A Christmas Carol
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (England - South East - Oxford, Sussex) British (England - Yorkshire & Humber) British (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
A Christmas carol read by Sydney. Keen Marley was dead to begin with. There's no doubt whatever about that, the register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker and the chief mourner Scrooge signed it and Scrooge's name was good upon change for anything. He chose to put his end to old Marley was as dead as a dawn out mine. I don't mean to say that I know of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door. Now, I might have been inclined myself to regard a coffee now as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade, but the wisdom of our ancestors is in the similarly and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it or the country's done for you will therefore permit me to repeat emphatically that Marley was as dead as a door. Now, Scrooge knew he was dead. Of course he did. How could he otherwise Scrooge and he were partners for? I don't know how many years Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign his soul leg, his sole friend and sole mona and even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day at a funeral and solemnized it with an undoubted gain. The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from, there's no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story. I'm about to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began. There'd be nothing more remarkable and he's taking a stroll at night in an easterly wind upon his own ramparts than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot. Say ST Paul's Churchyard, for instance, literally to astonish his son's weak mind. Scrooge never painted out old Marley's name there. It stood years afterwards above the warehouse door, Scrooge and Marley, the firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge. Scrooge and sometimes Marley Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him. But he was a tight fisted end at the grid stone. Scrooge. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covered as old sinner, hard and sharp as flint from which no steel had ever struck out. Generous fire secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster. The coal within him froze his old features nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek stiffened his gait made his eyes red and his thin lips blue and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice of rosy rhyme on his head and on his eyebrows and his wiry chin, he carried his own low temperature. Always about with him. He iced his office in the dog days and didn't thaw it out one degree at Christmas. External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm. No wintry weather chill. No wind that blew was bitterer than he and no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose. No pelting rain less open to entreaty, foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain and the snow and hail and snake could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often came down handsomely and Scrooge never did. Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say with Gladson 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 a clock. No man or woman ever. Once in all his life, inquired the way to such and such a place of Scrooge, even 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, no eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master. But what did Scrooge care. It was the very thing he liked to edge his way along the crowded paths of life. Warning all humans sympathy to keep its distance was what the knowing ones call nuts to Scrooge. Once upon a time of all the good days in the year on Christmas Eve and Scrooge sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather, foggy without, and he could hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone through but it was quite dark already. It had not been light all day and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbor were in offices like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every *** and keyhole and was so dense that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms to see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything one might have thought that nature lived hard by and was brewing on a large scale. The door of Scrooge's counting house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk who in a dismal little cell beyond was copying letters Scrooge had a very small fire but the clerk's fire was so 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 where the clerk put on his white comforter and tried to warm himself a candle in which effort not being a man of strong imagination. He failed. Merry Christmas, uncle God, save you. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew who came upon him so quickly that this was the first information he had of his approach. Humbug said Scrooge. He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost. This nephew of Scrooge's that it was all in a glow. His face was ruddy and handsome. His eyes sparkled and his breath smoked again. Christmas Humbug uncle. You don't mean that I'm sure I don't said Scrooge. Merry Christmas. What right? Have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough. Come then returned the nephew Gailey. What? Right? Have you to be dismal. What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough. Scrooge. Having no better answer ready on the spur of a moment. Said bar Humbug. Don't be cross uncle. What else can I be when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas out upon Merry 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 them through a round dozen of month present, dead against you. If I could work my will. Every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding embedded with a stake of Holly through his heart. Uncle, nephew, keep Christmas in your way and let me keep it in mind. Keep it, but you don't keep it, let me leave it alone. Then said Scrooge, much good. May it do you much good? Has it ever done? You? There are many things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited. I dare say Christmas among the rest, but I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time when it's come around apart from the renovation 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 of 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 creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore 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 in the tank involuntarily applauded, becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety. He poked the fire and extinguished the last frail spark forever. Let me hear another sound from you said Scrooge. And you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful speaker, sir. He added, turning to his nephew, I wonder you don't go into parliament. Don't be angry. Uncle, come dine with us tomorrow. Er, said that he would see him. Yes, indeed. He did. He went a whole length of the expression and said that he would see him, him in that extremity first. But why, why, why did you get married? Said Scrooge because I fell in love because you fell in love ground Scrooge as if that were