CONTENTS.

CONTENTS.THE SPOOK BALLADSPageTHE GHOSTS OF HAMPTON COURT1YE FILIAL SACRIFICE13MADAME STIFFIN'S GHOST17SONNET ON PARTING24HIS BOUQUET25THE GIRL OF CASTLEBAR29THE GERMAN BAND34OUT OF PLUMB38A WARD IN THE CHANCERIE39THE FAIRY QUEEN45THE DEVIL IN RICHMOND PARK58SAVED63A MOST REMARKABLE CASE64A TOUR TO SVITZERLAND72JOY! ON SEEING A FLYING SPRING77THE MATE OF THE MARY ANNE78AN UMBRELLA CASE83THE SPOOK OF ROTTEN ROW84THE MAGIC SPECS93YE CURIOUS TAYLE95LEATHER VERSUS LAW105HEADS AND TAILS110THE COLONEL AND THE COOK111THE SPIRIT THAT HELD HIM DOWN118HIS FUTURE STATE123A FIGHT IN THE PHŒNIX PARK124AN ABDICATED CROWN129TEARS IN LAW130HE FOLLOWED THE FOX133THE HONEST YOUNG CASHIER134THE ROAD TO LONDON139ANTEDILUVIAN PAT O'TOOLE142THE LUCKY SIXPENCE156A WALLFLOWER SONNET160PARADOXICAL WORDS161A CANTABILE ON MUSIC, ART AND LAW166WOMAN'S TEARS170HERALDIC FRUITS171THE POLIS AND THE PRINCESS GRANAUILLE180A HORROR OF LONDON TOWN186A CONFIDENTIAL SONNET188A TRAM CAR GHOST189MARGATE SANDS194JOHN MCKUNE195I'LL GO FOR A SOJER201ODE HERE!202THE SMUGGLER'S FATE203THE LATE FITZ-BINKS213A FUGITIVE KISS216THE BEDROOM CURSE217A GUN SOLO224THE SEMI-GRAND PIANO225CANTICRANK228AN ILL WIND BLEW HIM GOOD230A KLEPTOMANIAC'S DOOM231CAUGHT IN THE BREACH235THE GHOST OF HIRAM SMIKE236WHY DID YE DIE?239A PRETTY LITTLE LAND I KNOW241HOW THEY ENLIST243THE KINDERGARTEN WAY245

Bohemians, hail!The

Thedaylight dreams of many a time,When song, and rhythmic story,Were tuned, and voiced for Bigot, and in gay Bohemian ears,Bring welcome wraiths of joyous nights, thro' whirling clouds of glory;The incense of the social weed, o'er spirit cup that cheers.With hail! to Cycle speedmen, and the boaters of Dunleary,Clontarf, and the Harmonic, where we sang with midnight chimes,The smokers of Conservatives, and Liberal Unions cheery,I weave regretful tribute to their jovial social times;For autumn gales of life have blown those festal hours asunder,And scattered far by land and sea, the steps of many a one,And some alas! beneath the sod, for evermore gone under,Have left a rainbow thro' the mist of grief that they have won.But slantha! to the hearts, and hands, of those who yet remaining,Do carry down traditions of that bright Bohemian throng,And slantha! to the soulful sheen, of life-light never waningFrom Old Eblana's heaven of her social art, and song.And here's to all Bohemians, of whatever rank, or station,Whatever tint, or black or tan, or creed you are by birth,Sweet voices of the earth's romance, of every land, or nation,Hail! brothers, in the carnival of music, song, and mirth:So fill we tankards, or the glass, for draught with lusty cheering,Of honor to a crowning toast, with greeting heart and hand,As everlasting goal, for letters, art, and song, and beering,Hip, hip, hurrah! vive! hoc! and skoal! to Fleet Street and the Strand!

Thedaylight dreams of many a time,

When song, and rhythmic story,

Were tuned, and voiced for Bigot, and in gay Bohemian ears,

Bring welcome wraiths of joyous nights, thro' whirling clouds of glory;

The incense of the social weed, o'er spirit cup that cheers.

