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<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHRISTMAS CAROL ***</div>

<h4>There are several editions of this ebook in the Project Gutenberg collection. Various characteristics of each ebook are listed to aid in selecting the preferred file.<br />Click on any of the filenumbers belowto quickly view each ebook.
</h4>


<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3">

<tr><td>
 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46">
46</a></td><td>(Original First Edition Cover; 1843 Original Illustrations in Color by John Leech)
</td></tr>

<tr><td>
 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19337">
19337</a> </td><td>(Published in 1905; Illustrations in Black and White by G. A. Williams)
</td></tr>

<tr><td>
 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24022">
24022</a> </td><td>(Published in 1915; Illustrations in Black and White and Color by By Arthur Rackham)
</td></tr>

<tr><td>
 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30368">
30368</a> </td><td>(First edition with original hand written pages; Black and White illustrations.)
</td></tr>

</table>

    <hr />
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/bookcover.jpg" alt="Cover of 1843 First Edition"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="Title Page of 1843 First Edition"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <div class="book">
      <br />
      <hr />
      <h1 class="title">
        A CHRISTMAS CAROL
      </h1>
      <div class="title2">
        <h3>
          IN PROSE
        </h3>
        <h5>
          BEING
        </h5>
        <h2>
          <i>A Ghost Story of Christmas</i>
        </h2>
      </div>
      <br />
      <div class="title">
        <h5>
          BY
        </h5>
        <br />
        <h2>
          CHARLES DICKENS
        </h2>
      </div>
      <hr />
      <div class="title2">
        <h4>
          WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN LEECH
        </h4>
      </div>
      <hr />
      <br />
      <h3>
        PREFACE
      </h3>
      <br /><br />
      <p>
        I <small>HAVE</small> endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise
        the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with
        themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt
        their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it. <br /><br />
      </p>
      <p class="preface2">
        Their faithful Friend and Servant, <br /><br />
      </p>
      <p class="preface1">
        C. D.<br /><br />
      </p>
      <p>
        <i>December</i>, 1843. <br /><br />
      </p>
      <hr />
      <h2>
        CONTENTS
      </h2>
      <br />
      <div class="contents">
        STAVE &nbsp;I<br /> <a href="#link1">MARLEY&#8217;S GHOST</a><br /><br />
        STAVE &nbsp;II<br /> <a href="#link2">THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS</a><br /><br />
        STAVE &nbsp;III<br /> <a href="#link3">THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS</a><br /><br />
        STAVE &nbsp;IV<br /> <a href="#link4">THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS</a><br /><br />
        STAVE &nbsp;V<br /> <a href="#link5">THE END OF IT</a>
      </div>
      <br />
      <hr />
      <h2>
        ILLUSTRATIONS
      </h2>
      <br />
      <table class="illus" summary="Illustrations">
        <col align="left" />
        <col align="left" />
        <col align="center" />
        <tr>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td style="font-variant: normal;">
            <i>Artist.</i>
          </td></tr>
		  <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link6">Marley&#8217;s Ghost</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            J. Leech
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link7">Ghosts of Departed Usurers</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            ,,
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link8">Mr. Fezziwig&#8217;s Ball</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            ,,
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link9">Scrooge Extinguishes the First<br />of the Three
              Spirits</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            ,,
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link10">Scrooge&#8217;s Third Visitor</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            ,,
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link11">Ignorance and Want</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            ,,
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link12">The Last of the Spirits</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            ,,
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td>
            <p class="illus">
              <a href="#link13">Scrooge and Bob Cratchit</a>
            </p>
          </td>
          <td>
            &nbsp;
          </td>
          <td>
            ,,
          </td>
        </tr>
      </table>
      <br />
      <hr />
      <h2>
        <a name="link1" id="link1">STAVE &nbsp;ONE.</a>
      </h2>
      <hr />
      <h4>
        MARLEY&#8217;S GHOST.
      </h4>
      <p>
        <span class="caps">Marley</span> was dead: to begin with. There is no
        doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the
        clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge
        signed it: and Scrooge&#8217;s name was good upon &#8217;Change, for
        anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a
        door-nail.
      </p>
      <p>
        Mind! I don&#8217;t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what
        there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been
        inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of
        ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the
        simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country&#8217;s
        done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that
        Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise?
        Scrooge and he were partners for I don&#8217;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
        solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.
      </p>
      <p>
        The mention of Marley&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8212;say Saint Paul&#8217;s
        Churchyard for instance&#8212;literally to astonish his son&#8217;s weak
        mind.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge never painted out Old Marley&#8217;s name. There it stood, years
        afterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was
        known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called
        Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It
        was all the same to him.
      </p>
      <p>
        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; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.
        The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose,
        shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin
        lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime
        was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his
        own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the
        dog-days; and didn&#8217;t thaw it one degree at Christmas.
      </p>
      <p>
        External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could
        warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than
        he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain
        less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn&#8217;t know where to have him.
        The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the
        advantage over him in only one respect. They often &#8220;came down&#8221;
        handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
      </p>
      <p>
        Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks,
        &#8220;My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?&#8221;
        No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what
        it was o&#8217;clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired
        the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men&#8217;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, &#8220;No eye at all is better than an evil eye,
        dark master!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his
        way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep
        its distance, was what the knowing ones call &#8220;nuts&#8221; to
        Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        Once upon a time&#8212;of all the good days in the year, on Christmas
        Eve&#8212;old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold,
        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.
        The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already&#8212;it
        had not been light all day&#8212;and candles were flaring in the windows
        of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown
        air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so
        dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        The door of Scrooge&#8217;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&#8217;s
        fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he
        couldn&#8217;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 a strong imagination, he
        failed.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!&#8221; cried a cheerful
        voice. It was the voice of Scrooge&#8217;s nephew, who came upon him so
        quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Bah!&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;Humbug!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this
        nephew of Scrooge&#8217;s, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy
        and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Christmas a humbug, uncle!&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s nephew.
        &#8220;You don&#8217;t mean that, I am sure?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I do,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Merry Christmas! What right
        have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You&#8217;re
        poor enough.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Come, then,&#8221; returned the nephew gaily. &#8220;What right
        have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You&#8217;re
        rich enough.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said,
        &#8220;Bah!&#8221; again; and followed it up with &#8220;Humbug.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Don&#8217;t be cross, uncle!&#8221; said the nephew.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What else can I be,&#8221; returned the uncle, &#8220;when I live
        in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry
        Christmas! What&#8217;s Christmas time to you but a time for paying
        bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not
        an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in
        &#8217;em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If
        I could work my will,&#8221; said Scrooge indignantly, &#8220;every
        idiot who goes about with &#8216;Merry Christmas&#8217; on his lips,
        should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly
        through his heart. He should!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Uncle!&#8221; pleaded the nephew.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Nephew!&#8221; returned the uncle sternly, &#8220;keep Christmas
        in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Keep it!&#8221; repeated Scrooge&#8217;s nephew. &#8220;But you
        don&#8217;t keep it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Let me leave it alone, then,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Much
        good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;There are many things from which I might have derived good, by
        which I have not profited, I dare say,&#8221; returned the nephew.
        &#8220;Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of
        Christmas time, when it has come round&#8212;apart from the veneration
        due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be
        apart from that&#8212;as a good time; a kind, forgiving, 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 to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound
        on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap
        of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it <i>has</i> done me
        good, and <i>will</i> do me good; and I say, God bless it!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The clerk in the Tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately
        sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the
        last frail spark for ever.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Let me hear another sound from <i>you</i>,&#8221; said Scrooge,
        &#8220;and you&#8217;ll keep your Christmas by losing your situation!
        You&#8217;re quite a powerful speaker, sir,&#8221; he added, turning to
        his nephew. &#8220;I wonder you don&#8217;t go into Parliament.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Don&#8217;t be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge said that he would see him&#8212;yes, indeed he did. He went the
        whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that
        extremity first.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;But why?&#8221; cried Scrooge&#8217;s nephew. &#8220;Why?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why did you get married?&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Because I fell in love.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Because you fell in love!&#8221; growled Scrooge, as if that were
        the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas.
        &#8220;Good afternoon!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened.
        Why give it as a reason for not coming now?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Good afternoon,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be
        friends?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Good afternoon,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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 Christmas, and I&#8217;ll keep my Christmas humour to
        the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Good afternoon!&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And A Happy New Year!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Good afternoon!&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        His nephew left the room without an angry 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;There&#8217;s another fellow,&#8221; muttered Scrooge; who
        overheard him: &#8220;my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a
        wife and family, talking about a merry Christmas. I&#8217;ll retire to
        Bedlam.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        This lunatic, in letting Scrooge&#8217;s nephew out, had let two other
        people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now
        stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge&#8217;s office. They had books
        and papers in their hands, and bowed to him.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Scrooge and Marley&#8217;s, I believe,&#8221; said one of the
        gentlemen, referring to his list. &#8220;Have I the pleasure of
        addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years,&#8221; Scrooge
        replied. &#8220;He died seven years ago, this very night.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his
        surviving partner,&#8221; said the gentleman, presenting his
        credentials.