the only one 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 reason for not coming now? Good afternoon. Said Scrooge, I want nothing from you. I ask nothing of you. Why cannot we be friends? Good afternoon. Said Scrooge, I am sorry with all my heart to find you. So resolute. We have never had any quarrel to which I have been a party, but I have made the trial in homage to Christmas and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So a merry Christmas uncle. Good afternoon and a happy New Year. Good afternoon. Said Scrooge. His nephew left the room without an angry word. Notwithstanding. He stopped at the out door to bestow the greetings of the season on the clerk who cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge for he returned them cordially. There's another fellow muttered Scrooge who overheard him, my clerk with 15 Shillings a week and a wife and a family talking about a merry Christmas and retired of bedlam. This lunatic in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people in. They were poly gentlemen, pleasant to be old and now stood with their hats off in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their hands and bowed to him. Scrooge and Marley, I believe, said one of the gentlemen referring to his list, have I the pleasure of addressing Mr Scrooge or Mr Marley? Mr Marley has been dead these seven years. Scrooge replied he died seven years ago this very night. We have no doubt that he liberality is well represented by his surviving partner, said the gentleman presenting his credentials and it certainly was for there had been two kindred spirits at the ominous word, liberality. Scrooge frowned, shook his head and handed the credentials back at this festive season of the year. Mr Scrooge said the gentleman taking up a pen. It is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and dead who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessities. Hundreds of thousands are in want of common comfort, sir. Are there? No prisons are Scrooge. Plenty of prisons. Said the gentleman laying down the pen again and the evening and workhouses demanded Scrooge. Are they still in operation? They are still return the gentleman. I wish I could say they were not the treadmill and the poor law are in full vigor. Then said Scrooge. Very busy, sir. I was afraid from what you said at first that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course. I am very glad to hear it under the impression this scarcely furnish Christian 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 a time of all others. When want is keenly felt and abundance. Rejoices. What shall I put you down for? Nothing? Scrooge replied, ah, you wish to be anonymous. I 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 cost enough 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 besides, excuse me. I don't know that, but you might know it. Observed the gentleman. It's not my business. It's enough for a man to understand his own business and not to interfere with other people. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon gentlemen, seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point. The gentleman withdrew Scrooge resumed his labors with an improved opinion of himself and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him. Meanwhile, the fog and darkness thickened that people ran about with flaring links, proffering their services to go before horses and carriages and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of a church whose gruff old bell was always peeping slyly down at Scrooge, out of a gothic window in the wall became invisible and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds with tremendous vibration. Afterwards, as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there, the coal became intense in a main street at the corner of the courts and laborers were repairing the gas pipes and it lighted a great fire in a brazier around which a party of ragged men and boys were gathered, warming their hands and winking their eyes before the blaze in rapture, the water plug being left in solitude, its overflowing suddenly congealed and turned to misanthropic ice. The brightness of the shops where Holly springs and berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows made pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers and grocers trade became a splendid joke. A glorious pageant with which it was next to impossible to believe that such dull principles as bargain and sale had anything to do. The Lord Mayor in the stronghold of the mighty mansion house gave orders to his 50 cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord mayor's household should and even the little tailor and he'd fined five shillings on the previous Monday for being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets stirred up. Tomorrow's pudding in his garret while his the wife and the baby sailed out to buy the beef foggier yet and colder piercing searching, biting cold. If the good Saint Dunstan had but nipped the evil spirit's nose with a touch of such weather as that instead of using his familiar weapons, then indeed, he would have roared a 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 Keo to regale him with a Christmas carol. But at the first sound of God, rest ye merry gentlemen. Nothing. You dismay. Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action that the singer fled in terror leaving the key to the fog and even more congenial frost at length. The hour shutting up the counting house arrived with an ill will. Scrooge dismounted from his stall. Tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the tank who instantly snuffed his candle out and put on his app you'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose. Said Scrooge. If convenient, sir, it's not convenient. Said Scrooge. And it's not fair if I was to stop a half a crown for it. You'd think yourself ill used, I'll be banged. The clerk smiled faintly and yet you don't think me ill used when I pay a day's wages for no work. The clerk observed that it was only once a year, poor excuse for picking a man's pocket. Every 25th of December said Scrooge, buttoning up his great coat to the chin. But I suppose you must have the whole day. You'll be here all the earlier next morning, the 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 boasted no great coat. Went down a slide on Cornhill at the end of the lane of boys 20 times in honor of his being Christmas Eve and then ran home to Camden town as hard as he could pelt to play up 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 chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms in a lowering pile of a building up a yard where it had so little business to be. That one could scarcely help fancying it might have run there when it was a young house, playing a hidden seat with other houses and have forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now and dreary enough for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices, the yard was so dark that even Scrooge who knew it, every stone was fain to grope his way with his hands, the fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house. But it seemed as if the genius of the weather sat in more for meditation on the threshold. 