you would deprive

  • them of their means

  • of dining every seventh

  • day, often the only day on which they can

  • be said to dine at all," said Scrooge.

  • "Wouldn't you?"

  • "I," cried the Spirit, "you seek to close

  • these places on the

  • seventh day," said Scrooge,

  • "and it comes to the same thing."

  • "I seek," exclaimed the Spirit.

  • "Forgive me if I am wrong.

  • It has been done in your name, or at

  • least in that of your

  • family," said Scrooge.

  • "There are some upon this earth of

  • yours," returned the

  • Spirit, "who lay claim to know

  • us and who do their deeds of passion,

  • pride, ill-will, hatred,

  • envy, bigotry, and selfishness

  • in our name, who are as strange to us and

  • all our kith and kin as if they had never

  • lived, remember that, and charge their

  • doings on themselves, not us."

  • Scrooge promised that he would, and they

  • went on, invisible as

  • they had been before, into

  • the suburbs of the town.

  • It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost,

  • which Scrooge had observed at the bakers,

  • that notwithstanding his gigantic size,

  • he could accommodate

  • himself to any place with

  • ease, and that he stood beneath a low

  • roof quite as gracefully

  • and like a supernatural

  • creature, as it was possible he could

  • have done in any lofty hall.

  • And perhaps it was the pleasure the good

  • Spirit had in showing off

  • this power of his, or else

  • it was his own kind, generous, hearty

  • nature, and his sympathy

  • with all poor men that led

  • him straight to Scrooge's clerks.

  • For there he went, and took Scrooge with

  • him, holding to his

  • robe, and on the threshold

  • of the door the Spirit smiled, and

  • stopped to bless Bob

  • Cratchit's dwelling with the

  • sprinkling of his torch.

  • Think of that.

  • Bob had but fifteen Bob a week himself.

  • He pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen

  • copies of his Christian

  • name, and yet the Ghost of

  • Christmas Present

  • blessed his four-roomed house.

  • Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's

  • wife, dressed out but

  • poorly in a twice-turned gown,

  • but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and

  • make a goodly show for sixpence.

  • And she laid the cloth, assisted by

  • Belinda Cratchit, second of her

  • daughters, also brave

  • in ribbons, while Master Peter Cratchit

  • plunged a fork into the

  • saucepan of potatoes, and

  • getting the corners of his monstrous

  • shirt-collar, Bob's private

  • property, conferred upon his

  • sun and air in honor of the day, into his

  • mouth, rejoiced to

  • find himself so gallantly

  • attired and yearned to show his linen in

  • the fashionable parks.

  • And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and

  • girl, came tearing in,

  • screaming that outside the

  • bakers they had smelt the goose, and

  • known it for their own.

  • And basking in luxurious thoughts of sage

  • and onion, these young

  • Cratchits danced about

  • the table and exalted Master Peter

  • Cratchit to the skies,

  • while he, not proud, although

  • his collars nearly choked him, blew the

  • fire until the slow

  • potatoes bubbling up knocked

  • loudly at the saucepan lid

  • to be let out and peeled.

  • "What has ever got your precious father,

  • then?" said Mrs.

  • Cratchit, "and your brother, Tiny

  • Tim, and Martha warrant as late last

  • Christmas Day by half an hour."

  • "Here's Martha, mother," said a girl,

  • appearing as she spoke.

  • "Here's Martha, mother,"

  • cried the two young Cratchits.

  • "Hoorah!

  • There's such a goose, Martha!

  • Why bless your heart alive, my dear, how

  • late you are," said

  • Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her

  • a dozen times and taking off her shawl

  • and bonnet for her with a vicious zeal.

  • "We'd a deal of work to finish up last

  • night," replied the girl,

  • and had to clear away this

  • morning, mother.

  • "Well, never mind, so long as you are

  • come," said Mrs. Cratchit.

  • "Sit ye down before the fire, my dear,

  • and have a warm, Lord bless ye."

  • "No, no, there's father coming," cried

  • the two young

  • Cratchits, who were everywhere

  • at once.

  • "Hide, Martha, hide!"

  • So Martha hid herself, and in came Little

  • Bob, the father, with at least three feet

  • of comforter exclusive of the fringe

  • hanging down before him,

  • and his threadbare clothes

  • darned up and brushed to look seasonable,

  • and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder.

  • Alas, for Tiny Tim, he bore a little

  • crutch, and had his limbs

  • supported by an iron frame.

  • "Why, where's our Martha?"

  • cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.

  • "Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.

  • "Not coming," said Bob, with a sudden

  • declension in his high

  • spirits, for he had been Tim's

  • blood horse all the way from church, and

  • had come home rampant.

  • Not coming upon Christmas Day.

  • Martha didn't like to see him

  • disappointed, if it were only in joke, so

  • she came out prematurely

  • from behind the closet door and ran into

  • his arms, while the two

  • young Cratchits hustled

  • Tiny Tim and bore him off into the

  • washhouse, that he might

  • hear the pudding singing in

  • the copper.

  • "And how did little Tim behave?" asked

  • Mrs. Cratchit, when she

  • had rallied Bob on his

  • credulity, and Bob had hugged his

  • daughter to his heart's content.

  • "As good as gold," said Bob, and better.

  • Somehow he gets thoughtful sitting by

  • himself so much, and

  • thinks the strangest things you

  • ever heard.

  • He told me, coming home, that he hoped

  • the people saw him in

  • the church, because he was

  • a cripple, and it might be pleasant to

  • them to remember upon

  • Christmas Day, who made lame

  • beggars walk and blind men see.

  • Bob's voice was tremulous when he told

  • them this, and trembled

  • more when he said that

  • Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

  • His active little crutch was heard upon

  • the floor, and back came

  • Tiny Tim before another

  • word was spoken, escorted by his brother

  • and sister to his stool

  • before the fire, and while

  • Bob turning up his cuffs, as if poor

  • fellow, they were capable

  • of being made more shabby,

  • compounded some hot mixture in a jug with

  • gin and lemons, and

  • stirred it round and round

  • and put it on the hob to simmer.

  • Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young

  • Cratchits went to

  • fetch the goose, with which

  • they soon returned in high procession.

  • Such a bustle ensued that you might have

  • thought a goose, the

  • rarest of all birds, a feathered

  • phenomenon, to which a black swan was a

  • matter of course, and in

  • truth it was something very

  • like it in that house.

  • His Cratchit made the gravy, ready

  • beforehand in a little

  • saucepan, hissing hot.

  • Master Peter mashed the

  • potatoes with incredible vigor.

  • Miss Belinda sweetened up the applesauce.

  • Martha dusted the hot plates.

  • Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny

  • corner at the table.

  • The two young Cratchits set chairs for

  • everybody, not forgetting

  • themselves, and mounting guard

  • upon their posts, crammed spoons into

  • their mouths, lest they

  • should shriek for goose before

  • their turn came to be helped.

  • At last the dishes were

  • set on, and grace was said.

  • It was succeeded by a breathless pause,

  • as Mrs. Cratchit,

  • looking slowly all along the

  • carving knife, prepared

  • to plunge it in the breast.

  • But when she did, and when the

  • long-expected gush of

  • stuffing issued forth, one murmur

  • of delight arose all round the board, and

  • even Tiny Tim, excited by

  • the two young Cratchits,

  • beat on the table with the handle of his

  • knife, and feebly cried, "Hoorah!

  • There never was such a goose."

  • Bob said he didn't believe there ever was

  • such a goose cooked.

  • Its tenderness and flavor, size and

  • cheapness were the themes

  • of universal admiration.

  • Picked out by applesauce and mashed

  • potatoes, it was a sufficient

  • dinner for the whole family.

  • Indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great

  • delight, surveying one

  • small atom of a bone upon the

  • dish, they hadn't ate at all at last.

  • Yet everyone had had enough, and the

  • youngest Cratchits in

  • particular were steeped in sage

  • and onion to the eyebrows.

  • But now, the plates being changed by Miss

  • Belinda, Mrs.

  • Cratchit left the room alone,

  • too nervous to bear witnesses, to take

  • the pudding up and bring it in.

  • Suppose it should not be done enough,

  • suppose it should break in

  • turning out, suppose somebody

  • should have got over the wall of the

  • backyard and stolen it

  • while they were merry with the

  • goose, a supposition at which the two

  • young Cratchits became livid.

  • All sorts of horrors were supposed.

  • Hello, a great deal of steam.

  • The pudding was out of the copper, a

  • smell like a washing day.

  • That was the cloth, a smell like an

  • eating house, and a

  • pastry cook's next door to each

  • other with a

  • laundress's next door to that.

  • That was the pudding.

  • In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered,

  • flushed but smiling

  • proudly, with the pudding like

  • a speckled cannonball, so hard and firm,

  • blazing in half of

  • half a quarter of ignited

  • brandy and bedight with

  • Christmas holly stuck into the top.