      </p>
      <p>
        It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous
        word &#8220;liberality,&#8221; Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and
        handed the credentials back.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,&#8221; said the
        gentleman, taking up a pen, &#8220;it is more than usually desirable
        that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and destitute,
        who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of
        common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common
        comforts, sir.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Are there no prisons?&#8221; asked Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Plenty of prisons,&#8221; said the gentleman, laying down the pen
        again.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And the Union workhouses?&#8221; demanded Scrooge. &#8220;Are
        they still in operation?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;They are. Still,&#8221; returned the gentleman, &#8220;I wish I
        could say they were not.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?&#8221;
        said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Both very busy, sir.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had
        occurred to stop them in their useful course,&#8221; said Scrooge.
        &#8220;I&#8217;m very glad to hear it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer
        of mind or body to the multitude,&#8221; returned the gentleman, &#8220;a
        few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and
        drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time,
        of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What
        shall I put you down for?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Nothing!&#8221; Scrooge replied.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You wish to be anonymous?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I wish to be left alone,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Since you
        ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don&#8217;t make
        merry myself at Christmas and I can&#8217;t afford to make idle people
        merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned&#8212;they
        cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Many can&#8217;t go there; and many would rather die.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;If they would rather die,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;they had
        better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides&#8212;excuse
        me&#8212;I don&#8217;t know that.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;But you might know it,&#8221; observed the gentleman.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s not my business,&#8221; Scrooge returned. &#8220;It&#8217;s
        enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere
        with other people&#8217;s. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon,
        gentlemen!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the
        gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion
        of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.
      </p>
      <p>
        Meanwhile the fog 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 slily down at 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 labourers
        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 water-plug
        being left in solitude, its overflowings sullenly 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. Poulterers&#8217; and grocers&#8217; 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 his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor&#8217;s
        household should; and even the little tailor, whom he had fined five
        shillings on the previous Monday for being drunk and bloodthirsty in the
        streets, stirred up to-morrow&#8217;s pudding in his garret, while his
        lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef.
      </p>
      <p>
        Foggier yet, and colder. Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the good
        Saint Dunstan had but nipped the Evil Spirit&#8217;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&#8217;s keyhole to regale him with a
        Christmas carol: but at the first sound of <br />
      </p>
      <table summary="carol">
        <tr>
          <td>
            &#8220;God bless you, merry gentleman!<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;May nothing
            you dismay!&#8221;
          </td>
        </tr>
      </table>
      <br />
      <p class="noindent">
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an
        ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the
        fact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his
        candle out, and put on his hat.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You&#8217;ll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?&#8221; said
        Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;If quite convenient, sir.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s not convenient,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;and it&#8217;s
        not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you&#8217;d think
        yourself ill-used, I&#8217;ll be bound?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The clerk smiled faintly.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And yet,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;you don&#8217;t think <i>me</i>
        ill-used, when I pay a day&#8217;s wages for no work.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A poor excuse for picking a man&#8217;s pocket every twenty-fifth
        of December!&#8221; said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin.
        &#8220;But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the
        earlier next morning.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl.
        The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends
        of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no
        great-coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of
        boys, twenty times, in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran
        home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman&#8217;s-buff.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;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 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 fain 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8212;which
        is a bold word&#8212;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&#8217; 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&#8212;not
        a knocker, but Marley&#8217;s face.
      </p>
      <p>
        Marley&#8217;s face. It was not in 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
        ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot
        air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly
        motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror
        seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a
        part of its own expression.
      </p>
      <p>
        As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.
      </p>
      <p>
        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. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned
        it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
      </p>
      <p>
        He <i>did</i> pause, with a moment&#8217;s irresolution, before he shut
        the door; and he <i>did</i> look cautiously behind it first, as if he
        half expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley&#8217;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
        &#8220;Pooh, pooh!&#8221; and closed it with a bang.
      </p>
      <p>
        The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above,
        and every cask in the wine-merchant&#8217;s cellars below, appeared to
        have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be
        frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across the hall,
        and up the stairs; slowly too: trimming his candle as he went.
      </p>
      <p>
        You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six up a good old flight
        of stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parliament; but I mean to say
        you might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken it broadwise,
        with the splinter-bar towards the wall and the door towards the
        balustrades: and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that, and
        room to spare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a
        locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half-a-dozen
        gas-lamps out of the street wouldn&#8217;t have lighted the entry too
        well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge&#8217;s
        dip.
      </p>
      <p>
        Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap, and
        Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through
        his rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of
        the face to desire to do that.
      </p>
      <p>
        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. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two
        fish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker.
      </p>
      <p>
        Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in;
        double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against
        surprise, he took off his cravat; put on his dressing-gown and slippers,
        and his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.
      </p>
      <p>
        It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. He was
        obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extract
        the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The fireplace
        was an old one, built by some Dutch merchant long ago, and paved all
        round with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures.
        There were Cains and Abels, Pharaoh&#8217;s daughters; Queens of Sheba,
        Angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like
        feather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to sea in
        butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts; and yet that
        face of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient Prophet&#8217;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&#8217;s head on every one.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Humbug!&#8221; said Scrooge; and walked across the room.
      </p>
      <p>
        After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the
        chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that
        hung in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a
        chamber in the highest story of the building. It was with great
        astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked,
        he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that
        it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every
        bell in the house.
      </p>
      <p>
        This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an
        hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded
        by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a
        heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant&#8217;s cellar. Scrooge
        then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were
        described as dragging chains.
      </p>
      <p>
        The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the
        noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then
        coming straight towards his door.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s humbug still!&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;I won&#8217;t
        believe it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        His colour changed though, when, 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 leaped up, as though it cried, &#8220;I know him;
        Marley&#8217;s Ghost!&#8221; and fell again.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link6" id="link6"> </a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/01.jpg" alt="Marley’s Ghost" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h4>
      <i>Marley&#8217;s Ghost</i>
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <p>
        The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat,
        tights and boots; the tassels on the latter 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 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had
        never believed it until now.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;How now!&#8221; said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. &#8220;What
        do you want with me?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Much!&#8221;&#8212;Marley&#8217;s voice, no doubt about it.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Who are you?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ask me who I <i>was</i>.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Who <i>were</i> you then?&#8221; said Scrooge, raising his voice.
        &#8220;You&#8217;re particular, for a shade.&#8221; He was going to say
        &#8220;<i>to</i> a shade,&#8221; but substituted this, as more
        appropriate.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Can you&#8212;can you sit down?&#8221; asked Scrooge, looking
        doubtfully at him.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I can.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Do it, then.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge asked the question, because he didn&#8217;t know whether a ghost
        so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and
        felt that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the
        necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the
        opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You don&#8217;t believe in me,&#8221; observed the Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I don&#8217;t,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your
        senses?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why do you doubt your senses?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Because,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;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&#8217;s more of gravy than of grave about
        you, whatever you are!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in
        his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be
        smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his
        terror; for the spectre&#8217;s voice disturbed the very marrow in his
        bones.
      </p>
      <p>
        To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silence for a moment,
        would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. There was something
        very awful, too, in the spectre&#8217;s being provided with an infernal
        atmosphere of its 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 vapour
        from an oven.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You see this toothpick?&#8221; said Scrooge, returning quickly to
        the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were
        only for a second, to divert the vision&#8217;s stony gaze from himself.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I do,&#8221; replied the Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You are not looking at it,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;But I see it,&#8221; said the Ghost, &#8220;notwithstanding.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Well!&#8221; returned Scrooge, &#8220;I have but to swallow this,
        and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of
        my own creation. Humbug, I tell you! humbug!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such
        a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair,
        to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his
        horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it
        were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its
        breast!
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Mercy!&#8221; he said. &#8220;Dreadful apparition, why do you
        trouble me?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Man of the worldly mind!&#8221; replied the Ghost, &#8220;do you
        believe in me or not?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I do,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;I must. But why do spirits walk
        the earth, and why do they come to me?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It is required of every man,&#8221; the Ghost returned, &#8220;that
        the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel
        far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned
        to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world&#8212;oh,
        woe is me!&#8212;and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared
        on earth, and turned to happiness!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its
        shadowy hands.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You are fettered,&#8221; said Scrooge, trembling. &#8220;Tell me
        why?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I wear the chain I forged in life,&#8221; replied the Ghost.