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 own residence in that place. Also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of London, even including which is a bold word, the court aldermen and livery. Let it be also borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley since his last mention of his seven years dead partner that afternoon. And then let any man explain to me if he can, how it happened that Scrooge having his key in the lock of the door saw in the knocker without its undergoing any intermediate process of change, not a knocker but Marley's face. It was, was not an Impenetrable shadow as other objects in the yard were but had a dismal light about it like a bad lobster in a dark color. It was not angry or ferocious but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred as if by breath or hot air. And though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That and its livid color made it horrible, but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control rather than a part of its own expression. As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, 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. However, he did pause with a moment's irresolution 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 pigged out, 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, po, po po po and closed it with a bang. The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above and every cask in the wine merchants 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, you may talk vaguely about driving a coach and six up a good old flight of stairs or through a bad young act of parliament. But I mean to say, you might have got a hearse up that staircase and taken it broad wise. But the splinter bar towards the wall and the door towards the balustrades and done it easing, there was plenty of width for that and room to spare, which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half a dozen gas lamps out of the street wouldn't have lighted the entry too well. So you may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge's dip 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 enough recollection of a face to desire to do that sitting room, bedroom lumber room all as they should be. Nobody under the table under the sofa, a small fire in the grate, spoon and basin ready and a little salt spon of gruel 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. Fireguard old shoes, two fish baskets, washing, stand on three legs and a poker. Quite satisfied. He closed the 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, slippers, night cap and sat down before the fire to take his crawl. It was a very low fire indeed. He was obliged to sit close to it and brood over it before he could extract the least and of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The fireplace was an old one built by some Dutch merchant long ago and paved all round with quaint tiles designed to illustrate the scriptures. There were canes and Abels pharaoh's daughters, queens of Sheba angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather beds. Abrahams bears apostles putting off to see him butter boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts. And yet that face of Marley, seven years dead came like the ancient prophet's rod and swallowed up the hole. If each smooth tile had been a blank at first with power to shape some picture on its surface from the disjointed fragments of his thoughts. There would have been a copy of Old Marley's head on every one. Humbug said Scrooge and walked across the room after several turns, he sat down again as he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a this huge bell that hung in the room and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the eyes story of the building. It was with great astonishment and with a strange inexplicable dread that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing, it swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound, but it soon rang out loudly as did every bell in the house. This might have lasted only about half a minute or even a minute. But it seemed like an hour, the bells ceased as they had begun together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise deep down below as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine merchant's cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains. The cellar door flew open with a booming sound. Then he heard the noise much louder on the floors below. Then coming up the stairs, then coming straight towards his door. It's Humbug still said Scrooge. I won't believe it his color changed though, without a 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. Marley's ghost and fell again the same face, the very same Marley in his pigtails, usual waistcoat, tights and boots, the tassels on the latter bristling like his pigtail and his coat skirts and the hair upon his head, the chain he drew was classed about his middle. It was long and wound about him like a tail. It was made of cash boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent so that Scrooge observing him and looking through his waistcoat could see the two buttons on his coat behind. Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now. No. Nor 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 his death, cold eyes and marked the very texture of the folded kief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before. He was still incredulous and thought about his senses. I know said Scrooge caustic and cold as ever. What do you want with me? March 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 got a particular shade, he was going to say to a shade, but substituted this as more appropriate in life. I was your partner, Jacob Marley. Can you uh can you, can you sit down, asked Scrooge looking doubtfully at him? I can do it. Then Scrooge 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 being impossible, it might involve the necessity 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 it me, do you? I don't. What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses? I don't know why do you doubt your senses? Because said Scrooge a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheat. You may be an undigested bit of beef. A blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you. 