  • Oh, a wonderful pudding.

  • Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that

  • he regarded it as the

  • greatest success achieved

  • by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage.

  • Mrs. Cratchit said that now

  • the weight was off her mind.

  • She would confess she had had her doubts

  • about the quantity of flour.

  • Everybody had something to say about it,

  • but nobody said or

  • thought it was at all a small

  • pudding for a large family.

  • It would have been flat heresy to do so.

  • Any Cratchit would have

  • blushed to hint at such a thing.

  • At last the dinner was all done, the

  • cloth was cleared, the

  • hearth swept, and the fire

  • made up.

  • The compound in the jug being

  • tasted and considered perfect.

  • Pills and oranges were put upon the table

  • and a shovel full of

  • chestnuts on the fire.

  • Then all the Cratchit family drew round

  • the hearth in what Bob

  • Cratchit called a circle,

  • meaning half a one, and at Bob Cratchit's

  • elbow stood the family

  • display of glass, two

  • tumblers and a custard

  • cup without a handle.

  • These held the hot stuff from the jug,

  • however, as well as

  • golden goblets would have done,

  • then Bob served it out with beaming looks

  • while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered

  • and cracked noisily.

  • Then Bob proposed, "A Merry

  • Christmas to us all, my dears!

  • God bless us!" which

  • all the family re-echoed.

  • "God bless us, everyone,"

  • said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

  • He sat very close to his father's side

  • upon his little stool.

  • Bob held his, with her little hand in

  • his, as if he loved the

  • child and wished to keep

  • him by his side, and dreaded that he

  • might be taken from him.

  • "Spirit," said Scrooge, with an interest

  • he had never felt

  • before, "tell me if Tiny Tim

  • will live."

  • "I see a vacant seat," replied the ghost,

  • in the poor chimney

  • corner and a crutch without

  • an owner, carefully preserved.

  • If these shadows remain unaltered by the

  • future, the child will die.

  • "No, no," said Scrooge, "Oh, no, kind

  • spirit, say he will be spared."

  • If these shadows remain unaltered by the

  • future, none other of my

  • race," returned the ghost,

  • "will find him here.

  • What then?

  • If he be like to die, he had better do

  • it, and decrease the surplus population."

  • "Man," said the ghost, "if man you be in

  • heart, not adamant,

  • forbear that wicked can't

  • until you have discovered what the

  • surplus is and where it is.

  • Will you decide what men

  • shall live, what men shall die?

  • It may be that, in the sight of heaven,

  • you are more worthless

  • and less fit to live than

  • millions like this poor man's child, O

  • God, to hear the insect

  • on the leaf pronouncing

  • on the too much life among his hungry

  • brothers in the dust."

  • Scrooge bent before the ghost's rebuke

  • and trembling cast his

  • eyes upon the ground, but

  • he raised them speedily

  • on hearing his own name.

  • "Mr. Scrooge," said Bob, "I'll give you

  • Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the feast."

  • "The founder of the feast indeed," cried

  • Mrs. Cratchit, reddening.

  • "I wish I had him here.

  • I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast

  • upon, and I hope he'd

  • have a good appetite for it."

  • "My dear," said Bob, "the

  • children, Christmas Day."

  • "It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,"

  • said she, "on which one

  • drinks the health of such

  • an odious, stingy, hard,

  • unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge.

  • You know he is, Robert.

  • Nobody knows it better

  • than you do, poor fellow."

  • "My dear," was Bob's mild answer.

  • "Christmas Day."

  • "I'll drink his health for your sake and

  • the days," said Mrs. Cratchit.

  • "Not for his.

  • Long life to him, a merry

  • Christmas and a happy New Year.

  • He'll be very merry and

  • very happy, I have no doubt."

  • The children drank the toast after her.

  • It was the first of their proceedings,

  • which had no heartiness.

  • Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he

  • didn't care too much for it.

  • Scrooge was the ogre of the family.

  • The mention of his name cast a dark

  • shadow on the party,

  • which was not dispelled for

  • full five minutes.

  • After it had passed away, they were ten

  • times merrier than

  • before from the mere relief of

  • Scrooge the baleful being done with.

  • Bob Cratchit told them how he had a

  • situation in his eye for

  • Master Peter, which would bring

  • in, if obtained, full

  • five-and-sixpence weekly.

  • The two young Cratchits laughed

  • tremendously at the idea of

  • Peter's being a man of business,

  • and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at

  • the fire from between

  • his collars, as if he were

  • deliberating what particular investments

  • he should favor when

  • he came into the receipt

  • of that bewildering income.

  • Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a

  • milliner's, then told them

  • what kind of work she had to

  • do, and how many hours she worked at a

  • stretch, and how she meant

  • to lie abbot tomorrow morning

  • for a good long rest.

  • Tomorrow being a

  • holiday, she passed at home.

  • Also, how she had seen a Countess and a

  • Lord some days before,

  • and how the Lord was much

  • about as tall as Peter, at which Peter

  • pulled up his collars so

  • high that you couldn't have

  • seen his head if you had been there.

  • All this time the chestnuts and the jug

  • went round and round.

  • And by and by they had a song about a

  • lost child traveling in

  • the snow from Tiny Tim,

  • who had a plaintive little voice and sang

  • it very well indeed.

  • There was nothing of high mark in this.

  • They were not a handsome family, they

  • were not well-dressed,

  • their shoes were far from

  • being waterproof, their clothes were

  • scanty, and Peter might

  • have known, and very likely

  • did, the inside of a pawnbroker's.

  • But they were happy, grateful, pleased

  • with one another, and

  • contented with the time.

  • And when they faded and looked happier,

  • yet in the bright

  • sprinklings of the spirit's

  • torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye

  • upon them, and

  • especially on Tiny Tim, until the

  • last.

  • By this time it was getting dark and

  • snowing pretty heavily,

  • and as Scrooge and the spirit

  • went along the streets, the brightness of

  • the roaring fires and

  • kitchens, parlors, and

  • all sorts of rooms, was wonderful.

  • Here, the flickering of the blaze showed

  • preparations for a cozy

  • dinner, with hot plates baking

  • through and through before the fire, and

  • deep red curtains, ready

  • to be drawn to shut out

  • cold and darkness.

  • There, all the children of the house were

  • running out into the

  • snow to meet their married

  • sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles,

  • aunts, and be the first to greet them.

  • Here, again, were shadows on the window

  • blind of guests

  • assembling, and there, a group of

  • handsome girls, all hooded and

  • fur-booted, and all

  • chattering at once, tripped lightly

  • off to some near neighbor's house, where

  • woe upon the single

  • man who saw them enter.

  • Artful witches.

  • Well, they knew it, in a glow.

  • But if you had judged from the numbers of

  • people on their way

  • to friendly gatherings,

  • you might have thought that no one was at

  • home to give them

  • welcome when they got there,

  • instead of every house expecting company,

  • and piling up its

  • fires half chimney high.

  • Blessings on it, how the ghost exalted,

  • how it bared its breath

  • of breast and opened its

  • capacious palm, and floated on,

  • outpouring with a generous

  • hand, its bright and harmless

  • mirth on everything within its reach.

  • The very lamp-lighter, who ran on before,

  • dotting the dusky

  • street with specks of light,

  • and who was dressed to spend the evening

  • somewhere, laughed out loudly as the

  • spirit passed, though

  • little kenned the lamp-lighter that he

  • had any company but Christmas.

  • And now, without a word of warning from

  • the ghost, they stood

  • upon a bleak and desert

  • moor where monstrous masses of rude stone

  • were cast about, as

  • though it were the burial

  • place of giants, and water spread itself

  • wheresoever it listed, or would have done

  • so, but for the frost that held it

  • prisoner, and nothing grew

  • but moss and furs and coarse

  • rank grass.

  • Down in the west, the setting sun had

  • left a streak of fiery

  • red which glared upon the

  • desolation for an instant, like a sullen

  • eye, and frowning,

  • "Lower, lower, lower yet,"

  • was lost in the thick

  • gloom of darkest night.

  • "What place is this?" asked Scrooge.

  • "A place where miners live who labor in

  • the bowels of the

  • earth," returned the spirit.

  • "But they know me, see."

  • A light shone from the window of a hut,

  • and swiftly they advanced towards it.

  • Passing through the wall of mud and

  • stone, they found a

  • cheerful company assembled round

  • a glowing fire, an old, old man and woman

  • with their children and their children's

  • children and another generation beyond

  • that, all decked out

  • gaily in their holiday attire.

  • The old man

  • Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks,

  • some league or so from shore, on which

  • the waters chafed and dashed, the wild

  • year through there

  • stood a solitary lighthouse.

  • Great heaps of seaweed clung to its base,

  • and stormbirds, born of the wind one

  • might suppose, as seaweed of the water,

  • rose and fell about it

  • like the waves they skimmed.

