A Christmas Carol; Or, The Miser's Warning!. Dickens Charles

and means of warmth. We choose this time because it is a time of all others, when want is keenly felt and abundances rejoice. What shall we put you down for?

      Scr. Nothing!

      Cheer. You wish to be anonymous?

      Scr. I wish to be left alone. 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 named – they cost enough – those who are badly off must go there.

      Cheer. Many can't go there – many would rather die!

      Scr. If they'd rather die, they'd better do it, and decrease the surplus population. However, it's not my business, so good evening, gentlemen.

      Cheer. I am sorry we disturbed you. (As they are about to exeunt, Bob approaches them —Scrooge retires up.)

      Bob. Beg pardon, gentlemen, I've got an odd eighteen-pence here that I was going to buy a new pair of gloves with in honour of Christmas day, but my heart would feel warmer though my hands were colder, if it helped to put a dinner and a garment on a poor creature who might need. There take it.

      Cheer. Such acts as these from such men as you sooner or later, will be well rewarded.

      Bob. This way, gentlemen. I feel as light as my four-and-ninepenny gossamer! (Exeunt 2 e. l. h.)

      Scr. (Coming down.) Give money – humbug! Who'd give me anything, I should like to know?

Re-enter Bob, 2 e. l. h

      Bob. A letter, sir. (Gives it and retires up.)

      Scr. (Opens it – reads.) Ah! what do I see? the Mary Jane lost off the coast of Africa. Then Frank is utterly ruined! his all was embarked on board that vessel. Frank knows not of this – he will apply to me doubtless – but no, no. Why should I part with my hard gained store to assist him, his wife and children – he chooses to make a fool of himself, and marry a smooth-faced chit, and get a family – he must bear the consequences – I will not avert his ruin, no, not by a single penny.

      Bob. (Coming down.) Please, sir, it's nine o'clock.

      Scr. Already! You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose.

      Bob. If quite convenient, sir.

      Scr. It's not convenient, 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, and yet you don't think me ill used when I pay a day's wages for no work.

      Bob. Christmas comes but once a year.

      Scr. A poor excuse for picking a man's pockets every twenty-fifth of December! Well, I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning. Here's your week's money, fifteen shillings – I ought to stop half-a-crown – never mind!

      Bob. Thank you, sir! I'll be here before daylight, sir, you may depend upon it. Good night, sir. Oh, what a glorious dinner Mrs. C. shall provide. Good night, sir. A merry Christmas and a happy new year, sir.

      Scr. Bah! humbug! (Exit Bob, 2 e. l. h.) So – alone once more. It's a rough night! I will go to bed soon – that will save supper. (Takes off his coat, boots, etc., and puts on morning gown and slippers, talking all the time.) 'Tis strange now the idea of Marley is haunting me to-night – everywhere I turn his face seems before me. Delusion – humbug! I'll sit down by the fire and forget him. (Takes basin of gruel from hob.) Here's my gruel! (Sits in easy chair by fire – puts on night cap, and presently appears to dose. Suddenly a clanking of chains and ringing of bells is heard – he's aroused, and looks up terrified.) That noise! It's humbug! I won't believe it! (The door slowly opens, and the Ghost of Marley glides in. A chain is round his body, and cash boxes, ledgers, padlocks, purses, etc., are attached to it.) How now! What do you want with me?

      Ghost. Much.

      Scr. Who are you?

      Ghost. Ask me who I was.

      Scr. Who were you, then. You're particular for a shade – I mean to a shade.

      Ghost. In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley. You don't believe in me! Why do you doubt your senses?

      Scr. Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef – a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are.

      Ghost. (Unfastening the bandage round its head.) Man of the worldly mind, do you believe me or not?

      Scr. I do – I must! But why do spirits walk the earth? Why do they come to me?

      Ghost. It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow men, and travel far and wide – if not in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world, oh, woe is me! – and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness.

      Scr. You are fettered!

      Ghost. I wear the chain I forged in life – I made it link by link. Is its pattern strange to you? Oh, no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused.

      Scr. But you were always a man of business —

      Ghost. Business! Mankind was my business – charity, mercy, were all my business. At this time of the year I suffered most, for I neglected most. Hear me! I am here to-night to warn you that you have a chance and a hope of escaping my fate. You will be haunted by three spirits —