tave

THEFIRSTOFTHETHREESPIRITS

WhenScroogeawoke，itwassodark，that，lookingoutofbed，hecouldscarcelydistinguishthetransparentwindowfromtheopaquewallsofhischamber.Hewasendeavouringtopiercethedarknesswithhisferreteyes，whenthechimesofaneighbouringchurchstruckthefourquarters.Sohelistenedforthehour.

Tohisgreatastonishmenttheheavybellwentonfromsixtoseven，andfromseventoeight，andregularlyuptotwelve；thenstopped.Twelve！

itwaspasttwowhenhewenttobed.Theclockwaswrong.Aniciclemusthavegotintotheworks.Twelve！

Hetouchedthespringofhisrepeater，tocorrectthismostpreposterousclock.Itsrapidlittlepulsebeattwelve；andstopped.

“Why，itisn’tpossible，”

saidScrooge，“thatIcanhavesleptthroughawholedayandfarintoanothernight.Itisn’tpossiblethatanythinghashappenedtothesun，andthisistwelveatnoon！”

Theideabeinganalarmingone，hescrambledoutofbed，andgropedhiswaytothewindow.Hewasobligedtorubthefrostoffwiththesleeveofhisdressing-gownbeforehecouldseeanything；andcouldseeverylittlethen.Allhecouldmakeoutwas，thatitwasstillveryfoggyandextremelycold，andthattherewasnonoiseofpeoplerunningtoandfro，andmakingagreatstir，asthereunquestionablywouldhavebeenifnighthadbeatenoffbrightday，andtakenpossessionoftheworld.Thiswasagreatrelief，because“threedaysaftersightofthisfirstofexchangepaytoMr.EbenezerScroogeorhisorder，”

andsoforth，wouldhavebecomeamereUnitedStates’securityiftherewerenodaystocountby.

Scroogewenttobedagain，andthought，andthought，andthoughtitoverandoverandover，andcouldmakenothingofit.Themorehethoughtthemoreperplexedhewas；andthemoreheendeavourednottothink，themorehethought.

Marley’sghostbotheredhimexceedingly.Everytimeheresolvedwithinhimself，aftermatureinquiry，thatitwasalladream，hismindflewbackagain，likeastrongspringreleased，toitsfirstposition，andpresentedthesameproblemtobeworkedallthrough，“Wasitadreamornot？”

Scroogelayinthisstateuntilthechimehadgonethreequartersmore，whenheremembered，onasudden，thattheghosthadwarnedhimofavisitationwhenthebelltolledone.Heresolvedtolieawakeuntilthehourwaspassed；and，consideringthathecouldnomoregotosleepthangotoheaven，thiswasperhapsthewisestresolutioninhispower.

Thequarterwassolong，thathewasmorethanonceconvincedhemusthavesunkintoadozeunconsciously，andmissedtheclock.Atlengthitbrokeuponhislisteningear.

“Ding，dong！”

.

“Aquarterpast，”

saidScrooge，counting.

“Ding，dong！”

“Half-past！”

saidScrooge.

“Ding，dong！”

“Aquartertoit，”

saidScrooge.

“Ding，dong！”

“Thehouritself，”

saidScroogetriumphantly，“andnothingelse！

Hespokebeforethehourbellsounded，whichitnowdidwithadeep，dull，hollow，melancholyONE.Lightflashedupintheroomupontheinstant，andthecurtainsofhisbedweredrawn.

Thecurtainsofhisbedweredrawnaside，Itellyou，byahand.Notthecurtainsathisfeet，northecurtainsathisback，butthosetowhichhisfacewasaddressed.Thecurtainsofhisbedweredrawnaside；andScrooge，startingupintoahalf-recumbentattitude，foundhimselffacetofacewiththeunearthlyvisitor，whodrewthem：asclosetoitasIamnowtoyou，andIamstandinginthespiritatyourelbow.

Itwasastrangefigure—likeachild：yetnotsolikeachildaslikeanoldman，viewedthroughsomesupernaturalmediumwhichgavehimtheappearanceofhavingrecededfromtheview，andbeingdiminishedtoachild’sproportions.Itshair，whichhungaboutitsneckanddownitsback，waswhiteasifwithage；andyetthefacehadnotawrinkleinit，andthetenderestbloomwasontheskin.Thearmswereverylongandmuscular；thehandsthesame，asifitsholdwereofuncommonstrength.Itslegsandfeet，mostdelicatelyformed，were，likethoseuppermembers，bare.Itworeatunicofthepurestwhite；androunditswaistwasboundalustrousbelt，thesheenofwhichwasbeautiful.Itheldabranchoffreshgreenhollyinitshad；and，insingularcontradictionofthatwintryemblem，haditsdresstrimmedwithsummerflowers.Butthestrangestthingaboutitwas，thatfromthecrownofitsheadtheresprangabright，clearjetoflight，bywhichallthiswasvisible；andwhichwasdoubtlesstheoccasionofitsusing，initsdullermoments，agreatextinguisherforacap，whichitnowheldunderitsar

Eventhis，though，whenScroogelookedatitwithincreasingsteadiness，wasnotitsstrangestquality.Forasitsbeltsparkledandglitterednowinonepartandnowinanother，andwhatwaslightoneinstant，atanothertimewasdark，sothefigureitselffluctuatedinitsdistinctness；nowbeingathingwithonearm，nowwithoneleg，nowwithtwentylegs，nowapairoflegswithoutahead，nowaheadwithoutabody；ofwhichdissolvingparts，nooutlinewouldbevisibleinthedensegloomwhereintheymeltedaway.Andintheverywonderofthis，itwouldbeitselfagain；distinctandclearasever.

“Areyouthespirit，sir，whosecomingwasforetoldtome？”

askedScrooge.

“Iam！”

Thevoicewassoftandgentle.Singularlylow，asif，insteadofbeingsoclosebesidehim，itwereatadistance.

“Who，andwhatareyou？”

Scroogedemanded.

“IamtheGhostofChristmasPast.”

“Longpast？”

inquiredScrooge，observantofhisdwarfishstature.

“No.Yourpast.”

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