Evening Star Newspaper, December 16, 1893, Page 23

STAVE 1. MARLEY'S GHOST. ARLEY Was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt LESS USS FE) “tty whatever about that. oe The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker and the chief mourn- er. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon “change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door nail. Scrooge never painted out old Marley's mame. There it stood years afterward, above the warehouse door—Scrooge & Mar. ley. The firm was known as Scrooge & Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge and some- times Marley, but he answered to both Bames. It was all the same to him. 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. Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, “My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?’ No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'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’s dogs appeared to know him, and when they saw him coming on Would tug their owners into doorways and up courts, and then would wag their tails as though they said, “No eye at all is bet- ter than an evil eye, dark master!” But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. Once upon a time—of all the good days im the year, on Christmas eve—old Scrooge gat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather—foggy withal— and he could hear the people in the court eutside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamp- img their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone 3, but it was quite dark already— it had not been light all day—and candles were flaring in the windows of the neigh- boring 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. The door of Serooge’s counting house was open, that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who, in a dismal little ceil beyond, was copying letters. Scrooge had @ very small fire, but the clerk’s fire was #0 very much smaller that it looked like one‘coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal box in his own room, and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter and tried to warm himself at the candle, in which effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed. “A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the Voice of Scrooge’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first in- timation he had of his approach. “Bah!” said Scrooge. “Humbug!” He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge’s, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again. “Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “You don’t mean that, Tam sure?" “I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! ‘What right have you to be merry? Out upon Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without Money; a time for finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ‘em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,” said Scrooge, indig- Rantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his ips should be bolled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly run through his heart. He should!" “Uncle!” pleaded the nephew. “N returned the uncle, sternly, “keep Christmas in your own way and let Bic keep it in mine.” “Keep it!’ repeated Scrooge’s nephew. “But you don’t keep it.” “Let me leave it alone, then,” Scrooge. “Much good may it do you! Much good «. has ever done you!” here are many things from which I nt have derived good by which I have Bot profited, I dare say,” returned the Bephew, “Christmas among the rest. But 1 am sure I have always thought of Christ- mas time, when it has come round—apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, In the long calendar 0f 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 crea- tures bound on other journeys. And there- fore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!” The clerk involuntarily applauded. Be- coming immediately sensible of the impro- priety. he poked the fire, and extinguished last frail spark forever. “Let me hear another sound from you,” Said Scrooge, “and you'll keep your Christ- mas by losing your situation! You're quite @ powerful speaker, sir,” he added, turning to his nep! “I wonder you don’t go into Parliament.’ “Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow Serooge id that he would see him— es, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him im that extremity first. But why?” cried Scrooge’s nephew. y ‘Why did you get married?” said Scrooge. ‘Because i fell in love.” ‘Because you fell in love!’ growled Scrooge, as if that were the only thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. “Good afternoon !* “Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a son for not coming now?” ‘Good afternoon,” said Scroog. “I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you: why cannot we be friens.?” “Good afternoon,” sald Scroo;e “I am sorry with all my hear‘ to finé you 0 resolute. We have never had any quar- rel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christ mas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So, A Merry Christmas, uncle!” “Good afternoon!" and nephew he room without an @ngry word, notwithstanding. In letting Scrooge’s nephew out the clerk had let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge’s office. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him. “Scrooge & Marley’s, I believe,” said on ff the gentlemen, referring to his lis ‘Have I the er of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?" “Mr. Marley has been dead these seven * Serooge replied. “He died seven Scrooge,” said the gentleman, taking up a pen, te is more than usually desirable that ‘we*should make some slight provision for the poor and the destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thou- sands are in want of common n H hundreds of thousands are in want of com- mon comforts, sir.” “are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge. “Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again, “but under the impression that they scarcely furnish ‘hristian cheer of mind or body to the multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is @ time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?" ‘You wish to be anonymous? wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. “Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas, and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned—they and those who are badly off must go there. “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 that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentle- men wi w. At length the hour for shutting up the counting house arrived. With on ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat. “You'll want all day tomorrow, I sup- 7 said Scrooge. “If quite convenient, sir.” '§ not convenient,” said Scrooge, “and it's not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound!” The clerk smiled faintly. “And yet,” said Scrooge, “you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a Gay’s wages for no work.” The clerk observed that it was only once ear. ‘A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December!” said buttoning his greatcoat to the chin. “But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning.”” he 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 boased no greatcoat), went down a slide on Cornnill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honor of its being Christmas eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blind man’s buff. Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker’s book, went home to bed. He lived in champers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of buildings 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 hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again. It was oid enough now, and dreary enough; for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms be- ing all let out as offices. 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 has as little of what called fancy about him as any man in the city of London. And yet it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any inter- mediate process of change—not a knocker, but Marley’s face. Marley’s face! It was not in impenetrable shadow, as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look, with ghost- ly spectacles turned up on its ghostly fore- head. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or’ hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motion- wre Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenome- non, it was a knocker again. To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle. i He did pause, with a moment's Irresolu- tion, before he shut the door; and he "did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley's pigtail sticking out into the hall. But there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he said, “Pooh, poo! and closed it with a bang. ‘The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above and every cask in the wine merchant'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. 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 recollection enough of the face to desire to do that. Sitting room, bed room, 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. 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 night cap and sat down before the fire to take his gruel. After several turns he sat down again. | As he threw his head back in the chair his dt: | glance happened to rest upon a bell, used bell that hung tn the room, and com- {municated for some purpose, now forgot- | ten, with a chamber in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonish- ment and with a strange, inexplicable dread that, as he looked, he saw the bell begin to EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1898~TWENTY-FOUR PAGES swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound, but soon it Tang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house. This might have lasted half a minute or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The beils ceased as they had begun—together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, as if some person were drag- ging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine merchant's cellar. Scrooge then re- membered 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 much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight toward his doo: ‘3 humbug still!” said Scrooge. “I ‘won't believe it.” His color changed, though, when, without @ 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, “I know him! Mar- ley’s ghost!” and fell again. The same face; ihe very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long and wound about him like a tall, and it was made of cash boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent, so that Scrooge, ob- serving him, and looking through his waist- coat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. Scrooge had often heard it said that Mar- ley had no bowels, but he had never be- Meved it until now. No, mor 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 text- ure of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before. He was still incredulous, and fought against his senses. “How now!” said Scrooge, caustic and ‘What do you want with me?" ‘Much”—Marley’s voice, no doubt about it. “Who are you?" “Ask me who I was.” “Who were you, then?” said Scrooge, raising his voice. “You're particular, for a shad He was going to say, “to a shade,” but substituted this, as more appropriate. - “In life I was your partner, Jacob Mar- ley.” “Can you—can you sit down?” asked ee » looking doubtfully at him. “Do it, then.” Serooge asked the question, because he didn’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 be- ing impossible, it might jJnvolve the necessi- ty of an embarrassing explanation. But the Ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it. “You don’t believe in me,” observed the Ghost. “I don’t,” said Scrooge. ‘What evidence would you e of my Teality beyond that of your own senses?” we, “a thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stom- ach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, or a fragment of an under- done potato. There's more of gravy than grave about you, whatever you ure.” 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. But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom, taking off the bandage round his head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast. Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face. “Mercy!” he said. “Dreadful apparation, why Co you trouble me?” “Man of the worldly mind,” replied the Ghost, “do you believe in me or not?” “I do,” said Scrooge. “I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?” “It is required of every man,” the Ghost returned, “that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his feilow-men, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. “Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger any- My spirit never walked beyond our counting house—mark me!—in life my spirit never roved beyond our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!" “Seven years dead,” mused Scrooge. “And traveling all the ti m said the Ghost. “No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of re- morse.”” “You travel fast?” said Scroo; “On the wings of the wind,” Ghost. “You might have got over tity of ground in seven years, 4 ‘he Ghost, on hearing this, set up anoth ery and clanked its chains hideously in the dead silence of the night. “Ol captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “not to know that ages of incessant labor, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity be- fore Lead ie of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit. working kindly tn 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 we. replied the a great quan- can make amends for one’s life's oppor- tunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh, such was “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself. “Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance and benevo- lence were all my business. Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the specter going on at this rate and began to quake exceedingly. “Hear me!” cried the Ghost. “My time is nearly gone.” “I will,” erfed Scrooge. “But don’t be hard upon me! Don't be flowery, Jacob! Pray!” “How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day.” It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered and wiped the perspiration from is_ brow. ‘This is no light part of my penance,” pursued the Ghost. “I am here tonight to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.” . “You were always a good friend to me,” sald Scrooge. ‘“Thank’ee!"” “You will be haunted, Ghost, “by three Spirits.” “Is that the chance and hope you men- tioned, Jacob?” he demanded in a faltering voice. “Tt is.” —I think I’d rather not,” said Scrooge. “Without their visits,” said the Ghost, “you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. iXpect the first tomorrow, when the it tolls one.” “Couldn’t I take ‘em all at once and have it over, Jacob?” hinted Scrooge. “Bxpect 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 re- Member wiat 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 spec- ter reached it, it was wide open. Scrooge closed the ona Koch gestern the door by which the ost had entered. ie was double locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say “Humbug! but stopped at the first syllable. And be- ing, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull conversa- tion 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. resumed the STAVE II. THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS. When Scrooge awoke it was so dark, that, looking out of bed, he could scarcely dis- tinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was en- deavoring to plerce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neigh- boring church struck the four quarters. So he listened for the hour. 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. He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve and stopped. "Why, it isn’t possible,” said Scrooge, “that Tecan have slept through a whole day and far into another night. It isn’t possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve at noon!” 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. Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters more, when he re- membered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to le awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could not go to sleep, this was, perhaps, the wisest resolution in his power. The quarter was so long that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his lis- tening ear. “Ding, dong!" “A quarter past,” said Scrooge, count- ing. “Ding, dong!" “A quarter to it,” said Scrooge. “Ding, dong! “The hour itself,” sald Scrooge, trium- Phantly; “‘and nothing else!’ He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it row did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy one. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. The Old Feszsiwig Cried Out Well Done. 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. It was a strange figure—like a child; yet not so like a child like an old man, viewed through som ipernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and bel dimin- ished to a child’s proportion: ite hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white if with age, and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. 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 ex- tinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm. “Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming : foretold to me?” asked Scrooge. “I am!” The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance. “Who, and what are you?” Scrooge de- manded. am the Ghost of Christmas Past.” it?" inquired Scrooge. o. Your past.” He then made bold to inquire what busi- ness brought him there. “Your welfare! Rise, and walk with me!’ eaid the Ghost. It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that the bed was warm and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing gown and nightcap. 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 in supplication. ” Scrooge remonstrated, “Bear but a touch of my hand there,” id the Spirit, laying it upor his heart, “and you shall be upheld in more than this!" 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 ves- tige 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. ie “Good heaven!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands together as he looked about him. was bred in this place. I was a boy here!” The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its ger tie touch, though it had been light and instantaneou! appeared still present to the old man’s sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air, each one connected with a u~ sand thoughts and hopes and joys and cares, long, long forgotten! “Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that upon your cheek?” Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catch- ing in his voice, that it was a —_ and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would. “You recollect the way?’ inquired the Spirit. “Remember it!" cried Scrooge with fervor, “I could walk it blindfold.” “Strange to have forgotten it for so many !" observed the Ghost. “Let us go years! on.” They walked along the road, Scrooge recogrizing every gate and post and tree, until a little market town appeared in the distar.ce, with its bridge, its church and windirg river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting toward them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in cour try gigs and carts, driven by farm- ers. All these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music that the = air laughed to hear it. “These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.” The jocund travelers came on; and as they came, Scrooge krew and named them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them? Why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart i up as they went past? Why was he filled with gladress when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as they parted at cross-rcads and by-ways for their several homes? “The school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghcst. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.” Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed. They left the high road, by a well-remem:- bered lane, and sooa approached a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock- surmounted cupola on the rcof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a lar house, but one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and the gate decayed. Nor was it more retentive of its ancient state, within; for, entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open docrs of many rooms, they found them pcorly furnished, cold, and vast. There was an earthy savor in the air, a chilly bareness in the Place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by cardilelight and not too mek cee ae They went, the Ghost and , across the hall, to a door at the pace ernen house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bar3, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a Hose orgs feng cian sat bitadal upon a form and wep’ see his ir for; m self as he had used to be. $5 = Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the Paneling, not a drip from the half-thawed Wwaterspout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one de- spondent poplar, not the idle swit of an empty storehouse door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the hi of Scrooge with softening influence and gave a freer passage to his tears, The Spirit touched him on the arm and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man in foreign gar- ments, wonderfully real and distinct to look at, stood outside the window, with an ax stuck in his belt and leading ‘by the bridle an ass laden with wood. “Why, it’s All Baba!’ Scrooge exclaimed, in ecstasy. “It’s dear old honest All Babal. Yes, yes, I know. One Christmas time, when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did come, for the first time, just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine,” said Scrooge, “and his wild brother, Orson; there they go! And the sultan’s groom turned upside down by the genii; there he is upon his ! Served him right. I'm glad of it. What business had he to be married to the Prin- cess?” To hear Scrooge expending all the earnest- ness of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughii and crying, and to see his heightened an excited face, would have been a surprise to his business friends in the city indeed. “There's the parrot!’ cried Scrooge. “Green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robinson Crusoe, he called him, when he came home again after sailing round the island. ‘Poor Rob- inson Crusoe; where have you been, Robin- son Crusoe?” The man thought he was dreaming, but he wasn't. It was the parrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for oats to the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! lalloo!"" down the garden-sweep; the quick wheels dashing the hoar frost and snow from off — “But she had a large heart answered briefly, Then, with a rapidity of transition very | Say that his power lies in words and looks; foreign to his usual ci , he said, in| in things so slight and insignificant that it pity for his former self, “Poor boy'”’ and/|is impossible to add and count ‘em up; what then? The happiness he gives is qui! cried again. “I wish,” Scrooge muttered, putting his | as great as if it cost a fortune.” hand in his pocket and looking about him.| He felt the Spirit's glance and wy od after drying his eyes with his cuff, “but it's Vhat is the matter?’ asked the ton late now.” thing particular,” said Scrooge. “What is the matter?” asked the Spirit. ‘Something, I think?" the Ghost insisted. “No * said Scrooge, “nothing. There] “No,” said “no. I should like to Scrooge, be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That's all.” Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air. was a boy singing a Christmas carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something, that's ail."’ The Ghost smiled thoughtfully and waved its hand, saying as he did so, “Let us see another Saage econ 1° ’s former self grew larger words and the room became a litte darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked, fragments of plaster Zell out of the ceiling and the naked laths were shown ins 22d; but how ail this was brought about Scrooge knew no more thaa 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 said Scrooge, in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.” “I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are do not blame me!” “Remove me!” exclaimed. “I Take me back. cannot bear it! Leave me. Haunt me no longer!” He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness, and further of being in his own bed room le and down ingly. e looked at} He had time to reel to bed before the ghost, with a mournful shaking of| he sank into a heavy head, glanced anxiously toward the door. sleep. It opened, and a little girl, much younger STAVE III. THE SECOND OF THE THREB SPIRITS. Awaking in the middle of a prodigiousiy tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occa- sion to be told that the bell was again up- on the stroke of 1. He began to wonder which of his curtains this new specter would draw back. He put them every one aside with his own hands, and lying down again established a sharp lookout all round the bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous. When the bell struck 1 and-no shape ap- peared he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a than the boy, came darting in, and, putting her arms about his neck and oftea Kissing him, addressed him as her “Dear, dear brother.” “I have come to bring you home, dear brother!” said the child, clapping her tiny hands. “To bi you home, home, home!’ “Home, little returned the boy. “Yes!” said ild, brimful of glee. “Home, for good and all. Father is so much kinder than he used to be! 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're to be a man!” said the child, opening her eyes, “and are never to come back here; but first, we're to be together all the Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the his and center of a blaze of rud- dy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed claimed the boy. tried to touch his head; but, to em: he, nothing loath to go, accompanied her. ‘h terrible voice in the hall cried, ‘Bring down Master Scrooge’s box, there!” and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on Master Scrodge with a fero- cious condescension, and threw him into & | door. 