CHRISTMASBOOKS

By

CHARLES DICKENS

WITH AN INTRODUCTION

VOLUME I

fVlTH A PORTRAITFROM A SKETCH

By SAMUEL LAURENCE

DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANYMAKERS OF BEAUTIFUL BOOKS

40-42 E. IQTH STREET, NEW YORK

This Edition was first Published in igoj

CONTENTS

PAGE

NTRODUCTION V11

\ CHRISTMAS CAROL

THE CHIMES . 109

INTRODUCTION

"THERE is no better marked dividing line intaste than that which separates the votaries

)f Dickens from the votaries of Thackeray.Fundamentally Londoners both of them, the two*reat contemporary novelists belong evidently to

;he East and Westhaving common ground inFleet Street and the City. The Osbornes and theSedleys, the Hobsons and Newcomes, fall wellwithin the sphere of Dickens, and David Copper-field must have rubbed shoulders with Pendennis.

But Becky Sharp and Lord Steyne are as com-pletely out of Dickens' knowledge as Sam Welleror Mrs. Gamp of Thackeray's. And, naturally,

|the methods of the two writers differ radically.Dickens continually tends to the accent of thestreet preacher, Thackeray to the tone of thedrawing-room talker. Nowhere is this divergencemore marked than in the Christmas Books, whereeach of the two exaggerates in a certain sense his

own mannerism. Nowhere else does Thackeraylimit himself so strictly to a satire upon manners

:

nowhere else does Dickens deal so exclusively in

x INTRODUCTION" It seems to me a national benefit, and to every!

man or woman who reads it a personal kindness, pThe last two people I heard speak of it werewomen : neither knew the other, or the author, andboth said, by way of criticism, ' God bless him.' "

In that spirit also the next Christmas Book wasundertaken. The Chimes was designed to be anational benefit"a great blow for the poor."The chimes which Dickens heard with his out-ward ear, which suggested the title and so to saythe refrain as well as the machinery of the story,were no English chimes. The Carol, so triumph-ant otherwise, had been financially a disappoint-ment, Chwz%lenvifs sale kept low, and a yearof retrenchment abroad was decided on. In theautumn of 1844 Dickens found himself perchedhigh above Genoa in a big house ; and as he satone morning at work, making difficult progress, allthe clash of the city's innumerable bells came up on

the wind and took a maddening hold on his nerves.It was an interruption, almost an injury, for themoment, but the inspiration came from it a daylater. Yet, as he wrote to Forster, though the

bells that clashed were Italian, "I see nothingbut the old London belfry I have set them in." Hewas sick for London, too, as ever Private Atkinsin India : craved after " the sights of 'er and the

streets of 'er" as a stimulus to his work. Andwhen his little book was finally sent off, nothingcould stop him but he must rush to London for a

INTRODUCTION xiinal view of the proofs, and an evening in Forster'sooms, where he should read it to a select assembly

the Carlyles, Maclise, and Macready being thosele specially desired. Maclise has sketched the

gathering, for which the novelist undertook thatdouble journey in the dead of winter, when as yetrailways were not : spending a matter of five weeksDn the road between 6th November, when he left3-enoa, and 22nd December, when he returned.The little book, though very inferior in merit

to its predecessor, has the interest of a generous

pamphlet. The alderman who was bent on puttingdown suicide is no invention, and Dickens made hisprotest not without reason against the most callous

philosophy ever invented. We read now withamazement that The Chimes was seriously censuredas an incentive to disaffection. But those were the

days when a cocksure political economy was in thefull flush of its self-righteousness a doctrine

accepted with enthusiasm by the " warm men " ofthe City and their intellectual congeners. Mostcomfortable of creeds for the comfortably off, it

consisted in denying the right to exist to all whohad a difficulty in existing. Dickens rememberedas he wrote that the Westminster Review haddeclared Scrooge's gift of the turkey an offence

against the orthodoxy of economics, and he struckwith all his force against the cuirass of selfishstupidity. The tendency of England has alwaysbeen to regard poverty as a disgrace, almost a

ituJf

xii INTRODUCTIONmisdemeanour ; and if that characteristic attiof prosperous individualism was somewhat modifiec Iin Dickens' lifetime, the credit is due in larg( do1

measure to him. $

The third of the series originated in 1845, afteiDickens was returned from Italy to his housein Devonshire Terrace. The idea of editing aperiodical was always strong with him ; and hepropounded to Forster his scheme for a weekly," price three halfpence, if possible ; partly original,!

partly select ; notices of books, notices of theatres,

notices of all good things, notices of all bad ones;

Carol philosophy, cheerful views, sharp anatomisa-

tion of humbug, jolly good temper ; papers alwaysin season, pat to the time of year ; and a veinof glowing, hearty, generous, mirthful, beamingreference in everything to Home and FiresideAnd I would call it, Sir,

Ube CricftetA cheerful creature that chirrups on the

Hearth.