With hail! to Cycle speedmen, and the boaters of Dunleary,

Clontarf, and the Harmonic, where we sang with midnight chimes,

The smokers of Conservatives, and Liberal Unions cheery,

I weave regretful tribute to their jovial social times;

For autumn gales of life have blown those festal hours asunder,

And scattered far by land and sea, the steps of many a one,

And some alas! beneath the sod, for evermore gone under,

Have left a rainbow thro' the mist of grief that they have won.

But slantha! to the hearts, and hands, of those who yet remaining,

Do carry down traditions of that bright Bohemian throng,

And slantha! to the soulful sheen, of life-light never waning

From Old Eblana's heaven of her social art, and song.

And here's to all Bohemians, of whatever rank, or station,Whatever tint, or black or tan, or creed you are by birth,Sweet voices of the earth's romance, of every land, or nation,Hail! brothers, in the carnival of music, song, and mirth:So fill we tankards, or the glass, for draught with lusty cheering,Of honor to a crowning toast, with greeting heart and hand,As everlasting goal, for letters, art, and song, and beering,Hip, hip, hurrah! vive! hoc! and skoal! to Fleet Street and the Strand!

And here's to all Bohemians, of whatever rank, or station,

Whatever tint, or black or tan, or creed you are by birth,

Sweet voices of the earth's romance, of every land, or nation,

Hail! brothers, in the carnival of music, song, and mirth:

So fill we tankards, or the glass, for draught with lusty cheering,

Of honor to a crowning toast, with greeting heart and hand,

As everlasting goal, for letters, art, and song, and beering,

Hip, hip, hurrah! vive! hoc! and skoal! to Fleet Street and the Strand!

The Ghosts of Hampton Court

INTHE following verses, a remarkable supernatural interview is narrated. It is now for the first time launched into publicity, on the authority, and with the approbation of a quaint old friend of mine, Professor Simon Chuffkrust, a savant who has daringly groped his way through certain gloomy mysteries of occult science.The confidential and impressive manner of Chuffkrust, is jewelled with eyes of sparkling jet, semitoned behind a screen of moonblue spectacles.His voice is of such convincing suasion, that it is a novel and interesting experience to hear him relate with circumstantial enthusiasm, the ghostly interview afforded him by a fortuitous chance within the interesting grounds of Hampton Court. His is a testimony most reliable, and calculated to establish as a fact the actual presence of supernatural shadows in that historic locality.It also hints at the necessity, and use, of making the ghost a more familiar study, whereby the belated world would rid itself of much unnecessary fright, consequent on the invariable habit of spasmodically avoiding the familiar advances of the common or bedroom spook.

The confidential and impressive manner of Chuffkrust, is jewelled with eyes of sparkling jet, semitoned behind a screen of moonblue spectacles.

His voice is of such convincing suasion, that it is a novel and interesting experience to hear him relate with circumstantial enthusiasm, the ghostly interview afforded him by a fortuitous chance within the interesting grounds of Hampton Court. His is a testimony most reliable, and calculated to establish as a fact the actual presence of supernatural shadows in that historic locality.

It also hints at the necessity, and use, of making the ghost a more familiar study, whereby the belated world would rid itself of much unnecessary fright, consequent on the invariable habit of spasmodically avoiding the familiar advances of the common or bedroom spook.

