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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，whichitnowheldunderitsarm。

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。”