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 parlor that ever was seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the celestial and tefrestial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold. Here he Sepp erin curious; ht wine, and a u e ly heavy art and administered install- ments of those dainties to the young people; at the same til sending out a meager ser- vant to offer a glass of “something” 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’s trunk being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right will- ingly; and, getting into it, drove gayly room. about that. But it had undergone a prising transformation. The walls and cell- ing were hung with living green, that it looked @ 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 &@ mighty blaze went up the chim- ney, as that dull pertrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge’s time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, at the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray. “3 “Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered,” said the she had,” cried Scrooge. ‘You're a will not gainsay it, Spirit. God said the Ghost, “and Scrooge returned. “True,” said the Ghost. “Your nephe seemed uneasy in his mind and “Yes.” Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of a city. It was made plain enough, by the dress- ing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas time. The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door and asked Scrooge if he knew it. “Know it!" said Scrooge. “Wes I ap- prenticed here!” They went in. At sight of an old gentle- man in a Welsh wig, sitting behind a high des! e cried in great excitement: “Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!” Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and look- ed up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; ad- justed his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfort- able, olly, rich, fat, jovial voice: “Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick! Scrooge’s former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied.by his ht. forbid. “She died a woman,” “Mr. Scrooge” Said Bob. sucking pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince pies, plum pi barrels of oys- ters, redhot chestnuts, cherry cheeked ap- ples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth cakes and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their de- licious steam. In easy state upon this couch there sat a jolly giant, ‘glorious to see, who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty’s horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge as he came round the door. “Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. “Come in and know me better, man!” entered timidly. fellow apprentice, “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” “Dick Wilkins, to be sure!” said Scrooge | 2/4 the Spirit. “Look upon me!” Scrooge to the Ghost. “Bless me, yes. There he is. | “4 so. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear.” “No more work tonight. Christmas Eve, Dick! jtmas, Ebenezer! Let’: “You have never seen the like of me be- fe exclaimed the Spirit. lever,” Scrooge made answer to it. “Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?’ pursued the phantom. “I don’t think I have,” said Scrooge. “I am afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?” “More than 1,800," said the Ghost. Scrooge. The Ghost of Christmas Present rose. “Spirit,” said submissively, “con- duct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learned a lesson which is working now. Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.” “Touch my robe!” Scrooge did as he was told, and held it Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkey, geese, geme, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, Sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the yh ny the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning. They went on, invis- ible as they had been before, into the su- burbs of the town. it was a remarkable quality of the egg igre notwithstanding coul r away! There was nothing they wouldn’t have cleared away. or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig look- ing on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off. as if it were dis- missed from public life forevermore: the floor was swept and watered, the jamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fir nd the warehouse was as snug, and . and dry, and bright a ball room as orl 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 or- chestra of it. In came Mrs. Fezziwig,one vast substantial smile. In came the three Misses Fezziwig, 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 er. In came the cook, with her brother's ‘particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one after another; some shyly, some boldly. some gracefully, some awkwardly, | his gigantic size, |d_ accommodate some pushing, some pulling; in they ali| himself to any place with ease, and thut all came, anyhow and e' how. Away | he stood beneath a low roof quite as grace- 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, “Well done!” and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. There were more dances, and there were more forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was a great piece of cold roast, and there was a great piece of cold boiled, and there were mince ples, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the roast and boiled, when the fiddler struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley.” Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trified with; people who would dance, and had no notion of a. But if they been twice as many—ah, four times—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs, -| find himself wig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that’s | parks. not high praise, tell me higher, and I'll use it. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. |- | Outside the wig had = all through the dance, ad- vance and retire, both hands to your part- ner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread- the-needle, and back again to your place, Fezzitwig “cut”—cut so deftly, that he ap- peared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a When the clock struck el , this do- mestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezzi- wig took their stations, one on either side the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two *prentices, they did the same to them; and oe and cane ke ae eae creature as it was possil e CO1 ve Gone in any lofty hall. And eye it was the pleasure the qj Spirit in showing off this power of his or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty —— _ his sympathy with all Poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge’s clerk's, for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, ho! Spirit smil and Bob Cratchit’s dwelli himse! eted on Saturdays but fifteen copi Christian name; and yet the — Present blessed his four-roomed ouse| Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit’s wife, dressed out but poorly in a i f knocked loudly at the let out and peeled. thus the cheerful voices died away, and the| ‘“Here’s Martha, mother™ eried the two were left to their beds, which were| young Cratchits. “Hurrah! There's such un counter in the back shop. & goose, Martha!” During the whole of this time “Why, biess your heart alive, my dear, had acted like a man out of his wits. His | how late you are!” said Mrs. Cratchit, kiss- heart and soul were in the scene, and with | ing her a dozen times, and taking off her his former self. He corroborated everything, | shawl and bonnet for her with officious remembered everything, enjoyed everything, | geal. and underwent the strangest agitation. It] “We'd @ deal of work to finish up last was not until now, when the bright faces | night,” replied the girl, “and had to cleat of his former self and Dick were turned| away this morni: mother!” from them, that he remembered the Ghost,| “Well! never mind so as you are and became conscious that it was looking| come,” said Mrs. Cratehit. it ye down full upon him, while the light upon its head | before the fire, my dear, and have a burnt very clear. “A small matter,” said the Ghost, make these silly folks so full of gratitude.” “Small!” echoed Scrooge. The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig; and when he had done so said: “Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money; three or “No, no! There's father coming: ertet the two young Cratchits, who where at once. “Hide, So Martha hid herself, and in Bob, the father, with at least three comforter, exclusive of the fringe, down before him; and his seasonables and, Tiny tim ‘houl- mable; and. four, — Is that so much that he de- | der. ‘Alas for Tiny rien, he bore a little Pl f, itch. and hi “It isn't that,” said Scrooge, heated by | en, trame’ Ree TRS i g the remark, and speaking unconsciously | “Why, where’s our Martha?” cried Bob lke his former, not his latter, self—“it isn’t | Cratchit, looking ea that, Spirit. He has the power to render us ‘ot coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit. happy or unhappy; to make our service| “Not coming!” said Bob, with s sudden light or burdensome; a pleasure or @ toil. vs in his high spirits; tor be had ears walk and blind 23 been Tim's blood horse all the way church, and had come home rampant. “Net upon Christinas day!” Martha didn’t like to see him pointed, if it were only in joke, so out prematurely from behind door, and ran into his arms, while the two ‘oung Cratchits hustied Tiny Tim, im off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in ‘the copper. “And how did litte Tim behave?” — Cratenit, credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content. “As good as gold,” said Bob, Somehow he gets thoughtful, himself so much, and thinks the strangest 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- v men to see.” Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he sald wn Fa Tim was growing strong and His active little crutch was heard upon i i the floor, and back camé Tiny Tim before another ‘was spoken escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob turning up his cuffs—as {f, poor fellow, they were capable of being more shabby—compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and h 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 Procession. high Such a bustle ensued that thought @ goose the rarest feathered phenomenon, to swan was @ matter of cou! it was something very like it'in Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy Teady before- hand in @ little saucepan, hissing hot; ter Peter mashed the potatoes with incred- ible vigor; Miss Belinda Sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates: Bob took Tiny Tim beside him im a tiny cor- ner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not f themselves, and te upon their —_ crammed spoons into their mouths, they shoyld shriek for goose before you might have of all birds; a whieh a black n@ tm truth that house, F carving nite, reast; but when she did, and expected gush of stuffing 7d, and even Tiny Tim, ‘oung Cratchits, beat on e of his knife, urrab! they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every had had enough, and oungest in cro were As x a chit left the room alone—too nervous to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up, and Wf in. cae i. juppose it should not be done enough: Suppose it should break in turning = eg two youss Cratchits De- came sorts of " of horrors were sup- Hallo! A great deal of steam! The ing was out of the : x4 “s aos ane copper. A smell ean eating house and # past! ; Rext door to each othe, witha lnundeuat next door to that! That was the Pucding! In half @ minute Mrs. Cratchit entered flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pud- ding, like a speckled cannon bali, so bard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartera of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christ- — holly ben hye the top. , a2 wi ‘ul pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that be regarded it ae the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Crat- chit since their marriage r thing to say about it, but nobody said thought it was at a!l a small pudding for a tar , Sai ily. It would have been flat her to do so. Any Cratchit would blushed to hint at such a thing. vig At ae aoe dinner was was ci the hearth swept and made up. The compound in the oug — tasted, and considered perfect, apples were put upon — and a These held the hot stuff from the however, as well as golden goblets + have done; and Bob served it out with ages Bey a the chestnuts on the tered and crack =e i cl ed noisily. Then “A merry Christmas to deere, Which ail the family re-echoed. “God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, of all. to his father’s side, Bob held his withered little as if he loved the child, and Cratchit told them how he had a cauation in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five-nnd-six-pence weekly. The two young Cratciits laughed tremendously at the idea of j’eter’s — @ man of business: and Peter himself look. thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were ticular investments he came into the receipfof that bewildering income. Who was @ poor apprer at @ milliner’s, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to le abed tomorrow morning for a jong rest; tomorrow being a holiday, she passed at home. Also how she had seen @ countess and a lord some 4ays before; nad the lord “was much about as eter; FF i if you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; and by and by they had « song, about a lost child traveling In snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plainvive littl voice, and sang it very well indeed. ‘There was nothing of high mark in thi from being water-proof; their clothes scanty; and Peter might have known, o: very likely aid, the inside of a pawn- fi aif song to time wurely as Man got as they Dut bade on above sea? To back, he range rolled pad roa el he the among caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth. Buftt upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some or eo from on which the waters and wild year Sr th. tient erapora as oeg treet of the water rose and about tt, lke the waves they