Natural History"

But this project, further amplified in a style thatwould make Mr. Harmsworth ecstatic with appro-bation, came to nothing, or rather came to something

quite different, as had been the case with the weekly

INTRODUCTION xiii1

1

1 Master Humphrey's Clock " that transformed itself

dnto The Old Curiosity Shop. Forster opposed the

efiotion, and it was finally swept away in the larger

enterprise which resulted in the foundation thatiame year of the Dally News, with Charles Dickensis editor. Before, however, that came to pass,

Dickens was already finding a new use for his

:itle, in which he saw "a delicate and beautifulfancy for a Christmas book, making the Cricketa little household god silent in the wrong andsorrow of the tale, and loud again when all wentwell and happy/' Never was fancy more happilycarried out than this in the opening pages of that

rather absurd but delightful little production. I

suppose few of us hear a cricket without thinking

of it, and even a singing kettle is apt to bring it to

mind. Yet however much one may slur the needfor construction, it is difficult to pardon an author

who deliberately and without justification misleadshis readers as does Dickens with his hints at somemysterious love affair of little Dot's, which provesto have had no existence.Of the other two not much need be said. The

Battle of Life was written at Lausanne in 1846, inill health largely induced by worry over the DailyNews. Dickens only acted as editor for a fewdays, but the trouble connected with the businesslasted longer. About the same time, when he wasembarking on Dombey and Son, he conceived theidea"a very ghostly and wild idea"of the

nu

xiv INTRODUCTION" Haunted Man," but that story did not get itselwritten till two years later and in London. It wathe last and least good of the series, and in spite J

of the genial glow which Dickens never failed tcthrow over his pictures of needy but happy interiors,I find it hard to enjoy. The supernatural machinerylcreaks.

What exactly was the attitude of Dickens towardsthe supernatural ? 1 see no trace in him of thatsimple elementary belief in ghoststhat is, in the

existence of spirits of the dead, or fairies, or other

powers of earth and airwhich every Catholicpeasant in Ireland or Scotland holds. The ghoststhat Dickens deals in are either ghosts with a pur-pose, melodramatic interveners, like the shade of oldMarley ; or else embodiments of an abstract idea,like the Spirit of Christmas or the phantom in TheHaunted Man. And yet I think it is clear that,like most imaginative people, Dickens believed inapparitions. There is a very curious passage in aletter to Forster describing his visit to a prison in

America. Seeing the inmates in solitary confine-ment, the idea struck him Suppose a man soimmured should see ghosts ! He asked one ofthem, under the impression of this thought, " Doyou ever dream ? " and whether he projected histhought into the man's countenance, or whether he

hit intuitively on an unspoken torment, his question

brought before his eye a vision of anguish and terror

on the face of the prisoner. But if Dickens had

INTRODUCTION xvli:ealt with ghosts that he really believed in, the tale

L^/odd certainly have ended in madness and horror,

end been far out of place in one of his cheerful

onnuals.

Year by year the great preacher of " Carol

philosophy" (to use his own word) was studiouso present his readers with a ring of happy faces,

n atmosphere of domestic bliss : and undoubtedly

ie succeeded. What then, one may inquire of thehilosopher, is the sovereign cordialthe secret

f happiness ? Generous emotion, Dickens would,nswer ; that spirit of Christmas which includeshe home circle and all however remotely con-lected with iteven a pestilent curmudgeon of anmclein one " most broad beneficent embrace."3ut the best of goodwill requires a medium invhich to convey itself, and the medium for whichDickens plumps without hesitating is food and

irinkfor choice, turkey and plum puddingliluted with rum punch. It was once observeq

o me that in all great work there is a very strong'ealisation of sensual pleasurea full taste of life

ind that Dickens, writing in a generation whichabooed all reference to the sensuous side of sexamotion, found a safety valve in exuberant depict-ing of the pleasures of the table. And certainly;aere is in this little volume an amazing deal aboutating and drinking. The emotional centre ofyour picture of happiness is always some kind ofdish. Dickens grows lyrical over the heaped up

xvi INTRODUCTIONviands that make the throne of the ChristmaSpirit : lyrical over the Christmas streets witltheir display of "great, round, pot-bellied basket

of chestnuts ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthec

Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their growtllike Spanish Friars " : and then " the Grocers' ! ohthe Grocers' ! " The whole passage glows likean Elizabethan poet's rhapsody on his mistress