  • But even here, two men who watched the

  • light had made a fire that through the

  • loophole in the thick stone wall, sheed

  • out a ray of brightness on the awful sea.

  • Joining their horny hands over the rough

  • table at which they sat, they wished each

  • other Merry Christmas in their can of

  • grog, and one of them, the Elder too,

  • with his face all damaged and scarred

  • with hard weather, as the figurehead of

  • an old ship might be.

  • Struck up a sturdy song that

  • was like a gale in its sept.

  • Again the ghost sped on above the black

  • and heaving sea, on and on, until being

  • far away, as he told Scrooge, from any

  • shore, they lighted on a ship.

  • helmsman at the wheel, the lookout in the

  • bow, the officers who had the watch, dark

  • ghostly figures in their several

  • stations. But every man

  • among them hummed a Christmas

  • tune, or had a Christmas thought, or

  • spoke below his breath

  • to his companion of some

  • bygone Christmas day, with homeward hopes

  • belonging to it. And

  • every man on board, waking

  • or sleeping, good or bad, had had a

  • kinder word for another

  • on that day than on any day

  • in the year, and had shared to some

  • extent in its

  • festivities, and had remembered those

  • he cared for at a distance, and had known

  • that they delighted

  • to remember him. It was

  • a great surprise to Scrooge while

  • listening to the moaning of

  • the wind, and thinking what

  • a solemn thing it was to move on through

  • the lonely darkness over

  • an unknown abyss, whose

  • depths were secrets as profound as death.

  • "Haha," laughed Spooge's nephew.

  • "Hahaha!"

  • "If you should happen by any unlikely

  • chance, to know a man

  • more blessed in a laugh than

  • Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I

  • should like to know him too.

  • Introduce him to me and I'll

  • cultivate his acquaintance.

  • It is a fair, even-handed, noble

  • adjustment of things that

  • while there is infection in

  • disease and sorrow, there is nothing in

  • the world so

  • irresistibly contagious as laughter

  • and good humor."

  • When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this

  • way, holding his sides,

  • rolling his head, and twisting

  • his face into the most extravagant

  • contortions, Scrooge's niece, by

  • marriage, laughed as heartily

  • as he, and their assembled friends being

  • not a bit behind

  • hand, roared out lustily.

  • "I'm sure he is very rich,

  • Fred," hinted Scrooge's niece.

  • "At least you always tell me so."

  • "What of that, my

  • dear?" said Scrooge's nephew.

  • "His wealth is of no use to him.

  • He don't do any good with it.

  • He don't make himself

  • comfortable with it.

  • He hasn't the satisfaction of thinking

  • that he is ever going

  • to benefit us with it."

  • "I have no patience with

  • him," observed Scrooge's niece.

  • Scrooge's niece's sisters

  • and all the other ladies

  • expressed the same opinion.

  • "Oh, I have," said Scrooge's nephew.

  • "I'm sorry for him.

  • I couldn't be angry with him if I tried,

  • who suffers by his ill whims.

  • Himself, always.

  • Here, he takes it into

  • his head to dislike us,

  • and he won't come and dine with us.

  • What's the consequence?

  • He don't lose much of a dinner."

  • "Indeed, I think he

  • loses a very good dinner,"

  • interrupted Scrooge's niece.

  • Everybody else said the same,

  • and they must be allowed to

  • have been competent judges

  • because they had just had dinner

  • and, with the dessert upon the table,

  • were clustered round

  • the fire by lamplight.

  • "Well, I'm very glad to hear

  • it," said Scrooge's nephew,

  • "because I haven't great

  • faith in these young housekeepers.

  • What do you say, Topper?"

  • Topper had clearly got his eye upon one

  • of Scrooge's niece's sisters,

  • for he answered that a

  • bachelor was a wretched outcast

  • who had no right to express

  • an opinion on the subject.

  • "Whereat Scrooge's niece's sister,

  • the plump one with the lace tucker,

  • not the one with the roses."

  • Blushed.

  • "Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece,

  • clapping her hands.

  • "He never finishes what he begins to say.

  • He is such a ridiculous fellow."

  • Scrooge's nephew

  • reveled in another laugh,

  • and, as it was impossible

  • to keep the infection off,

  • though the plump sister tried hard to do

  • it with aromatic vinegar.

  • His example was unanimously followed.

  • "I was only going to

  • say," said Scrooge's nephew,

  • "that the--"

  • and knew what they were about when they

  • sung a glee or catch, I can assure you,

  • especially Topper, who could growl away

  • in the bays like a good one,

  • and never swell the large veins in his

  • forehead or get red in the face over it.

  • Scrooge's niece

  • played well upon the harp,

  • and played among other tunes a simple

  • little air, a mere nothing.

  • You might learn to

  • whistle it in two minutes,

  • which had been familiar to the child who

  • fetched Scrooge from the boarding school

  • as he had been reminded by

  • the ghost of Christmas past.

  • When this strain of music sounded,

  • all the things that ghost had

  • shown him came upon his mind.

  • He softened more and more,

  • and thought that if he could have

  • listened to it often years ago,

  • he might have cultivated the kindnesses

  • of life for his own

  • happiness with his own hands,

  • without resorting to the sexton spade

  • that buried Jacob Marley.

  • But they didn't devote

  • the whole evening to music.

  • After a while, they played at forfeits,

  • for it is good to be children sometimes,

  • and never better than at Christmas, when

  • its mighty founder was a child himself.

  • There was first a

  • game at Blind Man's Buff.

  • Of course there was,

  • and I no more believe Topper was really

  • blind than I believe he

  • had eyes in his boots.

  • My opinion is that it was a done thing

  • between him and Scrooge's nephew,

  • and that the ghost of

  • Christmas present knew it.

  • The way he went after that

  • plump sister in the lace tucker

  • was an outrage on the

  • credulity of human nature.

  • Knocking down the fire

  • irons, tumbling over the chairs,

  • bumping against the piano, smothering

  • himself among the curtains,

  • wherever she went, there went he.

  • He always knew where

  • the plump sister was.

  • He wouldn't catch anybody else.

  • If you had fallen up

  • against him, as some of them did,

  • on purpose he would have made a faint of

  • endeavoring to seize you,

  • which would have been an

  • affront to your understanding,

  • and would instantly have sidled off in

  • the direction of the plump sister.

  • She often cried out that it wasn't fair,

  • and it really was not.

  • But when at last he caught her,

  • when in spite of all her silken rustlings

  • and her rapid flutterings past him,

  • he got her into a corner

  • whence there was no escape.

  • Then his conduct was the most execrable,

  • for his pretending not to know her.

  • His pretending that it was necessary to

  • touch her headdress,

  • and further to assure

  • himself of her identity

  • by pressing a certain

  • ring upon her finger

  • and a certain chain about

  • her neck, was vile, monstrous.

  • No doubt she told him

  • her opinion of it when,

  • another blind man being in office,

  • they were so very confidential together,

  • behind the curtains.

  • Scrooge's niece was not one

  • of the blind man's buff party,

  • but was made comfortable with a large

  • chair and a footstool in a snug corner,

  • where the ghost and

  • Scrooge were close behind her.

  • But she joined in the forfeits,

  • and loved her love to admiration with all

  • the letters of the alphabet.

  • Likewise, at the game

  • of how, when, and where,

  • she was very great, and to the secret joy

  • of Scrooge's nephew,

  • beat her sisters hollow,

  • though they were sharp girls too,

  • as could have told you.

  • There might have been twenty people

  • there, young and old,

  • but they all played, and so did Scrooge,

  • for wholly forgetting the interest he had

  • in what was going on,

  • that his voice made

  • no sound in their ears.

  • He sometimes came out

  • with his guests quite loud,

  • and very often guessed quite right too.

  • For the sharpest

  • needle, best white chapel,

  • warranted not to cut in the eye, was not

  • sharper than Scrooge,

  • blunt as he took it in his head to be.

  • The ghost was greatly

  • pleased to find him in this mood,

  • and looked upon him with such favor,

  • that he begged like a boy to be allowed

  • to stay until the guests departed.

  • But this, the spirit

  • said, could not be done.

  • "Here is a new game," said Scrooge, "one

  • half-hour spirit, only one."

  • It was a game called Yes and No,

  • where Scrooge's nephew

  • had to think of something,

  • and the rest must find out what.

  • He only answering to their questions yes

  • or no, as the case was.

  • The brisk fire of

  • questioning to which he was exposed,

  • elicited from him that he

  • was thinking of an animal,

  • a live animal, rather a disagreeable

  • animal, a savage animal,

  • an animal that growled and grunted

  • sometimes, and talked sometimes,

  • and lived in London and walked about the

  • streets and wasn't made a show of,

  • and wasn't led by anybody

  • and didn't live in a menagerie

  • and was never killed in a market and was

  • not a horse or an ass or a cow

  • or a bull or a tiger or a dog

  • or a pig or a cat or a bear.

