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a r i e y was
m& dead: to be-
gin with. The
register of his burial was
signed by the clergyman, the
clerk, and Scrooge. Scrooge
and he were partners for
many years. Scrooge never
painted out old Marley's
name and there it stood
above the warehouse door:
SCROOGE AND MARLEY. Sometimes people new to the
business called him Scrooge, sometimes Marley, but he answered
to both names; it was all the same to him. Tight fisted Scrooge,
grasping, covetous, hard as flint; secret and solitary as an oyster.
The cold within him froze his old features, his pointed nose, his
thin lips blue, and grated his voice. Nobody ever stopped him with
a gladsome "How are you" — no beggars implored him, or chil-
dren ask him what o'clock it was. Even the blind men's dogs
appeared to know him and would tug their masters in doorways
and up courts. But it was the very thing he liked, warning all
human sympathy to keep its distance.
Christmas eve — and old Scrooge sat in his counting house
with the door open so that he might keep his eye on his clerk,
who, in a. dismal little cell beyond was copying letters. It was
cold, biting, and the fog poured in through every chink and
keyhole. Scrooge had a small fire, but the clerk in his white
comforter tried to warm himself at the candle and not being a
man of imagination, he failed.
"A Merry Christmas, Uncle!" It was the cheerful voice of
Scrooge's nephew; with rapid walking in the fog and frost he
was all aglow, ruddy and handsome. "Bah!" said Scrooge —
"Humbug!" "Uncle," pleaded the nephew. "Nephew," returned
the uncle, "Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep
Christmas in mine by leaving it alone. Much good it's ever done
you!" "There are many things from which I have derived good,
Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my
pocket; but I believe it has done me good and
w r ill do me good; and I say, God bless it." The
clerk in the cell involuntarily applauded. "Let
me hear another sound from YOU," said
Scrooge, "And you'll spend Christmas by los-
ing your situation." "Don't be angry, Uncle,"
said the nephew, "I ask nothing of you; why
cannot we be friends?" "Good afternoon," said
Scrooge. "I'm sorry with all my heart to find
you so resolute — but a Merry Christmas,
Uncle, and a happy new year."
The clerk in letting out Scrooge's nephew let in two portly
gentlemen, pleasant to behold: "At this festive season, Mr.
Scrooge," said one of them, "a few of us are endeavoring to raise
a fund to make some provision for the Poor, who suffer greatly
at the present time. What shall we put you down for?" "Nothing!
Are there no Prisons and Union Workhouses?" demanded
Scrooge. "There are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I
could say there were not. Many can't go there and many would
rather die." "If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had
better do it, and decrease the surplus population." Seeing clearly
that it would be useless, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge re-
sumed his labors with an improved opinion of himself.
At length the hour of shutting up arrived: "You'll want all
day tomorrow, I suppose," said Scrooge, "Be here all the earlier
the next morning!" The clerk promised he would; and the office
was closed in a twinkling and the clerk ran home as hard as he
could pelt.
Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy
tavern and having read all the newspapers, went home to bed.
He lived in a gloomy suite of rooms, that had once belonged to
his deceased partner, in a lowering pile of buildings up a yard.
Nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out
as offices. Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particu-
lar about the knocker on the door, except it was very large.
Scrooge had seen it night and morning during his whole resi-
dence in that place; then, let any man explain, if he can, how it
happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock, saw in the
knocker without its undergoing any process of change, not a
knocker, but Marley's face. As Scrooge looked fixedly at this
phenomenon, it was a knocker again. To say he was not startled,
or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation, would
be untrue. But he sturdily turned the key, walked in and lighted
his candle. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes,
and walking across the hall, he went up the stairs. But before
he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that
all was right. He had just enough recollection of Marley's face
to desire to do that. Quite satisfied, he took off his cravat and
put on his nightcap and sat down before the fire.
"Humbug!" said Scrooge as he sat down. 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 with
the highest story of the building. It was with great inexplic-
able 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.
This might have lasted half a minute, then 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's cellar. Scrooge then
remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were
described as dragging chains. The cellar door flew open with a
booming sound. And then he heard the noise coming up the
stairs, straight towards his door.