Or again, think of the actual scenes BotCratchit's Christmas dinner ; the young Scrooges

family party ; Toby Veck's tripe and hot potatoesthese are the things that stand out in memory, sc

surprising is the vigour and gusto with which thejare described. Here is no question of writingbeautifully about a broomstick ; the emotion is

spontaneous, heartfelt, and extremely English

Take it all round, there is no writer of the nine-teenth century so entirely English as Dickens,

so little influenced by any foreign culture ; and

nothing in his work is more typical than theChristmas Carol. Long consecrated to charitablerecitations, it has become an institution rather than

a work, and will be found to contain almost exactly

the same ingredients as the ideal British Sunday

It presents a mild carnival of domestic emotion,,

lightly coloured by religion, and inseparably con-

nected with the enjoyment of a heavy meal.

A CHRISTMAS CAROLIN PROSE

BEING

A GHOST STORY OF CHRISTMAS

VOL. I.

I

STAVE ONE

marley's ghost

ITARLEY was dead: to begin with. ThereA

is no doubt whatever about that. Theegister of his burial was signed by the clergyman,be clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner.Icrooge signed it : and Scrooge's name was goodpon 'Change, for anything he chose to put hisand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.Mind ! I don't mean to say that I know, of my

wn knowledge, .what there is particularly deadbout a door-nail. I might have been inclined,lyself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest pieceI ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom ofur ancestors is in the simile ; and my unhallowedlands shall not disturb it, or the Country's doneor. You wil! therefore permit me to repeat,mphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-ail.

Scrooge knew he was dead ? Of course he did.r,ow could it be otherwise ? Scrooge and he*ere partners for I don't know bow many years.Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole adminis-rator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee,lis sole friend and sole mourner. And evenkrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad

3

4 A CHRISTMAS CAROLevent, but that he was an excellent man of businesson the very day of the funeral, and solemnised ifwith an undoubted bargain.The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back

to the point I started from. There is no doubtthat Marley was dead. This must be distinctlyunderstood, or nothing wonderful can come of thelstory I am going to relate. If we were notperfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father die4before the play began, there would be nothing moriremarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in aqeasterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than therewould be in any other middle-aged gentlemanrashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot-say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instanceliterallyto astonish his son's weak mind.

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name.There it stood, years afterwards, above thewarehouse door : Scrooge and Marley. The firmwas known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometime!people new to the business called Scrooge ScroogeJand sometimes Marley, but he answered to botnnames : it was all the same to him.Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the

grindstone, Scrooge ! a squeezing, wrenching,!grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner IHard and sharp as flint, from which no steel ha$ever struck out generous fire ; secret, and selflcontained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold'within him froze his old features, nipped his pointednose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait ; madehis eyes red, his thin lips blue ; and spoke outshrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime walon his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wirychin. He carried his own low temperature alway6

A CHRISTMAS CAROL)Out with him ; he iced his office in the dog-days ;

lid didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.I

Externa] heat and cold had little influence onJcrooge. No warmth could warm, nor wintryl reather chill him. No wind that blew waslitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent

|:pon its purpose, no pelting rain less open tofntreaty. Foul weather didn't know where toave him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail,jnd sleet, could boast of the advantage over him1 only one respect. They often " came down "

andsomely, and Scrooge never did.Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say,

nth gladsome looks, " My dear Scrooge, how areou ? When will you come to see me ? " Noeggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no childrensked him what it was o'clock, no man or womanver once in all his life inquired the way to suchnd such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blindaen's dogs appeared to know him ; and whenhey saw him coming on, would tug their ownersnfr

> doorways and up courts ; and then would wagfteir tails as though they said, " No eye at all is>etter than an evil eye, dark master ! "

But what did Scrooge care ? It was the veryhing he liked. To edge his way along the"*owded paths of life, warning all human sympathyo keep its distance, was what the knowing onesall "nuts" to Scrooge.Once upon a timeof all the good days in the

vear, on Christmas Eveold Scrooge sat busy inlis counting-house. It was cold, bleak, bitingweather : foggy withal : and he could hear thepeople in the court outside go wheezing up andiown, -beating their hands upon their breasts, and

6 A CHRISTMAS CAROLstamping their feet upon the pavement-stones fcwarm them. The City clocks had only just gonthree, but it was quite dark already : it had notbeen light all day : and candles were flaring in thewindows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddysmears upon the palpable brown air. The fogcame pouring in at every chink and keyhole, andwas so dense without, that although the court wasof the narrowest, the houses opposite were merephantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might havethought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewingon a large scale.

