Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whateverabout that. The register of his burial was signed by theclergyman, 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 hand to. Old Marley was asdead as a door-nail.

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge,what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might havebeen inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadestpiece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of ourancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed handsshall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You willtherefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was asdead as a door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it beotherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how manyyears. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his soleassign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, butthat he was an excellent man of business on the very day of thefuneral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.

The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point Istarted from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must bedistinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I amgoing to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet'sFather died before the play began, there would be nothing moreremarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, uponhis own ramparts, than there would be in any othermiddle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot-- say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance -- literally toastonish his son's weak mind.

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There it stood,years afterwards, above the ware-house door: Scrooge and Marley. Thefirm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to thebusiness called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answeredto both names. It was all the same to him.

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! asqueezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous oldsinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struckout generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as anoyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointednose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, histhin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frostyrime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he icedhis office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree atChristmas.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmthcould warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew wasbitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, nopelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where tohave him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, couldboast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks,``My dear Scrooge, how are you. When will you come to see me.'' Nobeggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what itwas o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the wayto such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blindmen's dogsappeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug theirowners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag theirtails as though they said, ``No eye at all is better than an evil eye,dark master! ''

But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked. Toedge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all humansympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call

Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, onChristmas Eve -- old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. Itwas cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear thepeople in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating theirhands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavementstones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but itwas quite dark already: it had not been light all day: and candles wereflaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smearsupon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chinkand keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was ofthe narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. Tosee the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one mighthave thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a largescale.

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he mightkeep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cellbeyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had avery small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smallerthat it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it,for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely asthe clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that itwould be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk puton his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at thecandle; in which effort, not being a man of a strongimagination, he failed.

``A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!'' cried acheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who cameupon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he hadof his approach.

``Bah!'' said Scrooge, ``Humbug!''

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog andfrost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; hisface was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breathsmoked again.

``Christmas a humbug, uncle!'' said Scrooge's nephew.``You don't mean that, I am sure.''

``I do,'' said Scrooge. ``Merry Christmas! What righthave you to be merry? what reason have you to be merry? You'repoor enough.''

``Come, then,'' returned the nephew gaily. ``What righthave 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 themoment, said, ``Bah!'' again; and followed it up with``Humbug.''

``Don't be cross, uncle,'' said the nephew.

``What else can I be,'' returned the uncle, ``when Ilive in such a world of fools as this Merry Christmas! Outupon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a timefor paying bills without money; a time for findingyourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time forbalancing your books and having every item in 'em through around dozen of months presented dead against you? If I couldwork my will,'' said Scrooge indignantly, ``every idiot whogoes about with ``Merry Christmas'' on his lips, should beboiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of hollythrough his heart. He should!''

``Uncle!'' pleaded the nephew.

``Nephew!'' returned the uncle, sternly, ``keepChristmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.''

``Keep it!'' repeated Scrooge's nephew. ``But you don'tkeep it.''

``Let me leave it alone, then,'' said Scrooge. ``Muchgood may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!''

``There are many things from which I might have derivedgood, by which I have not profited, I dare say,'' returnedthe nephew: ``Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I havealways thought of Christmas time, when it has comeround-- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name andorigin, 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 theirshut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them asif they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and notanother race of creatures bound on other journeys. Andtherefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold orsilver in my pocket, I believe that it

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becomingimmediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, andextinguished the last frail spark for ever.

``Let me hear another sound from

``Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with usto-morrow.''

Scrooge said that he would see him -- yes, indeed hedid. He went the whole length of the expression, and said thathe would see him in that extremity first.

``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, as if thatwere the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than amerry Christmas.``Good afternoon!''

``Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before thathappened. 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 cannotwe 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 beena party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, andI'll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A MerryChristmas, 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 outer door to bestow thegreeting of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, waswarmer than Scrooge; for he returned them cordially.

``There's another fellow,'' muttered Scrooge; whooverheard him: ``my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, anda wife and family, talking about a merry Christmas. I'llretire to Bedlam.''

This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let twoother people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant tobehold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge'soffice. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed tohim.

``Scrooge and Marley's, I believe,'' said one of the

``Mr Marley has been dead these seven years,'' Scroogereplied. ``He died seven years ago, this very night.''