"It's humbug still!" said Scrooge. "I
won't believe it." His color changed,
when, without a pause, it came on
through the heavy door, and passed into
the room before his eyes. The same face;
Marley in his pigtail, and usual waist-
coat. The chain he drew was clasped
about his middle, and it was made of
cash boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers,
deedsi, and heavy purses wrought in
steel. His body was transparent and
though Scrooge looked the phantom
through and through, he still was in-
credulous, and fought against his senses.
"Who are you?" said Scrooge. "Ask
me who I was. In life I was your partner,
Jacob Marley. You won't believe in me,"
observed the ghost. "Why do you doubt
your senses?" "Because," said Scrooge,
"a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach
makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot
of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone
potato." At this the Spirit raised a frightful cry and shook his
chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held
on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling into a swoon.
But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom, tak-
ing off the bandage round it's head, it's lower jaw dropped down
upon his chest!
Scrooge fell upon his kneees, "Mercy!" he said, "dreadful
apparition, why do you trouble me?" "It is required of every
man," the Ghost returned, "that if the spirit goes not forth in
life, it is condemned to do so after death ; it is doomed to wander
through the world and witness what it cannot share, but might
have shared on earth, and turned to happiness." Again the
spectre raised a cry, and shook its chains and wrung its shadowy
hands. "You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling. "I wear the
chain I forged in life,'' replied the
Ghost; "I made it link by link, and
of my own free will I wore it. Is its
pattern strange to you?" "Jacob."
Scrooge said imploringly. "Old Jacob
Marley, speak comfort to me, Jacob."
"I have none to give," the Ghost re-
plied. "At this time of the year," the
spectre said, "I suffer most. Why did
1 walk through crowds of fellow be-
ings 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
ME!"
"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone. I am
here tonight to warn you, that you have yet a chance and a hope
of escaping my fate. You will be haunted by Three Spirits.
Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls One. Look to see
me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember
what has passed between us."
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. The air was filled with phantoms,
wandering in restless haste, and moaning as they went. The
spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful
dirge and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.
cStaue 9Fu5o
9fte first of tfie
(BUree cSpirits
crooge went to bed and
thought, and thought.
Marley's ghost bothered
him exceedingly. He lay in this stage until he
remembered, on a sudden, that the ghost had
warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled
one. At length it broke upon his listening ear,
deep, dull, melancholy. Light flashed up in the
room upon the instant, and the curtains of his
bed were drawn. Scrooge, starting up into a
half recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the
unearthly visitor who drew them. It was a strange figure — like
a child ; yet not so like a child, as like one, viewed through some
supernatural medium which gave it the appearance of having
receded from the view, and being diminished to a child's pro-
portions. 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. It wore a tunic of
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 sprang a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was
visible.
"Are you the Spirit, Sir, whose coming was foretold to me?"
asked Scrooge. "I am," the voice was soft and gentle. Singularly
low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a dis-
tance. "Who, and what are you?" Scrooge demanded. "I am the
Ghost of Christmas Past." "Long past?" inquired Scrooge. "No.
Your past." It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped
him gently by the arm. "Rise! And walk with me!" The grasp,
though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to be resisted. He
rose: but finding that the Spirit made toward the window,
clasped its robe. "I am a mortal and liable to fall." Scrooge re-
monstrated. "Bear but a touch of my hand there," said the
Spirit, laying it upon his heart," and you shall be upheld in more
than this." As the words were spoken, they passed through the
wall, and stood upon a country road with fields upon either hand.
The city had entirely vanished. The darkness and mist had van-
ished with it, for it was a clear, cold winter day, with snow upon
the ground. "Good heavens!" cried Scrooge, "I was bred in this
place. I was a boy here!" "You recollect the way?" inquired the
Spirit. "Remember it! I could walk it blindfold," cried Scrooge.
They walked along the road; Scrooge recognizing every
gate, and post, and tree; until a little market town appeared in
the distance, with its bridge, its church, its winding river. Some
shaggy ponies now were seen trotting toward 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.