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was openthat he might keep his eye upon his clerk, whoin a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, wascopying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, flbut the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that

jit looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenishit, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room

;

and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, .1the master predicted that it would be necessary faying bills without money ; a time for findingourself a year older, but not an hour richer ; aime for balancing your books and having everytern in 'em through a round dozen of monthspresented dead against you ? If I could work myrill," said Scrooge, indignantly, " every idiot whoroes about with ! Merry Christmas,' on his lips,hould be boiled with his own pudding, and buried?/ith a stake of holly through his heart. He^aould ! "

" Uncle ! " pleaded the nephew." Nephew ! " returned the uncle, sternly, " keep

Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in:nme."

" Keep it ! ' repeated Scrooge's nephew." But you don't keep it."

" Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge,

8 A CHRISTMAS CAROL" Much good may it do you ! Much good it haever done you ! "

" There are many things from which I might]have derived good, by which I have not profited,!I dare say," returned the nephew : " Christmasamong the rest. But I am sure I have alwaysthought of Christmas time, when it has come roundapart from the veneration due to its sacred nameand origin, if anything belonging to it can be apartfrom that as a good time : a kind, forgiving,charitable, pleasant time : the only time I know of,in the long calendar of the year, when men andwomen seem by one consent to open their shut-uphearts freely, and to think of people below them asif they really were fellow-passengers to the grave,and not another race of creatures bound on otherjourneys. And therefore, uncle, though it hasnever put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, Ibelieve that it has done me good, and will do megood ; and I say, God bless it ! "The clerk in the Tank involuntarily applauded

:

becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety,he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frailspark for ever.

" Let me hear another sound from you" saidScrooge, " and you'll keep your Christmas bylosing your situation. You're quite a powerfulspeaker, Sir," he added, turning to his nephew.6i I wonder you don't go into Parliament."

" Don't be angry, uncle. Come ! Dine withus to-morrow."

Scrooge said that he would see him yes,indeed he did. He went the whole length of theexpression, and said that he would see him in thatextremity first.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 9>a| " But why ? " cried Scrooge's nephew.Why ?

"

"Why did you get married ? " said Scrooge."Because I fell in love."" Because you fell in love ! " growled Scrooge,

s if that were the only one thing in the worldlore ridiculous than a merry Christmas. " Goodfternoon ! "

" Nay, uncle, but you never came to see meefore that happened. Why give it as a reasonjr not coming now ? "

" Good afternoon," said Scrooge." I want nothing from you ; I ask nothing of

rou ; why cannot we be friends ? "" Good afternoon," said Scrooge." I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so

esolute. We have never had any quarrel, to whichIhave been a party. But I have made the trial

n homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmasmmour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle ! ''" Good afternoon ! " said Scrooge." And A Happy New Year ! "" Good afternoon ! " said Scrooge.His nephew left the room without an angry

word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the outerdoor to bestow the greetings of the season on thederk, who, cold as he was, was warmer thanScrooge ; for he returned them cordially.

" There's another fellow," muttered Scrooge;

M10 overheard him : " my clerk, with fifteen"hillings a-week, and a wife and family, talkingabout a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam."

This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out,had let two other people in. They were portlygentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with

io A CHRISTMAS CAROLtheir hats off, in Scrooge's office. They hadbooks and papers in their hands, and bowed to him.

" Scrooge and Marley' s, I believe," said one of:

the gentlemen, referring to his list. " Have Ithe pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr.Marley ?

"

" Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years,"Scrooge replied. " He died seven years ago, thisvery night.""We have no doubt his liberality is well repre-i

sented by his surviving partner," said the gentleman,presenting his credentials.

It certainly was ; for they had been two kindredspirits. At the ominous word " liberality," Scroogefrowned, and shook his head, and handed thecredentials back.

