The Spirit of Christmas Present R. [a giant], discovered holding a glowing torch—shaped like a cornucopia, to shed its light on Scrooge's entrance.

Spir. Come in!

Spir. Come in, and know me better, man. You have never seen the like of me before.

Scro. Never.

Spir. Have never walked forthwith the younger members of my family, meaning—for I am very young—my elder brothers, born in these later years?

Scro. I don't think I have. I am afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?

Spir. More than eighteen hundred.

Scro. A tremendous family to provide for. Spirit, conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learned a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.

Spir. Touch my robe, and remember that we are invisible, and unable to manifest our presence to those with whom we come in contact. Loose not your hold, lest you should lose yourself. [Exeunt L.]

Mrs. C. What has ever got your precious father, then? And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by half an hour?

Enter Little Cratchit and Martha. Door in flat.

Little C. Here's Martha, mother! Here's Martha Hurrah! Oh, Martha, there's such a big goose at the bakers, next door. I smelt it cooking.

Mrs. C. Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are! (Kissing her and taking off her bonnet and shawl.)

Martha. 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.

Little C. No, no! There's father coming. Hide, Martha, hide. (Martha gets behind the door.)

Bob. Why, where's our Martha? (Looking around and putting Tiny Tim down.)

Little C. Come, Tiny Tim, and see the pudding boil. [Exeunt children.]

Mrs. C. Not coming.

Bob. Not coming! not coming, on Christmas Day?

Mar. (Running into his arms.) Dear father! I could not see you disappointed, if it were only in joke.

Bob. (Embraces her.) You're a good girl, Martha, and a great comfort to us all. (Commences to mix a bowl of punch.)

Mrs. C. And how did little Tim behave?

Bob. As good as gold, and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men see. Tiny Tim is growing strong and hearty.

Little C. Hurrah! Hurrah! Here's Peter with the big goose.

Tiny Tim. Hurrah!

(Children place chairs around the table; Bob puts Tiny Tim in a high chair beside him, and Peter on his left, facing front, Belinda and Little Cratchit opposite. Mrs. C. and Martha at the end of the table. Bob carves and serves the goose, Mrs. C. the gravy and mashed potatoes, and Martha the apple-sauce.)

Little C. Oh! oh! Look at the stuffing.

Tiny T. Hurrah!

Bob. I don't believe there ever was such a goose as this cooked. It's more tender than a woman's love, and only cost two and sixpence. A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us.

All. God bless us.

Tiny T. God bless us every one.

Scro. Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live?

Spir. I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney-corner and a crutch without an owner carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, none other of my race will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.

Scro. (Hangs his head.) My very words.

Spir. Man—if man you be in heart, 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. It may be, in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child. Oh, Heaven! to hear the insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers of the dust!

Mrs. C. Now, Martha and Belinda, change the plates, while I bring the nuts, apples and oranges.

Bob. (Rising and placing the punch-bowl on the table.) Here is what will remind us it is Christmas. (Fills three tumblers and custard-cup without a handle, and passes them to Mrs. C., Peter and Martha.) 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, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it.

Bob. My dear, the children! Christmas Day.

Mrs. C. It should be Christmas Day, I am sure, on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert. Nobody knows it better than you, poor fellow.

Bob. My dear. Christmas Day.

Mrs. C. I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's, not for his. Long life to him. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt.

All. A Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

Scro. Spirit, take me away. I see the very mention of my name casts a gloom on what, were it not for me, would be a very happy party.

Spir. Wait; they will soon put the memory of you aside, and will be ten times merrier than before, and Tiny Tim will sing.

Scro. No, no; take me hence.

(As they retire toward the door, the spirit shakes his torch toward the party, which restores good humor.)

Little C. Oh! we forgot the pudding!

All. The pudding! the pudding! (Laughter and confusion.)

First Man. But, I know better, it is not so.

Second Man. It is so, and I will not submit to contradiction.

First Man. Well, I declare, here we are, old friends, quarreling on Christmas Day. It is a shame to quarrel on Christmas Day.

Second Man. So it is a shame to quarrel on this day. God love it, so it is; come, and if we are not merry for the rest of it, it shall not be my fault. [Exeunt.]

Scro. Spirit, is there a peculiar flavor in what you sprinkle from your torch?

Spir. There is. My own.

Scro. I notice that you sprinkle it to restore good humor, and over dinners. Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?