        &#8220;I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my
        own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange
        to <i>you?</i>&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge trembled more and more.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Or would you know,&#8221; pursued the Ghost, &#8220;the weight
        and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy
        and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it,
        since. It is a ponderous chain!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Jacob,&#8221; he said, imploringly. &#8220;Old Jacob Marley, tell
        me more. Speak comfort to me, Jacob!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I have none to give,&#8221; the Ghost replied. &#8220;It comes
        from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other
        ministers, 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&#8212;mark
        me!&#8212;in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our
        money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,&#8221; Scrooge
        observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Slow!&#8221; the Ghost repeated.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Seven years dead,&#8221; mused Scrooge. &#8220;And travelling all
        the time!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;The whole time,&#8221; said the Ghost. &#8220;No rest, no peace.
        Incessant torture of remorse.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You travel fast?&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;On the wings of the wind,&#8221; replied the Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven
        years,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,&#8221; cried the phantom,
        &#8220;not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures,
        for this earth must pass into eternity 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&#8217;s opportunity
        misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,&#8221;
        faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Business!&#8221; cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again.
        &#8220;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It held up its chain at arm&#8217;s length, as if that were the cause of
        all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;At this time of the rolling year,&#8221; the spectre said,
        &#8220;I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings
        with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star
        which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to
        which its light would have conducted <i>me!</i>&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this
        rate, and began to quake exceedingly.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Hear me!&#8221; cried the Ghost. &#8220;My time is nearly gone.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I will,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;But don&#8217;t be hard upon
        me! Don&#8217;t be flowery, Jacob! Pray!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the
        perspiration from his brow.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;That is no light part of my penance,&#8221; pursued the Ghost.
        &#8220;I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and
        hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You were always a good friend to me,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Thank&#8217;ee!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You will be haunted,&#8221; resumed the Ghost, &#8220;by Three
        Spirits.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge&#8217;s countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost&#8217;s had
        done.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?&#8221; he
        demanded, in a faltering voice.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It is.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I&#8212;I think I&#8217;d rather not,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Without their visits,&#8221; said the Ghost, &#8220;you cannot
        hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell
        tolls One.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Couldn&#8217;t I take &#8217;em all at once, and have it over,
        Jacob?&#8221; hinted Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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, for your own sake, you
        remember what has passed between us!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the
        table, and bound it round its head, as before. 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the
        window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it
        was wide open.
      </p>
      <p>
        It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When they were within two
        paces of each other, Marley&#8217;s Ghost held up its hand, warning him
        to come no nearer. Scrooge stopped.
      </p>
      <p>
        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, dark night.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked
        out.
      </p>
      <p>
        The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in
        restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains
        like Marley&#8217;s Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments)
        were linked together; 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 woman with an
        infant, whom it saw below, upon a door-step. The misery with them all
        was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters,
        and had lost the power for ever.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link7" id="link7"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/02.jpg" alt="Ghosts of Departed Usurers" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had
        entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands,
        and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say &#8220;Humbug!&#8221;
        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, or the lateness of the
        hour, much in need of repose; went straight to bed, without undressing,
        and fell asleep upon the instant. <br /><br />
      </p>
      <hr />
      <h2>
        <a name="link2" id="link2">STAVE &nbsp;TWO.</a>
      </h2>
      <hr />
      <h4>
        THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS.
      </h4>
      <p>
        <span class="caps">When</span> 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 endeavouring to pierce the
        darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighbouring church
        struck the four quarters. So he listened for the hour.
      </p>
      <p>
        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!
        It was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle must
        have got into the works. Twelve!
      </p>
      <p>
        He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous
        clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve: and stopped.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, it isn&#8217;t possible,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;that I
        can have slept through a whole day and far into another night. It isn&#8217;t
        possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve at
        noon!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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, 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 &#8220;three days after sight of this First
        of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order,&#8221; and so
        forth, would have become a mere United States&#8217; security if there
        were no days to count by.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it over
        and over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought,
        the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavoured not to think, the
        more he thought.
      </p>
      <p>
        Marley&#8217;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, &#8220;Was it a
        dream or not?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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 tolled 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ding, dong!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A quarter past,&#8221; said Scrooge, counting.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ding, dong!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Half-past!&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ding, dong!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A quarter to it,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ding, dong!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;The hour itself,&#8221; said Scrooge, triumphantly, &#8220;and
        nothing else!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep,
        dull, hollow, melancholy <span class="caps">One</span>. Light flashed up
        in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        It was a strange figure&#8212;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&#8217;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness,
        was <i>not</i> 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?&#8221;
        asked Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I am!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so
        close beside him, it were at a distance.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Who, and what are you?&#8221; Scrooge demanded.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Long Past?&#8221; inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish
        stature.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No. Your past.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have
        asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap; and
        begged him to be covered.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What!&#8221; exclaimed the Ghost, &#8220;would you so soon put
        out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are
        one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole
        trains of years to wear it low upon my brow!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend or any knowledge
        of having wilfully &#8220;bonneted&#8221; the Spirit at any period of
        his life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Your welfare!&#8221; said the Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that
        a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The
        Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Your reclamation, then. Take heed!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the
        arm.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Rise! and walk with me!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the
        hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the
        thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in
        his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon
        him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman&#8217;s hand, was
        not to be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made towards
        the window, clasped his robe in supplication.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I am a mortal,&#8221; Scrooge remonstrated, &#8220;and liable to
        fall.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Bear but a touch of my hand <i>there</i>,&#8221; said the Spirit,
        laying it upon his heart, &#8220;and you shall be upheld in more than
        this!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon
        an open 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Good Heaven!&#8221; said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as
        he looked about him. &#8220;I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been
        light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man&#8217;s
        sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the
        air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys,
        and cares long, long, forgotten!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Your lip is trembling,&#8221; said the Ghost. &#8220;And what is
        that upon your cheek?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a
        pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You recollect the way?&#8221; inquired the Spirit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Remember it!&#8221; cried Scrooge with fervour; &#8220;I could
        walk it blindfold.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!&#8221; observed
        the Ghost. &#8220;Let us go on.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising 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!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;These are but shadows of the things that have been,&#8221; said
        the Ghost. &#8220;They have no consciousness of us.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The jocund travellers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named
        them every one. 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 cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several
        homes! What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas!
        What good had it ever done to him?
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;The school is not quite deserted,&#8221; said the Ghost. &#8220;A
        solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.
      </p>
      <p>
        They left the high-road, 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 coach-houses
        and sheds were over-run 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 candle-light, and not too much to eat.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 store-house 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, it&#8217;s Ali Baba!&#8221; Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy.
        &#8220;It&#8217;s dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I know! One
        Christmas time, when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he
        <i>did</i> come, for the first time, just like that. Poor boy! And
        Valentine,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;and his wild brother, Orson;
        there they go! And what&#8217;s his name, who was put down in his
        drawers, asleep, at the Gate of Damascus; don&#8217;t you see him! And
        the Sultan&#8217;s Groom turned upside down by the Genii; there he is
        upon his head! Serve him right. I&#8217;m glad of it. What business had
        <i>he</i> to be married to the Princess!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;There&#8217;s the Parrot!&#8221; cried Scrooge. &#8220;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. &#8216;Poor Robin Crusoe,
        where have you been, Robin Crusoe?&#8217; The man thought he was
        dreaming, but he wasn&#8217;t. It was the Parrot, you know. There goes
        Friday, running for his life to the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to his usual character,
        he said, in pity for his former self, &#8220;Poor boy!&#8221; and cried
        again.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I wish,&#8221; Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket,
        and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: &#8220;but
        it&#8217;s too late now.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What is the matter?&#8221; asked the Spirit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Nothing,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Nothing. There was a boy
        singing a Christmas Carol at my door last night. I should like to have
        given him something: that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so,
        &#8220;Let us see another Christmas!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge&#8217;s former self grew larger at the words, and the room
        became a little darker and more dirty. The panels 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
        everything had happened so; that there he was, alone again, when all the
        other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays.
      </p>
      <p>
        He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge
        looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced
        anxiously towards the door.
      </p>
      <p>
        It opened; and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came darting
        in, and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him,
        addressed him as her &#8220;Dear, dear brother.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I have come to bring you home, dear brother!&#8221; said the
        child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. &#8220;To
        bring you home, home, home!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Home, little Fan?&#8221; returned the boy.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Yes!&#8221; said the child, brimful of glee. &#8220;Home, for
        good and all. Home, for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he
        used to be, that home&#8217;s like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one
        dear night when I was going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him
        once more if you might come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent
        me in a coach to bring you. And you&#8217;re to be a man!&#8221; said
        the child, opening her eyes, &#8220;and are never to come back here; but
        first, we&#8217;re to be together all the Christmas long, and have the
        merriest time in all the world.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You are quite a woman, little Fan!&#8221; exclaimed the boy.
