Scr. So, this is my clerk's dwelling, Spirit—Bob Cratchit's. You blessed it with the sprinkling of your torch as we passed the threshold. Bob had but fifteen Bob a week. He pockets on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name, and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house. (Two of Cratchit's younger children, Boy and Girl, run in.)

Boy. Oh, mother—outside the baker's we smell such a goose! It must have been ours—no one has got such a goose. Oh, gemini! (They dance round the table in childish glee.)

Mrs. C. Whatever has got your precious father, Bob, and Tiny Tim. And Martha warn't as late this Christmas Day by half an hour!

Enter Martha, l. h.

Mart. Here's Martha, mother!

Children. Here's Martha, mother—hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha!

Mrs. C. (Kissing Martha, and assisting her off with her bonnet, etc.) Why bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!

Mart. We'd a deal of work to finish up last night, and had to clear away this morning, mother.

Mrs. C. Well, never mind, so long as you are come. Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm. Lord bless ye!

Children. (Looking off.) Father's coming! Hide, Martha, hide! (Martha runs behind closet door in f. Bob Cratchit enters with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, l. h.)

Bob. (Looking round.) Why, where's our Martha?

Mrs. C. Not coming.

Bob. Not coming upon Christmas Day!

Martha. (Running towards him.) Yes, dear father, yes. (They embrace.)

Children. Come, Tiny Tim, into the washhouse, to hear the pudding singing in the copper! (They carry Tim out—Peter exits l. h.)

Mrs. C. And how did little Tim behave?

Bob. As good as gold. Somehow he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much, and thinks the sweetest things you ever heard! (The Children re-enter with Tim.)

Children. The goose! the goose! (Peter re-enters carrying the goose—it is placed on the table, etc. All seat themselves at table.)

Scr. Bob's happier than his master! How his blessed urchins, mounting guard upon their posts, cram their spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn arrives to be helped! And now, as Mrs. Cratchit plunges her knife in its breast, a murmur of delight arises round the board, and even Tiny Tim beats the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cries hurrah!

Bob. Beautiful! There never was such a goose. It's tender as a lamb, and cheap as dirt. The apple sauce and mashed potatoes are delicious—and now, love, for the pudding. The thought of it makes you nervous.

Mrs. C. Too nervous for witnesses. I must leave the room alone to take the pudding up and bring it in. (Exit l. h.

Bob. Awful moment! Suppose it should not be done enough? Suppose it should break in turning out? Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back yard and stolen it? (Gets up, and walks about, disturbed.) I could suppose all sorts of horrors. Ah! there's a great deal of steam—the pudding's out of the copper! A smell like a washing day—that's the cloth! A smell like an eating-house and a pastry cook's door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that—that's the pudding. (Mrs. Cratchit re-enters with pudding, which she places on table. Bob sits.)

Children. Hurrah!

Scr. Mrs. Cratchit looks flushed, but smiles proudly, like one who has achieved a triumph.

Bob. Mrs. Cratchit, I regard this pudding as the greatest success you have achieved since our marriage.

Mrs. C. Now that the weight's off my mind, I confess I had my doubts about it, and I don't think it at all a small pudding for so large a family.

Bob. It would be flat heresy to say so. A Cratchit would blush to hint at such a thing!

Scr. Their merry, cheerful dinner's ended, but not their sweet, enjoyment of the day. (Mrs. Cratchit, etc., clears the table. A jug and a glass or two are placed on it. Bob fills the glasses.)

Bob. A merry Christmas to us all, my dear—heaven bless us! (They drink and echo him—Tiny Tim is near his father, who presses his hand.)

Scr. Spirit tell me if Tiny Tim will live?

2nd Spirit. If the shadows I see remain unaltered by the future, the child will die.

Scr. No, no—say he will be spared.

2nd Spirit. If he be like to die—what then? He had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.

Scr. My own words!

2nd Spirit. Man—if man you be in heart, and not adamant—forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is. Will you decide what men shall live—what men shall die? To hear the insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust.