``We have no doubt his liberality is well represented byhis surviving partner,'' said the gentleman, presenting hiscredentials.

It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. Atthe ominous word ``liberality'', Scrooge frowned, and shookhis head, and handed the credentials back.

``At this festive season of the year, Mr Scrooge,'' saidthe gentleman, taking up a pen, ``it is more than usuallydesirable that we should make some slight provision for thePoor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds ofthousands are in want of common comforts, sir.''

``Are there no prisons?'' asked Scrooge.

``Plenty of prisons,'' said the gentleman, laying downthe pen again.

``And the Union workhouses?'' demanded Scrooge. ``Arethey still in operation?''

``They are. Still,'' returned the gentleman, `` I wishI 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 first, thatsomething had occurred to stop them in their useful course,''said Scrooge. ``I'm very glad to hear it.''

``Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christiancheer of mind or body to the multitude,'' returned thegentleman, ``a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund tobuy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. Wechoose this time, because it is a time, of all others, whenWant is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I putyou down for?''

``Nothing!'' Scrooge replied.

``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. Idon't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to makeidle people merry. I help to support the establishments I havementioned: they cost enough: and those who are badly off mustgo there.''

``Many can't go there; and many would rather die.''

``If they would rather die,'' said Scrooge, ``they hadbetter 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,'' Scrooge returned. ``It'senough for a man to understand his own business, and not tointerfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly.Good afternoon, gentlemen!''

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue theirpoint, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labourswith an improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetioustemper than was usual with him.

Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ranabout with flaring links, proffering their services to gobefore horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way. Theancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was alwayspeeping slily down at Scrooge out of a gothic window in thewall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters inthe clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if itsteeth were chattering in its frozen head up there. The coldbecame intense. In the main street, at the corner of thecourt, some labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and hadlighted a great fire in a brazier, round which a party ofragged men and boys were gathered: warming their hands andwinking their eyes before the blaze in rapture. The water-plugbeing left in solitude, its overflowings sullenly congealed,and turned to misanthropic ice. The brightness of the shopswhere holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lamp-heat of thewindows, made pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers' andgrocers' trades became a splendid joke: a glorious pageant,with which it was next to impossible to believe thatsuch dull principles as bargain and sale had anything to do. The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the might Mansion House,gave orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas asa Lord Mayor's household should; and even the little tailor,whom he had fined five shillings on the previous Monday forbeing drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets, stirred uptomorrow's pudding in his garret, while his lean wife and thebaby sallied 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 nosewith a touch of such weather as that, instead of using hisfamiliar weapons, then indeed he would have roared to lustypurpose. The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbledby the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down atScrooge's keyhole to regale him with a Christmas carol: but atthe first sound of

At length the hour of shutting up the counting-housearrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool,and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in theTank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.

``You'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose?'' saidScrooge.

``If quite convenient, Sir.''

``It's not convenient,'' said Scrooge, ``and it's notfair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you'd thinkyourself ill-used, I 'll be bound?''

The clerk smiled faintly.

``And yet,'' said Scrooge, ``you don't think

The clerk observed that it was only once a year.

``A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket everytwenty-fifth of December!'' said Scrooge, buttoning hisgreat-coat to the chin. ``But I suppose you must have thewhole day. Be here all the earlier next morning!''

The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked outwith a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and theclerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling belowhis waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide onCornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honourof its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town ashard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.

Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholytavern; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled therest of the evening with his banker's-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceasedpartner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pileof building up a yard, where it had so little business to be,that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run therewhen it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with otherhouses, and have forgotten the way out again. It was old enoughnow, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, theother rooms being all let out as offices. The yardwas so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, wasfain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung aboutthe black old gateway of the house, that it seemed as if theGenius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation on thethreshold.

Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particularabout 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 whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge hadas little of what is called fancy about him as any man in theCity of London, even including -- which is a bold word-- the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also beborne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought onMarley, since his last mention of his seven-year's dead partnerthat afternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he can,how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of thedoor, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing anyintermediate process of change: not a knocker, but Marley'sface.