      </p>
      <p>
        She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but
        being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him.
        Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door;
        and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.
      </p>
      <p>
        A terrible voice in the hall cried, &#8220;Bring down Master Scrooge&#8217;s
        box, there!&#8221; and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself,
        who glared on Master Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw
        him into a dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. He then
        conveyed him and his sister into the veriest old well of a shivering
        best-parlour that ever was seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the
        celestial and terrestrial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold.
        Here he produced a decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of
        curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those dainties to
        the young people: at the same time, sending out a meagre servant to
        offer a glass of &#8220;something&#8221; to the postboy, who answered
        that he thanked the gentleman, but if it was the same tap as he had
        tasted before, he had rather not. Master Scrooge&#8217;s trunk being by
        this time tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the
        schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily
        down the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the hoar-frost and snow
        from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered,&#8221;
        said the Ghost. &#8220;But she had a large heart!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;So she had,&#8221; cried Scrooge. &#8220;You&#8217;re right. I
        will not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;She died a woman,&#8221; said the Ghost, &#8220;and had, as I
        think, children.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;One child,&#8221; Scrooge returned.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;True,&#8221; said the Ghost. &#8220;Your nephew!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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 battled 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he
        knew it.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Know it!&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Was I apprenticed here!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting
        behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must
        have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great
        excitement:
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, it&#8217;s old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it&#8217;s
        Fezziwig alive again!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which
        pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his
        capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his
        organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat,
        jovial voice:
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge&#8217;s former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in,
        accompanied by his fellow-&#8217;prentice.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Dick Wilkins, to be sure!&#8221; said Scrooge to the Ghost.
        &#8220;Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was
        Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Yo ho, my boys!&#8221; said Fezziwig. &#8220;No more work
        to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let&#8217;s have the
        shutters up,&#8221; cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands,
        &#8220;before a man can say Jack Robinson!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        You wouldn&#8217;t believe how those two fellows went at it! They
        charged into the street with the shutters&#8212;one, two, three&#8212;had
        &#8217;em up in their places&#8212;four, five, six&#8212;barred &#8217;em
        and pinned &#8217;em&#8212;seven, eight, nine&#8212;and came back before
        you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Hilli-ho!&#8221; cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high
        desk, with wonderful agility. &#8220;Clear away, my lads, and let&#8217;s
        have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn&#8217;t have cleared away, or
        couldn&#8217;t have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was
        done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed
        from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the
        lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was
        as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire
        to see upon a winter&#8217;s night.
      </p>
      <p>
        In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and
        made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. 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&#8217;s particular friend, the milkman. In came
        the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board 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, twenty couple 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, &#8220;Well
        done!&#8221; 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 bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight,
        or perish.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 &#8220;Sir Roger de Coverley.&#8221; 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 <i>would</i>
        dance, and had no notion of walking.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link8" id="link8"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/03.jpg" alt="Mr. Fezziwig’s Ball" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h4>
      <i>Mr. Fezziwig&#8217;s Ball</i>
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <p>
        But if they had been twice as many&#8212;ah, four times&#8212;old
        Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig.
        As to <i>her</i>, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the
        term. If that&#8217;s not high praise, tell me higher, and I&#8217;ll
        use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig&#8217;s calves.
        They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn&#8217;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 curtsey,
        corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig
        &#8220;cut&#8221;&#8212;cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his
        legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 &#8217;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A small matter,&#8221; said the Ghost, &#8220;to make these silly
        folks so full of gratitude.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Small!&#8221; echoed Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        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,
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It isn&#8217;t that,&#8221; said Scrooge, heated by the remark,
        and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self.
        &#8220;It isn&#8217;t that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy
        or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a
        toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight
        and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count &#8217;em up:
        what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a
        fortune.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He felt the Spirit&#8217;s glance, and stopped.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What is the matter?&#8221; asked the Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Nothing particular,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Something, I think?&#8221; the Ghost insisted.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;No. I should like to be able to
        say a word or two to my clerk just now. That&#8217;s all.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish;
        and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;My time grows short,&#8221; observed the Spirit. &#8220;Quick!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but
        it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a
        mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the
        light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It matters little,&#8221; she said, softly. &#8220;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What Idol has displaced you?&#8221; he rejoined.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A golden one.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;This is the even-handed dealing of the world!&#8221; he said.
        &#8220;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You fear the world too much,&#8221; she answered, gently. &#8220;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?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What then?&#8221; he retorted. &#8220;Even if I have grown so
        much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        She shook her head.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Am I?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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 <i>are</i> changed. When it
        was made, you were another man.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I was a boy,&#8221; he said impatiently.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are,&#8221;
        she returned. &#8220;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
        <i>have</i> thought of it, and can release you.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Have I ever sought release?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;In words. No. Never.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;In what, then?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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,&#8221;
        said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; &#8220;tell
        me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of
        himself. But he said with a struggle, &#8220;You think not.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I would gladly think otherwise if I could,&#8221; she answered,
        &#8220;Heaven knows! When <i>I</i> have learned a Truth like this, I
        know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free
        to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a
        dowerless girl&#8212;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You may&#8212;the memory of what is past half makes me hope you
        will&#8212;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        She left him, and they parted.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit!&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;show me no more! Conduct me
        home. Why do you delight to torture me?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;One shadow more!&#8221; exclaimed the Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No more!&#8221; cried Scrooge. &#8220;No more. I don&#8217;t wish
        to see it. Show me no more!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him
        to observe what happened next.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 <i>her</i>, 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 like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond
        belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and
        daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter,
        soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young
        brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them!
        Though I never could have been so rude, no, no! I wouldn&#8217;t for the
        wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it
        down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn&#8217;t have plucked it
        off, God bless my soul! to save my life. As to measuring her waist in
        sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn&#8217;t have done it; I
        should have expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and
        never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to
        have touched her lips; to have questioned her, that she might have
        opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, 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 licence of a child, and yet to have
        been man enough to know its value.
      </p>
      <p>
        But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately
        ensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards
        it the centre 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. Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught
        that was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs for
        ladders to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels,
        hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round his neck, pommel his back,
        and kick his legs in irrepressible affection! The shouts of wonder and
        delight with which the development of every package was received! The
        terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting
        a doll&#8217;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 parlour, and by
        one stair at a time, up to the top of the house; where they went to bed,
        and so subsided.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 spring-time in the haggard winter of his
        life, his sight grew very dim indeed.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Belle,&#8221; said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile,
        &#8220;I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Who was it?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Guess!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;How can I? Tut, don&#8217;t I know?&#8221; she added in the same
        breath, laughing as he laughed. &#8220;Mr. Scrooge.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it was not
        shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him.
        His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat
        alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit!&#8221; said Scrooge in a broken voice, &#8220;remove me
        from this place.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,&#8221;
        said the Ghost. &#8220;That they are what they are, do not blame me!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Remove me!&#8221; Scrooge exclaimed, &#8220;I cannot bear it!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a
        face, in which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces
        it had shown him, wrestled with it.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost
        with no visible resistance on 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its
        whole form; but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he
        could not hide the light: which streamed from under it, in an unbroken
        flood upon the ground.
      </p>
      <p>
        He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible
        drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a
        parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel
        to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link9" id="link9"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/04.jpg"
      alt="Scrooge Extinguishes the First of the Three Spirits" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <hr />
      <h2>
        <a name="link3" id="link3">STAVE &nbsp;THREE.</a>
      </h2>
      <hr />
      <h4>
        THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS.
      </h4>
      <p>
        <span class="caps">Awaking</span> 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 despatched to him through Jacob Marley&#8217;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
        every one aside with his own hands; and lying down again, established a
        sharp look-out 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume 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 hardily as this, I don&#8217;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 centre 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&#8212;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&#8212;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        The moment Scrooge&#8217;s hand was on the lock, a strange voice called
        him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s
        time, or Marley&#8217;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&#8217;s horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light
        on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Come in!&#8221; exclaimed the Ghost. &#8220;Come in! and know me
        better, man!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was
        not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit&#8217;s eyes
        were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,&#8221; said the Spirit.
        &#8220;Look upon me!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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 disdaining 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 demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was
        an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was
        eaten up with rust.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link10" id="link10"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/05.jpg" alt="Scrooge’s Third Visitor" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h4>
      <i>Scrooge&#8217;s Third Visitor</i>
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <p>
        &#8220;You have never seen the like of me before!&#8221; exclaimed the
        Spirit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Never,&#8221; Scrooge made answer to it.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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?&#8221; pursued the Phantom.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I don&#8217;t think I have,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;I am
        afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;More than eighteen hundred,&#8221; said the Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A tremendous family to provide for!&#8221; muttered Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit,&#8221; said Scrooge submissively, &#8220;conduct me where
        you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson
        which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me
        profit by it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Touch my robe!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.
