A Christmas Carol, Stave II

This is the second chapter of the epic Christmas ghost story, A Christmas Carol, written by Charles Dickens back in 1843. In this chapter, he is confronted by the Ghost of Christmas Past, and is shown the shadows of what were.
All voices done by the narrator, J.C. Rede.
Support the show! https://bit.ly/3eSZ3tN
4qd5hgj9

Theme written by Bernard Kyer for this podcast. Follow the link for more info. https://www.bardmediamusic.com/

Transcript

0:00

Hi everyone. And welcome to episode 25 of forward into the past. I'm JC. Rede, your host and narrator. And today, we're jumping right back into that enduring Christmas staple, a Christmas Carol written by Charles Dickens way back in 1843. As you probably know the popularity of Christmas trees soared when queen Victoria's husband, the German born prince Albert introduced his home country's tradition of decorating a fir tree on Christmas Eve. The engraving from 1848, that's five years after the story was written, which showed Victoria and Albert and their family decorating a Christmas tree made great Britain, and soon after the United States, Apply this now cherished tradition in our holiday. Traditionally candles, strings of popcorn, and fruits were used to decorate. Over time. Electric lights took over for candles, glass, and eventually plastic ornaments were used instead of fruits and tinsel began to be used around the same time in the early 19 hundreds as Christmas tree decorations. Prior to this. It was mainly used to decorate figurines and nativity scenes. The legend of how tinsel and Garland began to be used as decorations stems back to a European folk tale that may have developed in Germany, Poland, or Ukraine, depending on who you ask. There are variants of this tale, but they mostly center around a poor family who, after cutting down a small tree for Christmas were sad because they had nothing to decorate the tree with. As was customary in their village, all of the animals were brought into admire the tree. Except for spiders, which the mother was afraid of. After everyone had gone to sleep, Saint nicholas invited the spiders to admire the little tree because he had felt sorry for them, that they were excluded from the family custom. The little spider scurried all over the tree, leaving bits of webbing everywhere. When the family woke up the next day. They were surprised to see the webbing around the tree had collected bits of do overnight. Making the tree sparkle and shine. In gratitude, they created tensile garlands to recreate that beautiful surprise. To this day, spiders are considered good luck on a Christmas tree and plastic spiders are still hidden in Christmas trees in many European countries. And with that, we begin the second stave of a Christmas Carol. Which has been edited for time. A Christmas Carol stave two. The first of the three spirits. When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark that looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes when the chimes of a neighboring church. Struck the four quarters. So he listened for the hour. To his greatest astonishment, the heavy bell went on from six to seven and from seven to eight and regularly up to 12, then stopped. 12, it was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong, an icicle must have got into the works. 12. He touched the spring of his repeater to correct this most preposterous clock. It's rapid little pulse beat twelve and stopped. Why it isn't possible said Scrooge, that I can have slept through a whole day and far into another night. It is impossible that anything has happened to the sun. And this is 12 at noon. The idea being an alarming one. He scrambled out of bed and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing gown before he could see anything. And could see very little then. All he could make out was that it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and that there was no noise of people running to and fro and making a great stir as there unquestionably would have been if night had beaten off bright day and taken possession of the world. Scrooge went to bed again and thought and thought and thought it over and over. And could make nothing of it. The more he thought the more perplexed he was and the more he endeavored not to think. The more he thought. Marley's ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved within himself after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream. His mind flew back again, like a strong spring released to its first position and presented the same problem to be worked all through. Was it a dream or not? Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters more, when he remembered on a sudden that the ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until the hour was past. And then considering that he could do no more go to sleep, then go to heaven. This was perhaps the wisest solution in his power. The quarter was so long that he, more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously and missed the clock. At length. It broke upon his listening ear. Uh, quarter past said Scrooge counting. Half past. said Scrooge. A quarter to it. Said Scrooge. The hour itself. Said Scrooge, triumphantly and nothing else. He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull hollow melancholy. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant and the curtains of his bed were drawn. The curtains of his bed, were drawn aside I tell you by a hand, not the curtains at his feet, not the curtains at his back, but those two, which his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside and Scrooge starting up into a half recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them. As close to it as I am now to you and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow. It was a strange figure, like a child yet, not so like a child as like an old man viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view and being diminished to a child's proportions. It's hair, which hung about its neck and down its back was white as if with age. And yet the face had not a wrinkle in it. And the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular. The hands, the same as if it's hold were of uncommon strength. It's legs and feet. Most delicately formed were like the upper members bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white and round its waste was bound. A lustrous belt. The sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green Holly in its hand. And in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem. Had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was that from the crown of its head, there sprung a bright, clear jet of light. By which all this was visible, which was doubtless the occasion of its using in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm. Are you the spirit, sir, who's coming was foretold to me. Asked Scrooge. I am. The voice was soft and gentle singularly low as if, instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance. Who and what are you. Scrooge demanded. I am the ghost of Christmas past. Long past. Inquired Scrooge observant of its dwarfish stature. No. Your past. Perhaps Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him, but he had a special desire to see the spirit in its cap and begged him to be covered. What exclaimed the ghost. 