Scro. Way, it isn't possible that I can have slept through a whole day, and far into another night. It isn't possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve o'clock at noon.

(The Spirit of Christmas Past rises from the hearth as Scrooge finishes his Speech.)

Scro. Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?

Spirit. I am.

Scro. Who, and what are you?

Spir. I am the ghost of Christmas Past.

Scro. Long past?

Spir. No; your past.

Scro. I beg you will be covered.

Spir. What! would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow?

Scro. I have no intention of offending you. May I make bold to enquire what business has brought you here?

Spir. Your welfare.

Scro. I am much obliged, but I think a night of unbroken rest would be more conducive to that end.

Spir. Your reclamation, then. Take heed! observe the shadows of the past, and profit by the recollection of them.

Scro. What would you have me do?

Spir. Remain where you are, while memory recalls the past.

Scro. (Trembling) Good heavens! I was a boy! It's the old school; and its the Christmas I was left alone.

Spir. You remember it?

Scro. Yes, yes; I know! I was reading all about Ali Baba. Dear old honest Ali Baba. And Valentine and his wild brother, Orson; and the Sultan's groom turned upside down by the Geni. Served him right, I'm glad of it; what business had he to be married to the Princess! [In an earnest and excited manner, and voice between, laughing and crying.] There's the parrot: green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe? There goes Friday, running for his life to the little Creek. Halloo! Hoop! Halloo! [Changing to a pitiful tone, in allusion to his former self.] Poor boy.

Spir. Strange to have forgotten this for so many years.

Scro. (Putting his hand in his pocket and drying his eyes on his cuff) I wish—but it's too late now.

Spir. What is the matter?

Scro. Nothing; nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas carol at my door, last night, I should like to have given him something, that's all.

[Young Scrooge rises and walks up and down. Door opens and Fanny Scrooge darts in and puts her arms about his neck and kisses him.]

Fanny. Dear, dear brother! I have come to bring you home, dear brother. (Clapping her hands and laughing gleefully.) To bring you home, home, home!

Young S. Home, little Fan?

Fan. Yes! Home for good, and all. Home for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home is like Heaven. He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; and he said yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring you. And you're to be a man, and never to come back here; but first we're to be together all the Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world.

Young S. You're quite a woman, little Fan! [She claps her hands and laughs, tries to touch his head, but being too little, laughs again. Stands on tip-toe to embrace him, and in childish eagerness and glee, drags him willingly towards the door. Exeunt.]

Voice [outside]. Bring down Master Scrooge's box, there.

Spir. Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered. But she had a large heart.

Scro. So she had. You're right. I will not gainsay it, Spirit. Lord forbid.

Spir. She died a woman, and had, as I think, children.

Scro. One child.

Spir. True; your nephew.

Scro. [uneasily] Yes.

Spir. Let us see another Christmas. (Waves wand.)

Spir. Do you know it?

Scro. Know it! I was apprenticed here. Why, its old Fezziwig. Bless his heart; its Fezziwig alive again, and Mrs Fezziwig, too. Dick Wilkins, to be sure, with Fezziwig's two daughters. Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick. And see me, cutting the pigeon-wing. Dear, dear, dear!

(Dance comes to an end amid general hilarity and merriment, and the scene closes in.)

Spir. A small matter to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.

Scro. Small! Why, old Fezziwig was one of the best men that ever lived. He never missed giving his employees a Christmas ball.

Spir. Why, is it not! He spent but a few pounds of money—three or four pounds, perhaps—. Is that so much that he deserves your praise?

Scro. It isn't that, Spirit. He had the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our services light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lives in words and looks; in things so light and unsignificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up; what then? The happiness he gives is quite as great if it cost a fortune—oh, dear.

Spir. What is the matter?

Scro. Nothing, particular.

Spir. Something, I think.

Scro. No, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk, just now, that's all.

Spir. My time grows short, let us hurry on. Do you remember this? (Waves wand.)

Scro. It is Belle, as sure as I am a living sinner.

Belle. It matters little to you. 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.

Young S. What idol has displaced you?

Belle. A golden one.

Young S. This is the even-handed dealing of the world. There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity, as the pursuit of wealth.

Belle. You fear the world too much. All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master passion gain, engrosses you. Have I not?

Young S. What then? Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed toward you, (She shakes her head.) Am I?

Belle. Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are changed. When it was made you were another man.

Young S. I was a boy.

Belle. Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are. I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you.

Young S. Have I ever sought release?

Belle. In words; no, never.

Young S. In what, then?

Belle. In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another hope as to its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us, tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!

Young S. You think not?

Belle. I would gladly think otherwise, if I could; Heaven knows. When I have learned a truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl—you, who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by gain; or choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you, with a full heart, for the love of him you once were. (He is about to speak, but with her head turned from him she resumes.) You may—the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will—have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen. Fare well. [Exit.]

Young S. (Following) Belle, Belle! Hear me. Let me explain. [Exit.]

Scro. Spirit, show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?

Spir. O, mortal, what a treasure didst thou cast away. She, whom you resigned for paltry gold, became the happy wife of your former schoolmate, Kemper. One shadow more. Behold now the tender mother of smiling children, in their joyous home—a home that might have been your own.

Scro. No more! no more! I don't wish to see it.

Spir. Behold. (Waves Wand.)

Mr. K. Belle, I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.

Mrs. K. Who was it?

Mr. K. Guess?

Mrs. K. How can I? Tut, don't I know (laughingly), Mr. Scrooge?

Mr. K. Mr. Scrooge it was—your old sweetheart (laughing). I passed his office window, and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. His partner, old Jacob Marley, lies upon the point of death, I hear. And there he sat, alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe.

Mrs. K. Poor old man.

Scro. Spirit (in a broken voice), remove me from this place.

Spir. I told you these were shadows of the things that have been. That they are what they are, do not blame me.

Scro. I am to blame for what they are, and now that I see what they might have been, I am more wretched than ever. Remove me! I can not bear it. (Turns upon the spirit, and struggles with it.) Leave me! Take me back! Haunt me no longer! (Seizes the extinguisher-cap, presses it down, while spirit sinks through trap, and disappears. When trap is replaced, Scrooge reels to the bedstead, apparently exhausted, and with the cap grasped in his hand, falls asleep.)