  • At every fresh

  • question that was put to him,

  • this nephew burst into

  • a fresh roar of laughter

  • and was so inexpressibly tickled that he

  • was obliged to get up

  • off the sofa and stamp.

  • At last, the plump sister, falling into a

  • similar state, cried out,

  • "I have found it out! I know what it is,

  • Fred! I know what it is!"

  • "What is it?" cried Fred. "It's your

  • Uncle Scrooge," which it certainly was.

  • Admiration was the universal sentiment,

  • though some objected that the reply to

  • "Is it a bear?" ought to have been "Yes,"

  • inasmuch as an answer in the negative was

  • sufficient to have diverted their

  • thoughts from Mr. Scrooge,

  • supposing they had ever

  • had any tendency that way.

  • "He has given us plenty of merriment, I

  • am sure," said Fred,

  • "and it would be

  • ungrateful not to drink his health.

  • Here is a glass of mulled wine, ready to

  • our hand at the moment,

  • and I say, "Uncle Scrooge."

  • "Well, Uncle Scrooge!" they cried.

  • "A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

  • to the old man, whatever he

  • is," said Scrooge's nephew.

  • "He wouldn't take it from me, but may he

  • have it nevertheless, Uncle Scrooge."

  • Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so

  • gay and light of heart

  • that he would have pledged the

  • unconscious company in return

  • and thanked them in an inaudible speech

  • if the ghost had given him time.

  • But the whole scene passed off in the

  • breath of the last

  • word spoken by his nephew

  • and he and the spirit were

  • again upon their travels.

  • Much they saw and far they went, and many

  • homes they visited, but

  • always with a happy end.

  • The spirit stood beside sick beds and

  • they were cheerful on foreign lands

  • and they were close at home, by

  • struggling men, and they were

  • patient in their greater hope,

  • by poverty, and it was rich.

  • In Almshouse, hospital, and jail, in

  • misery's every refuge,

  • where vain man in his little brief

  • authority had not made fast the door and

  • barred the spirit out,

  • he left his blessing and

  • taught Scrooge his precepts.

  • It was a long night if it were only a

  • night, but Scrooge

  • had his doubts of this,

  • because the Christmas holidays appeared

  • to be condensed into the space of time

  • they passed together.

  • It was strange too that while Scrooge

  • remained unaltered in his outward form,

  • the ghost grew older, clearly older.

  • Scrooge had observed this change, but

  • never spoke of it until they left a

  • children's twelfth night party.

  • When, looking at the spirit as they stood

  • together in an open place, he noticed

  • that its hair was gray.

  • "Are spirits' lives so

  • short?" asked Scrooge.

  • "My life upon this globe is

  • very brief," replied the ghost.

  • "It ends tonight."

  • "Tonight," cried Scrooge.

  • "Tonight at midnight. Hark!

  • The time is drawing near."

  • The chimes were ringing the

  • three-quarters past

  • eleven at that moment.

  • "Forgive me if I am not justified in what

  • I ask," said Scrooge, looking

  • intently at the spirit's robe.

  • "But I see something strange, and not

  • belonging to yourself, protruding from

  • your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?"

  • "It might be a claw for the flesh there

  • is upon it," was the

  • spirit's sorrowful reply.

  • "Look here."

  • From the foldings of its robe it brought

  • two children, wretched, abject,

  • frightful, hideous, miserable.

  • They knelt down at its feet and clung

  • upon the outside of its garment.

  • "Oh, man, look here, look, look, down

  • here!" exclaimed the ghost.

  • They were a boy and a girl, yellow,

  • meager, ragged, scowling, wolfish, but

  • prostrate too in their humility,

  • where graceful youth should have filled

  • their features out and touched

  • them with its freshest tints,

  • a stale and shriveled hand, like that of

  • age, had pinched and twisted them and

  • pulled them into shreds.

  • Where angels might have sat enthroned,

  • devils lurked and glared out menacing.

  • No change, no degradation, no perversion

  • of humanity in any grade, through all the

  • mysteries of wonderful creation,

  • has monsters half so horrible and dread.

  • Scrooge started back, appalled, having

  • them shown to him in this way, he tried

  • to say they were fine children,

  • but the words choked themselves rather

  • than be parties to a lie

  • of such enormous magnitude.

  • "Spirit, are they yours?"

  • Scrooge could say no more.

  • "They are man's," said the spirit,

  • looking down upon them, and they cling to

  • me, appealing from their fathers.

  • "This boy is ignorance, this girl is

  • want. Beware them both, and all of their

  • degree, but most of all beware this boy,

  • for on his brow I see that written, which

  • is doom, unless the writing be erased.

  • Deny it!" cried the spirit, stretching

  • out its hand towards the city.

  • "Slander those who tell it ye, admit it

  • for your factious purposes, and make it

  • worse, and abide the end."

  • "Have they no refuge or

  • resource?" cried Scrooge.

  • "Are there no prisons?" said the spirit,

  • turning on him for the

  • last time with his own words.

  • "Are there no

  • workhouses?" The bell struck twelve.

  • Scrooge looked about him

  • for the ghost and saw it not.

  • As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he

  • remembered the

  • prediction of old Jacob Marley,

  • and lifting up his eyes beheld a solemn

  • phantom draped and hooded, coming like a

  • mist along the ground towards him.

  • The phantom slowly,

  • gravely, silently approached.

  • When it came, Scrooge bent down upon his

  • knee, for in the very air

  • through which this spirit

  • moved, it seemed to

  • scatter gloom and mystery.

  • It was shrouded in a deep black garment,

  • which concealed its

  • head, its face, its form, and

  • left nothing of it visible

  • save one outstretched hand.

  • But for this, it would have been

  • difficult to detach its

  • figure from the night and separate

  • it from the darkness by

  • which it was surrounded.

  • He felt that it was tall and stately when

  • it came beside him,

  • and that its mysterious

  • presence filled him with a solemn dread.

  • He knew no more, for the

  • spirit neither spoke nor moved.

  • "I am in the presence of the Ghost of

  • Christmas yet to come," said Scrooge.

  • The spirit answered not, but pointed

  • onward with its hand.

  • "You are about to show me shadows of the

  • things that have not

  • happened, but will happen in

  • the time before us," Scrooge pursued.

  • "Is that so, spirit?"

  • The upper portion of the garment was

  • contracted for an instant

  • in its folds as if the spirit

  • had inclined its head.

  • That was the only answer he received.

  • Although well used to ghostly company by

  • this time, Scrooge

  • feared the silent shape

  • so much that his legs trembled beneath

  • him and he found that he

  • could hardly stand when

  • he prepared to follow it.

  • The spirit pauses a moment as observing

  • his condition and

  • giving him time to recover,

  • but Scrooge was all the worse for this.

  • It thrilled him with a vague, uncertain

  • horror to know that

  • behind the dusky shroud there

  • were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon

  • him, while he, though he

  • stretched his own to the

  • utmost, could see nothing but a spectral

  • hand and one great heap of black.

  • "Ghost of the future!" he exclaimed.

  • "I fear you more than any specter I have

  • seen, but as I know your

  • purpose is to do me good,

  • and as I hope to live to be another man

  • from what I was, I am

  • prepared to bear you company

  • and do it with a thankful heart.

  • Will you not speak to me?"

  • It gave him no reply.

  • The hand was pointed

  • straight before them.

  • "Lead on," said Scrooge.

  • "Lead on.

  • The night is waning fast and it is

  • precious time to me, I know.

  • Lead on, spirit."

  • The phantom moved away as

  • it had come towards him.

  • Scrooge followed in the shadow of its

  • dress, which bore him

  • up, he thought, and carried

  • him along.

  • They scarcely seemed to enter the city,

  • for the city rather

  • seemed to spring up about

  • them and encompass them of its own act.

  • But there they were, in the heart of it,

  • on change amongst the

  • merchants, who hurried

  • up and down and chinked the money in

  • their pockets and

  • conversed in groups and looked

  • at their watches and trifled thoughtfully

  • with their great gold seals, and so forth

  • as Scrooge had seen them often.

  • The spirit stopped beside one little knot

  • of businessmen,

  • observing that the hand was

  • pointed to them, Scrooge advanced, to

  • listen to their talk.

  • "No," said a great fat

  • man with a monstrous chin.

  • "I don't know much about it either way.

  • I only know he's dead."

  • When did he die?

  • inquired another.

  • "Last night, I believe."

  • "Why, what was the matter with him?"

  • asked a third, taking a

  • vast quantity of snuff

  • out of a very large snuff box.

  • I thought he'd never die.

  • "God knows," said the first, with a yawn.

  • "What has he done with his money?" asked

  • a red-faced gentleman

  • with a pendulous excrescence

  • on the end of his nose that shook like

  • the gills of a turkey-cock.