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 forced me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow. Scrooge reverently disclaimed, all intention to offend or any knowledge of having willfully bonnetted the spirit at any period of its life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there. Your welfare. Said the ghost. Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The spirit must have heard him thinking for, it said immediately. Your reclamation then. Take heed. It put out it's strong hand as it spoke and clasped him gently by the arm. Rise and walk with me. It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour would not adapted to pedestrian purposes. That bed was warm and the thermometer a long way below freezing that he was clad, but lightly in his slippers, dressing gown and nightcap and that he had a cold upon him at that time. The grasp though gentle is a woman's hand was not to be resisted. He rose, but finding that the spirit made towards the window clasped it's robe in supplication. I am mortal Scrooge remonstrated, and liable to fall. Bear, but a touch of my hand there. Said the spirit laying upon its heart. And you shall be upheld in more than this. As the words were spoken. They passed through the wall and stood upon an open country road with fields on either hand. The city had vanished entirely, not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it for, it was a clear cold winter day. With the snow up on the ground. Good heaven. Said Scrooge clasping his hands together. As he looked about him. I was bred in this place. I was a boy here. The spirit gazed upon him mildly. It's gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air. Each one, connected with a thousand thoughts and hopes and joys and cares long, long forgotten. Your lip is trembling. said the ghost. And what is that upon your cheek? Scrooge muttered with an unusual catching in his voice. That it was a pimple. And he begged the ghost to lead him where he would. You recollect the way. Inquired the spirit. Remember it cried Scrooge with ferver. I could walk it blindfold. Strange to have forgotten it for so many years. Observed the ghost. Let us go on. They walked along the road, Scrooge recognizing every gate and post and tree. Until a little market town appeared in the distance with its bridge it's church and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their back, who called to other boys in country, gigs and carts driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits and shouted to each other until the broad fields were so full of Merry music that the crisp air laughed to hear it. These are, but shadows of the things that have been said, the ghost. They have no consciousness of us. The jocund travelers came on and as they came, Scrooge knew and named them everyone. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them? Why did his cold eye glisten and his heart leap up as they went past. Why was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas as they parted at cross roads and byways for their several homes. What was Merry Christmas to Scrooge. Out upon Merry Christmas. What good had it ever done him? The school is not quite deserted. said the ghost. A solitary child neglected by his friends is left there still. Scrooge said he knew it. And sobbed. They left the high road by a well remembered lane and soon approached the mansion of dull red brick with a little weathercock surmounted copula on the roof and a bell hanging on it. It was a large house, but one of broken fortunes for the spacious offices were little used. Their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken and their gates decayed. They went the ghost and Scrooge. Across the hall to a door at the back of the house. It opened before them and disclosed a long bare melancholy room made barer still by lines of plane deal forms and desks. At one of these, a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire, and Scrooge sat down upon a form. And wept to see his poor forgotten self as he had used to be. The spirit touched him on the arm and pointed to his younger self intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man in foreign garments, wonderfully real and distinct to look at stood outside the window with an ax stuck in his belt and leading by the bridle and ass Laden with wood. Why it's Ali Baba. Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. It's dear old, honest Alli Baba. Yes. Yes. I know. One Christmas time when yonder solitary child was left here all alone. He did come for the first time, just like that. Poor boy. And, and Valentine and his wild brother, Orson. There they go. And, and what's his name who was put down in the drawers asleep at the gate of Damascus. Don't you see him? And, and the sultans groom turned upside down by the genie. There he is upon his head. Serve him right. I'm glad of it. What business had, he to be married to the princess. To hear a Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature upon such subjects in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying and to see his heightened, excited face. Would've been a surprise to his business friends in the city. Indeed. Then with a rapidity of transition, very foreign to his usual character, he said in pity for his former self. Poor boy. And cried again. I wish. Scrooge muttered putting his hand in his pocket and looking about him after drying his eyes with his cuff. Oh, but it's too late now. What is the matter? Ask the spirit. Nothing. Said Scrooge, nothing. There, there was a boy singing a christmas Carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something. That's all. The ghost smiled thoughtfully and waved its hand saying