      </p>
      <p>
        Holly, mistletoe, red berries, 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 snow-storms.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 ploughed
        up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; 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 a 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 hearts&#8217; 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        For, the people who were shovelling 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&#8212;better-natured missile
        far than many a wordy jest&#8212;laughing heartily if it went right and
        not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers&#8217; shops were
        still half open, and the fruiterers&#8217; were radiant in their glory.
        There were great, 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-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness
        of their growth like Spanish Friars, 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
        shopkeepers&#8217; benevolence to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that
        people&#8217;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, squat 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Grocers&#8217;! oh, the Grocers&#8217;! 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-on feel faint and subsequently
        bilious. Nor 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 humour 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and
        away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and
        with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores
        of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people,
        carrying their dinners to the bakers&#8217; shops. The sight of these
        poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood
        with Scrooge beside him in a baker&#8217;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
        humour 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!
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s oven;
        where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?&#8221;
        asked Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;There is. My own.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?&#8221; asked
        Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;To any kindly given. To a poor one most.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why to a poor one most?&#8221; asked Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Because it needs it most.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit,&#8221; said Scrooge, after a moment&#8217;s thought,
        &#8220;I wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us,
        should desire to cramp these people&#8217;s opportunities of innocent
        enjoyment.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I!&#8221; cried the Spirit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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,&#8221;
        said Scrooge. &#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t you?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I!&#8221; cried the Spirit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You seek to close these places on the Seventh Day?&#8221; said
        Scrooge. &#8220;And it comes to the same thing.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;<i>I</i> seek!&#8221; exclaimed the Spirit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, or at
        least in that of your family,&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;There are some upon this earth of yours,&#8221; returned the
        Spirit, &#8220;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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 baker&#8217;s), 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s
        clerk&#8217;s; 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&#8217;s dwelling with the sprinkling of
        his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen &#8220;Bob&#8221; 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!
      </p>
      <p>
        Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit&#8217;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&#8217;s private
        property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour 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 baker&#8217;s
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What has ever got your precious father then?&#8221; said Mrs.
        Cratchit. &#8220;And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn&#8217;t as
        late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Here&#8217;s Martha, mother!&#8221; said a girl, appearing as she
        spoke.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Here&#8217;s Martha, mother!&#8221; cried the two young
        Cratchits. &#8220;Hurrah! There&#8217;s <i>such</i> a goose, Martha!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!&#8221;
        said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl
        and bonnet for her with officious zeal.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;We&#8217;d a deal of work to finish up last night,&#8221; replied
        the girl, &#8220;and had to clear away this morning, mother!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Well! Never mind so long as you are come,&#8221; said Mrs.
        Cratchit. &#8220;Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm,
        Lord bless ye!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No, no! There&#8217;s father coming,&#8221; cried the two young
        Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. &#8220;Hide, Martha, hide!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, where&#8217;s our Martha?&#8221; cried Bob Cratchit, looking
        round.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Not coming,&#8221; said Mrs. Cratchit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Not coming!&#8221; said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high
        spirits; for he had been Tim&#8217;s blood horse all the way from
        church, and had come home rampant. &#8220;Not coming upon Christmas Day!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Martha didn&#8217;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 wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in
        the copper.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And how did little Tim behave?&#8221; asked Mrs. Cratchit, when
        she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to
        his heart&#8217;s content.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;As good as gold,&#8221; said Bob, &#8220;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Bob&#8217;s voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled
        more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8212;as
        if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby&#8212;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8212;and in truth it was something very like it in that house.
        Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
        hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour;
        Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; 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 Hurrah!
      </p>
      <p>
        There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn&#8217;t believe there
        ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and
        cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by
        apple-sauce 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&#8217;t
        ate it all at last! Yet every one 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&#8212;too nervous to bear witnesses&#8212;to take the
        pudding up and bring it in.
      </p>
      <p>
        Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning
        out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard,
        and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose&#8212;a supposition
        at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were
        supposed.
      </p>
      <p>
        Hallo! 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 pastrycook&#8217;s next door to each other, with a laundress&#8217;s
        next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit
        entered&#8212;flushed, but smiling proudly&#8212;with the pudding, like
        a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of
        half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly
        stuck into the top.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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, apples 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&#8217;s elbow stood the family display of
        glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.
      </p>
      <p>
        These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden
        goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while
        the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob
        proposed:
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Which all the family re-echoed.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;God bless us every one!&#8221; said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
      </p>
      <p>
        He sat very close to his father&#8217;s side upon his little stool. Bob
        held his withered 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit,&#8221; said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt
        before, &#8220;tell me if Tiny Tim will live.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I see a vacant seat,&#8221; replied the Ghost, &#8220;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No, no,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he
        will be spared.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my
        race,&#8221; returned the Ghost, &#8220;will find him here. What then?
        If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus
        population.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and
        was overcome with penitence and grief.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Man,&#8221; said the Ghost, &#8220;if man you be in heart, not
        adamant, forbear that wicked cant 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&#8217;s
        child. Oh God! to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too
        much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge bent before the Ghost&#8217;s rebuke, and trembling cast his
        eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own
        name.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Mr. Scrooge!&#8221; said Bob; &#8220;I&#8217;ll give you Mr.
        Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;The Founder of the Feast indeed!&#8221; cried Mrs. Cratchit,
        reddening. &#8220;I wish I had him here. I&#8217;d give him a piece of
        my mind to feast upon, and I hope he&#8217;d have a good appetite for
        it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;My dear,&#8221; said Bob, &#8220;the children! Christmas Day.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,&#8221; said she, &#8220;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;My dear,&#8221; was Bob&#8217;s mild answer, &#8220;Christmas
        Day.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I&#8217;ll drink his health for your sake and the Day&#8217;s,&#8221;
        said Mrs. Cratchit, &#8220;not for his. Long life to him! A merry
        Christmas and a happy new year! He&#8217;ll be very merry and very
        happy, I have no doubt!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;t care twopence 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;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 favour when he came into the receipt of that
        bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner&#8217;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 abed to-morrow morning for
        a good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how
        she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord
        &#8220;was much about as tall as Peter;&#8221; at which Peter pulled up
        his collars so high that you couldn&#8217;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-bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in
        the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it
        very well indeed.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 water-proof;
        their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely
        did, the inside of a pawnbroker&#8217;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&#8217;s
        torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny
        Tim, until the last.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of rooms, was
        wonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a
        cosy 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
        neighbour&#8217;s house; where, woe upon the single man who saw them
        enter&#8212;artful witches, well they knew it&#8212;in a glow!
      </p>
      <p>
        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 exulted! How it bared its breadth 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
        lamplighter, 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 lamplighter that
        he had any company but Christmas!
      </p>
      <p>
        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 furze, 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What place is this?&#8221; asked Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth,&#8221;
        returned the Spirit. &#8220;But they know me. See!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s children, and
        another generation beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday
        attire. The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of
        the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song&#8212;it
        had been a very old song when he was a boy&#8212;and from time to time
        they all joined in the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices,
        the old man got quite blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped,
        his vigour sank again.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge hold his robe, and
        passing on above the moor, sped&#8212;whither? Not to sea? To sea. To
        Scrooge&#8217;s horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a
        frightful range of rocks, behind them; and his ears were deafened by the
        thundering of water, as it rolled and roared, and raged among the
        dreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 sea-weed clung to its base,
        and storm-birds&#8212;born of the wind one might suppose, as sea-weed of
        the water&#8212;rose and fell about it, like the waves they skimmed.
      </p>
      <p>
        But even here, two men who watched the light had made a fire, that
        through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed 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 figure-head of an old ship might
        be: struck up a sturdy song that was like a Gale in itself.
      </p>
      <p>
        Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea&#8212;on, on&#8212;until,
        being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a
        ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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: it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus
        engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to
        Scrooge to recognise it as his own nephew&#8217;s and to find himself in
        a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his
        side, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ha, ha!&#8221; laughed Scrooge&#8217;s nephew. &#8220;Ha, ha, ha!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest
        in a laugh than Scrooge&#8217;s nephew, all I can say is, I should like
        to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I&#8217;ll cultivate his
        acquaintance.
      </p>
      <p>
        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-humour. When Scrooge&#8217;s
        nephew laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and
        twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: Scrooge&#8217;s
        niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled
        friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!&#8221; cried
        Scrooge&#8217;s nephew. &#8220;He believed it too!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;More shame for him, Fred!&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s niece,
        indignantly. Bless those women; they never do anything by halves. They
        are always in earnest.
      </p>
      <p>
        She was very pretty: exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled,
        surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed made
        to be kissed&#8212;as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots
        about her chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the
        sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature&#8217;s head.
