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--though at
a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these
latter visions, save that they were in the Future--into the resorts of
business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not
stay for anything, but went straight on, as to
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 58.]
the end just now desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a
moment.
"This court," said Scrooge, "through which we hurry now, is where my
place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the
house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come."
The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.
"The house is yonder," Scrooge exclaimed. "Why do you point away?"
The inexorable finger underwent no change.
Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an
office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the
figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before.
He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone,
accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look
round before entering.
A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man whose name he had now to
learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by
houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death,
not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite.
A worthy place!
The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. He
advanced towards it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been,
but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.
"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point," said Scrooge,
"answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will
be, or are they shadows of the things that May be, only?"
Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.
"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered
in, they must lead," said Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed
from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"
The Spirit was immovable as ever.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the
finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name,
EBENEZER SCROOGE.
"Am _I_ that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, upon his knees.
The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.
"No, Spirit! Oh no, no!"
The finger still was there.
"Spirit!" he cried, tight clutching at its robe, "hear me! I am not
the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this
intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?"
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 59.]
For the first time the hand appeared to shake.
"Good Spirit," he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it:
"Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet
may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!"
The kind hand trembled.
"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.
I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of
all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that
they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"
In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself,
but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit,
stronger yet, repulsed him.
Holding up his hands in one last prayer to have his fate reversed, he
saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk,
collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 60.]
STAVE V.
THE END OF IT.
Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was
his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to
make amends in!
"I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Scrooge
repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "The Spirits of all Three shall
strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be
praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob; on my knees!"
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his
broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing
violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with
tears.
"They are not torn down," cried Scrooge, folding one of his
bed-curtains in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all. They
are here: I am here: the shadows of the things that would have been,
may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will!"
His hands were busy with his garments all this time: turning them
inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them,
making them parties to every kind of extravagance.
"I don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the
same breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his
stockings. "I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel. I
am as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry
Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world. Hallo here!
Whoop! Hallo!"
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there:
perfectly winded.
"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Scrooge, starting
off again, and frisking round the fire-place. "There's the door, by
which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There's the corner where the
Ghost of Christmas Present, sat! There's the window where I saw the
wandering Spirits! It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha
ha ha!"
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it
was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long,
long, line of brilliant laughs!
"I don't know what day of the month it is!" said Scrooge. "I don't
know how long I've been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm
quite a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo!
Whoop! Hallo here!"
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 61.]
He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the
lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer, ding, dong,
bell. Bell, dong, ding, hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no
mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the
blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air;
merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious!
"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday
clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
"EH?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.
"To-day!" 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. They can do anything they
like. Of course they can. Of course they can. 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've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there? Not
the little prize Turkey: 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.
"Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it."
"Walk-ER!" exclaimed the boy.
"No, no," said Scrooge, "I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em
to bring it here, that I may give them the direction 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 half-a-crown!"
The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a
trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.
"I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's!" whispered Scrooge, rubbing his
hands, and splitting with a laugh. "He sha'n't know who sends it. It's
twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as
sending it to Bob's will be!"
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 62.]
[Illustration: Verso of manuscript Page 63.]
The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write
it he did, somehow, and went down stairs to open the street door,
ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. As he stood there,
waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.
"I shall love it, as long as I live!" cried Scrooge, patting it with
his hand. "I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest
expression it has in its face! It's a wonderful knocker!--Here's the
Turkey. Hallo! Whoop! How are you! Merry Christmas!"
It _was_ a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird.
He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks of
sealing-wax.
"Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town," said Scrooge.
"You must have a cab."
The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he
paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab,
and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be
exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair
again, and chuckled till he cried.
Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very
much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while
you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would
have put a piece of sticking-plaister over it, and been quite
satisfied.
He dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the
streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen
them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands
behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He
looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four
good-humoured fellows said, "Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to
you!" And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds
he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.
He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portly
gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before and
said, "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" It sent a pang across his
heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they
met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
"My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old
gentleman by both his hands. "How do you do? I hope you succeeded
yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you, sir!"
"Mr. Scrooge?"
"Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name, and I fear it may not be
pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the
goodness"--here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
"Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath were gone. "My
dear
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 63.]
Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"
"If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A great many
back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that
favour?"
"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. And it was clear he meant to do it.
"Thank'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty
times. Bless you!"
He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the
people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and
questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and
up to the windows; and found that everything could yield him pleasure.
He had never dreamed that any walk--that anything--could give him so
much happiness. In the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his
nephew's house.
He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up
and knock. But he made a dash, and did it:
"Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice
girl! Very.
"Yes, sir."
"Where is he, my love?" said Scrooge.
"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you up
stairs, if you please."
"Thank'ee. He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the
dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear."
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were
looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these
young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see
that everything is right.
"Fred!" said Scrooge.
Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started! Scrooge had
forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the
footstool, or he wouldn't have done it, on any account.
"Why bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?"
"It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me
in, Fred?"
Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home
in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the
same. So did Topper when _he_ came. So did the plump sister, when
_she_ came. So did every one when _they_ came. Wonderful party,
wonderful games, wonderful
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 64.]
unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!
But he was early at the office next morning. Oh he was early there. If
he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That
was the thing he had set his heart upon.
And he did it; yes he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter
past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half, behind his
time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come
into the Tank.
His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was
on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were
trying to overtake nine o'clock.
"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?"
"I'm very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I _am_ behind my time."
"You are?" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, if
you please."
"It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank.
"It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir."
"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge, "I am not going to
stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," he continued,
leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat
that he staggered back into the Tank again: "and therefore I am about
to raise your salary!"
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary
idea of knocking Scrooge down with it; holding him; and calling to the
people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.
"A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could
not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier Christmas,
Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you, for many a year! I'll
raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and
we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas
bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another
coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"
* * * * *
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as
good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old
city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good
old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he
let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know
that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some
people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 65.]
that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well
that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in
less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite
enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total
Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him,
that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed
the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as
Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!
THE END.
[Illustration: Original manuscript of Page 66.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _The Last of the Spirits._]
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT
Charles Dickens
[Illustration: _Scrooge's third Visitor._]
Transcriber's Note: this is a facsimile version of the original
manuscript, hand-written by Charles Dickens. Every effort has been
made to preserve the appearance of the First Edition--page breaks
and labels have been kept, to match the original script, and spelling,
grammar and typographical errors have been left unchanged.