"The school is not quite deserted," said the Ghost. They left
the high road, by a well remembered lane, and soon approached
a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-sur-
mounted cupola on the roof and a bell hanging in it. 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 lone-
1 y boy was
reading near a
feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see
his poor forgotten self as he had used to be. The Spirit touched
him on the arm and Scrooge, looking at the Ghost, and with a
mournful shaking of his head, glanced anxiously towards the
door. 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 "Dear brother." "I have come
to bring you home!" said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and
bending down to laugh. "Home, for good and all. Home, for-
ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be and
sent me in a coach to bring you. And we're to be together all the
Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world."
Master Scrooge's trunk being tied on to the top of the coach,
the children bade the schoolmaster goodbye 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. "Always a delicate creature, whom
a breath might have withered," said the Ghost. "She died a
woman," continued the Ghost, "and had, as I think,, children."
"One child," Scrooge returned. "True," said the Ghost. "Your
nephew!" Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered
"Yes!"
Although they had but that moment left the school behind
them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of the city. The
Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door and asked Scrooge
if he knew it. "Know it! I was apprenticed here!" said Scrooge.
They went in. An old gentleman in a Welsh wig sat behind a
high desk. "Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart!" Scrooge
cried in great excitement. Scrooge's former self, now grown a
young man, came briskly in accompanied by his fellow — 'Pren-
tice. "Yo Ho, my boys!" cried Fezziwig. "No more work tonight.
Christmas Eve, let's have the shutters up." It was done in a
minute. Fuel was heaped upon the fire; the floor was swept and
watered, the lamps were trimmed, and the warehouse was as
snug and warm a ballroom as you would desire to see upon a
winter's night. 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.
There were dances, and there were forfeits, and there was a
cake, and there was a great piece of cold roast. But the great
effect of the evening came when the fiddler struck up 'Sir Roger
de Coverley'. Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs.
Fezziwig. Top couple, too; a positive light appeared to issue
from Fezziwig calves. They shone in every part of the dance
like moons. 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 every person, individually, was
wished a "Merry Christmas." 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. It was not until now
that he remembered the Ghost and became conscious that it was
looking full upon him. He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.
"What is the matter?" asked the Ghost. Said Scrooge, "I should
like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now !
That's all."
"My time grows short," observed the Spirit. "Quick!" Again
Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the prime of
life. His face had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice.
He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl; in
whose eyes there were tears. "It matters little," she said softly.
"To you, very little. Another idol has dis-
placed me; a golden one. I have seen your
nobler aspirations fall off,
one by one, until the
master passion, Gain, en-
grosses you. 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. With a full heart, for the love of him, you once
were, I release you." He was about to speak; but with her head
turned away from him, she resumed. "May you be happy in the
life you have chosen!" She left him and they parted.
"Spirit!" said Scrooge in a broken voice, "Remove me from
this place." "I told you these were the shadows of the things that
have been," said the Ghost. "That they are what they are, do not
blame me!" "Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed, "I cannot bear
it! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!" In the struggle, if that
could be called a struggle in which the Ghost, with no visible
resistance on his own part, was undisturbed by any effort of its
adversary, Scrooge was conscious of being exhausted and over-
come by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, being in his own
bedroom where he reeled and sank into a heavy sleep.
i (M,e <§econb of the
cSpirtts
waking in the middle of a prodigiously
tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get
his thoughts together, Scrooge felt that
&£. he was restored to consciousness in the
right nick of time, for he lay upon his bed, the very core and
center of a blaze of ruddy light which streamed upon it, and
which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts.
He began to think that the source and secret of this ruddy light
might be in the adjoining room, from whence it seemed to shine.
He got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door. The
moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called
him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
It was his own room. There was no doubt about that, but it
had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceil-
ing were so hung with living greens, that it looked a perfect
grove, from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glis-
tened, and the crisp leaves of mistletoe, holly and ivy reflected
back the light; and such a mightly blaze went roaring up the
chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known
in Scrooge's time or Marley's. Heaped up on the floor, to form
a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, great joints of
meat, long wreaths of sausages, mince pies, plum puddings,
apples, juicy oranges 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 and held it up to shed its light on Scrooge as he
came peeking round the door. "I am the Ghost of Christmas
Present," said the Spirit. "Look upon me!" Scrooge reverently
did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, bordered with
white fur. 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 cheery voice and its joyful
air. "You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the
Spirit. "Spirit," said Scrooge submissively, "conduct me where
you will." "Touch my robe!" said the Spirit. Scrooge did as he
was told and held it fast.