Marley's face. It was not in impenetrable shadow as theother objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light aboutit, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry orferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look: withghostly spectacles turned up upon its ghostly forehead. Thehair 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 colour, made it horrible; but its horrorseemed 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 aknocker again.

To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was notconscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been astranger from infancy, would be untrue. But he put his handupon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walkedin, and lighted his candle.

He

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Everyroom above, and every cask in the wine-merchant's cellarsbelow, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastenedthe door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs, slowlytoo: trimming his candle as he went.

You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six up a goodold flight of stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parliament;but I mean to say you might have got a hearse up thatstaircase, and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bartowards the wall and the door towards the balustrades: and doneit easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room tospare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw alocomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom.Half-a-dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn'thave lighted the entry too well, so you may suppose that it waspretty dark with Scrooge's dip.

Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that: darkness ischeap, and Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavydoor, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. Hehad just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that.

Sitting-room, bed-room, lumber-room. All as they should be.Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire inthe grate; spoon and basin ready; and the little saucepan ofgruel (Scrooge has a cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobodyunder the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in hisdressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitudeagainst the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, oldshoes, two fish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and apoker.

Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in;double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thussecured against surprise, he took off his cravat;put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and his night-cap; andsat down before the fire to take his gruel.

It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitternight. He was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it,before he could extract the least sensation of warmth from sucha handful of fuel. The fireplace was an old one, built by someDutch merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint Dutchtiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures. There were Cainsand Abels, Pharaoh's daughters, Queens of Sheba, Angelicmessengers descending through the air on clouds likefeather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off tosea in butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract histhoughts; and yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, camelike the ancient Prophet's rod, and swallowed up the whole. Ifeach smooth tile had been a blank at first, with power to shapesome picture on its surface from the disjointed fragments ofhis thoughts, there would have been a copy of old Marley's headon every one.

``Humbug!'' said Scrooge; and walked across the room.

After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw hishead back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon abell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicatedfor some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the higheststory of the building. It was with great astonishment, andwith a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he sawthis bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outsetthat it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, andso did every bell in the house.

This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but itseemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as ifsome person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in thewine-merchant's cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heardthat ghosts in haunted houses were described as draggingchains.

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; then coming straight towards hisdoor.

``It's humbug still!'' said Scrooge. ``I won't believeit.''

His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came onthrough the heavy door, and passed into the room before hiseyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as thoughit cried, ``I know him! Marley's Ghost!'' and fell again.

The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usualwaistcoat, tights, and boots; the tassels on the latterbristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hairupon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle.It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made(for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys,padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, andlooking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on hiscoat 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 thephantom through and through, and saw it standing before him;though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes;and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound aboutits head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; hewas still incredulous, and fought against his senses.

``How now!'' said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever.``What do you want with me?''

``Much!'' -- Marley's voice, no doubt about it.

``Who are you?''

``Ask me who I

``Who

``In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.''

``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 aghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to takea chair; and felt that in the event of its being impossible, itmight involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. Butthe ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as ifhe were quite used to it.

``You don't believe in me,'' observed the Ghost.

``I don't,'' said Scrooge.

``What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that ofyour senses?''

``I don't know,'' said Scrooge.

``Why do you doubt your senses?''

``Because,'' said Scrooge, ``a little thing affectsthem. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. Youmay be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb ofcheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more ofgravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!''

Scrooge was not much in the habit of crackingjokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggishthen. The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means ofdistracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror; forthe spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.

To sit, staring at those fixed, glazed eyes, in silence fora moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him.There was something very awful, too, in the spectre's beingprovided with an infernal atmosphere of its own. Scrooge couldnot feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for thoughthe Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, andtassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.

``You see this toothpick?'' said Scrooge, returningquickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; andwishing, though it were only for a second, to divert thevision's stony gaze from himself.

``I do,'' replied the Ghost.

``You are not looking at it,'' said Scrooge.

``But I see it,'' said the Ghost, ``notwithstanding.''

``Well!'' returned Scrooge, ``I have but to swallowthis, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion ofgoblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you;humbug!''

At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook itschain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge heldon tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon.But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom takingoff the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wearin-doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!

Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands beforehis face.

``Mercy!'' he said. ``Dreadful apparition, why do youtrouble me?''

``Man of the worldly mind!'' replied the Ghost, ``do youbelieve in me or not?''