IN Hampton Court I wandered on a twilight evening grey,Amidst its mazy precincts I had lost my tourist way,And while I cogitated, on a seat of carven stone,I heard beneath an orange tree, an elongated groan!I crinkled with astonishment, 'twas not a fit of fright,For loud elastic wailings, I have heard at twelve at night,The midnight peace disturbing in the lamplit streets below,But this was uttered in an unfamiliar groan of woe,And Hampton Court I wot had got some questionable nooks,In which it harboured spectres, and disreputable spooks,In which it shrouded headless Queens, and shades of evil KingsWith ill-conditioned titled knaves, in lemans leading strings.I listened! 'twas a voice that cried as 'twere from out the dustOf time, that clogged its music, with a husk of mould and rust,A voice that once as tenor, might have won a slight repute,But combination now of asthma, whooping cough, and flute.I sauntered towards the orange tree, and lo! the gloaming thro'I saw a man in trunk and hose, and silver buckled shoe,With ruffles and embroidered vest, in wig without a hat,Inclining to the contour, which is designated fat.Just then the waxing moonlight bloomed behind, and lifed the stainOf color thro' him, like a Saint upon a window pane,I could not spare such noted chance; so stepping from the gloom,I bowed politely and exclaimed"A Spectre I presume?"With glad pathetic wondered look, but still in tones of woe,He answered thus, "Alack! ah me I am exactly so"And confidential gleam of hope across his features grew,Which gave me courage thus to start a social interview."I pray of thee to speak, alas! why grims it so with thee?Some evil canker nips thy peace, divulge thy wrongs to me,That I may give thee hope, for I am one to sympathizeWith manhood's lamentation, as with womanhood, her sighs,But ha! Mayhap it fits your jest, with elongated groan,To seek to fright me, as I'm here in Hampton Court alone,To wreck my spirits as of old has been the game of spook,"The spectre turned upon me with a sad reproachful look.And cried, "Alack! that living men, so long have held it good,To flee from Ghosts, and hence the Ghost is not yet understood,Now as for me, I moan it not, for jest of idle sport,My task, it is as murdered Ghost, to haunt in Hampton Court!I play the victim to a spook, who chucked me down a stair,Thro' being caught too near my lady's bedroom unaware.""Poor shade of ill mischance!" I sobbed, the while a wayward tear,Tricked out along my nose, and lodged upon my tunic here,"I pray that thou would'st tell me all, withholding ne'er a jot,For I might do thee service, in some most unlikely spot,""O blessed chance!" the Ghost exclaimed, "Thou art the only oneOf all men else, who spoke me so, they always turn and run!Thou art the first, that I have seen drop sympathetic tears,Responsive to my moanings, aye for full one hundred years!And so I feel that I can speak in unreserving tone,And give thee cause for this alack! my chronic nightly groan!When I was in my thirties, I engaged to mind the spoons,Of Colonel Sir John Bouncer, of the Sixty-fifth Dragoons,And tho' of lowly stature, I am proud I was by half,More manly than the footman, by step, and chest, and calf.With frontispiece well favored, in a frame of powdered wig,I wot amongst the female sex, I joyed a game of tig,I played the captivating spark, till Colonel Bouncer caughtMe jesting with my Mistress, and he spake with furious haught,Expressed him his disfavor loud, unto my Lady thus,"An' thou do not discharge the knave, 'twill cause some future fuss,The cock-a-dandy bantam, pillory graduate, and scoffOn manhood, give him notice!" but no, she begged me off.It was not long thereafter, an early postman boreA warrant for the Colonel, to start for Singapore,He sailed, and in the August, 'twas just ten months awayHe stayed, and he was due in town, upon the first of May,Twas on that ninth of August at twelve o'clock at night,'Thro Bouncer Hall I wandered, to see that all was right;And in my course of searching, to check the silver stock,I chanced upon the key, with which my Lady wound the clock,A Louis clock she valued, it was on the mantel shelfIn her boudoir, her habit was to wind it up herself,I brought it to her bedroom, and scratched a single knock,And asked her through the keyhole, if she had wound the clock.My words were scarcely uttered, when from another door,I heard a foot, that should have been that night in Singapore!I saw an eye, that should have seen that night a foreign shore,"Ha! Caitiff knave!!" He shouted,'Twas all I heard, no more,He collared me by neck, and breech, and swept me off the floor,And bore me down the corridor,And hoisting me as light as cork, an act I could not check,He flung me down the oaken stair, and wanton cracked my neck!For that he paid the penalty, one day on Tyburn tree,Alack! it was the sorest deed, the Law could wreak for meFor when it made a Ghost of him, he came, and sought me out,Where haunting at my Lady's door, I heard the self-same shout,Of "Caitiff knave!!"The pity on't! he took me unaware,Once more by gripping of my breech, and tossed me down the stair!Night after night he compassed it, nor recked he who was thereBut by my crop, and grip of trunks, he bumped me down the stair!Thus mortified by evil fate, his widow nightly wept,To hear the periodic row, and scarce a wink she slept;She daily sought to lay his ghost by penance and by prayer,And got a brace of saintly monks, to exorcise the scareWith holy water sprinked about, a jot he did not care!But seized me with a fiercer grip, and jocked me down the stair!And mocked the frightened monks, who flew, with fringe of standing hair.At last his widow could not reck his evil conduct there,She moved to otherwhere.The only tenants that remained in Bouncer Hall, were rats,Until 'twas taken down, to build some fashionable flats,And when the workmen moved the stair, I wot he was cut up,To see its broken banisters, upon a cart put up.But vengeance of his hate for me, remained a danger yet,To find a