his power, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature,
and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to
Scrooge's clerk's; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him,
holding to his robe; and on the threshhold of the door the Spirit
smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the
sprinkling of his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen 'Bob'
a week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his
Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his
four-roomed house!
'Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but
poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribands, which are
cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth,
assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave
in ribands; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the
saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous
shirt-collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and
heir in honor of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself
so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the
fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl,
came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's 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, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while
he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the
fire, until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked proudly at the
sauce-pan lid to be let out and peeled.
''What has ever got your precious father, then?' said Mrs.
Cratchit. 'And your brother, Tiny Tim; and Martha warn't as late
last Christmas Day by half-an-hour!'
''Here's Martha, mother!' said a girl, appearing as she spoke.
''Here's Martha, mother!' cried the two young Cratchits. 'Hurrah!
There's _such_ a goose, Martha!'
''Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!' said
Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl
and bonnet for her, with officious zeal.
''We'd a deal of work to finish up last night,' replied the girl,
'and had to clear away this morning, mother!'
''Well! Never mind so long as you are come,' said Mrs. Cratchit.
'Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless
ye!'
''No, no! There's father coming,' cried the two young Cratchits,
who were every where at once. 'Hide, Martha, hide!'
'So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with
at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hanging
down before him; and his 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!
''Why, where's our Martha?' cried Bob Cratchit looking round.
''Not coming,' said Mrs. Cratchit.
''Not coming!' said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high
spirits; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from
church, and had come home rampant. 'Not coming upon Christmas
Day!'
'Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in
joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and
ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim,
and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the
pudding singing in the copper.
''And how did little Tim behave?' asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she
had rallied Bob on his credulity, and 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 beggars 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 another word was spoken, escorted by his brother
and sister to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob, turning up
his cuffs, as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made
less shabby, compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and
lemons, and stirred it round and round, and put it on the hob to
simmer; Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went
to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high
procession.
'Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the
rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan
was a matter of course: and, in truth, it was something very like
it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready before-hand
in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the
potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the
apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim
beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits
set chairs for every body, not forgetting themselves, and,
mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths,
lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be
helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was
succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly
all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast;
but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing
issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and
even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the
table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!
'There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there
ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and
cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by
the apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner
for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great
delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish,) they
hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the
youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion
to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss
Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous to bear
witnesses--to take the pudding up, and bring it in.
'Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in
turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the
back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose: a
supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All
sorts of horrors were supposed.
'Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper.
A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an
eating house, and a pastry cook's next door to each other, with a
laundress's next door to that? That was the pudding. In half a
minute Mrs. Cratchit entered: flushed, but smiling proudly: with
the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm,
blazing in half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with
Christmas holly stuck into the top.
''Oh, a wonderful pudding!' Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too,
that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs.
Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the
weight was off her mind, she would confide she had had her doubts
about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about
it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a
large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any
Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.
'At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the
hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being
tasted and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon
the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all
the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit
called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow
stood the family display of glass; two tumblers, and a custard-cup
without a handle.
'These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden
goblets would have done: and Bob served it out with beaming looks,
while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and crackled noisily.
Then Bob proposed:
''A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!'
'Which all the family re-echoed.
''God bless us every one!' said Tiny Tim, 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.'
Could any thing be more life-like, more beautiful, more touching, than
this description? But let us skip the journeyings of Christmas Present for
a moment, that we may accompany Christmas to Come to the dwelling of poor
BOB CRATCHIT:
'The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his
feet; and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to
find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob
Cratchit's house; the dwelling he had visited before; and found
the mother and the children seated round the fire.
'Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as
statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book
before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing.
But surely they were very quiet!
''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
threshhold. Why did he not go on?
'The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to
her face.
''The color hurts my eyes,' she said.
'The color? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!
''They're better now again,' said Cratchit's wife. 'It makes them
weak by candle-light; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father
when he comes home, for the world. It must be near his time.'
''Past it, rather,' Peter answered, shutting up his book. 'But I
think he's walked a little slower than he used, these few last
evenings, 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.'
''And so have I,' cried Peter. 'Often.'
''And so have I!' exclaimed another. So had all.
''But he was very light to carry,' she resumed, intent upon her
work, 'and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble--no
trouble. And there is your father at the door!'
'She hurried out to meet him; and Bob in his comforter--he had
need of it, poor fellow--came in. His tea was ready for him on the
hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the
two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a
little cheek, against his face, as if they said, 'Don't mind it,
father. Don't be grieved!'
'Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the
family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the
industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be
done long before Sunday, he said.
''Sunday! You went to-day then, Robert?' said 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 that I would walk 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 further apart,
perhaps, than they were.
