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This is page eight
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heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no
wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling
snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.
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"Bah!"
said Scrooge. "Humbug!"
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Darkness
is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.
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"You
may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a
fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you,
whatever you are!"
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"It
is required of every man," the ghost returned, "that the spirit
within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide;
and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after
death."
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"The
school is not quite deserted," said the Ghost. "A solitary child,
neglected by his friends, is left there still."
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"It
matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another
idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come,
as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."
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"I
am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit. "Look upon
me!"
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And it
was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry
words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few
drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly.
For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was!
God love it, so it was!
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"There
are some upon this earth of yours," returned the Spirit, "who lay
claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred,
envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all
out kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their
doings on themselves, not us."
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Oh, a
wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as
the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs.
Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had
had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say
about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a
large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would
have blushed to hint at such a thing.
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Again the
Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea -- on, on -- until, being far
away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood
beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who
had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man
among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke
below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward
hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or
bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the
year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered
those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to
remember him.
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There
might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all played, and
so did Scrooge; for, wholly forgetting in the interest he had in what was
going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out
with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed quite right, too; for the
sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not
sharper than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.
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"Ghost
of the Future," he exclaimed, "I fear you more than any spectre I
have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live
to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do
it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?"
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"Lead
on!" said Scrooge. "Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is
precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!"
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" Men's
courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must
lead," said Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed from, the ends
will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"
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"I
will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will
live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall
strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell
me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"
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"I
don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same
breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his stockings. "I
am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a
school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to every-body!
A happy New Year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!"
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The
poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterer's were radiant in
their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts,
shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and
tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy,
brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their
growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness
at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe.
There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were
bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence to dangle from
conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed;
there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance,
ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through
withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab and swarthy, setting off
the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their
juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper
bags and eaten after dinner.
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"It's
Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The
Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of
course they can. Of course they can."
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" A
merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not
be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier Christmas, Bob,
my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise your
salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss
your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop,
Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another
i, Bob Cratchit."
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Scrooge
was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny
Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as
good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other
good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed
to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them;
for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for
good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset;
and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as
well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in
less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for
him.
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He had no
further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence
Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how
to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be
truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us,
Every One!
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"God
bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
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"But
I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round --
apart from the veneration 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!'"
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"If
I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who
goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own
pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"
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At last,
however, he began to think -- as you or I would have thought at first; for it
is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been
done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too . . .
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. . . for
it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when
its mighty Founder was a child himself.
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It is a
fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection
in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly
contagious as laughter and good-humour.
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Borrowed
from www.perryweb.com/dickens/index.html
with thanks.
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