as it did so. Let us see another Christmas. Scrooges former self grew larger at the words. And the room became a little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk. The windows cracked fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling and the naked laths were shown instead. But how all this was brought about Scrooge knew no more than you do. He only knew that it was quite correct that everything had happened so that there he was alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays. He was not reading now, but walking up and down, despairingly Scrooge looked at the ghost and with a mournful shaking of his head. Glanced anxiously toward the door. It opened. And a little girl, much younger than the boy came darting in and putting her arms around his neck and often kissing him, addressed him as her. Dear, dear brother. I have come to bring you home. dear brother said the child clapping her tiny hands and bending down to laugh. To bring you home, home, home. Home little fan. Returned the boy. Yes said the child brimful of glee. Home for good and all home for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be that homes 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 are to be a man. Said the child opening her eyes. And are 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. You are quite a woman, little fan. Exclaimed the boy. She clapped her hands and laughed and tried to touch his head, but being too little laughed again and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. Then she began to drag him in her childish eagerness toward the door and he nothing loath to go accompanied her. Always a delicate creature whom a breath might've withered. Said the ghost, but she had a large heart. So she had cried Scrooge. You're right. I will not gainsay it spirit, God forbid. She died, a woman. said the ghost and had, as I think children. One child Scrooge returned. True. Your nephew said the ghost. Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind and answered briefly. Yes. Although they had but that moment left the school behind them. They were now in the busy thoroughfares of a city where shadowy passengers passed and repassed, where shadowy carts and coaches battle for the way and all the strife and tummult of a real city were. It was made plain enough by the dressing of shops that here too. It was Christmas time again. But it was evening and the streets were lighted up. The ghost stopped at a certain warehouse store and asked Scrooge if he knew it. Know it! Said Scrooge. Was I apprenticed here? They went in. At the site of an old gentleman in a Welch wigs. Sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller, he must have knocked his head against the ceiling. Scrooge cried in great excitement, Why It's old Fezziwig, bless his heart it's Fezziwig alive again. Old Fezziwig laid down his pen and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands, adjusted his capacious waistcoat. Laughed all over himself from his shoes to his organ of benevolence and called out in a comfortably oily, rich fat jovial voice. Yo-Ho there, Ebenezer!. Dick. Scrooges former self now grown a young man came briskly in accompanied by his fellow Prentice. Dick Wilkins to be sure. Said Scrooge to the ghost. Bless me. Yes. There he is. Oh, he was very much attached to me. Was Dick. poor DIck! Dear dear. Yo ho my boys. Said Fezziwig, no more work tonight. Christmas Eve, Dick Christmas, Ebenezer, let's have the shutters up. Cried old Fezziwig with a sharp clap of his hands before a man can say, Jack Robinson. You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it. The charged into the street with the shutters 1, 2, 3, had them up in their places, four five, six barred them and pinned them 7, 8, 9. And came back before you could have got to 12, panting like race horses. Highly hoe. cried old Fezziwig skipping down from the high desk with wonderful agility. Clear away my lads and let's have lots of room here. Hily-ho, Dick! Chirrup Ebenezer. Cleared away. There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away or couldn't have cleared away with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every moveable was packed off as if it were dismissed from public life forever more. The floor was swept and watered. The lamps were trimmed. Fuel was heaped upon the fire and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry and bright as a ballroom, as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. In came a Fiddler with a music book and went up to the lofty desk and made an orchestra of it and tuned like 50 stomach aches. In came, Mrs. Fezziwig one vast substantial smile in came the three miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable, in came the six young followers whose hearts they broke, in came all the young men and women employed in the business in came the housemaid with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way who was suspected of not having board enough from his master. Trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door, but one, who was proved to have her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one after another, some shyly, some baldly some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling in, they all came any how and every, how. Away they all went 20 couple at once. Hands, half round and back again, the other way down the middle up again, round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping. Old top couple, always turning up in the wrong place. New top couple, starting off again. As soon as they got there all top couples at last and not a bottom one to help them. When this result was brought about old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance cried out well done. And the Fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of Porter, especially provided for that purpose, but scorning rest upon his reappearance. He instantly began again, though. There were no dancers yet as if the other Fiddler had been carried home, exhausted on a shutter and he were a brand new man resolved to beat him out of sight or perish. There were more dances and there were forfeits and more dances and there was cake and there was negus and there was a great piece of cold roast and there was a great piece of cold boiled and there were mince pies and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the roast and boiled when the Fiddler an artful dog mind the sort of man who knew his business better than you, or I could have told him struck up, sir, Roger, DeCoverley. Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple too, with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them three or four and 20 pair of partners. People who are not to be trifled with people who would dance and had no notion of walking. But if there had been twice as many Ah, four times! Old Fezziwig would have been a match for them. And so would Mrs. Fezziwig as to her. She was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that's not high praise, tell me higher and I'll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from fizzy wigs calves. They shown in every part of the dance like moons, you couldn't have predicted at any given time, what would have become of them next, and when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone through the dance, advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsy corkscrew thread the needle, and back again to your place. Fezziwig cut. Cut. So deftly that he appeared to wink with his legs and came up on his feet again, without a stagger. When the clock had struck 11, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. And Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations one on either side the door and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired, but the two apprentices, they did the same to them. And thus the cheerful voices died away and the lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop. During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene. And with his former self. He corroborated, everything remembered, everything, enjoyed everything and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the ghost and became conscious that it was looking full upon him while the light upon its head burnt very clear. A small matter, said the ghost to make these silly folks so full of gratitude. Small? Echoed Scrooge. 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 mortar money, three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves that 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 as 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 spirits glance and stopped. What is the matter? Asked the ghost. Nothing particular. 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 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 anyone 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 has 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 that were tears, which sparkled in the light that shown 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. Huh, what. What idol has displaced you. He rejoined. A golden one. This is the evenhanded dealing of the world. he said. There's 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 too. 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 site. 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? Huh. 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 today, tomorrow, yesterday, Can I even 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 what your repentance and regret would surely follow. I do. And I release you with a full heart for the love of him. Who 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. I 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've 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 the last one that Scrooge believed it to be 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, heard in the poem, there were not 40 children Conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting himself like 40. 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 be one of them? Though. I never could have been so rude. No, no, I wouldn't. For all the wealth of 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 have been a keepsake beyond price. In short, I should have liked. I do confess to have had the lightest license of a child, and yet to have been mad 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 born towards it in the center 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 this defenseless 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 the 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 its mouth and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious Turkey glued onto a wooden platter. The immense relief of finding this false alarm, the joy and gratitude and ecstasy. They were all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees, the children and their emotions got out of the parlor 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 what he thought that such another creature quite as graceful and as full of promise, might've called him father. And been a springtime 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, I don't 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. 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 of its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, Scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright, and dimly connected that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher cap and by a sudden action pressed down upon its head. The spirit dropped beneath it so that the extinguisher covered its whole form. But though Scrooge pressed 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. Well, that concludes the second stave of a Christmas. Carol. I hope you're enjoying it so far. If I can ask all my listeners for a favor or two at this time. First, if you are able to please leave a review of the show in general, this goes a long way for the show. As far as visibility on all the different platforms. It also helps with the search engines and that kind of thing. It doesn't need to be lengthy of a few words or even a star rating helps. I really would appreciate it. Secondly, if you enjoy the show and I hope you are, please consider becoming a supporter of the show by becoming a bronze, silver, or gold level monthly supporter on buy me a coffee. On most of the podcast platforms, there is a link that says support the show, and this will take you to my, buy me a coffee page. It's like Patrion, but with a different company. There's also a nice link on the podcast website forward into the past podcast.com. Believe it or not, I'm currently recording this podcast on my personal laptop and it would be nice to have a dedicated computer for this podcast. So, if you can please donate or become a supporter. A huge, thanks to my regular listeners out there. My little podcast is growing quite quickly. Well, as always folks. I've rambled long enough. And once again, Thanks for listening. Keep sharing the stories. And be a good human. Bye for now.