All vanished instantly and they stood in the city streets on
Christmas morning. 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 the gayest faces.
It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost that notwithstand-
ing his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to any place
with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite as grace-
fully as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall.
It was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sym-
pathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's
clerk; for there he went, and Scrooge with him, holding to his
robe; and on the threshold of the door, the Spirit smiled and
stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling- with the sprinklings of
his torch. "Is there a peculiar flavor in what you sprinkle from
your torch?" asked Scrooge. "There is," said the Spirit. "Does
it apply to anybody on this day?" asked Scrooge. "To any kindly
given. To a poor one most." "Why to a poor one most?" asked
Scrooge. "Because he needs it most."
Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Bob's wife, dressed out but
poorly in a twice turned gown, assisted by Belinda Cratchit,
second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons. And now two
smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that
outside they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own;
and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onions, these
young Cratchits danced about the table. While exalted Master
Peter Cratchit, with the corners of his monstrous shirt collar
(Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in
honor of the day) nearly choking him, blew the fire until the
slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid
to be let out and peeled. "Here's Martha, Mother," cried the two
young Cratchits. "Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how
late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her daughter, and
taking off her shawl and bonnet with officious zeal.
In came Bob, the father, with at least three
feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe,
hanging down before him; and his thread-
bare 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.
"And how did little Tim behave?" asked
Mrs. Cratchit, after Bob had hugged his
daughter to his heart's content. "As good as gold," said Bob,
"and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so
much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told
me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the
church, because he was a cripple and it might be pleasant to
them to remember upon Christmas Day who made lame beg-
gars walk, and blind men see." Bob's voice was tremulous, when
he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny
Tim was growing strong and hearty. His active little crutch
was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before an-
other word was spoken; Bob, turning up his cuffs, as if, poor
fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby, com-
pounded some hot mixture in a jug with lemons, and stirred it
round and round and put it on the hob to simmer. Master Peter,
and the two ubiquitous younger Cratchits went to fetch the
goose, with which they soon returned in high procession. Such
a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose was the
rarest of all birds. The two young Cratchits set chairs for every-
body, not forgetting themselves, and at last the dishes were set
on and grace was said. There never was such a goose. Its ten-
derness and flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of uni-
versal admiration. Every one had had enough, and the youngest
Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onions to the
eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda,
Mrs. Cratchit left the room to take the pudding up and bring it
in. In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered — flushed and smiling
proudly — with the pudding, like a speckled cannonball blazing
in a half of a quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christ-
mas holly stuck into the top. Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob
Cratchit said, and he regarded it as the greatest success achieved
by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage.
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 shovelful of chest-
nuts put upon the fire. Then all the
Cratchit family drew around the hearth;
and at Bob's elbow stood the family dis-
play of glass: Two tumblers and a custard
cup without a handle. Then Bob proposed:
"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears.
God bless us!" which all the family re-
echoed.
"God bless us everyone!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool. Bob
held his 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.
"Spirit," said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt
before, "Tell me if Tiny Tim will live." "I see a vacant seat," re-
plied the Ghost, "in the poor chimney corner, and a crutch with-
out an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain un-
altered by the Future, the child will die." "No, no," said Scrooge,
"Spirit! Say he will be spared!" "If these shadows remain
unaltered by the Future," returned the Ghost, "none will find
him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it and
decrease the surplus population." Scrooge hung his head to hear
his own words quoted by the Spirit, and bent before the Ghost's
rebuke.
All the time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round ;
and by and by, there was a song, about a lost child traveling in
the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice and
sang it very well indeed. There was nothing of high mark in
this. They were not a handsome family, they were not well
dressed; and their clothes might have known the inside of a
pawnbrokers, but, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one
another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and
looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch
at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on
Tiny Tim until the last.