" At this festive season of the year, Mr.Scrooge," said the gentleman, taking up a pen, " itis more than usually desirable that we should makesome slight provision for the poor and destitute,who suffer greatly at the present time. Manythousands are in want of common necessaries

;

hundreds of thousands are in want of commoncomforts, Sir."

" Are there no prisons ? " asked Scrooge." Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying

down the pen again."And the Union workhouses?" demanded

Scrooge. "Are they still in operation ? "

" They are. Still," returned the gentleman," I wish I could say they were not.""The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full

vigour, then ? " said Scrooge."Both very busy, Sir."" Oh ! I was afraid, from what you said at

A CHRISTMAS CAROL nrst, that something had occurred to stop them inleir useful course," said Scrooge. " I'm verylad to hear it."" Under the impression that they scarcely furnish

Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,"^turned the gentleman, "a few of us are en-eavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor someleat and drink, and means of warmth. We choosehis time, because it is a time, of all others, whenVant is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices.Vhat shall I put you down for ? "

' Nothing ! " Scrooge replied.6 You wish to be anonymous ? "

f I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge.' Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, thats my answer. I don't make merry myself atChristmas, and I can't afford to make idle peoplenerry. I help to support the establishments Ilave mentioned : they cost enough : and those whoire badly off must go there."" Many can't go there ; and many would rather

lie."" If they would rather die," said Scrooge,

u they had better do it, and decrease the surplusDopulation. Besidesexcuse meI don't knowiiat."

" But you might know it," observed thegentleman." It's not my business," Scrooge returned.

'' It's enough for a man to understand his ownbusiness, and not to interfere with other people's.Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon,gentlemen ! "

Seeing clearly that it would be useless topursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew.

i2 A CHRISTMAS CAROLScrooge resumed his labours with an improvecopinion of himself, and in a more facetious tempeijthan was usual with him.

Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so.that people ran about with flaring links, profferingtheir services to go before horses in carriages, ancjconduct them on their way. The ancient toweiof a church, whose gruff old bell was always peep-ing slily down at Scrooge out of a gothic windowin the wall, became invisible, and struck the hoursand quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrationsafterwards as if its teeth were chattering in itsfrozen head up there. The cold became intenseIn the main street at the corner of the court, some 1

labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and hadlighted a great fire in a brazier, round which a partyof ragged men and boys were gathered : warmingjtheir hands and winking their eyes before the blaze!in rapture. The water-plug being left in solitude,its overflowings sullenly congealed, and turned to!misanthropic ice. The brightness of the shopswhere holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lampheat of the windows, made pale faces ruddy as they'passed. Poulterers' and grocers' trades became asplendid joke : a glorious pageant, with which itwas next to impossible to believe that such dullprinciples as bargain and sale had anything to do.The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the mightyMansion House, gave orders to his fifty cooks andbutlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor'shousehold should ; and even the little tailor, whomhe had fined five shillings on the previous Mondayfor being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets,stirred up to-morrow's pudding in his garret, whilehis lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 13Foggier yet, and colder ! Piercing, searching,

)iting cold. If the good Saint Dunstan had butlipped the Evil Spirit's nose with a touch of suchweather as that, instead of using his familiar weapons,hen indeed he would have roared to lusty purpose.The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and

(mumbled by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed.by dogs, stooped down at Scrooge's keyhole toregale him with a Christmas carol : but at the firstsound of

" God bless you, merry gentleman!May nothing you dismay ! "

Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action,that the singer fled in terror, leaving the keyholeto the fog and even more congenial frost.At length the hour of shutting up the counting-

house arrived. With an ill - will Scrooge dis-mounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted thefact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who in-stantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.

" You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose ? "

said Scrooge." If quite convenient, Sir."" It's 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 day's wages for nowork."The clerk observed that it was only once a year."A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket

every twenty-fifth of December ! " said Scrooge,buttoning his great-coat to the chin. " But I sup-

i4 A CHRISTMAS CAROLpose you must have the whole day. Be here allthe earlier next morning ! "

The clerk promised that he would ; and Scroogolwalked out with a growl. The office was closed]in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends onhis white comforter dangling below his waist (for1

he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide onCornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times,in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ranhome to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, taplay at blindman's-burf.

Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual*melancholy tavern ; and having read all the news-papers, and beguiled the rest of the evening withhis banker's-book, went home to bed. He lived inchambers which had once belonged to his deceasedpartner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in alowering pile of building up a yard, where it had solittle business to be, that one could scarcely helpfancying it must have run there when it was a younghouse, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses,and have forgotten the way out again. It was oldenough now, and dreary enough, for nobody livedin it but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let outas offices. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge,who knew its every stone, was fain to grope withhis hands. The fog and frost so hung about theblack old gateway of the house, that it seemed as ifthe Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditationon the threshold.

Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at allparticular about the knocker on the door, exceptthat it was very large. It is also a fact, that Scroogehad seen it, night and morning, during his wholeresidence in that place ; also that Scrooge had as

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 15Ijttle of what is called fancy about him as any man

1 the City of London, even includingwhich is aold wordthe corporation, aldermen, and livery.Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had notestowed one thought on Marley, since his lastlention of his seven - years' dead partner thatfternoon. And then let any man explain to me,7 he can, how it happened that Scrooge, havingis key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker,/ithout its undergoing any intermediate process ofhange : not a knocker, but Marley's face.Marley's face. It was not in impenetrable

hadow as the other objects in the yard were, butlad a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster indark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but

ooked at Scrooge as Marley used to look : withghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead.The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath orlot air ; and, though the eyes were wide open, theyvere perfectly motionless. That, and its lividrolour, made it horrible ; but its horror seemed to)e in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather:han a part of its own expression.As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon,

t was a knocker again.To say that he was not startled, or that his blood

**ras not conscious of a terrible sensation to which itkad been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue.But he put his hand upon the key he had'relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, andlighted his candle.He did pause, with a moment's irresolution,

before he shut the door ; and he did look cautiouslybehind it first, as if he half-expected to be terrifiedwith the sight of Marley's pigtail sticking out into

16

A CHRISTMAS CAROLthe hall. But there was nothing on the back cthe door, except the screws and nuts that held thknocker on ; so he said " Pooh, pooh ! " anclosed it with a bang.The sound resounded through the house li

thunder. Every room above, and every caskthe wine-merchant's cellars below, appeared tok off his cravat

;put on his dressing-gown and

ippers, and his nightcap ; and sat down before there to take his gruel.

It was a very low fire indeed ; nothing on such aitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it, androod over it, before he could extract the leasti?nsation of warmth from such a handful of fuel,.''he fireplace was an old one, built by some Dutchlerchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint)utch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures,^here were Cains and Abels, Pharaohs' daughters,i)ueens of Sheba, Angelic messengers descendingirough the air on clouds like feather - beds,Lbrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to seabutter-boats, hundreds of figures, to attract his

loughts ; and yet that face of Marley, seven yearsead, came like the ancient Prophet's rod, andvallowed up the whole. If each smooth tile haden a blank at first, with power to shape somecture on its surface from the disjointed fragmentst his thoughts, there would have been a copy ofi Marley' s head on every one." Humbug ! " said Scrooge ; and walked across

le room.

After several turns, he sat down again. As heirew his head back in the chair, his glance

vol. 1.

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1

i18 A CHRISTMAS CAROLhappened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that!hung in the room, and communicated for some!purpose now forgotten with a chamber in thehighest story of the building. It was with greatastonishment, and with a strange, inexplicabledread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin toswing. It swung so softly in the outset that itscarcely made a sound ; but soon it rang out loudly,and so did every bell in the house.

This might have lasted half a minute, or aminute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased asthey had begun, together. They were succeededby a clanking noise, deep down below ; as if someperson were dragging a heavy chain over the caskin the wine - merchant's cellar. Scrooge theremembered to have heard that ghosts in hauntehouses 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 5then coming straight towards his door.

" It's humbug still ! " said Scrooge. " I won'lbelieve it."

His colour changed though, when, withoutpause, it came on through the heavy door, ancpassed into the room before his eyes. Upon iticoming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though illcried " I know him ! Marley's Ghost ! " and felagain.

