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THELASTOFTHESPIRITS
Thephantomslowly，gravely，silentlyapproached.Whenitcamenearhim，Scroogebentdownuponhisknee；forintheveryairthroughwhichthisspiritmoveditseemedtoscattergloomandmystery.
Itwasshroudedinadeep-blackgarment，whichconcealeditshead，itsface，itsform，andleftnothingofitvisiblesaveoneoutstretchedhand.Butforthisitwouldhavebeendifficulttodetachitsfigurefromthenight，andseparateitfromthedarknessbywhichitwassurrounded.
Hefeltthatitwastallandstatelywhenitcamebesidehim，andthatitsmysteriouspresencefilledhimwithasolemndread.Heknewnomore，forthespiritneitherspokenormoved.
“IaminthepresenceoftheGhostofChristmasYettoCome？”
saidScrooge.
Thespiritanswerednot，butpointedonwardwithhishand.
“Youareabouttoshowmeshadowsofthethingsthathavenothappened，butwillhappeninthetimebeforeus，”
Scroogepursued.“Isthatso，spirit？”
Theupperportionofthegarmentwascontractedforaninstantinitsfolds，asifthespirithadinclineditshead.Thatwastheonlyanswerhereceived.
Althoughwellusedtoghostlycompanybythistime，Scroogefearedthesilentshapesomuchthathislegstrembledbeneathhim，andhefoundthathecouldhardlystandwhenhepreparedtofollowit.Thespiritpausedamoment，asobservinghiscondition，andgivinghimtimetorecover.
ButScroogewasalltheworseforthis.Itthrilledhimwithavagueuncertainhorror，toknowthatbehindtheduskyshroudtherewereghostlyeyesintentlyfixeduponhim，whilehe，thoughhestretchedhisowntotheutmost，couldseenothingbutaspectralhandandonegreatheapofblack.
“Ghostofthefuture！”
heexclaimed，“IfearyoumorethananyspectreIhaveseen.ButasIknowyourpurposeistodomegood，andasIhopetolivetobeanothermanfromwhatIwas，Iampreparedtobearyoucompany，anddoitwithathankfulheart.Willyounotspeaktome？”
Itgavehimnoreply.Thehandwaspointedstraightbeforethe
“Leadon！”
saidScrooge.“LeadonIThenightiswaningfast，anditisprecioustimetome，Iknow.Leadon，spirit！”
ThephantommovedawayasithadcometowardshiScroogefollowedintheshadowofitsdress，whichborehimup，hethought，andcarriedhimalong.
Theyscarcelyseemedtoenterthecity；forthecityratherseemedtospringupaboutthem，andencompassthemofitsownact.Buttheretheywere，intheheartofit；on’Change，amongstthemerchants；whohurriedupanddown，andchinkedthemoneyintheirpockets，andconversedingroups，andlookedattheirwatches，andtrifledthoughtfullywiththeirgreatgoldseals；andsoforth，asScroogehadseenthemoften.
Thespiritstoppedbesideonelittleknotofbusinessmen.Observingthatthehandwaspointedtothem，Scroogeadvancedtolistentotheirtalk.
“No，”
saidagreatfatmanwithamonstrouschin，“Idon’tknowmuchaboutiteitherway.Ionlyknowhe’sdead.”
“Whendidhedie？”
inquiredanother.
“Lastnight，Ibelieve.”
“Why，whatwasthematterwithhim？”
askedathird，takingavastquantityofsnuffoutofaverylargesnuff-box.“Ithoughthe’dneverdie.”
“Godknows，”
saidthefirst，withayawn.
“Whathashedonewithhismoney？”
askedared-facedgentlemanwithapendulousexcrescenceontheendofhisnose，thatshooklikethegillsofaturkey-cock.
“Ihaven’theard，”
saidthemanwiththelargechin，yawningagain.“Leftittohiscompany，perhaps.Hehasn’tleftittome.That’sallIknow.”
Thispleasantrywasreceivedwithagenerallaugh.
“It’slikelytobeaverycheapfuneral，”
saidthesamespeaker；“foruponmylifeIdon’tknowofanybodytogotoit.Supposewemakeupapartyandvolunteer？”
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