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 for the specter's voice disturbed the very marrow of his bones. To sit staring at those fixed glazed eyes in silence for a moment would play. Scrooge felt the very juice with him. There was something very awful too in the specter's being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own Scrooge could not feel it himself. But it was clearly the case for though the ghost sat perfectly motionless. Its hair and skirts and tassels were still agitated by the hot vapor from an oven. You see this toothpick said Scrooge returning quickly to the charge for the rings and just as signed and wish though it were only for a second to divert the vision's stony gaze from himself. I do replied, the ghost, you're not looking at, it said Scrooge, but I see it said the ghost notwithstanding. Well returned Scrooge. I have but to swallow this and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug. You are humbug. I tell you humbug at this, the spirit raised a frightful cry and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise that Scrooge held on tight to his chair to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror when the phantom taking off the bandage around 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 apparition. Why do 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 that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow men and traveled far and wide. And if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so. After death. It is doomed to wander through the world. Oh, is me and witness what it cannot share but what might have shared on earth and turned to happiness. Again, the specter raised a cry and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands. You are, you are. Fettered said SRO trembling. Tell me why I wear the chain. I forged in life. I made it link by link yard by yard. I girded it of my own free will and it was of my own free will. I wear it now is its pattern strange to you would, you know the weight and length of the strong coil, you bear yourself. It was full as heavy. And as long as this seven Christmas Eves ago, you have labored on it since it is a ponderous chain. Scrooge glanced about him on the floor in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some 50 or 60 fathoms of iron cable, but he could sing nothing. Jacob. He said imploringly old Jacob Marley. Tell me more. Speak comfort to me. Jacob. I have none to give. The ghost replied. It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge and is conveyed by other ministers to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what? I would a very little more is all permitted to me. I cannot rest. I cannot stay. I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting house, mark me in life. My spirit never rove beyond the narrow limits of our money changing. Ho and weary journeys lie before me. It was a habit with Scrooge. Whenever he became thoughtful to put his hand in his bridge's pockets pondering on what the ghost had said. He did so now but without lifting up his eyes or getting off his knees, you, you you must have been very slow about it. Jacob Scrooge observed in a business like me manner though with humility and deference slow. The ghost repeated seven years dead mused Scrooge and, and traveling all the time the whole time said the ghost, no rest, no peace, insistent torture of remorse. You travel fast on the wings of the wind. You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years. Said Scrooge, the ghost on hearing this set up another cry and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night that the ward will have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance. Oh, captive bound and double ironed. Not to know that ages of incessant labor by immortal creatures for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in 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 can make amends for one's life's opportunity is misused. Yet such was I such was I? 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. Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business charity, mercy, forbearance and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business. It held up its chain at arm's length as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief and flung it heavily upon the ground again. At this time of the rolling year, I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow beings with my eyes turned down and never raise them to that blue blessed star which led the wise men to a poor abode. Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me. Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the specter going on at this rate and began to quake exceedingly hear me. My time is nearly gone. Iiiiii. I will said Scrooge. But, but don't be hard upon me. Don't, don't be fly only Jacob Prey. How is it 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, wiped the perspiration from his brow. That is no light part of my penance. I am here tonight to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. Ebenezer, a chance and hope of my procuring Ebenezer. You, you were always a good friend to me. Jacob. Thank you. You will be haunted by three spirits. Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the ghost's had done. Is that the chance and hope you mentioned Jacob? He demanded in a faltering voice. It is. I think I'd rather not said Scrooge without their visits. You cannot hope to shun the path. I tread. Expect the first tomorrow when the bell tolls one, couldn't I take them all at once and have it all over Jacob hinted Scrooge. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour, the third upon the next night when the last stroke of 12 has ceased to vibrate. Look, see me no more and look for your own sake. You remember what has passed between us when it had said these words, the Specter took its wrapper from the table bound it round its head. As before Scrooge knew this by the smart sound its teeth made when the jaws were brought together by the bandage, he ventured to raise his eyes again and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude with its chain wound over and about its arm. The apparition walked backward from him and every step it took the window raised itself a little so that when the specter reached it, it was wide open. It beckoned Scrooge to approach which he did when they were within two paces of each other. Marley's ghost held up its hands, warning him to come. No nearer. Scrooge stopped not so much in obedience as in surprise and fear. For on the gazing at the end, he became sensible of confused noises in the air, incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret wailing, inexpressibly, sorrowful and self accusatory. The specter after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge and floated out upon the bleak dark night. Scrooge followed to the window desperate in his curiosity. He looked out the air was filled with phantoms wandering hither and thither in restless haste and moaning as they went, every one of them wore chains like Marley's ghost. Some few they might be guilty. Governments were linked together. None were free. Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. He'd been quite familiar with one old ghost in a white waistcoat with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle who cried piteously at being unable to assist the wretched woman with an infant whom it saw be upon a doorstep. The misery with them all was clearly that they sought to interfere for good in human matters and had lost the power forever. Whether these creatures faded into mist or mist and surround them, he could not tell but they and their spirit voices faded together and the night became as it had been when he walked home, Scrooge closed the window, examined the door by which the ghost had entered, it was still double locked as he locked it with his own hands and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say ha ha, ha but stopped at the first syllable and be it from the emotion he had undergone or the fatigues of the day or his glimpses of the invisible world or the dull conversation of the ghost or the lateness of the hour Martin Ario went straight to bed without undressing and fell asleep upon the instant.