[s]he Stood For Some Moments Gazing At

There Are Not A Few Among The Disciples Of Charity Who Require, In Their Vocation, Scarcely Less Excitement Than The Votaries Of Pleasure In Theirs.

Oh! Captive, Bound, And Double-ironed," Cried The Phantom, "not To Know, That Ages Of Incessant Labour, By Immortal Creatures, For This Earth Must Pass Into Eternity Before The Good Of Which It Is Susceptible Is All Developed. Not To Know That Any Christian Spirit Working Kindly In Its Little Sphere, Whatever It May Be, Will Find Its Mortal Life Too Short For Its Vast Means Of Usefulness. Not To Know That No Space Of Regret Can Make Amends For One Life's Opportunity Misused!

Not Knowing How He Lost Himself, Or How He Recovered Himself, He May Never Feel Certain Of Not Losing Himself Again.

Mr. Pickwick Took A Seat And The Paper, But Instead Of Reading The Latter, Peeped Over The Top Of It, And Took A Survey Of The Man Of Business, Who Was An Elderly, Pimply-faced, Vegetable-diet Sort Of Man, In A Black Coat, Dark Mixture Trousers, And Small Black Gaiters; A Kind Of Being Who Seemed To Be An Essential Part Of The Desk At Which He Was Writing, And To Have As Much Thought Or Sentiment.

It's Not My Business," Scrooge Returned. "it's Enough For A Man To Understand His Own Business, And Not To Interfere With Other People's. Mine Occupies Me Constantly.