Bob. My dear, I'll give you, "Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the feast!"

Mrs. C. The founder of the feast indeed! I wish I had him here—I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon!

Bob. My dear—the children—Christmas Day——

Mrs. C. It should be Christmas Day, I'm sure, on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know what he is, Robert—no one better.

Bob. My dear—Christmas Day——

Mrs. C. I'll drink his health for your sake not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christmas and a happy new year! He'll be very merry and very happy, no doubt! (All drink.)

2nd Spirit. Your name alone has cast a gloom upon them. But they are happy—grateful—pleased with one another.

Scr. And they look happier yet in the bright sprinkling of thy torch, Spirit. (As he speaks the Stage becomes quite dark. A medium descends, which hides the group at table. Scrooge and the Spirit remaining in front.) We have seen much to-night, and visited many homes. Thou hast stood beside sick beds, and they were cheerful—by struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope—by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital and jail—in misery's every refuge, thou hast left thy blessing, and taught me thy precepts.

2nd Spirit. My life upon this globe is very brief—it ends to-night—at midnight—the time draws near.

Scr. Is that a claw protruding from your skirts?

2nd Spirit. Behold! (Two Children, wretched in appearance, appear from the foldings of his robe—they kneel, and cling to him.) Oh, man—look here!

Scr. Spirit, are they yours? (See Plate in Work, page 119.)

2nd Spirit. They are man's—and they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance—this girl is Want. Beware all of their degree—but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow is written that which is doom, unless the writing be erased. Admit it for your factious purposes, and bide the end.

Scr. Have they no regular refuge or resource? (Scrooge shrinks abashed.)

2nd Spirit. Are there no prisons—no workhouses? Hark, 'tis midnight! I am of the past! (The Children exeunt—the Spirit disappears through trap—at the same moment the Ghost of Christmas to Come, shrouded in a deep black garment rises behind medium, which is worked off, discovering——

SCENE II.—A Street. Night.

The Spirit advances slowly. Scrooge kneels on beholding it.

Scr. This Spirit's mysterious presence fills me with a solemn dread! I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas yet to come! (The Spirit points onward.) You are about to show me shadows of things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us? (The Spirit slightly inclines its head.) Though well used to ghostly company by this time. I fear this silent shape more than I did all the rest. Ghost of the future, will you not speak to me? (The Spirit's hand is still pointing onward.) Lead on, Spirit! (The Spirit moves a few steps on, then pauses. Scrooge follows. The Stage becomes light.)

Enter Cheerly and Heartly.

Heart. He's dead, you say? When did he die?

Cheer. Last night, I believe.

Heart. What has he done with his money?

Cheer. I haven't heard, he hasn't left it to me. It's likely to be a very cheap funeral, for I don't know of any one likely to go to it.

Heart. Well, I don't mind going to it if lunch is provided. I'm not at all sure I was not one of his most particular friends.

Cheer. Yes—you used to stop, and say "How d'ye do?" whenever you met. But, come—we must to 'Change. (Exit r. h.

Scr. A moral in their words, too! Quiet and dark beside me stands yet the phantom, with its outstretched hand. It still points onward and I must follow it! (The Spirit exits slowly followed by Scrooge.)

SCENE III.—Interior of a Marine Store Shop. Old iron, phials, etc., seen. A screen extends from r. h. to c. separating fireplace, etc., from shop. Chair and table near the fire.

Scr. What foul and obscure place is this? What place of bad repute—of houses wretched—of people half naked—drunken and ill-favoured? The whole quarter reeks with crime—with filth and misery. (Shop door opens, and Mrs. Dibler enters. She has hardly time to close the door when it opens again, and Dark Sam enters closely followed by Mrs. Mildew. Upon perceiving each other they at first start, but presently burst into a laugh. Joe joins them.)

Sam. Let the charwoman alone to be the first—let the laundress alone to be second—and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here old Joe, here's a chance! If we all three haven't met here without meaning it.

