Christmas Carol Stave 2

When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber.

He was endeavouring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighbouring church struck the four quarters.

“Why, it isn’t possible,” said Scrooge, “that I can have slept through a whole day and far into another night.

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.

This was a great relief, because “three days after sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order,” and so forth, would have become a mere United States’ security if there were no days to count by.

He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy One.

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy One.

Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.

Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed.

It was a strange figure—like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions.

It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful.

But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.

For as its belt sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant, at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away.

And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever.

The voice was soft and gentle.

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.

“What!” exclaimed the Ghost, “would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give?

“What!” exclaimed the Ghost, “would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give?

Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow!”

He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.

The Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon him at that time.

“I am a mortal,” Scrooge remonstrated, “and liable to fall.”

The city had entirely vanished.

He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

“Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” observed the Ghost.

It was a large house, but one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates decayed.

Nor was it more retentive of its ancient state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast.

Nor was it more retentive of its ancient state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast.

Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with a softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears.

Suddenly a man, in foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood.

Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy.

The panels shrunk, the windows cracked; fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were shown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no more than you do.

Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.

“Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered,” said the Ghost.

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.

“Was I apprenticed here!”

Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter’s night.

In came the cook, with her brother’s particular friend, the milkman.

In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress.

When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, “Well done!” and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose.

But scorning rest, upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish.

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer.

But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog, mind!

Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.

If that’s not high praise, tell me higher, and I’ll use it.

And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig “cut”—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.

He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation.

“A small matter,” said the Ghost, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“It isn’t that,” said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self.

The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”

Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”

I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you.

That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two.

In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight.

But he said with a struggle, “You think not.”

When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be.

Conduct me home.

Why do you delight to torture me?”