suitable resort, to work it out he set,And tapped the telephone, until he heard of that resort;It is an antient oaken stair, that's here in Hampton Court,'Twas vacant of a Ghost, I faith, a lobby to be let,And with some Royal Spook, he had a ghostly compact set,And then he brought me here to work, his midnight murder yet.An hour ago, accosting me, says he to me, "Prepare!Be ready! for once more to-night, I'll crock thee down the stair!To-night, a cousin German of the noble house of TeckWill occupy the bedroom, and I'll have to crack thy neck!"In yonder wing, and up the stairs as high as thou canst go,There is the bedroom, with a door, of casement rather low,And if thou stay a night therein, thy sleep might wake for shock,Of scratching on the door, and keyhole cry, to wind your clock,And then the shout of"Caitiff knave!"And if thou'rt bold and dare,To peer out on that lobby then, he crocks me down the stair!And leaves thee shivering in thy shirt, with fright and besomed hair!I've heard the County Council, for the City weal is rife,I'd hold it as a favor, if thou'ds't intimate that lifeIs perilled on that lobby, and suggest in thy report,That lifts would be more suitable, than stairs in Hampton Court.Then with a comprehensive wail of anguish at his fate,He gradually vanished thro' the grating of a gate,And left me sorely puzzled, in a sad reflective state,Then up a creeping tree, and spout, with stern resolve of hateCompressed within my breast for Bouncer's evil ghost I clomb,And slipping thro' the window frame with feline caution dumb,I slid behind a folding screen, and with a craning neck,I listened for the snoring of the Colonel Van der Teck,But not a soul had come that night into the room to rest,There was no cousin German, and the bed was yet unpressed;A knavish and mendacious trick it was of Bouncer's Ghost,To crack his butler's neck again, but with some beans and toast,I picketed behind the door, on eager ear to catch,The slightest human murmur, thro' the keyhole of the latch,At last it came! the midnight yet, was booming from a clock,When lo! a scratching on the door, and half-way thro' the lock,I heard the question, and with shout, I gave the ghosts a shock,By springing to the lobby, like a chip of blasting rock!And bounded twixt the spectres, with the rage of fighting cock,Then facing Colonel Bouncer's Ghost, "Thou caitiff spook" I cried,"Was it for this, that Shakespeare wrote, and Colonel Hampden died?For this! that Cromwell lopped a royal head as traitor knave?For this! that all his cuirassiers were sworn to pray and shave?Was it for this we lost a world! when George the Third was king?For this! that laureates have lived of royal deeds to sing?For this! the printing press was made, torpedoes, dynamite?The iron ships, and bullet proof cuirass to scape the fight?Was it for this! we've wove around the world a social netOf speaking steel, that thou should'st perpetrate thy murder yet?Out! out on thee! as traitor of thine oath unto the crown!By gripping of thy butler, by his breech to jock him down,Was it for this! that justice wrung thy neck on Tyburn tree,To expiate the direful debt to justice due by thee?For this! did Lord Macaulay write "The Lays of Antient Rome?"For this! did Government send out to bring us Jabez home?Have we been privileged to pay our swollen rates and tax?And legislative rights imposed upon the noble's backs?For this! was England parcelled out amongst the Norman few,That thou should'st haunt in Hampton Court thy noisome work to do?For this! is London soaring up, to Babel flights of flatsAs cross between a poorhouse, and a prison?—are top hatsStill worn by busmen, beadles, undertakers, men of prayer!That thou should'st cause the lieges to irradiate their hair,With horror at thy felon work? paugh! out upon thee! there!Thou misbegotten sprite! was it for this! we fought and flew,On many a bloody battle field, right on to Peterloo?Thou gall embittered martinet! What boots it if thou crackThy butler's neck? Unto that lock, he'll still be harking back,And grow envigorated, by thy ghastly midnight work,Like shooting of the chutes, or breezing down the switchback jerk!"Psha! that unto thee!" and I snapped my finger at him "bosh!Go, give thy vengeful spirit to contrition, for the wash,And with the soap of keen remorse, erase the stain of blood,From out thy soul, and straight atone, with deeds of useful good,Go, croak behind the Marble Arch, or take a flag and standIn Grosvenor Square, as captain of a hallelujah band,Do anything, but mockery of murder, in the dark,Ay even spout in windy speech, from wagons in the park,Thou thing of misty cobwebine! thou woman frighter go!And never more be seen again, to make thyself a show.For children's fears, or if thou would'st a manly vengeance dare,Pick up this fourteen stone of mine, and jock me down the stairThou idiot spook, thou ill-conditioned cloud concocted spriteWith the immortal bard I cry, Avaunt! and quit my sight!"So fiercely did I thus denounce, his evil midnight trick,The vigour of the vengeful scowl upon his brow grew sickWith quail of deep abasement, to behold a mortal's bloodOn fire, to beard a felon spook, and ghosts were understood,A transposition of remorse, upon his features came,Until he shook before me, in an abject wreck of shame,And cried with tones of keen reproach,"Adzooks! Alack! Ah me!Oddsbodikins, well well! heigho! that I should die to see,My ghost derided, with contempt of scoffing stock from thee!But of thy clacking caustic tongue, I prithee give no more,I'll take my passage by a breeze, to-night for Singapore,Or anywhere the wind may blow, Japan! or Timbuctoo!To rid me of thy clapper jaw, a flout on thee! Adieu!"He then evaporated, and with some pride embued,I turned, for an expression of the butler's gratitude,But he was gone! and from his place, with india rubber shoe,A lamp was flashed upon my face, by number 90, Q,They're never where they're wanted, and that blue, belted elf,Did hail me up for trespass, and for shouting to myself!