Joe. You couldn't have met in a better place. Come into the parlour—you're none of you strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! how it shrieks! There an't such a rusty bit of metal here as its own hinges—and I'm sure there's no such old bones here as mine. Ha, ha! we're all suitable to our calling. We're well matched. Come into the parlour. (They come forward by screen.)

Mrs. M. (Throwing down bundle.) What odds, then, Mrs. Dibler? Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did.

Sam. No man more so, so don't stand staring as if you was afraid, woman—who's the wiser? We're not going to pick holes in each other's coats, I suppose?

Omnes. No, indeed! we should hope not!

Mrs. M. Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose?

Omnes. (Laughing.) No, indeed!

Sam. If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw, why wasn't he natural in his life time?

Mrs. M. If he had been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with death, instead of lying, gasping out his last, alone there by himself—it's a judgment upon him! Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it.

Sam. Stop! I'll be served first, to spare your blushes, though we pretty well knew we were helping ourselves, and no sin neither! (Gives trinkets to Joe.)

Joe. Two seals, pencil case, brooch, sleeve buttons! (Chalking figures on wall.) Five bob! Wouldn't give more, if you was to boil me! Who's next? (Mrs. Dibler offers bundle which he examines.) There's your money! (Chalks on wall.) I always give too much to ladies—it's my weakness, and so I ruin myself. If you asked for another penny, and made it an open question, I'd repent of being so liberal, and knock off half a-crown! (Examines Mrs. Mildew's bundle upon his knees.) What do you call this? bed curtains? You don't mean to say you took 'em down, rings and all, with him lying there?

Mrs. M. Yes. I do! Why not?

Joe. You were born to make your fortune, and you'll certainly do it! Blankets! his blankets?

Mrs. M. Whose else's? He won't take cold without 'em!

Joe. I hope he didn't die of anything catching!

Mrs. M. No, no! or I'd not have waited on such as he! There, Joe, that's the best shirt he had—they'd ha' wasted it, but for me!

Joe. What do you call wasting it?

Mrs. M. Putting it on him to be buried, to be sure! Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again! If calico ain't good enough for such a purpose, it ain't good enough for anybody! It's quite as becoming to the body! He can't look uglier than he did in that one!

Scr. I listen to their words in horror!

Joe. There is what I will give you! (Chalks on wall, then takes out a small bag, and tells them out their money.)

Mrs. M. Ha, ha! This is the end of it, you see—he frightened every one away from him when he was alive, to profit us when he was dead—ha, ha, ha! (All laugh.)

Scr. (Shuddering.) Spirit, I see—I see! The case of this unhappy man might be my own—my life tends that way now. Let us be gone. (The Spirit points onward. The Scene changes.)

Scr. (Recoiling in terror.) Ah! a bare uncurtained bed, and something there, which, though dumb, announces itself in awful language! Yes, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, is the body of this man! (The Spirit points towards the bed.) It points towards the face—the slightest movement of my hand would instantly reveal it—I long yet dread to do it. Oh, could this man be raised up and see himself! Avarice, hard dealing, griping cares! They have brought him to a rich end, truly! He lays alone in a dark empty house, with not a man, woman, or a child, to say—"He was kind to me—I will be kind to him!" Spirit, this is a fearful place! in leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson. Let us hence. If there is any person in the town who feels emotion caused by this man's death, show that person to me, I beseech you. (As he speaks the Scene changes.)

SCENE V.—A chamber. Scrooge and Spirit on l. h.

Enter Ellen, r. h., second dress, followed by Euston, l. h.

Ellen. What news my love—is it good or bad?

Eus. Bad!

Ellen. We are quite ruined!

Eus. No! there is hope yet, Ellen!

Ellen. If he relents, there is—nothing is past hope if such a miracle has happened.

Eus. He is past relenting! He is dead!

Ellen. Dead! It is a crime but heaven forgive me, I almost feel thankful for it!