  • "I haven't heard," said the man with the

  • large chin yawning again.

  • "Left it to his company, perhaps.

  • He hasn't left it to me.

  • That's all I know."

  • This pleasantry was

  • received with a general laugh.

  • "It's likely to be a very cheap funeral,"

  • said the same speaker.

  • "For upon my life, I don't know of

  • anybody to go to it.

  • Suppose we make up a

  • party and volunteer."

  • "I don't mind going if a lunch is

  • provided," observed the

  • gentleman with the excrescence

  • on his nose.

  • "But I must be fed if I make one."

  • Another laugh.

  • "Well, I am the most disinterested among

  • you, after all," said the first speaker.

  • "For I never wear black

  • gloves and I never eat lunch.

  • But I'll offer to go,

  • if anybody else will.

  • When I come to think of it, I'm not at

  • all sure that I wasn't

  • his most particular friend,

  • for we used to stop and

  • speak whenever we met.

  • Bye-bye."

  • Speakers and listeners strolled away and

  • mixed with other groups.

  • Scrooge knew the men and looked towards

  • the spirit for an explanation.

  • The phantom glided on into a street, its

  • finger pointed to two persons meeting.

  • Scrooge listened again, thinking that the

  • explanation might lie here.

  • He knew these men, also, perfectly.

  • They were men of eye-business, very

  • wealthy, and of great importance.

  • He had made a point always of standing

  • well in their esteem, in

  • a business point of view,

  • that is, strictly in a

  • business point of view.

  • "How are you?" said one.

  • "How are you?" returned the other.

  • "Well," said the first, "old Scratch has

  • got his own at last.

  • Hey."

  • "So I am told," returned

  • the second, "cold, isn't it?"

  • "Seasonable for Christmas time.

  • You're not a skater, I suppose."

  • "No, no, something else to think of.

  • Good morning?"

  • Not another word.

  • That was their meeting, their

  • conversation, and their parting.

  • Scrooge was at first inclined to be

  • surprised that the spirit

  • should attach importance to

  • conversations apparently so trivial, but

  • feeling assured that they

  • must have some hidden purpose,

  • he set himself to consider

  • what it was likely to be.

  • They could scarcely be supposed to have

  • any bearing on the death

  • of Jacob, his old partner,

  • for that was past, and this ghost's

  • province was the future.

  • Or could he think of anyone immediately

  • connected with himself to

  • whom he could apply them?

  • But nothing doubting that to whosoever

  • they applied, they had

  • some latent moral for his

  • own improvement.

  • He resolved to treasure up every word he

  • heard and everything he saw, and

  • especially to observe

  • the shadow of himself when it appeared,

  • for he had an

  • expectation that the conduct of

  • his future self would give him the clue

  • he missed and would

  • render the solution of these

  • riddles easy.

  • He looked about in that very place for

  • his own image, but another

  • man stood in his accustomed

  • corner and though the clock pointed to

  • his usual time of day

  • for being there, he saw

  • no likeness of himself among the

  • multitudes that poured

  • in through the porch.

  • It gave him little surprise, however, for

  • he had been revolving

  • in his mind a change

  • of life and thought and hoped he saw his

  • newborn resolutions carried out in this.

  • Quiet and dark, beside him stood the

  • phantom with its outstretched hand.

  • When he roused himself from his

  • thoughtful quest, he

  • fancied from the turn of the hand

  • and its situation in reference to himself

  • that the unseen eyes

  • were looking at him keenly.

  • It made him shudder and feel very cold.

  • They left the busy scene and went into an

  • obscure part of the

  • town where Scrooge had

  • never penetrated before, although he

  • recognized its

  • situation and its bad repute.

  • The ways were foul and narrow, the shops

  • and houses wretched, the

  • people half naked, drunken,

  • slipshod, ugly.

  • Allies and archways, like so many

  • cesspools, discouraged

  • their offenses of smell and dirt

  • and life upon the straggling streets, and

  • the whole quarter reeked with crime, with

  • filth and misery.

  • Far in this den of infamous resort, there

  • was a low-browed,

  • beatling shop below a penthouse

  • roof where iron, old rags, bottles,

  • bones, and greasy offal were bought.

  • On the floor within were piled up heaps

  • of rusty keys, nails,

  • chains, hinges, files,

  • scales, weights, and

  • refuse iron of all kinds.

  • Secrets that few would like to scrutinize

  • were bred and hidden

  • in mountains of unseemly

  • rags, masses of corrupted fat, and

  • sepulchres of bones.

  • Sitting in among the wares he dealt in,

  • by a charcoal stove

  • made of old bricks, was a

  • gray-haired rascal.

  • Only seventy years of age, who had

  • screened himself from the

  • cold air without by a frowsy

  • curtining of miscellaneous tatters hung

  • upon a line, and smoked

  • his pipe in all the luxury

  • of calm retirement.

  • Scrooge and the Phantom came into the

  • presence of this man just as

  • a woman with a heavy bundle

  • slunk into the shop, but she had scarcely

  • entered, when another

  • woman, similarly laden,

  • came in too, and she was closely followed

  • by a man in faded black, who was no less

  • startled by the sight of them, than they

  • had been upon the

  • recognition of each other.

  • After a short period of blank

  • astonishment, in which the

  • old man with the pipe had joined

  • them, they all three burst into a laugh.

  • "Let the char-woman alone to be the

  • first," cried she, who

  • had entered first, "let the

  • laundress alone to be the second, and let

  • the undertaker's man

  • alone to be the third.

  • Look here, old Joe, here's a chance, if

  • we haven't all three

  • met here without meaning

  • it."

  • "You couldn't have met in a better

  • place," said old Joe,

  • removing his pipe from his mouth.

  • "Come into the parlor.

  • You were made free of it long ago, you

  • know, and the other two ant-strangers.

  • Stop till I shut the door of the shop."

  • Ah, how it screeks.

  • There ain't such a rusty bit of metal in

  • the place as its own

  • hinges, I believe, and I'm

  • sure there's no such old bones here.

  • Ha, ha, we're all

  • suitable to our calling.

  • We're well-matched.

  • Come into the parlor.

  • Come into the parlor."

  • The parlor was the space

  • behind the screen of rags.

  • The old man raked the fire together with

  • an old stair rod, and

  • having trimmed his smoky

  • lamp, for it was night, with the stem of

  • his pipe, put it in his mouth again.

  • While he did this, the woman who had

  • already spoken threw her

  • bundle on the floor and sat

  • down in a flaunting manner on a stool,

  • crossing her elbows on

  • her knees and looking with a

  • bold defiance at the other two.

  • "What odds then?"

  • "What odds, Mrs. Dilber," said the woman.

  • "Every person has a right

  • to take care of themselves.

  • He always did."

  • "That's true indeed," said the laundress.

  • "No man more so."

  • "Why then, don't stand

  • staring as if you was afraid, woman.

  • Who's the wiser?

  • We're not going to pick holes in each

  • other's coats, I suppose."

  • "No, indeed," said Mrs.

  • Dilber and the man together.

  • "We should hope not."

  • "Very well, then," cried the woman.

  • "That's enough.

  • Who's the worse for the loss

  • of a few things like these?

  • Not a dead man, I suppose."

  • "No, indeed," said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.

  • If he wanted to keep them after he was

  • dead, a wicked old

  • screw pursued the woman.

  • Why wasn't he natural in his lifetime?

  • If he had been, he'd have had somebody to

  • look after him when he

  • was struck with death

  • instead of lying, gasping out his last

  • there, alone by himself.

  • "It's the truest word that ever was

  • spoke," said Mrs. Dilber.

  • "It's a judgment on him."

  • "I wish it was a little heavier

  • judgment," replied the woman.

  • "And it should have been.

  • You may depend upon it if I could have

  • laid my hands on anything else.

  • Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me

  • know the value of it.

  • Speak out plain.

  • I'm not afraid to be the first, nor

  • afraid for them to see it.

  • We know pretty well that we were helping

  • ourselves before we met here, I believe.

  • It's no sin.

  • Open the bundle, Joe."

  • But the gallantry of her friends would

  • not allow of this, and

  • the man, in faded black,

  • mounting the breech

  • first, produced his plunder.

  • It was not extensive.

  • A seal or two, a pencil case, a pair of

  • sleeve buttons, and a

  • brooch of no great value were

  • all.

  • They were severally examined and

  • appraised by old Joe, who chalked the

  • sums he was disposed

  • to give for each upon the wall, and added

  • them up into a total

  • when he found there was

  • nothing more to come.

  • "That's your account," said Joe, "and I

  • wouldn't give another

  • sixpence if I was to be boiled

  • for not doing it.

  • Who's next?"

  • Mrs. Dilber was next.

  • Sheets and towels, a little wearing

  • apparel, two

  • old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair

  • of sugar tongs, and a few boots.