'He left the room, and went up stairs into the room above, which
was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas. There was a chair
set close beside the child, and there were signs of some one
having been there lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had
thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face.
He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite
happy.'
'Let not that man be trusted' who can read this affecting picture of
parental love for a poor little cripple-boy, without feeling the
tear-drops swelling to his eyes. But let us return and take one more
excursion with the former Spirit. Observe the faithfulness and the range
of the writer's imagination:
'And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood
upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone
were cast about, as though it were the burial-place of giants; and
water spread itself wheresoever it listed--or would have done so,
but for the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing-grew but moss
and furze, and coarse, rank grass. Down in the west the setting
sun had left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon the
desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and frowning lower,
lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.
''What place is this?' asked Scrooge.
''A place where Miners live, who labor in the bowels of the
earth,' returned the Spirit. 'But they know me. See!'
'A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they advanced
toward it. Passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found a
cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire. An old, old man
and woman, with their children and their children's children, and
another generation beyond that, all decked out gaily in their
holiday attire. The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the
howling of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a
Christmas song; it had been a very old song when he was a boy; and
from time to time they all joined in the chorus. So surely as they
raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe and loud; and so
surely as they stopped, his vigor sank again.
'The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge hold his robe,
and passing on above the moor, sped whither? Not to sea? To sea.
To Scrooge's horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a
frightful range of rocks, behind them; and his ears were deafened
by the thundering of water, as it rolled, and roared, and raged
among the dreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to
undermine the earth.
'Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league or so from
the shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed, the wild year
through, there stood a solitary lighthouse. Great heaps of seaweed
clung to its base, and storm-birds--born of the wind one might
suppose, as sea-weed of the water--rose and fell about it, like
the waves they skimmed.
'But even here, two men who watched the light had made a fire,
that through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed out a ray
of brightness on the awful sea. Joining their horny hands over the
rough table at which they sat, they wished each other a Merry
Christmas in their can of grog; and one of them--the elder, too,
with his face all damaged and scarred with hard weather, as the
figurehead of an old ship might be--struck up a sturdy song that
was like a Gale in itself.
'Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea--on,
on--until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore,
they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the
wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch;
dark, ghostly figures in their several stations: but every man
among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or
spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas
Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board,
waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another
on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some
extent in its festivities: and had remembered those he cared for
at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember
him.'
The second of these spirits accompanies SCROOGE to a scene that is well
worth seeing, and the like of which many of our readers have doubtless
often encountered--a regular Christmas frolic; in the present instance at
the residence of his nephew, who has a sister, a lovely, plump damsel,
with a lace tucker: she was pretty, exceedingly pretty. 'With a dimpled,
surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed made to
be kissed, as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her
chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest pair
of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she was
what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too. Oh,
perfectly satisfactory!' Is not the following a most glowing sketch
of a well known pastime?
'But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After a while
they played at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes,
and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a
child himself. Stop! There was first a game at blindman's buff. Of
course there was. And I no more believe Topper was really blind
than I believe he had eyes in his boots. My opinion is, that it
was a done thing between him and Scrooge's nephew; and that the
Ghost of Christmas Present knew it. The way he went after that
plump sister in the lace tucker, was an outrage on the credulity
of human nature. Knocking down the fire-irons, tumbling over the
chairs, bumping up against the piano, smothering himself among the
curtains, wherever she went, there went he. He always knew where
the plump sister was. He wouldn't catch any body else. If you had
fallen up against him, as some of them did, and stood there; he
would have made a feint endeavoring to seize you, which would have
been an affront to your understanding: and would instantly have
sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. She often cried
out that it wasn't fair; and it really was not. But when, at last,
he caught her; when, in spite of all her silken rustlings, and her
rapid flutterings past him, he got her into a corner whence there
was no escape; then his conduct was the most execrable. For his
pretending not to know her; his pretending that it was necessary
to touch her head-dress, and farther to assure himself of her
identity by pressing a certain ring upon her finger, and a certain
chain about her neck; was vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him
her opinion of it, when, another blindman being in office, they
were so very confidential together, behind the curtains.'
The Ghost of Christmas to Come is the third spirit. It is a stately
figure, surrounded in black and impenetrable drapery. It leads SCROOGE
into the heart of the city, and he hears his acquaintance talking
jestingly of one departed; into the Exchange, and he sees another standing
against his peculiar pillar; into a haunt of infamy, where wretches are
dividing the spoils and hoardings of the dead; into a wretched room, where
a corpse lies shrouded, whose face Scrooge dares not uncover; into
dwellings made miserable by the grasping avarice of those who had wealth
they could not use; into his nephew's house, shorn of its comforts, where
the inmates, care-worn and weary, are wringing their hands with distress;
into poor BOB CRATCHIT'S abode, made cheerless by death; and lastly, into
a sad churchyard, where, on the stone of a neglected grave, is inscribed
his own name! He implores the spirit to say whether these shadows may not
be changed by an altered life. Its trembling hand seems to give consent.