Eus. What the half drunken-woman told me last night, when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay, and which I thought a mere excuse to avoid me, was true,—he was not only ill, but dying then!

Ellen. To whom will our debt be transferred!

Eus. I don't know, but before that time we shall be ready with the money, and were we not, we can hardly find so merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light hearts, Ellen. Come! (Exeunt r. h.)

Scr. This is terrible! Let me see some tenderness connected with a death in that dark chamber, which we left just now, Spirit—it will be for ever present to me. (Spirit points onward and slowly exits followed by Scrooge.)

SCENE VI.—Apartment at Bob Cratchit's.

Scr. As through the old familiar streets we passed, I looked in vain to find myself, but nowhere was I to be seen.

Mrs. C. (Laying down her work. Mourning.) The colour hurts my eyes, and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father. It must be near his time—he walks slower than he used, and yet I've known him walk, with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed—but he was very light to carry, and his father loved him, so that it was no trouble—no trouble——

Enter Bob, l. h. Mrs. C. advances to meet him—the Children crowd around him.

Bob. There, wife, I've returned at last. Come, you have been industrious in my absence—the things will be ready before Sunday.

Mrs. C. Sunday! You went to-day, then?

Bob. Yes, my dear! I wish you could have gone—it would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often—I promised him I would walk there of a Sunday—my little—little child—(With much emotion.)

Mrs. C. Don't fret!

Bob. Fret! I met Mr. Scrooge's nephew just now, who, seeing that I looked a little down, asked me what had happened. Ah, he's the pleasantest spoken gentleman you ever heard—he told me he was sorry for me and for my good wife—but how he knew that I don't know!

Mrs. C. Knew what?

Bob. Why, that you were a good wife! and he was so kind—it was quite delightful! He said he'd get Peter a better situation—and, mark me, whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim, shall we, or this first parting that was among us?

Omnes. Never! never! (The Children crowd around their Parents, who kiss them tenderly. A medium descends and hides the group.)

Scr. Spectre, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand—tell me, ere you quit me, what man that was whom we saw lying dead? (The Spirit points onward slowly traverses the stage.) Still he beckons me onward—there seems no order in these latter visions, save they are in the future. Through yonder gloom I can see my own dwelling—let me behold what I shall be in days to come—the house is yonder—why do you point away? Ah! that house is no longer mine—another occupies it. Ah! why is this? (The medium is worked off, and discovers.)

SCENE VII.—A Churchyard. On slab centre, is engraved "Ebenezer Scrooge."

Scr. A churchyard! Here, then, the wretched man who's name I have now to learn, lays underneath the ground! (The Spirit points to centre slab. Scrooge advances, trembling, towards it.) Before I draw nearer to the stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are these the things of the shadows that will be, or are they the shadows of the things that may be only? (The Spirit still points downward to the grave.) Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in they must lead—but if the courses be departed from the ends will change—say is it thus with what you show me? Still as immovable as ever! (Draws nearer to grave.) "Ebenezer Scrooge!" My own name! (Sinks on his knees.) Am I that man who lay upon the bed? (The Spirit points from the grave to him, and back again.) No, Spirit! Oh, no, no! (See Plate, page 150. The Figure remains immovable.) Spirit! (Clutching its robe.) Hear me! I am not the man I was—I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse! why show me this if I am past all hope? (The hand trembles. Scrooge sinks on his knees.) Good Spirit, your nature intercedes for me—assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life! (The hand trembles still.) I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year—I will live 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! (In his agony he catches the Spectre's hand—it seeks to free itself—his struggles become stronger in his despair—the Spirit repulses him—he sinks prostrate to the earth—the Spirit disappears, as the medium is worked on. Clouds roll over the stage—they are worked off, and discovers.)