  • Her account was stated on

  • the wall in the same manner.

  • "I always give too much to ladies.

  • It's a weakness of mine, and that's the

  • way I ruin myself," said old Joe.

  • "That's your account.

  • If you ask me for another penny and made

  • it an open question, I'd

  • repent of being so liberal

  • and knock off half a crown."

  • "And now undo my bundle,

  • Joe," said the first woman.

  • Joe went down on his knees for the

  • greater convenience of

  • opening it, and having unfastened

  • a great many knots, dragged out a large

  • and heavy roll of some dark stuff.

  • "What do you call this?" said Joe.

  • "Bed curtains."

  • "Ah," returned the woman, laughing and

  • leaning forward on her crossed arms.

  • "Bed curtains."

  • "You don't mean to say you took them

  • down, rings and all,

  • with him lying there?" said

  • Joe.

  • "Yes, I do," replied the woman.

  • "Why not?"

  • "You were born to make your fortune,"

  • said Joe, "and you'll certainly do it.

  • I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I

  • can get anything in

  • it by reaching it out.

  • For the sake of such a man as he was, I

  • promise you, Joe,"

  • returned the woman coolly.

  • "Don't drop that oil

  • upon the blankets now."

  • "His blankets?" asked Joe.

  • "Whose else's do you think?"

  • replied the woman.

  • "He isn't likely to take

  • cold without them, I daresay.

  • I hope he didn't die

  • of anything catching."

  • "Eh?" said old Joe, stopping

  • in his work and looking up.

  • "Don't you be afraid of

  • that?" returned the woman.

  • "I ain't so fond of his company that I'd

  • loiter about him for

  • such things if he did.

  • Ah, you may look through that shirt till

  • your eyes ache, but you

  • won't find a hole in it

  • nor a threadbare place.

  • It's the best he had, and a fine one too.

  • They'd have wasted it if

  • it hadn't been for me."

  • "What do you call

  • wasting of it?" asked old Joe.

  • "Putting it on him to be buried in, to be

  • sure," replied the woman with a laugh.

  • "Somebody was fool enough to

  • do it, but I took it off again.

  • If Calico ain't good enough for such a

  • purpose, it isn't

  • good enough for anything.

  • It's quite as becoming to the body.

  • He can't look uglier

  • than he did in that one."

  • Scrooge listened to

  • this dialogue in horror.

  • As they sat grouped about their spoil, in

  • the scanty light

  • afforded by the old man's

  • lamp, he viewed them with a detestation

  • and disgust, which could

  • hardly have been greater,

  • though the demons,

  • marketing the corpse itself.

  • "Ha, ha," laughed the same woman, when

  • old Joe, producing a

  • flannel bag with money in

  • it, told out their

  • several gains upon the ground.

  • "This is the end of it, you see.

  • He frightened everyone away from him when

  • he was alive, to

  • profit us when he was dead.

  • Ha, ha, ha!"

  • "Spirit," said Scrooge,

  • shuddering from head to foot.

  • "I see, I see.

  • The case of this

  • unhappy man might be my own.

  • My life tends that way now.

  • Merciful heaven, what is this?"

  • He recoiled in terror, for the scene had

  • changed, and now he almost touched a bed.

  • A bare, uncurtained bed, on which,

  • beneath a ragged sheet,

  • there lay a something covered

  • up, which, though it was dumb, announced

  • itself in awful language.

  • The room was very dark, too dark to be

  • observed with any

  • accuracy, though Scrooge glanced

  • round it in obedience to a secret

  • impulse, anxious to know

  • what kind of room it was.

  • A pale light, rising in the outer air,

  • fell straight upon the

  • bed, and on it, plundered

  • and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared

  • for, was the body of this man.

  • Scrooge glanced towards the phantom.

  • Its steady hand was pointed to the head.

  • The cover was so carelessly adjusted that

  • the slightest raising

  • of it, the motion of

  • a finger upon Scrooge's part,

  • would have disclosed the face.

  • He thought of it, felt how easy it would

  • be to do, and longed to do it, but had no

  • more power to withdraw the veil than to

  • dismiss the spectre at his side.

  • O cold, cold, rigid, dreadful death, set

  • up thine altar here, and

  • dress it with such terrors

  • as thou hast at thy

  • command, for this is thy dominion.

  • But of the loved, revered, and honored

  • head, thou canst not

  • turn one hair to thy dread

  • purposes or make one feature odious.

  • It is not that the hand is heavy and will

  • fall down when released.

  • It is not that the heart and pulse are

  • still, but that the hand

  • was open, generous, and

  • true, the heart brave, warm, and tender,

  • and the pulse of man's.

  • Strike, shadow, strike, and see his good

  • deeds springing from

  • the wound to sow the world

  • with life immortal.

  • No voice pronounced these words in

  • Scrooge's ears, and yet he

  • heard them when he looked

  • upon the bed.

  • He thought, if this man could be raised

  • up now, what would be

  • his foremost thoughts?

  • Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares,

  • they have brought him

  • to a rich end, truly.

  • He lay in the dark, empty house, with not

  • a man, a woman, or a

  • child, to say that he

  • was kind to me in this or that, and for

  • the memory of one kind

  • word, I will be kind to

  • him.

  • A cat was tearing at the door, and there

  • was a sound of gnawing

  • rats beneath the hearthstone.

  • What they wanted in the room of death,

  • and why they were so

  • restless and disturbed, Scrooge

  • did not dare to think.

  • "Spirit," he said,

  • "this is a fearful place.

  • In leaving it, I shall not

  • leave its lesson, trust me.

  • Let us go."

  • Still, the ghost pointed with

  • an unmoved finger to the head.

  • "I understand you," Scrooge returned,

  • "and I would do it if I could.

  • But I have not the power, Spirit.

  • I have not the power."

  • Again, it seemed to look upon him.

  • "If there is any person in the town who

  • feels emotion caused by

  • this man's death," said

  • Scrooge, quite agonized, "show that

  • person to me, Spirit.

  • I beseech you."

  • The phantom spread its dark robe before

  • him for a moment, like

  • a wing, and, withdrawing

  • it, revealed a room by daylight where a

  • mother and her children were.

  • She was expecting someone, and, with

  • anxious eagerness, for

  • she walked up and down the

  • room, started at every sound, looked out

  • from the window, glanced

  • at the clock, tried but

  • in vain to work with her needle, and

  • could hardly bear the

  • voices of the children in

  • their play.

  • At length the

  • long-expected knock was heard.

  • She hurried to the door and met her

  • husband, a man whose face

  • was careworn and depressed

  • though he was young.

  • There was a remarkable expression in it

  • now, a kind of serious

  • delight of which he felt

  • ashamed and which he

  • struggled to repress.

  • He sat down to the dinner that had been

  • boarding for him by the

  • fire, and when she asked him

  • faintly what news, which was not until

  • after a long silence, he

  • appeared embarrassed how

  • to answer.

  • "Is it good," she said, "or bad?"

  • "To help him."

  • "Bad," he answered.

  • "We are quite ruined."

  • "No, there is hope yet, Caroline."

  • "If he relents," she

  • said, amazed, "there is.

  • Nothing is past hope if

  • such a miracle has happened."

  • "He is past relenting," said her husband.

  • "He is dead."

  • She was a mild and patient creature if

  • her face spoke truth,

  • but she was thankful in

  • her soul to hear it, and she

  • said so with clasped hands.

  • She prayed forgiveness the next moment

  • and was sorry, but the

  • first was the emotion of

  • her heart.

  • "What the half-drunken woman whom I told

  • you of last night said to me when I tried

  • to see him and obtain a week's delay and

  • what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid

  • me, turns out to have been quite true.

  • He was not only very ill, but dying then.

  • To whom will our debt be transferred?"

  • "I don't know, but before that time we

  • shall be ready with the

  • money, and even though we

  • were not, it would be a bad fortune

  • indeed to find so merciless

  • a creditor in his successor.

  • We may sleep tonight with

  • light hearts, Caroline."

  • "Yes.

  • Soften it as they would,

  • their hearts were lighter.

  • The children's faces hushed and clustered

  • round to hear what

  • they so little understood

  • were brighter, and it was a happier house

  • for this man's death.

  • The only emotion that the ghost could

  • show him caused by the

  • event was one of pleasure."

  • "Let me see some tenderness connected

  • with a death," said

  • Scrooge, "or that dark chamber

  • spirit which we left just now will be

  • forever present to me."

  • The ghost conducted him through several

  • streets familiar to his

  • feet, and as they went along,

  • Scrooge looked here and there to find

  • himself, but nowhere was he to be seen.

  • They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house,

  • the dwelling he had

  • visited before, and found

  • the mother and the

  • children seated round the fire.

  • Quiet.

  • Very quiet.

  • The noisy little Cratchits were as still

  • as statues in one

  • corner, and sat looking up

  • at Peter, who had a book before him.