He pleads earnestly for a more decisive sign, and while he does so, the
phantom dwindles down into a bed-post, and SCROOGE sits upright in his
bed. Who cannot imagine the conclusion? It is broad day. He looks out of
the window: the bells are ringing; the people are going to church; all
proclaim it as Christmas Day. The future is yet before him, and he is
resolved to make the most of it. The prize turkey is got in haste from the
neighboring poulterer's, and sent by a cab to BOB CRATCHIT'S; and SCROOGE
hastens off to his nephew's to dinner, where he finds the vision of the
spirit realized. SCROOGE from that hour is another and a better man. We
have in conclusion but three words to say to every reader of the
KNICKERBOCKER who may peruse our notice of this production: READ THE WORK.
WANDERINGS OF A JOURNEYMAN TAILOR THROUGH EUROPE AND THE EAST. Between
the years 1824 and 1840. By P. D. HOLTHAUS, Journeyman Tailor, from
Werdohl, in Westphalia. Translated from the third German edition, by
WILLIAM HOWITT. J. WINCHESTER: 'New World' Press.
An air of great simplicity and truth pervades this wander-book of the
German schneider. Mr. HOWITT tells us, that when in the autumn of 1840 he
returned to his native village, a great reputation preceded him, and all
came, eager to see the brave traveller, and to listen to the relation of
his adventures. He never sought purposely to turn conversation upon the
subject of his travels, nor to impress an idea of his own importance; but
when he was drawn into discourse, it was speedily found that he had noted
and deeply impressed on his mind every thing with a truly admirable
interest, and an acute spirit of observation, for one of his rank and
education; that he had not merely passed through the countries, but had
gleaned valuable matter on his journey; various things which he had
brought with him testified this interest, such as different kinds of coin,
engravings, plans of cities, etc. We have found, on an examination
necessarily cursory, the commendatory remarks of the Berlin
_Gesellschafter_ upon this work to be well deserved: 'We see in the
individual expressions almost every where the evidence of its being the
production of immediate observation. There prevails through the whole a
noble simplicity and singleness of purpose, a genuinely German sound mode
of thinking; here and there is not wanting a humorous and pithy remark.
The author sees in every place nature and men without spectacles, and
thence it arises that we acquire from his book a more living and actual
view of foreign countries, especially of Egypt, Palestine, and Turkey,
than was the case from the travelled labors of many a learned and
celebrated man. Frequently, nay almost always, it is a fact, that the
learned are destitute of the opportunity of acquiring a knowledge of the
real life of the people, while it is exactly here that the greatest
peculiarity of the manners and customs of foreigners is to be found. Our
honest hand-worker lived among the people, and therefore possessed the
best means to describe them in graphic characters.' There is something
very forcible and comprehensive in the subjoined passage from the author's
preface. It is indeed a sort of compendium of the most interesting portion
of the writer's journeyings:
'From my youth up, it was my most living desire to see the world.
When I heard or read of foreign lands, I became sad at heart, and
thought: 'Wert thou but of years that thou couldst travel!' Now
are all the wishes of my youth fulfilled. I have made the attempt
by land and water, and that in three quarters of the world. I have
wandered several times through GERMANY, POLAND, HUNGARY, and
WALLACHIA; I was a long time in BUDAPEST and CONSTANTINOPLE; and
undertook, with the money which I had saved there, a pilgrimage
through EGYPT to the HOLY LAND. I kneeled at the BIRTH-PLACE and
the SEPULCHRE of the SAVIOUR; stood in adoration on the holy MOUNT
ZION, on TABOR, GOLGOTHA, and the MOUNT OF OLIVES; bathed in
JORDAN; washed myself in the LAKE OF GENNESARETH; looked in vain
around me on the DEAD SEA for living objects; was in the workshop
of ST. JOSEPH; and in many other holy places of which the sacred
Scriptures make mention. Thence I returned to Constantinople, and
betook myself through Athens, where I worked nearly a year, and
thence through Italy, France, and Belgium, homeward to my
Fatherland.'
The first German edition of fifteen hundred copies of the work was at once
exhausted; a second speedily followed; a third was soon announced; and the
fourth is doubtless ere this before a wide class of German readers. We
cheerfully commend the book to the public acceptance.
BENTHAMIANA: OR SELECT EXTRACTS FROM THE WORKS OF JEREMY BENTHAM. With
an Outline Opinion on the Principal Subjects discussed in his Works.
In one volume, pp. 446. Philadelphia: LEA AND BLANCHARD. New-York:
WILEY AND PUTNAM.