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. Its 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. 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; and
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, whose coming was foretold to me?"

"I am!"

"Who and what are you?"

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"Long past?"

"No. Your past. The things that you will see with me are shadows of the
things that have been; they will have no consciousness of us."

Scrooge then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.

"Your welfare. Rise, and walk with me!"

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the
hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that the bed was warm, and
the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly
in his slippers, dressing-gown, and night-cap; and that he had a cold
upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was
not to be resisted. He rose; but, finding that the Spirit made towards
the window, clasped its robe in supplication.

"I am a mortal, and liable to fall."

"Bear but a touch of my hand _there_," said the Spirit, laying it upon
his heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!"

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood in the
busy thoroughfares of a city. It was made plain enough by the dressing
of the shops that here, too, it was Christmas time.

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he
knew it.

"Know it! Was I apprenticed here!"

They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, 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 l