        Altogether she was what you would have called provoking, you know; but
        satisfactory, too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;He&#8217;s a comical old fellow,&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s
        nephew, &#8220;that&#8217;s the truth: and not so pleasant as he might
        be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing
        to say against him.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I&#8217;m sure he is very rich, Fred,&#8221; hinted Scrooge&#8217;s
        niece. &#8220;At least you always tell <i>me</i> so.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What of that, my dear!&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s nephew.
        &#8220;His wealth is of no use to him. He don&#8217;t do any good with
        it. He don&#8217;t make himself comfortable with it. He hasn&#8217;t the
        satisfaction of thinking&#8212;ha, ha, ha!&#8212;that he is ever going
        to benefit US with it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I have no patience with him,&#8221; observed Scrooge&#8217;s
        niece. Scrooge&#8217;s niece&#8217;s sisters, and all the other ladies,
        expressed the same opinion.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Oh, I have!&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s nephew. &#8220;I am sorry
        for him; I couldn&#8217;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&#8217;t come and dine with us. What&#8217;s the
        consequence? He don&#8217;t lose much of a dinner.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner,&#8221; interrupted
        Scrooge&#8217;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Well! I&#8217;m very glad to hear it,&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s
        nephew, &#8220;because I haven&#8217;t great faith in these young
        housekeepers. What do <i>you</i> say, Topper?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge&#8217;s niece&#8217;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&#8217;s
        niece&#8217;s sister&#8212;the plump one with the lace tucker: not the
        one with the roses&#8212;blushed.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Do go on, Fred,&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s niece, clapping her
        hands. &#8220;He never finishes what he begins to say! He is such a
        ridiculous fellow!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge&#8217;s nephew revelled 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I was only going to say,&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s nephew,
        &#8220;that the consequence of his taking a dislike to us, and not
        making merry with us, is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant
        moments, which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter
        companions than he can find in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy
        old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean to give him the same chance
        every year, whether he likes it or not, for I pity him. He may rail at
        Christmas till he dies, but he can&#8217;t help thinking better of it&#8212;I
        defy him&#8212;if he finds me going there, in good temper, year after
        year, and saying Uncle Scrooge, how are you? If it only puts him in the
        vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, <i>that&#8217;s</i>
        something; and I think I shook him yesterday.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It was their turn to laugh now at the notion of his shaking Scrooge. But
        being thoroughly good-natured, and not much caring what they laughed at,
        so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their merriment,
        and passed the bottle joyously.
      </p>
      <p>
        After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, 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 bass like a good one, and
        never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over
        it. Scrooge&#8217;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&#8217;s
        spade that buried Jacob Marley.
      </p>
      <p>
        But they didn&#8217;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. Stop! There was first a game at blind-man&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;t
        catch anybody else. If you had fallen up against him (as some of them
        did), on purpose, he would have made a feint of endeavouring 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&#8217;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 head-dress, 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge&#8217;s niece was not one of the blind-man&#8217;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&#8217;s nephew,
        beat her sisters hollow: though they were sharp girls too, as Topper
        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
        in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made no
        sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess quite loud,
        and very often guessed quite right, too; for the sharpest needle, best
        Whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not sharper than
        Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon
        him with such favour, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay
        until the guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Here is a new game,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;One half hour,
        Spirit, only one!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It was a Game called Yes and No, where Scrooge&#8217;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&#8217;t
        made a show of, and wasn&#8217;t led by anybody, and didn&#8217;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:
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What is it?&#8221; cried Fred.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though
        some objected that the reply to &#8220;Is it a bear?&#8221; ought to
        have been &#8220;Yes;&#8221; 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure,&#8221; said Fred,
        &#8220;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, &#8216;Uncle
        Scrooge!&#8217;&nbsp;&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Well! Uncle Scrooge!&#8221; they cried.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man, whatever
        he is!&#8221; said Scrooge&#8217;s nephew. &#8220;He wouldn&#8217;t take
        it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s Twelfth Night party, when, looking at
        the Spirit as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that its
        hair was grey.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Are spirits&#8217; lives so short?&#8221; asked Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;My life upon this globe, is very brief,&#8221; replied the Ghost.
        &#8220;It ends to-night.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;To-night!&#8221; cried Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,&#8221; said
        Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit&#8217;s robe, &#8220;but I see
        something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your
        skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,&#8221; was
        the Spirit&#8217;s sorrowful reply. &#8220;Look here.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!&#8221; exclaimed the
        Ghost.
      </p>
      <p>
        They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, 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 shrivelled 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.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link11" id="link11"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/06.jpg" alt="Ignorance and Want" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit! are they yours?&#8221; Scrooge could say no more.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;They are Man&#8217;s,&#8221; said the Spirit, looking down upon
        them. &#8220;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!&#8221;
        cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. &#8220;Slander
        those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it
        worse. And bide the end!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Have they no refuge or resource?&#8221; cried Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Are there no prisons?&#8221; said the Spirit, turning on him for
        the last time with his own words. &#8220;Are there no workhouses?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The bell struck twelve.
      </p>
      <p>
        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. <br /><br />
      </p>
      <hr />
      <h2>
        <a name="link4" id="link4">STAVE &nbsp;FOUR.</a>
      </h2>
      <hr />
      <h4>
        THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS.
      </h4>
      <p>
        <span class="caps">The</span> Phantom slowly, gravely, silently,
        approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for
        in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter
        gloom and mystery.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?&#8221;
        said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not
        happened, but will happen in the time before us,&#8221; Scrooge pursued.
        &#8220;Is that so, Spirit?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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
        paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to
        recover.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ghost of the Future!&#8221; he exclaimed, &#8220;I fear you more
        than any spectre 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?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Lead on!&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Lead on! The night is waning
        fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 &#8217;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing
        that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their
        talk.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No,&#8221; said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, &#8220;I
        don&#8217;t know much about it, either way. I only know he&#8217;s dead.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;When did he die?&#8221; inquired another.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Last night, I believe.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, what was the matter with him?&#8221; asked a third, taking a
        vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box. &#8220;I thought
        he&#8217;d never die.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;God knows,&#8221; said the first, with a yawn.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What has he done with his money?&#8221; asked a red-faced
        gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that
        shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I haven&#8217;t heard,&#8221; said the man with the large chin,
        yawning again. &#8220;Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn&#8217;t
        left it to <i>me</i>. That&#8217;s all I know.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s likely to be a very cheap funeral,&#8221; said the
        same speaker; &#8220;for upon my life I don&#8217;t know of anybody to
        go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I don&#8217;t mind going if a lunch is provided,&#8221; observed
        the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. &#8220;But I must be
        fed, if I make one.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Another laugh.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all,&#8221;
        said the first speaker, &#8220;for I never wear black gloves, and I
        never eat lunch. But I&#8217;ll offer to go, if anybody else will. When
        I come to think of it, I&#8217;m not at all sure that I wasn&#8217;t his
        most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met.
        Bye, bye!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups.
        Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the Spirit for an explanation.
      </p>
      <p>
        The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons
        meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie
        here.
      </p>
      <p>
        He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;How are you?&#8221; said one.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;How are you?&#8221; returned the other.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Well!&#8221; said the first. &#8220;Old Scratch has got his own
        at last, hey?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;So I am told,&#8221; returned the second. &#8220;Cold, isn&#8217;t
        it?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Seasonable for Christmas time. You&#8217;re not a skater, I
        suppose?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their
        parting.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s province was the Future. Nor could he think
        of any one immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply
        them. But nothing doubting that to whomsoever 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 new-born resolutions carried out
        in this.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town,
        where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognised its
        situation, and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops
        and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly.
        Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of
        smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole
        quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.
      </p>
      <p>
        Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling
        shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and
        greasy offal, were bought. Upon 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 scrutinise 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 grey-haired rascal, nearly
        seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air
        without, by a frousy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters, hung upon a
        line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Let the charwoman alone to be the first!&#8221; cried she who had
        entered first. &#8220;Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let
        the undertaker&#8217;s man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe,
        here&#8217;s a chance! If we haven&#8217;t all three met here without
        meaning it!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You couldn&#8217;t have met in a better place,&#8221; said old
        Joe, removing his pipe from his mouth. &#8220;Come into the parlour. You
        were made free of it long ago, you know; and the other two an&#8217;t
        strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! How it skreeks!
        There an&#8217;t such a rusty bit of metal in the place as its own
        hinges, I believe; and I&#8217;m sure there&#8217;s no such old bones
        here, as mine. Ha, ha! We&#8217;re all suitable to our calling, we&#8217;re
        well matched. Come into the parlour. Come into the parlour.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The parlour 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What odds then! What odds, Mrs. Dilber?&#8221; said the woman.
