Scrooge dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and, walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humored fellows said, "Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge said often afterwards, that, of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.

In the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephew's house.

He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it.

"Is

your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl! Very.

"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress." "He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear." "Fred!"

"Why, bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?" "It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinlet me in, Fred ? "

ner.

Will you

Let him in! It is a mercy he did n't shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Won

derful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

But he was early at the office next morning. O, he was early there! If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon.

And he did it. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. Bob was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.

Bob's hat was off before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nize o'clock.

"Hallo!" growled Scrooge in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day ? "

"I am very sorry, sir. I am behind my time." "You are? Yes. I think you are. Step this way, if you please."

"It's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.”

Now, I'll tell you what, my friend. I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," Scrooge continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again, "and therefore I am about to

raise your salary!"

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler.

"A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped

him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy a second coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him; but his own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived in that respect upon the total-abstinence principle ever afterward; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one !

NOTE. The shorter version of the CHRISTMAS CAROL, condensed by Dickens himself for his public readings, has been chosen for use hera. both because this collection is partly intended for social readings and because in the editor's opinion the condensation improved the story.

THE HAUNTED CRUST.

BY KATHERINE SAUNDERS.

AN'T you remember Jerry Rouse, sir, the little cobbler of Pickersgill? How should you, though? Poor Jerry! I suppose his busy little fingers were stiff and cold in his coffin before you saw the light.

It was on a Christmas eve, forty years ago, that that poor little cobbler, who lies in the churchyard yonder, nothing but senseless dust, was a piece of living flesh and blood, suffering and shaking under such a temptation, that if I told what it was, and that he gave way to it, there are those who would n't let him rest in peace among their kith and kin, — no, not now, though it's forty years ago; they'd go and tear his bones out of their grave this very night, this very instant.

Now, at the time I'm speaking of, the street running down to the river was the High Street of Pickersgill, and what they call the High Street now was a long, close court, called Gadshill-in-the-Fields. Come, come, Mistress Sicklemore, you're not so young but you remember that, surely? And you remember Jerry, now, I'll be

bound. Call him to mind, a little man, know you, a tiny little man, with coal-black eyes and hair, and a pale, sickly, happy little face. Have n't you seen him sitting at the open window of number three, the dirtiest house in the court? Of course you have; and his black-eyed, ragged little children playing outside.

His wife, Nance, was a well-looking body enough in her day, but such a scold, and such a dirty, muddling kind of woman, that if Jerry had n't had her, nobody else would. She set her cap at me once, did Nance; but there! what kind of cap was it? so black you would n't have picked it up in the street. However, Jerry had a kind heart, you know; and seeing how Nance was getting a longish way on the other side of her teens, and sourer and sourer every day, out of very charity he went to her mother, who was beginning to scout her, and says he,

"Mistress Jessop, will you put in a word for me with Nance? I have n't a farthing till I get paid for heeling these boots in my hand," he says. "I earn my bread from hand to mouth, but I think I could earn Nance's too, if she'd be so kind as to say yes."

"Do you know what kind of a temper she is?" says Nance's mother.

"Yes, ma'am," says Jerry; "but not having much temper myself, I think we might get along very well." "Do you know she's the dirtiest thing about a house that ever was?"

"That, ma'am,” said Jerry," is the chief consideration; I know there's not another woman in Pickersgill would put up with my ways in that respect, for I can't abide