Scr. Pity me! I will not be the man I have been! Oh, no, no! (Pauses, and looks around him.) Ah! here! Could it all have been a dream! A dream—ha, ha, ha! A dream! Yes! this table's my own—this chair's my own—this room's my own—and happier still, the time before me is my own to make amends in! I will live the past, the present, and the future! Heaven and the Christmas time be praised for this! I say it on my knees—on my knees! My cheek is wet with tears, but they are tears of penitence! (Busies himself in pulling on his coat, throwing off his cap, etc., and speaking all the time.) I don't know what to do—I'm as light as a feather—I'm as happy as an angel—I'm as merry as a school-boy—I'm as giddy as a drunken man! A merry Christmas to every body—a happy new year to all the world! Hallo, there! Whoop! Hallo! there's the jug that my gruel was in—there's the door where the ghost of Jacob Marley entered. It's all right—it's all true—it all happened—ha, ha, ha! I don't know what day of the month it is—I don't know how long I've been among the spirits—I don't know anything—I'm quite a baby—never mind, I don't care—I'd rather be a baby! Hallo! Whoop! Hallo, here! (Runs to window—opens it.) Here, you boy! what's to-day?

Boy. (Without.) Why, Christmas Day!

Scr. Ah! I haven't missed it! Glorious! I say—go to the poulterer's round the corner, and buy the prize turkey for me!

Boy. (Without.) Wal-ker!

Scr. Tell 'em to send it, and I'll give you half a crown. He's off like a shot! I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's. How astonished he'll be. (Coming down.) I'll write a cheque for that society that they called on me about yesterday. Oh, I'll make every one happy, and myself, too! (Knocks heard without.) That must be the turkey! (Opens door.) As I live, it's Bob Cratchit!

Enter Bob Cratchit, 2 e. l. h.

Bob. Excuse my calling, sir, but the fact is, I couldn't help it. That worthy gentleman, your nephew, is ruined. I said, ruined, sir——

Scr. I'm glad of it!

Bob. Glad of it! There's an unnatural cannibal!

Enter Frank, 2 e. l. h.

Frank. Oh uncle, you know all! I come not to ask your assistance—that would be madness—but I come to bid you farewell. In three days' time, with my unfortunate family, I shall quit England.

Scr. No, you shan't. You shall stay where you are!

Frank. You mock me!

Scr. I say you shall stay where you are! (Writes at table.) There's a cheque for present use—to-morrow I will see how I can make up your losses, and at my death you shall inherit all my wealth—but I don't mean to die yet, you dog!

Frank. This generosity——

Scr. No thanks. I'll dine with you to-day, Frank—and as for you, Bob, Tiny Tim shall be my care, and your salary's trebled from this hour.

Bob. Oh, this can't be my master! Oh, I'm quite sure it must be somebody else. Yes—it is him, too! He must have gone mad! I've a great mind to knock him down with the ruler, and get Mr. Frank to help me to fit him on a strait waistcoat! Well, I never!

Scr. A merry Christmas, Frank—a merry Christmas, Bob—and it shall be a merry one. I have awoke a better man than I fell asleep. So may it be with all of us! Oh, may my day dreams prove as happy as my night ones? (As he speaks, the gauze medium is lit up behind, and the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas to Come, with the other characters in the Miser's dream, are seen in separate groups.) Their remembrance haunts me still. Oh, my friends—forgive but my past, you will make happy my present, and inspire me with hope for the future!

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

---

THE BAT

A mystery play in 3 acts. By Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood. Produced originally at the Morosco Theatre, New York. 7 males, 3 females. 2 interior scenes. Modern costumes.

THE HAUNTED HOUSE

Comedy in 3 acts. By Owen Davis. Produced originally at the George M. Cohan Theatre, New York. 8 males, 3 females. 1 interior. Modern costumes.

LOUDER, PLEASE

A comedy in 3 acts. By Norman Krasna. Produced originally at the Masque Theatre, New York. 12 males, 3 females. 1 interior scene. Modern costumes.

SKIDDING

Comedy in 3 acts. By Aurania Rouverol. Produced originally at the Bijou Theatre, New York. 5 males, 5 females. 1 interior. Modern costumes.