Spir. To any kindly given. To a poor one most.

Scro. Why to a poor one most?

Spir. Because it needs it most.

Spir. Look here! oh, man, look here! Look! look down here. Behold, where graceful youth should have filled their features out and touched them with its freshest tints; a stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, has pinched and twisted them and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurk and glare out, menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.

Scro. They are fine-looking children. Spirit, are they yours?

Spir. They are man's. And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance, this girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree; but most of all, beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it, great city. Slander those who tell it ye. Admit it for your factious purposes, make it worse, and abide the end.

Scro. Have they no refuge or resource?

Spir. Are there no prisons? Are there no work-houses?

Scro. My very words, again.

Spir. Begone! hideous, wretched creatures, your habitation should not be in a Christian land. (Ignorance and Want slouch off.) Let us proceed, time is passing, and my life is hastening to an end.

Scro. Are spirit's lives so short?

Spir. My life on this globe is very brief. It ends to-night.

Scro. To-night?

Spir. To-night, at midnight. (Exeunt.)

All. (Laughing) Ha, ha! ha, ha, ha, ha!

Fred. He said Christmas was a humbug, as I live.

All. Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Fred. He believed it, too.

Mrs. M. More shame for him, Fred!

Fred. He's a comical old fellow, that's the truth; and not so pleasant as he might be; however, his offenses carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him.

Mrs. M. I'm sure he's very rich, Fred. At least you always tell me so.

Fred. What of that, my dear. His wealth is of no use to him. He don't do any good with it. He don't make himself comfortable with it. He hasn't the satisfaction of thinking—ha, ha, ha, ha!—that he is ever going to benefit us with it.

Mrs. M. I have no patience with him.

Julia. Neither have I for such a stingy old wretch!

Fred. Oh, I have. I am sorry for him; I couldn't be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims? Himself, always. Here he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us. What's the consequence? He don't lose much of a dinner.

Mrs. M. Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner.

Sarah. A much better one than he could have served up in his old dingy chambers.

Fred. Well, I'm very glad to hear it, because I haven't great faith in these young housekeepers. What do you say, Topper?

Topper. A bachelor like myself is a wretched outcast, and has no right to express an opinion on such an important subject.

Mrs. M. Do go on, Fred. He never finishes what he begins to say. He is such a ridiculous fellow.

Fred. I was only going to say, that the consequence of our uncle taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he finds in his own thoughts, either in his moldy old office or his dusty chambers. I mean to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help thinking better of it—I defy him—if he finds me going there, in good temper, year after year, and saying, Uncle Scrooge, I wish you A Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year! If it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, that's something; and I think I shook him yesterday.—Come, let us have some music. Here, Thomas, clear away.

[All rise and go to the piano. Waiter clears table during the singing of a Christmas carol or any selected piece.]

Fred. We must not devote the whole evening to music. Suppose we have a game?

All. Agreed.

Spir. Time flies; I have grown old. We must hasten on.

Scro. No, no! One half hour, Spirit, only one.

Fred. I have a new game to propose.

Sarah. What is it?

Fred. It is a game called Yes and No. I am to think of something and you are all to guess what it is. I am thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal that growls and grunts sometimes, and talks sometimes, and lives in London, and walks about the streets, and is not made a show of, and is not led by anybody and don't live in a menagerie, and is not a horse, a cow or a donkey or a bull. There, now guess?

Mrs. M. Is it a pig?

Fred. No.

Julia. Is it a tiger?

Fred. No.

Topper. Is it a dog?

Fred. No.

Sarah. Is it a cat?

Snapper. It's a monkey.

Fred. No.

Mrs. M. Is it a bear?

Fred. No.

Julia. I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!

Fred. What is it?

Julia. It's your uncle Scro-o-o-oge!

Fred. Yes.

All. Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!

Mrs. M. It is hardly fair, you ought to have said yes, when I said, it's a bear.

Fred. He has given us plenty of merriment, I'm sure, and it would be ungrateful not to drink his health. Here is some mulled wine ready to our hand at the moment; and when you are ready I say uncle Scrooge! (Servant brings wine forward.)

All. Well! Uncle Scrooge!

Fred. A Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year to the old man. He wouldn't take it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!

All. Uncle Scrooge, uncle Scrooge!

(Scrooge seems to make efforts to reply to the toast, while spirit drags him away.)

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