        &#8220;Every person has a right to take care of themselves. <i>He</i>
        always did.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;That&#8217;s true, indeed!&#8221; said the laundress. &#8220;No
        man more so.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why then, don&#8217;t stand staring as if you was afraid, woman;
        who&#8217;s the wiser? We&#8217;re not going to pick holes in each other&#8217;s
        coats, I suppose?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No, indeed!&#8221; said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. &#8220;We
        should hope not.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Very well, then!&#8221; cried the woman. &#8220;That&#8217;s
        enough. Who&#8217;s the worse for the loss of a few things like these?
        Not a dead man, I suppose.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No, indeed,&#8221; said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;If he wanted to keep &#8217;em after he was dead, a wicked old
        screw,&#8221; pursued the woman, &#8220;why wasn&#8217;t he natural in
        his lifetime? If he had been, he&#8217;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s the truest word that ever was spoke,&#8221; said Mrs.
        Dilber. &#8220;It&#8217;s a judgment on him.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I wish it was a little heavier judgment,&#8221; replied the
        woman; &#8220;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&#8217;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&#8217;s no
        sin. Open the bundle, Joe.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in
        faded black, mounting the breach first, produced <i>his</i> 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;That&#8217;s your account,&#8221; said Joe, &#8220;and I wouldn&#8217;t
        give another sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who&#8217;s
        next?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I always give too much to ladies. It&#8217;s a weakness of mine,
        and that&#8217;s the way I ruin myself,&#8221; said old Joe. &#8220;That&#8217;s
        your account. If you asked me for another penny, and made it an open
        question, I&#8217;d repent of being so liberal and knock off
        half-a-crown.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And now undo <i>my</i> bundle, Joe,&#8221; said the first woman.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What do you call this?&#8221; said Joe. &#8220;Bed-curtains!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ah!&#8221; returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on
        her crossed arms. &#8220;Bed-curtains!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You don&#8217;t mean to say you took &#8217;em down, rings and
        all, with him lying there?&#8221; said Joe.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Yes I do,&#8221; replied the woman. &#8220;Why not?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You were born to make your fortune,&#8221; said Joe, &#8220;and
        you&#8217;ll certainly do it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I certainly shan&#8217;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,&#8221; returned the woman coolly. &#8220;Don&#8217;t drop that
        oil upon the blankets, now.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;His blankets?&#8221; asked Joe.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Whose else&#8217;s do you think?&#8221; replied the woman.
        &#8220;He isn&#8217;t likely to take cold without &#8217;em, I dare say.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I hope he didn&#8217;t die of anything catching? Eh?&#8221; said
        old Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Don&#8217;t you be afraid of that,&#8221; returned the woman.
        &#8220;I an&#8217;t so fond of his company that I&#8217;d loiter about
        him for such things, if he did. Ah! you may look through that shirt till
        your eyes ache; but you won&#8217;t find a hole in it, nor a threadbare
        place. It&#8217;s the best he had, and a fine one too. They&#8217;d have
        wasted it, if it hadn&#8217;t been for me.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What do you call wasting of it?&#8221; asked old Joe.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure,&#8221; replied the
        woman with a laugh. &#8220;Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took
        it off again. If calico an&#8217;t good enough for such a purpose, it
        isn&#8217;t good enough for anything. It&#8217;s quite as becoming to
        the body. He can&#8217;t look uglier than he did in that one.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about
        their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man&#8217;s lamp,
        he viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have
        been greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse
        itself.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Ha, ha!&#8221; laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing a
        flannel bag with money in it, told out their several gains upon the
        ground. &#8220;This is the end of it, you see! He frightened every one
        away from him when he was alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha, ha,
        ha!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit!&#8221; said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot.
        &#8220;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Oh 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 honoured 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 <span class="caps">was</span>
        open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the
        pulse a man&#8217;s. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds
        springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!
      </p>
      <p>
        No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge&#8217;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!
      </p>
      <p>
        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 hearth-stone. What <i>they</i>
        wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and
        disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit!&#8221; he said, &#8220;this is a fearful place. In
        leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I understand you,&#8221; Scrooge returned, &#8220;and I would do
        it, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Again it seemed to look upon him.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by
        this man&#8217;s death,&#8221; said Scrooge quite agonised, &#8220;show
        that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        She was expecting some one, 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Is it good?&#8221; she said, &#8220;or bad?&#8221;&#8212;to help
        him.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Bad,&#8221; he answered.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;We are quite ruined?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No. There is hope yet, Caroline.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;If <i>he</i> relents,&#8221; she said, amazed, &#8220;there is!
        Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;He is past relenting,&#8221; said her husband. &#8220;He is dead.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;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&#8217;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;To whom will our debt be transferred?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I don&#8217;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 to-night
        with light hearts, Caroline!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children&#8217;s
        faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little
        understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man&#8217;s
        death! The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the
        event, was one of pleasure.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,&#8221; said
        Scrooge; &#8220;or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now,
        will be for ever present to me.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s
        house; the dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and the
        children seated round the fire.
      </p>
      <p>
        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!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;&nbsp;&#8216;And He took a child, and set him in the midst of
        them.&#8217;&nbsp;&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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?
      </p>
      <p>
        The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her
        face.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;The colour hurts my eyes,&#8221; she said.
      </p>
      <p>
        The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;They&#8217;re better now again,&#8221; said Cratchit&#8217;s
        wife. &#8220;It makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn&#8217;t
        show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It must
        be near his time.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Past it rather,&#8221; Peter answered, shutting up his book.
        &#8220;But I think he has walked a little slower than he used, these few
        last evenings, mother.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful
        voice, that only faltered once:
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I have known him walk with&#8212;I have known him walk with Tiny
        Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And so have I,&#8221; cried Peter. &#8220;Often.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And so have I,&#8221; exclaimed another. So had all.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;But he was very light to carry,&#8221; she resumed, intent upon
        her work, &#8220;and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no
        trouble. And there is your father at the door!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter&#8212;he
        had need of it, poor fellow&#8212;came in. His tea was ready for him on
        the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two
        young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek,
        against his face, as if they said, &#8220;Don&#8217;t mind it, father.
        Don&#8217;t be grieved!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?&#8221; said his wife.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Yes, my dear,&#8221; returned Bob. &#8220;I wish you could have
        gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But
        you&#8217;ll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a
        Sunday. My little, little child!&#8221; cried Bob. &#8220;My little
        child!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He broke down all at once. He couldn&#8217;t help it. If he could have
        helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than
        they were.
      </p>
      <p>
        He left the room, and went up-stairs 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 some one 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working
        still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge&#8217;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&#8212;&#8220;just a
        little down you know,&#8221; said Bob, inquired what had happened to
        distress him. &#8220;On which,&#8221; said Bob, &#8220;for he is the
        pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him. &#8216;I am
        heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit,&#8217; he said, &#8216;and heartily
        sorry for your good wife.&#8217; By the bye, how he ever knew <i>that</i>,
        I don&#8217;t know.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Knew what, my dear?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, that you were a good wife,&#8221; replied Bob.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Everybody knows that!&#8221; said Peter.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Very well observed, my boy!&#8221; cried Bob. &#8220;I hope they
        do. &#8216;Heartily sorry,&#8217; he said, &#8216;for your good wife. If
        I can be of service to you in any way,&#8217; he said, giving me his
        card, &#8216;that&#8217;s where I live. Pray come to me.&#8217; Now, it
        wasn&#8217;t,&#8221; cried Bob, &#8220;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.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I&#8217;m sure he&#8217;s a good soul!&#8221; said Mrs. Cratchit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You would be surer of it, my dear,&#8221; returned Bob, &#8220;if
        you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn&#8217;t be at all surprised&#8212;mark
        what I say!&#8212;if he got Peter a better situation.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Only hear that, Peter,&#8221; said Mrs. Cratchit.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And then,&#8221; cried one of the girls, &#8220;Peter will be
        keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Get along with you!&#8221; retorted Peter, grinning.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s just as likely as not,&#8221; said Bob, &#8220;one of
        these days; though there&#8217;s plenty of time for that, my dear. But
        however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none
        of us forget poor Tiny Tim&#8212;shall we&#8212;or this first parting
        that there was among us?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Never, father!&#8221; cried they all.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;And I know,&#8221; said Bob, &#8220;I know, my dears, that when
        we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little,
        little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget
        poor Tiny Tim in doing it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No, never, father!&#8221; they all cried again.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I am very happy,&#8221; said little Bob, &#8220;I am very happy!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young
        Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny
        Tim, thy childish essence was from God!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spectre,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;something informs me that
        our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me
        what man that was whom we saw lying dead?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before&#8212;though
        at a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these
        latter visions, save that they were in the Future&#8212;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;This court,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;The house is yonder,&#8221; Scrooge exclaimed. &#8220;Why do you
        point away?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The inexorable finger underwent no change.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone,
        accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round
        before entering.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;s
        death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted
        appetite. A worthy place!
