The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out 
their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said, `Why. Is it not. 
He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that 
so much that he deserves this praise.' `It isn't that,' said Scrooge, heated by 
the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. `It 
isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our 
service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words 
and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and 
count them up: what then. The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost 
a fortune.'
He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped. `What is the matter.' asked the Ghost. 
`Nothing in particular,' said Scrooge. `Something, I think.' the Ghost insisted. 
`No,' said Scrooge,' No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk 
just now. That's all.'
His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish; and Scrooge 
and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air. `My time grows short,' observed 
the Spirit. `Quick.'
This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced 
an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the 
prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it 
had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless 
motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow 
of the growing tree would fall.
He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning-dress: 
in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the 
Ghost of Christmas Past. `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.' `What Idol has displaced 
you.' he rejoined. `A golden one.' `This is the even-handed dealing of the world.' 
he said. `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.' `You fear 
the world too much,' she answered, gently. `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.' `What then.' he retorted. `Even if I have grown so much wiser, what 
then. I am not changed towards you.'
She shook her head. `Am I.' `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.' `I was a boy,' he said impatiently. `Your own feeling tells you 
that you were not what you are,' she returned. `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.' `Have I ever sought release.' `In words. No. 
Never.' `In what, then.' `In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another 
atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love 
of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,' said the 
girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him;' tell me, would you seek me 
out and try to win me now. Ah, no.'
He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But 
he said with a struggle,' You think not.' `I would gladly think otherwise if I could,' 
she answered, `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 was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed. `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.'
She left him, and they parted. `Spirit.' said Scrooge,' show me no more. Conduct 
me home. Why do you delight to torture me.' `One shadow more.' exclaimed the Ghost. 
`No more.' cried Scrooge. `No more, I don't wish to see it. Show me no more.'
But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe 
what happened next.
They were in another scene and place; a room, not very large or handsome, but 
full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like that 
last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, 
sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, 
for there were more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could 
count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children 
conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty. 
The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the 
contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and 
the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands 
most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to one of them. Though I never could 
have been so rude, no, no. I wouldn't for the wealth of all the world have crushed 
that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn't 
have plucked it off, God bless my soul. to save my life. As to measuring her waist 
in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn't have done it; I should have 
expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight 
again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to have 
questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes 
of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, 
an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, 
I do confess, to have had the lightest licence of a child, and yet to have been 
man enough to know its value.
But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued 
that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards it the centre 
of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home 
attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then the shouting and 
the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter. The scaling 
him with chairs for ladders to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper 
parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round his neck, pommel his back, and 
kick his legs in irrepressible affection. The shouts of wonder and delight with 
which the development of every package was received. The terrible announcement that 
the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll's frying-pan into his mouth, 
and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a 
wooden platter. The immense relief of finding this a false alarm. The joy, and gratitude, 
and ecstasy. They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees the 
children and their emotions got out of the parlour, and by one stair at a time, 
up to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided.
And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the 
house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother 
at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful 
and as full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in 
the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed. `Belle,' said the 
husband, turning to his wife with a smile,' I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.' 
`Who was it.' `Guess.' `How can I. Tut, don't I know.' she added in the same breath, 
laughing as he laughed. `Mr Scrooge.' `Mr Scrooge it was. 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 lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quite 
alone in the world, I do believe.' `Spirit.' said Scrooge in a broken voice,' remove 
me from this place.' `I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,' 
said the Ghost. `That they are what they are, do not blame me.' `Remove me.' Scrooge 
exclaimed,' I cannot bear it.'
He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in 
which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it had shown him, 
wrestled with it. `Leave me. Take me back. Haunt me no longer.'
In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no 
visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, 
Scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting 
that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden 
action pressed it down upon its head.
The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; 
but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he could not hide the light, 
which streamed from under it, in an unbroken flood upon the ground.
He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; 
and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a parting squeeze, in 
which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into 
a heavy sleep.
Stave 3: The Second of the Three Spirits
Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to 
get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was 
again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the 
right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second 
messenger despatched to him through Jacob Marley's intervention. But, finding that 
he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this 
new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own hands, and 
lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the bed. For, he wished 
to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be 
taken by surprise, and made nervous.
Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves on being acquainted 
with a move or two, and being usually equal to the time-of-day, express the wide 
range of their capacity for adventure by observing that they are good for anything 
from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite extremes, no doubt, 
there lies a tolerably wide and comprehensive range of subjects. Without venturing 
for Scrooge quite as hardily as this, I don't mind calling on you to believe that 
he was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between 
a baby and rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.
Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for 
nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he 
was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter 
of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very 
core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock 
proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen 
ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes 
apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous 
combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. 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 -- at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret 
of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing 
it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up 
softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.
The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his 
name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising 
transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked 
a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The 
crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many 
little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up 
the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's 
time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, 
to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints 
of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels 
of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, 
immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with 
their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious 
to see:, who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it 
up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door. `Come 
in.' exclaimed the Ghost. `Come in. and know me better, man.'