And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost it was
a great surprise to Scrooge to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much
greater surprise to recognize it as his own nephews, and to find
himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing
smiling by his side. "Ha Ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha,
Ha, Ha!! — He said that Christmas was a humbug, and he be-
lieved it too! He's a comical old fellow and not so pleasant as he.
might be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, and
I have nothing to say against him." "I have no patience with
him," observed Scrooge's niece; and all the others expressed the
same opinion. "I was only going to say," said Scrooge's nephew,
"that he may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help
thinking better of it — I defy him — if he finds me going there,
in good temper, year after year and saying 'Uncle Scrooge, how
are you?' So here is a glass of mulled wine ready to our hand at
the moment; and I say A Merry Christmas and a Happy New
Year to the old man wherever he is." Then Scrooge's nephew
laughed in his way: Scrooge's niece laughed as heartily as he.
And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared
out lustily. "Uncle Scroo-o-o-o-ge !"
Uncle Scrooge has imperceptibly become so gay and light of
heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company in
return, if the Ghost had given him time. But the whole scene
passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew
and he and the Spirit were again upon their travels.
Much they saw, and far they went, but always with a happy
end. The Spirit stood beside sick-beds and they wert; cheerful;
in alms-house, hospital, and jail, he left his blessing, and taught
Scrooge his precepts. It was a long night ; it was strange too, but
while Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the
Ghost grew clearly older. Scrooge observed this change and as
the Spirit stood in an open place, he noticed that his hair* was
gray. "Are Spirits' lives so short?" asked Scrooge. "My life upon
this globe is very brief," replied the Ghost. "It ends tonight.
Hark! The time is drawing near." The chimes were ringing the
three-quarters past the eleven at that period. "Forgive me in
what I ask," said Scrooge looking intently at the Spirit's robe,
"but I see something strange and not belonging to yourself.
Your robe?" From the folding of the Spirit's robe it brought
two children; wretched, abject, frightful, miserable. They knelt
down at its feet and clung upon the outside of its garment.
"Spirit! Are they yours?" Scrooge could say no more.
"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them.
"And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is
Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware of 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!"
"Have they no refuge or resource?" cried Scrooge. "Are there
no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time
with his own words. "Are there no workhouses?" The bells
struck twelve. Scrooge looked for the Ghost and saw it not.
I. s the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he re-
r membered the prediction of old Jacob
J^ff Marley and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn
Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a
mist along the ground, toward him. The Phantom, slowly
gravely, silently approached. When it came near him, Scrooge
bent down upon his knees; for in the very air through which this
Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was
shrouded in deep black garments, 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 separated from the darkness by which it
was surrounded. He felt that it was tall and stately when it came
beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a
solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor
moved.
"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to
Come?" said Scrooge. The Spirit answered not, but pointed
downward with his hand. Although well used to ghostly com-
pany 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.
"Ghost of the Future !" he exclaimed, "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. Lead on !" said Scrooge. "The
night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know."
The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him.
Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him
up, and carried him along. They scarcely seemed to enter the
City; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them, and
encompassed them of its own act. But there they were, in the
heart of it; on the Exchange, amongst the merchants who con-
versed in groups, looked at their watches, and so forth, as
Scrooge had seen them often. Scrooge advanced to listen to their
talk. "No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, "I don't
know much about it either way. I only know he's dead." "What
has he done with his money?" asked a red. faced gentleman with
a nose like the gills of a turkey cock. "I haven't heard," said the
man with the large chin, yawning again. "He hasn't left if to
me,, that's all I know." This pleasantry was received with a
general laugh. "It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said the
same speaker; "For upon my life, I don't know of anybody to go
to it." Another laugh.
They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of
the town where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although
he knew its bad repute. The whole quarter reeked with crime,
filth and misery. Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a
low-browed, beetling shop where old iron, rags, bottles, bones
and greasy offal were bought. Sitting in among the wares was
a gray-haired rascal, nearly seventy years of age. 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
recognition of each other. After a short period of blank aston-
ishment, they all burst into a laugh.
The man in faded black began to produce his plunder. It was
not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil case, a pair of sleeve but-
tons, and a brooch of no great value, were all. The second woman
was next. Sheets and towels, two old fashioned silver teaspoons
and a few boots. "And now undo my bundle, Joe," said the first
woman. Joe dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark
stuff. "Bed curtains!" said Joe. "You don't mean to say you took
them down, rings and all with him lying there?" "Yes I do!"
said the woman. "Why not? If he wanted to keep them after he
was dead, the wicked old screw, why wasn't he natural in his
lifetime? If he had been, he'd of had somebody to look after
him, instead of lying gasping out his last, alone, by himself."
Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. It was though
they were obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself. "Spirit!"
said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. "I see, I see. The
case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that
way now. Merciful Heavens, what is this !" he recoiled in terror,
for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed;
a bare uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there
lay something covered up, which though it was dumb, announced
itself in awful language. A pale light, fell straight upon the bed;
and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for,
was the body of this man. "Spirit!" Scrooge cried, "this is a fear-
ful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let
us go !"
The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to
his feet. They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house; the dwelling
he had visited before; and found the mother and children seated
around the fire. Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits
were as still as statues and sat looking up at Peter, who had a
book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged
in sewing.
" 'And He took a Child, and set Him in the midst of them.' "
Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed
them, the boy must have read them out, as he and the Spirit
crossed the threshold. The mother, laid her work on the table,
"Your father will be coming home, it must be near his time."
"Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book. "But I
think he walks a little slower than he used to, these few last eve-
nings, Mother." They were very quiet again. At last she said,
and in a steady cheerful voice, that only faltered once : "I have
known him walk with — I have known him walk with Tiny Tim
upon his shoulder, very fast indeed." "But he was very light to
carry," she resumed intent upon her work, "And his father loved
him so, that it was no trouble. And there is your father at the
door!" She hurried out to meet him; and Bob in his comforter,
came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried
who should help him to it most.
"You went there today, Robert?" asked his wife. "Yes, my
dear," returned Bob. "I wish you could have gone. It would have
done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it
often. I promised him I would talk there on a Sunday. My little,
little child!" cried Bob. "My little child!" He broke down all at
once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped it, he and his
child would have been farther apart, perhaps, than they were.
Poor Bob thought a little and composed himself, he kissed
his wife. He was reconciled to what had happened and he talked
on as though he were quite happy. They all drew about the fire,
and talked; the girls and mother working still. Bob told them of
the extraordinary kindness that Mr. Scrooge's nephew, who,
meeting him in the street that day, and seeing that he looked
a little — "Just a little down, you know," said Bob, inquired what
had happened to distress him. "On which," said Bob, "for he is
the pleasantest spoken gentleman, I told him. 'I am heartily
sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit,' he said, 'And heartily sorry for your
good wife.'" "I'm sure he's a good soul!" said Mrs. Cratchit.
"You would be sure of it, my dear," returned Bob, "if you saw
and spoke to him."
Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!
"Spectre," said Scrooge, "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?" The Ghost of
Christmas Yet to Come conveyed him, as before, until they
reached an iron gate. A church yard. Here, then, the wretched
man whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath the
ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by houses; overrun by
grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death, not life. The
Spirit stood among the graves and pointed down to One.
"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,"
said Scrooge, "answer me one question. Man's courses w r ill fore-
shadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,"
said Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed from, the ends will
change. Are these the shadows of things that WILL be, or are
they the shadow's of things that MAY be, only?" The Spirit
was immovable as ever.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he w r ent; and follow-
ing the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave, the
name, EBEXEZER SCROOGE. "Am I that man who lay upon
the bed?" he cried, upon his knees. The finger
pointed from the grave to him and back again.
"No, Spirit! Oh no, no!" The finger still was
there. "Spirit," he cried, tight clutching at its
robe, "hear me! I am not the man I was, I will
not be the man I must have been, but for this
intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all
hope !" "Good Spirit," he pursued as dawn upon
the ground he fell before it; "your
kind nature intercedes for me and
pities me. Assure me that I may yet
change these shadows you have shown
me, by an altered life!"
The Spirit's hand trembled, "I will
honor Christmas in my heart, and
keep it all the year. I will live in the
Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall
thrive within me. Oh, tell me that I may sponge away the writ-
ing on this stone!" In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It
sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and de-
tained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him. Holding up his
hands in one last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an al-
teration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrank, collapsed,
and dwindled down into a bedpost.
es! And the bedpost was
his own. The bed was his
own, and the room was his
own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own,
to make amends in ! "I will live in the Past, the Present and the
Future!" Scrooge repeated, and he scrambled out of bed. "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!" He had been sobbing vio-
lently in his conflict of the spirit and his face was wet with tears.
Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head. No
fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring cold; golden sunlight;
heavenly sky ; sweet fresh air ; merry bells. Oh, glorious, glorious !
"What's today?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy
in Sunday clothes, "What's today, my fine fellow?" "Today!"
replied the boy, "Why, CHRISTMAS DAY." "It's Christmas
Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits
have done it all in one night. "Hallo, my fine fellow!" "Hallo,"
returned the boy. "Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next
street but one, at the corner?" Scrooge inquired. "I should hope
I did," replied the lad. "An intelligent boy," said Scrooge. "A
remarkable boy ! Do you know whether they sold the prize turkey
that was hanging there? The big one?" "What, the one as big
as me?" returned the boy. "What a delightful boy!" said Scrooge.
"It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck," "It's hanging
there now," replied the boy. "Go and buy it," said Scrooge,
"And tell them to bring it here, that I may give them the direc-
tion where to take it. Come back with the man and I'll give you
a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I'll
give you a half a crown !" The boy was off like a shot. "I'll send
it to Bob Cratchit's!" whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands and
splitting with a laugh. "He shan't know who sends it. It's twice
the size of Tiny Tim." He went downstairs to open the street
door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. Here's the
turkey. "Hello again! Merry Christmas!" The chuckle with
which he recompensed the boy was only to be exceeded by the
chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again,
and chuckled till he cried.
He dressed himself in all "his best" and at last got out into
the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth; Scrooge
regarded everyone with a delighted smile. He looked so irresist-
ibly pleasant, that three or four good humored fellows said,
"Good morning, Sir, a Merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge
said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever
heard, those were the blithest in his years. He had not gone far,
when coming on towards him, he beheld the portly gentleman,
who had walked into his counting house the day before and
said "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" "My dear Sir," said
Scrooge, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. "Mr.
Scrooge?" "Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name and I fear
it may not be pleasant to you, allow me to ask your pardon. And
will you have the goodness — " Here Scrooge whispered in his
ear. "My dear Sir," said the other, shaking hands with him. "I
don't know what to say to such munifi — " " Don't say anything.
please," retorted Scrooge, "Come and see me. Will you come
and see me?" "I will," cried the old gentleman. "Thank 'ee."
said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you!"
He went to church, and walked about the streets and
watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on
the head and questioned beggars; and found that everything
could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk
— that anything — could give him so much happiness. In the
afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephews house; he
passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go
up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it: "Is your master at
home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl! Very. "Yes,
Sir. He is in the dining room, Sir, I'll show you upstairs, if you
please." "Thank 'ee again. He knows me," said Scrooge, with
his hand already on the dining room lock. "I'll go in here, my
dear." He turned it gently and sidled his face in round the door.
They were looking at the table which was spread out in great
array. "Fred!" said Scrooge. "Why bless my soul!" said Fred.
"Who's that?" "It's I, your uncle Scrooge, I have come to dinner.
Will you let me in, Fred?" Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't
shake his arm off, he was at home in five minutes. Nothing
could be heartier. Everyone came. Wonderful party, wonderful
games, wonderful happiness!
But he was early at the office next morning, if he could only
be there first and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the
thing he had set his heart upon and he did it; Bob was full
eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. "Hallo!" growled
Scrooge, in his accustomed voice as near as he could feign it.
"What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?" "It's
only once a year, Sir," pleaded Bob. "It shall not be repeated. I
was making rather merry yesterday, Sir." "Now, I'll tell you
what, my friend," said Scrooge, "I am not going to stand this
sort of thing any longer and therefore," he continued, leaping
from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat, that
he staggered back into the door again: "And therefore, I am
about to raise your salary!" Bob trembled, and got almost out
of the door. He had a momentary idea of calling to the people
in the court for help, and a strait-waistcoat.
"A Merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnest-
ness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back.
"A Merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given
you for many a year! Make up the fires, and buy another coal
scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"
Scrooge was better than his word. And to Tiny Tim, who
did not die, he became as good a friend, and as good a man, as
the good old city knew. Some people laughed to see the altera-
tion in him, but he 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 full of laughter in the
outset; his own heart laughed: that was quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with spirits ; and it was always
said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well. May that
be truly said of all of us!
And so, as Tiny Tim observed, GOD BLESS US EVERY
ONE