``I do,'' said Scrooge. ``I must. But why do spiritswalk the earth, and why do they come to me?''

``It is required of every man,'' the Ghost returned,``that the spirit within him should walk abroadamong his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and if thatspirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so afterdeath. It is doomed to wander through the world -- oh,woe is me! -- and witness what it cannot share, but mighthave shared on earth, and turned to happiness!''

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain, andwrung its shadowy hands.

``You are fettered,'' said Scrooge, trembling. ``Tellme why?''

``I wear the chain I forged in life,'' replied the Ghost.``I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it onof my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Isits pattern strange to

Scrooge trembled more and more.

``Or would you know,'' pursued the Ghost, ``the weightand length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was fullas heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. Youhave laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!''

Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectationof finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixtyfathoms of iron cable: but he could see 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 comesfrom other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by otherministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what Iwould. A very little more, is all permitted to me. I cannotrest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit neverwalked beyond our counting-house -- mark me! -- inlife my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of ourmoney-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!''

It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful,to put his hands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on whatthe Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up hiseyes, or getting off his knees.

``You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,'' Scroogeobserved, in a business-like manner, though with humility anddeference.

``Slow!'' the Ghost repeated.

``Seven years dead,'' mused Scrooge. ``And travellingall the time?''

``The whole time,'' said the Ghost. ``No rest, nopeace. Incessant torture of remorse.''

``You travel fast?'' said Scrooge.

``On the wings of the wind,'' replied the Ghost.

``You might have got over a great quantity of ground inseven years,'' said Scrooge.

The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clankedits chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, thatthe Ward would have been justified in indicting it for anuisance.

``Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,'' cried thephantom, ``not to know, that ages of incessant labour byimmortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternitybefore the good of which it is susceptible is all developed.Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in itslittle sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal lifetoo short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know thatno space of regret can make amends for one life'sopportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!''

``But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,''faultered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.

``Business!'' cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again.``Mankind was my business. The common welfare was mybusiness; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were,all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a dropof water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!''

It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were thecause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily uponthe ground again.

``At this time of the rolling year,'' the spectre said,``I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds offellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them tothat blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode? Werethere no poor homes to which its light would have conducted

Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going onat this rate, and began to quake exceedingly.

``Hear me!'' cried the Ghost. ``My time is nearlygone.''

``I will,'' said Scrooge. ``But don't be hard upon me!Don't be flowery, Jacob! Pray!''

``How it is that I appear before you in a shape that youcan see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you manyand many a day.''

It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wipedthe perspiration from his brow.

``That is no light part of my penance,'' pursued theGhost.``I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chanceand hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of myprocuring, Ebenezer.''

``You were always a good friend to me,'' said Scrooge.``Thank'ee!''

``You will be haunted,'' resumed the Ghost, ``by ThreeSpirits.''

Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's haddone.

``Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?'' hedemanded, in a faltering voice.

``It is.''

``I -- I think I'd rather not,'' said Scrooge.

``Without their visits,'' said the Ghost, ``you cannothope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow,when the bell tolls One.''

``Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over,Jacob?'' hinted Scrooge.

``Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. Thethird upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve hasceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, foryour own sake, you remember what has passed between us.''

When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapperfrom the table, and bound it round its head, as before. Scroogeknew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the jawswere brought together by the bandage. He ventured to raise hiseyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting himin an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about itsarm.

The apparition walked backward from him; and at every stepit took, the window raised itself a little, so that when thespectre 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 Ghostheld up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scroogestopped.

Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for onthe raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noisesin the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret;wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. Thespectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournfuldirge; 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 andthither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every oneof them wore chains like Marley's Ghost; some few (they mightbe guilty governments) were linked together; none were free.Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. Hehad been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a whitewaistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle,who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched womanwith an infant, whom it saw below, upon adoor-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that theysought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lostthe power for ever.

Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshroudedthem, he could not tell. But they and their spirit voicesfaded together; and the night became as it had been when hewalked home.

Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by whichthe Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had lockedit with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He triedto say ``Humbug!'' but stopped at the first syllable. Andbeing, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues ofthe day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dullconversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much inneed of repose; went straight to bed, without undressing, andfell asleep upon the instant.