The same face : the very same. Marley in hipigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots ; the tasselion the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-,skirts, and the hair upon his head. The chain hpulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-

jj;irthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness ofI heir growth like Spanish Friars; and winking5 rom their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls asI hey went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-upi nistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered

Iligh in blooming pyramids ; there were bunches of

1 grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, todangle from conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths

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might water gratis as they passed ; there were pilesof filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in theirfragrance, ancient walks among the woods, andpleasant shufflings ankle deep through witheredleaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab, andswarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges andlemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicypersons, urgently entreating and beseeching to becarried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner.The very gold and silver fish, set forth among thesechoice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dulland stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know thatthere was something going on ; and, to a fish, wentgasping round and round their little world in slowand passionless excitement.The Grocers' ! oh the Grocers' ! nearly closed,

with perhaps two shutters down, or one ; butthrough those gaps such glimpses ! It was not alonethat the scales descending on the counter made amerry sound, or that the twine and roller parted

56 A CHRISTMAS CAROLcompany so briskly, or that the canisters wenrattled up and down like juggling tricks, or everthat the blended scents of tea and coffee were scjgrateful to the nose, or even that the raisins wenso plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremeljlwhite, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight,!the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits son, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it."

5 My dear," said Bob, " the children ! Christmasay."

f It should be Christmas Day, I am sure," saide, " on which one drinks the health of such aniious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge,ou know he is, Robert ! Nobody knows ittter than you do, poor fellow ! "

" My dear," was Bob's mild answer, " Christmasay."" I'll drink his health for your sake and theay's," said Mrs. Cratchit, "not for his. Longe to him ! A Merry Christmas and a Happyew Year ! He'll be very merry and very happy,have no doubt ! "

The children drank the toast after her. It wase first of their proceedings which had no hearti-ss in it. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but hedn't care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogrethe family. The mention of his name cast a

xk shadow on the party, which was not dispelledfull five minutes.After it had passed away, they were ten timeserrierthan before, from the mere relief of Scrooge

I Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit toldem how he had a situation in his eye for Masterl?ter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five-d-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchitsvol. 1.

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66 A CHRISTMAS CAROLlaughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a orman of business ; and Peter himself looked thought-fully at the fire from between his collars, as if he

at

were deliberating what particular investments he Jshould favour when he came into the receipt ofjtthat bewildering income. Martha, who was a pool

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apprentice at a milliner's, then told them what kinde

of work she had to do, and how many hours she^worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed

a

to-morrow morning for a good long rest ; to-morrow kbeing a holiday she passed at home. Also how

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she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, jand how the lord " was much about as tall as;Peter"; at which Peter pulled up his collars sothigh that you couldn't have seen his head if youhad been there. All this time the chestnuts andthe jug went round and round ; and bye-and-byethey had a song, about a lost child travelling in thesnow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive littlevoice, and sang it very well indeed.

There was nothing of high mark in this. Theywere not a handsome family ; they were not welldressed ; their shoes were far from being water-proof ; their clothes were scanty ; and Peter mighthave known, and very likely did, the inside of apawnbroker's. But, they were happy, grateful,pleased with one another, and contented with thetime ; and when they faded, and looked happier yetin the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch atparting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, andespecially on Tiny Tim, until the last.By this time it was getting dark, and snowing

pretty heavily ; and as Scrooge and the Spirit wentalong the streets, the brightness of the roaring fires

in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of rooms, was

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 67underfill. Here, the flickering of the blazeowed preparations for a cosy dinner, with hotites baking through and through before the fire,d deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shutt cold and darkness. There, all the children ofe house were running out into the snow to meeteir married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts,d be the first to greet them. Here, again, wereadows on the window-blind of guests assembling ;d there a group of handsome girls, all hoodedd fur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped;htly off to some near neighbour's house ; where,)e upon the single man who saw them enter

;ful witches : well they knew itin a glow !But if you had judged from the numbers ofople on their way to friendly gatherings, yought have thought that no one was at home toire them welcome when they got there, instead ofery house expecting company, and piling up itses half-chimney high. Blessings on it, how thehost exulted ! How it bared its breadth of*ast, and opened its capacious palm, and floated,

outpouring, with a generous hand, its brightd harmless mirth on everything within its reach !be very lamplighter, who ran on before dotting; dusky street with specks of light, and who was*ssed to spend the evening somewhere, laughed

jjloudly as the Spirit passed : though little kennedlamplighter that he had any company but

xistmas

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And now, without a word of warning from thexost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor,

3tere monstrous masses of rude stone were castDut, as though it were the burial-place of giants ;i water spread itself wheresoever it listed, or

68 A CHRISTMAS CAROLwould have done so, but for the frost that heldprisoner ; and nothing grew but moss and furzeand coarse, rank grass. Down in the west thsetting sun had left a streak of fiery red, whicglared upon the desolation for an instant, likesullen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yetwas lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.

" What place is this ? " asked Scrooge."A place where Miners live, who labour in th