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,&#8221;
        said Scrooge, &#8220;answer me one question. Are these the shadows of
        the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be,
        only?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Men&#8217;s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if
        persevered in, they must lead,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;But if the
        courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what
        you show me!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The Spirit was immovable as ever.
      </p>
      <p>
        Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the
        finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, <span
        class="caps">Ebenezer Scrooge</span>.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link12" id="link12"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/07.jpg" alt="The Last of the Spirits" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h4>
      <i>The Last of the Spirits</i>
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <p>
        &#8220;Am <i>I</i> that man who lay upon the bed?&#8221; he cried, upon
        his knees.
      </p>
      <p>
        The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No, Spirit! Oh no, no!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The finger still was there.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Spirit!&#8221; he cried, tight clutching at its robe, &#8220;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        For the first time the hand appeared to shake.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Good Spirit,&#8221; he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell
        before it: &#8220;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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The kind hand trembled.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I will honour 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!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw
        an alteration in the Phantom&#8217;s hood and dress. It shrunk,
        collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost. <br /><br />
      </p>
      <hr />
      <h2>
        <a name="link5" id="link5">STAVE &nbsp;FIVE.</a>
      </h2>
      <hr />
      <h4>
        THE END OF IT.
      </h4>
      <p>
        <span class="caps">Yes</span>! 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!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!&#8221;
        Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. &#8220;The Spirits of all
        Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas
        Time be praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob; on my knees!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;They are not torn down,&#8221; cried Scrooge, folding one of his
        bed-curtains in his arms, &#8220;they are not torn down, rings and all.
        They are here&#8212;I am here&#8212;the shadows of the things that would
        have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I don&#8217;t know what to do!&#8221; cried Scrooge, laughing and
        crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with
        his stockings. &#8220;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. Hallo
        here! Whoop! Hallo!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there:
        perfectly winded.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;There&#8217;s the saucepan that the gruel was in!&#8221; cried
        Scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace. &#8220;There&#8217;s
        the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There&#8217;s the
        corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat! There&#8217;s the
        window where I saw the wandering Spirits! It&#8217;s all right, it&#8217;s
        all true, it all happened. Ha ha ha!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was
        a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long
        line of brilliant laughs!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I don&#8217;t know what day of the month it is!&#8221; said
        Scrooge. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know how long I&#8217;ve been among the
        Spirits. I don&#8217;t know anything. I&#8217;m quite a baby. Never
        mind. I don&#8217;t care. I&#8217;d rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop!
        Hallo here!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the
        lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong,
        bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
      </p>
      <p>
        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!
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What&#8217;s to-day!&#8221; cried Scrooge, calling downward to a
        boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;<span class="caps">Eh</span>?&#8221; returned the boy, with all
        his might of wonder.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What&#8217;s to-day, my fine fellow?&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;To-day!&#8221; replied the boy. &#8220;Why, <span class="caps">Christmas
        Day</span>.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s Christmas Day!&#8221; said Scrooge to himself. &#8220;I
        haven&#8217;t missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They
        can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can.
        Hallo, my fine fellow!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Hallo!&#8221; returned the boy.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Do you know the Poulterer&#8217;s, in the next street but one, at
        the corner?&#8221; Scrooge inquired.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I should hope I did,&#8221; replied the lad.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;An intelligent boy!&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;A remarkable boy!
        Do you know whether they&#8217;ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging
        up there?&#8212;Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What, the one as big as me?&#8221; returned the boy.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;What a delightful boy!&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;It&#8217;s a
        pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s hanging there now,&#8221; replied the boy.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Is it?&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Go and buy it.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Walk-<span class="caps">er</span>!&#8221; exclaimed the boy.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;No, no,&#8221; said Scrooge, &#8220;I am in earnest. Go and buy
        it, and tell &#8217;em to bring it here, that I may give them the
        direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I&#8217;ll give
        you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I&#8217;ll
        give you half-a-crown!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a trigger
        who could have got a shot off half so fast.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I&#8217;ll send it to Bob Cratchit&#8217;s!&#8221; whispered
        Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. &#8220;He sha&#8217;n&#8217;t
        know who sends it. It&#8217;s twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller
        never made such a joke as sending it to Bob&#8217;s will be!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write
        it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready
        for the coming of the poulterer&#8217;s man. As he stood there, waiting
        his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I shall love it, as long as I live!&#8221; cried Scrooge, patting
        it with his hand. &#8220;I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an
        honest expression it has in its face! It&#8217;s a wonderful knocker!&#8212;Here&#8217;s
        the Turkey! Hallo! Whoop! How are you! Merry Christmas!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        It <i>was</i> a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that
        bird. He would have snapped &#8217;em short off in a minute, like sticks
        of sealing-wax.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why, it&#8217;s impossible to carry that to Camden Town,&#8221;
        said Scrooge. &#8220;You must have a cab.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid
        for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the
        chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by
        the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and
        chuckled till he cried.
      </p>
      <p>
        Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much;
        and shaving requires attention, even when you don&#8217;t dance while
        you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have
        put a piece of sticking-plaister over it, and been quite satisfied.
      </p>
      <p>
        He dressed himself &#8220;all in his best,&#8221; 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 every one with a delighted smile. He
        looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four
        good-humoured fellows said, &#8220;Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas
        to you!&#8221; And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe
        sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.
      </p>
      <p>
        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, &#8220;Scrooge and Marley&#8217;s, I believe?&#8221; 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;My dear sir,&#8221; said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking
        the old gentleman by both his hands. &#8220;How do you do? I hope you
        succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you,
        sir!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Mr. Scrooge?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;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&#8221;&#8212;here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Lord bless me!&#8221; cried the gentleman, as if his breath were
        taken away. &#8220;My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;If you please,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;Not a farthing less. A
        great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do
        me that favour?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;My dear sir,&#8221; said the other, shaking hands with him.
        &#8220;I don&#8217;t know what to say to such munifi&#8212;&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Don&#8217;t say anything, please,&#8221; retorted Scrooge.
        &#8220;Come and see me. Will you come and see me?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I will!&#8221; cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant
        to do it.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Thank&#8217;ee,&#8221; said Scrooge. &#8220;I am much obliged to
        you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8212;that anything&#8212;could give him so
        much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew&#8217;s
        house.
      </p>
      <p>
        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:
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Is your master at home, my dear?&#8221; said Scrooge to the girl.
        Nice girl! Very.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Where is he, my love?&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;He&#8217;s in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I&#8217;ll
        show you up-stairs, if you please.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Thank&#8217;ee. He knows me,&#8221; said Scrooge, with his hand
        already on the dining-room lock. &#8220;I&#8217;ll go in here, my dear.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Fred!&#8221; said Scrooge.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;t have done it, on any account.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Why bless my soul!&#8221; cried Fred, &#8220;who&#8217;s that?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you
        let me in, Fred?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        Let him in! It is a mercy he didn&#8217;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 <i>he</i> came. So did the plump sister
        when <i>she</i> came. So did every one when <i>they</i> came. Wonderful
        party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter
        past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time.
        Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the
        Tank.
      </p>
      <p>
        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&#8217;clock.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Hallo!&#8221; growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near
        as he could feign it. &#8220;What do you mean by coming here at this
        time of day?&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;I am very sorry, sir,&#8221; said Bob. &#8220;I <i>am</i> behind
        my time.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;You are?&#8221; repeated Scrooge. &#8220;Yes. I think you are.
        Step this way, sir, if you please.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;It&#8217;s only once a year, sir,&#8221; pleaded Bob, appearing
        from the Tank. &#8220;It shall not be repeated. I was making rather
        merry yesterday, sir.&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;Now, I&#8217;ll tell you what, my friend,&#8221; said Scrooge,
        &#8220;I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And
        therefore,&#8221; he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob
        such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again;
        &#8220;and therefore I am about to raise your salary!&#8221;
      </p>
      <p>
        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 strait-waistcoat.
      </p>
      <p>
        &#8220;A merry Christmas, Bob!&#8221; said Scrooge, with an earnestness
        that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. &#8220;A
        merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you, for many
        a year! I&#8217;ll raise your salary, and endeavour 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!&#8221;
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><a name="link13" id="link13"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%">
      <img src="images/08.jpg" alt="Scrooge and Bob Cratchit" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="book">
      <p>
        Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
        and to Tiny Tim, who did <span class="caps">not</span> 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 heeded 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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, Every One! <br /><br />
      </p>
      <hr />
    </div>

<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHRISTMAS CAROL ***</div>

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