A very Merry Christmas to you and yours. At times like this, when words fail, it is good to remember that Charles Dickens is in the public domain.
Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious.
`What’s to-day?’ cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
`Eh?’ returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
`What’s to-day, my fine fellow?’ said Scrooge.
`To-day?’ replied the boy. `Why, Christmas Day!’
`It’s Christmas Day!’ said Scrooge to himself. `I haven’t missed it! The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can.
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 he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.