  • The mother and her daughters were engaged

  • in sewing, but surely

  • they were very quiet,

  • and he took a child and

  • set him in the midst of them.

  • Where had Scrooge heard those words?

  • He had not dreamed them.

  • The boy must have read them out as he and

  • the spirit crossed the threshold.

  • Why did he not go on?

  • The mother laid her work upon the table

  • and put her hand up to her face.

  • "The color hurts my eyes," she said.

  • The color.

  • Ah, poor tiny Tim.

  • "They're better now

  • again," said Cratchit's wife.

  • "It makes them weak by candlelight, and I

  • wouldn't show weak

  • eyes to your father when

  • he comes home.

  • For the world, it must be near his time."

  • "Past it, rather," Peter answered,

  • shutting up his book.

  • "But I think he has walked a little

  • slower than he used these

  • few last evenings, mother."

  • They were very quiet again.

  • At last, she said, and in a steady,

  • cheerful voice that only

  • faltered once, "I have known

  • him walk with.

  • I have known him walk with tiny Tim upon

  • his shoulder, very fast indeed."

  • "And so have I," cried Peter.

  • "Often, and so have

  • I," exclaimed another.

  • So had all.

  • But he was very light to carry.

  • She resumed, intent upon her work, and

  • his father loved him so

  • that it was no trouble,

  • no trouble.

  • "And there is your father at the door."

  • She hurried out to meet him, and little

  • Bob, in his comforter,

  • he had need of it, poor

  • fellow, came in.

  • His tea was ready for him on the hob, and

  • they all tried who

  • should help him to at most.

  • Then the two young Cratchits got upon his

  • knees and laid, each

  • child a little cheek,

  • against his face, as if they

  • said, "Don't mind it, father.

  • Don't be grieved."

  • Bob was very cheerful with them, and

  • spoke pleasantly to all the family.

  • He looked at the work upon the table, and

  • praised the industry

  • and speed of Mrs. Cratchit

  • and the girls.

  • They would be done long

  • before Sunday, he said.

  • "Sunday?

  • You went today then,

  • Robert?" said his wife.

  • "Yes, my dear," returned Bob.

  • "I wish you could have gone.

  • It would have done you good to see how

  • green a place it is,

  • but you'll see it often.

  • I promised him that I

  • would walk there on a Sunday."

  • "My little, little child," cried Bob.

  • "My little child."

  • He broke down all at once.

  • He couldn't help it.

  • If he could have helped it, he and his

  • child would have been

  • farther apart, perhaps, than

  • they were.

  • He left the room and went upstairs into

  • the room above, which

  • was lighted cheerfully and

  • hung with Christmas.

  • There was a chair set close beside the

  • child, and there were

  • signs of someone having been

  • there lately.

  • Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had

  • thought a little and

  • composed himself, he kissed the

  • little face.

  • He was reconciled to what had happened

  • and went down again, quite happy.

  • They drew about the fire and talked, the

  • girls and mother working still.

  • Bob told them of the extraordinary

  • kindness of Mr. Scrooge's

  • nephew, whom he had scarcely

  • seen but once, and who, meeting him in

  • the street that day

  • and seeing that he looked

  • a little, just a little down.

  • "You know," said Bob, inquired what had

  • happened to distress him.

  • "On which," said Bob, "for he is the

  • pleasantest spoken

  • gentleman you ever heard," I told

  • him.

  • "I am heartily sorry for it, Mr.

  • Cratchit," he said, "and

  • heartily sorry for your good

  • wife."

  • "By the by how he ever

  • knew that, I don't know."

  • "Knew what, my dear?"

  • "Why, that you were a

  • good wife," replied Bob.

  • "Everybody knows that," said Peter.

  • "Very well observed, my boy," cried Bob.

  • "I hope they do."

  • "Heartily sorry," he

  • said, "for your good wife?

  • If I can be of service to you in any

  • way," he said, giving me his card.

  • "That's where I live.

  • Pray come to me."

  • "Now, it wasn't," cried Bob, "for the

  • sake of anything he

  • might be able to do for us,

  • so much as for his kind way, that this

  • was quite delightful.

  • It really seemed as if he had known our

  • tiny Tim and felt with us."

  • "I'm sure he's a good

  • soul," said Mrs. Cratchit.

  • though at a different time he thought.

  • Indeed, there seemed no

  • order in these latter visions,

  • save that they were in the future, into

  • the resorts of business men,

  • but showed him not himself.

  • Indeed, the spirit did not stay for

  • anything, but went straight on, as to the

  • end just now desired,

  • until besought by

  • Scrooge to tarry for a moment.

  • "This courts," said Scrooge,

  • "through which we hurry now,

  • is where my place of occupation is, and

  • has been for a length of time.

  • I see the house. Let me behold what I

  • shall be in days to come."

  • The spirit stopped. The

  • hand was pointed elsewhere.

  • "The house is yonder," Scrooge exclaimed.

  • "Why do you point away?"

  • The inexorable finger

  • underwent no change.

  • Scrooge hastened to the window of his

  • office and looked in. It was

  • an office still, but not his.

  • The furniture was not the same, and the

  • figure in the chair was not himself.

  • The phantom pointed as before. He joined

  • it once again, and wondering

  • why and wither he had gone,

  • accompanied it until they reached an iron

  • gate. He paused to look

  • round before entering. A

  • churchyard. Here then, the wretched man,

  • whose name he had now to

  • learn, lay underneath the

  • ground. It was a worthy place, walled in

  • by houses, overrun by

  • grass and weeds, the growth

  • of vegetation's death, not life, choked

  • up with too much burying,

  • fat with repleted appetite,

  • a worthy place. The spirit stood among

  • the graves and pointed down

  • to one. He advanced towards it

  • trembling. The phantom was exactly as it

  • had been, but he dreaded

  • that he saw new meaning

  • in its solemn shape. "Before I draw

  • nearer to that stone to

  • which you point," said Scrooge,

  • "answer me one question. Are these the

  • shadows of the things that

  • will be, or are they shadows of

  • things that may be only?" Still, the

  • ghost pointed downward to

  • the grave by which it stood.

  • "Men's courses will foreshadow certain

  • ends to which, if

  • persevered in, they must lead," said

  • Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed

  • from, the ends will

  • change. Say it is thus with what

  • you show me." The spirit was immovable as

  • ever. Scrooge crept

  • towards it, trembling as he went,

  • and following the finger, read upon the

  • stone of the neglected grave his own

  • name, Ebenezer Scrooge.

  • "Am I that man who lay upon the bed?" he

  • cried upon his knees. The

  • finger pointed from the grave

  • to him and back again. "No, spirit. Oh,

  • no, no." The finger still

  • was there. "Spirit," he cried,

  • tight clutching at its robe. "Hear me. I

  • am not the man I was. I

  • will not be the man I must have

  • been but for this intercourse. Why show

  • me this if I am past all

  • hope?" For the first time,

  • the hand appeared to shake. "Good

  • spirit," he pursued, as down upon the

  • ground he fell before

  • it. "Your nature intercedes for me and

  • pities me. Assure me that I yet may

  • change these shadows you

  • have shown me by an altered life." The

  • kind hand trembled. "I will honor

  • Christmas in my heart

  • and try to keep it all the year. I will

  • live in the past, the

  • present, and the future. The spirits

  • of all three shall strive within me. I

  • will not shut out the lessons

  • that they teach. Oh, tell me

  • I may sponge away the writing on this

  • stone." In his agony, he caught the

  • spectral hand. It sought

  • to free itself, but he was strong in his

  • entreaty and detained it.

  • The spirit, stronger yet,

  • repulsed him. Holding up his hands in a

  • last prayer to have his

  • fate eye reversed, he saw

  • an alteration in the phantom's hood and

  • dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled

  • down into a bedpost.

  • Yes, and the bedpost was his own. The bed

  • was his own. The room was his own. Best

  • and happiest of all,

  • the time before him was his own. To make

  • amends in. "I will live in

  • the past, the present, and the

  • future," Scrooge repeated as he scrambled

  • out of bed. "The spirits of

  • all three shall strive within

  • me, O Jacob Marley, heaven, and the

  • Christmas time be praised for

  • this." "I say it on my knees,

  • O Jacob, on my knees?" He was so

  • fluttered and so glowing with his good

  • intentions that his broken

  • voice would scarcely answer to his call.

  • He had been sobbing

  • violently in his conflict with the

  • spirit, and his face was wet with tears.

  • "They are not torn down,"

  • cried Scrooge, folding one of his

  • bed curtains in his arms. "They are not

  • torn down, rings and all. They are here.

  • I am here. The shadows

  • of the things that would have been may be

  • dispelled. They will

  • be. I know they will."

  • His hands were busy with his garments all

  • this time, turning them

  • inside out, putting them on

  • upside down, tearing them, mislaying

  • them, making them parties to

  • every kind of extravagance.

  • "I don't know what to do," cried Scrooge,

  • laughing and crying in the same breath

  • and making a perfect

  • lay a cowl of himself with his stockings.

  • "I am as light as a

  • feather. I am as happy as an angel.

  • I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as

  • giddy as a drunken man. A

  • merry Christmas to everybody.

  • A happy new year to all the world."

  • It frisked into the sitting

  • room and was now standing there,

  • perfectly winded.

  • There's the saucepan

  • that the gruel was in,

  • cried Scrooge, starting off again

  • and going round the fireplace.

  • There's the door by which the ghost of

  • Jacob Marley entered.

  • There's the corner where the ghost of

  • Christmas present sat.

  • There's the window where I

  • saw the wandering spirits.

  • It's all right.

  • It's all true.

  • It all happened.

  • [LAUGHTER]

  • He was checked in his transports by the

  • churches ringing out the

  • lustiest peals he had ever heard.

  • Oh, glorious! Glorious! Running to the

  • window, he opened it

  • and put out his head.

  • No fog, no mist. Clear, bright, jovial,

  • stirring, cold, cold.

  • Piping for the blood to dance to, golden

  • sunlight, heavenly sky,

  • sweet fresh air, merry bells.

  • Oh, glorious! Glorious!

  • "What's today?" cried Scrooge, calling

  • downward to a boy in Sunday clothes who

  • perhaps had loitered

  • in to look about him.

  • "A?" returned the boy,

  • with all his might of wonder.

  • "What's today, my fine

  • fellow?" said Scrooge.

  • "Today?" replied the boy.

  • "Why, Christmas Day!"

  • "Why, it's impossible to carry that to

  • Camden Town," said Scrooge.

  • "You must have a cab."

  • He dressed himself all in his best and at

  • last got out into the streets.

  • The people were by this time pouring

  • forth as he had seen them with the ghost

  • of Christmas present,

  • and walking with his hands behind him,

  • Scrooge regarded

  • everyone with a delighted smile.

  • He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a

  • word, that three or four

  • good-humored fellows said,

  • "Good morning, sir. A

  • Merry Christmas to you."

  • And Scrooge said, often afterwards, that

  • of all the blithe

  • sounds he had ever heard,

  • those were the blithest in his ears. He

  • had not gone far. When

  • coming on towards him,

  • he beheld the portly gentleman who had

  • walked into his

  • counting house the day before,

  • and said, "Scrooge and Marley's, I

  • believe." It sent a pang

  • across his heart to think how this

  • old gentleman would look upon him when

  • they met, but he knew what path lay

  • straight before him,

  • and he took it. "My dear sir," said

  • Scrooge, quickening his pace

  • and taking the old gentleman

  • by both his hands, "how do you do? I hope

  • you succeeded yesterday.

  • It was very kind of you.

  • A Merry Christmas to you, sir." "Mr.

  • Scrooge." "Yes," said

  • Scrooge, "that is my name,

  • and I fear it may not be pleasant to you.

  • Allow me to ask your pardon,

  • and will you have the goodness?" "Here,"

  • Scrooge whispered in his ear.

  • "Lord bless me," cried the gentleman, as

  • if his breath were taken away.

  • "My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"

  • "If you please," said

  • Scrooge, "not a farthing less.

  • A great many back payments are included

  • in it, I assure you.

  • Will you do me that favor?"

  • "My dear sir," said the other, shaking

  • hands with him. "I don't

  • know what to say to such

  • munificence." "Don't say anything,

  • please," retorted Scrooge, "come and see

  • me. Will you come and see

  • me?" "I will," cried the old gentleman,

  • and it was clear he meant

  • to do it. "Thank you," said

  • Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I

  • thank you fifty times. Bless

  • you." He went to church and

  • walked about the streets and watched the

  • people hurrying to and fro

  • and patted children on the

  • head and questioned beggars and looked

  • down into the kitchens of

  • houses and up to the windows and

  • found that everything could yield him

  • pleasure. He had never dreamed that any

  • walk, that anything,

  • could give him so much happiness. In the

  • afternoon, he turned his

  • steps towards his nephew's house.

  • He passed the door a dozen times before

  • he had the courage to go up and knock,

  • but he made a dash and did it. "Is your

  • master at home, my dear?"

  • said Scrooge to the girl.

  • "Nice girl, very." "Yes, sir." "Where is

  • he, my love?" said Scrooge.

  • "He's in the dining room, sir,

  • along with mistress. I'll show you

  • upstairs if you please." "Thank you. He

  • knows me," said Scrooge.

  • With his hand already on the dining room

  • lock. "I'll go in here, my

  • dear." He turned it gently

  • and sidled his face in round the door.

  • They were looking at the

  • table, which was spread out in

  • great array, for these young housekeepers

  • are always nervous on

  • such points and like to see

  • that everything is right. "Fred," said

  • Scrooge. "Dear heart alive, how his niece

  • by marriage started,

  • Scrooge had forgotten for the moment

  • about her sitting in the

  • corner with the footstool,

  • or he wouldn't have done it on any

  • account." "Why bless my

  • soul?" cried Fred. "Who's that?"

  • "It's I, your uncle Scrooge. I have come

  • to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?"

  • "Let him in. It is a mercy

  • he didn't shake his arm off. He was at

  • home in five minutes. Nothing

  • could be heartier. His niece

  • looked just the same. So did Topper when

  • he came. So did the plump

  • sister when she came. So did

  • everyone when they came. Wonderful party,

  • wonderful games, wonderful unanimity,

  • wonderful happiness.

  • But he was early at the office next

  • morning. Oh, he was early there. If he

  • could only be there first

  • and catch Bob Cratchit coming late. That

  • was the thing he had set his heart upon.

  • And he did it. Yes, he did. The clock

  • struck nine. No, Bob. A

  • quarter passed. No, Bob. He was

  • full 18 minutes and a half behind his

  • time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open

  • that he might see him

  • come into the tank. His hat was off

  • before he opened the door,

  • his comforter too. He was on

  • his stool in a jiffy, driving away with

  • his pen as if he were

  • trying to overtake nine o'clock.

  • Hello, growled Scrooge in his accustomed

  • voice as near as he could faint.

  • What do you mean by coming

  • here at this time of day?

  • I am very sorry, sir, said Bob. I am

  • behind my time. You are repeated Scrooge.

  • Yes, I think you are. Step

  • this way, sir. If you please.

  • It's only once a year, sir, pleaded Bob

  • appearing from the tank.

  • It shall not be repeated.

  • I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.

  • Now I'll tell you what,

  • my friend, said Scrooge.

  • I am not going to stand this sort of

  • thing any longer. And therefore, he

  • continued, leaping from

  • his stool and giving Bob such a dig in

  • the waistcoat that he

  • staggered back into the tank again.

  • And therefore, I am about to raise your

  • salary. Bob trembled and got a little

  • nearer to the ruler.

  • He had a momentary idea of knocking

  • Scrooge down with it,

  • holding him and calling to the

  • people in the court for help and a

  • straight waistcoat. "A merry

  • Christmas, Bob," said Scrooge,

  • with an earnestness that could not be

  • mistaken, as he clapped him on the back.

  • "A merrier Christmas,

  • Bob, my good fellow than I have given you

  • for many a year. I'll

  • raise your salary and endeavor

  • to assist your struggling family. And we

  • will discuss your affairs

  • this very afternoon over a

  • Christmas bowl of smoking Bishop Bob.

  • Make up the fires and buy another coal

  • scuttle before you dot

  • another I, Bob Cratchit." Scrooge was

  • better than his word. He did

  • it all and infinitely more.

  • And to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was

  • a second father. He became

  • as good a friend, as good a

  • master, and as good a man, as the good

  • old city knew, or any other good old

  • city, town, or borough

  • in the good old world. Some people

  • laughed to see the alteration in him, but

  • he let them laugh, and

  • little heated them. For he was wise

  • enough to know that nothing

  • ever happened on this globe,

  • for good, at which some people did not

  • have their fill of laughter in the

  • outset. And knowing that

  • such as these would be blind anyway, he

  • thought it quite as well, that they

  • should wrinkle up their

  • eyes in grins, as have the malady in less

  • attractive forms. His own

  • heart laughed, and that was quite

  • enough for him. He had no further

  • intercourse with spirits, but lived upon

  • the total abstinence

  • principle ever afterwards. And it was

  • always said of him that he knew how to

  • keep Christmas well,

  • if any man alive possessed the knowledge.

  • May that be truly said

  • of us, and all of us.

  • And so, as Tiny Tim

  • observed, God bless us, everyone.

In the depths of winter's despair, where

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B2 中高級 美國腔

A Christmas Carol - with Music and Visuals

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    林宜悉 發佈於 2024 年 05 月 30 日
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