IN Hampton Court I wandered on a twilight evening grey,

Amidst its mazy precincts I had lost my tourist way,

And while I cogitated, on a seat of carven stone,

I heard beneath an orange tree, an elongated groan!

I crinkled with astonishment, 'twas not a fit of fright,

For loud elastic wailings, I have heard at twelve at night,

The midnight peace disturbing in the lamplit streets below,

But this was uttered in an unfamiliar groan of woe,

And Hampton Court I wot had got some questionable nooks,

In which it harboured spectres, and disreputable spooks,

In which it shrouded headless Queens, and shades of evil Kings

With ill-conditioned titled knaves, in lemans leading strings.

I listened! 'twas a voice that cried as 'twere from out the dustOf time, that clogged its music, with a husk of mould and rust,A voice that once as tenor, might have won a slight repute,But combination now of asthma, whooping cough, and flute.

I listened! 'twas a voice that cried as 'twere from out the dust

Of time, that clogged its music, with a husk of mould and rust,

A voice that once as tenor, might have won a slight repute,

But combination now of asthma, whooping cough, and flute.

I sauntered towards the orange tree, and lo! the gloaming thro'I saw a man in trunk and hose, and silver buckled shoe,With ruffles and embroidered vest, in wig without a hat,Inclining to the contour, which is designated fat.Just then the waxing moonlight bloomed behind, and lifed the stainOf color thro' him, like a Saint upon a window pane,I could not spare such noted chance; so stepping from the gloom,I bowed politely and exclaimed"A Spectre I presume?"With glad pathetic wondered look, but still in tones of woe,He answered thus, "Alack! ah me I am exactly so"And confidential gleam of hope across his features grew,Which gave me courage thus to start a social interview."I pray of thee to speak, alas! why grims it so with thee?Some evil canker nips thy peace, divulge thy wrongs to me,That I may give thee hope, for I am one to sympathizeWith manhood's lamentation, as with womanhood, her sighs,But ha! Mayhap it fits your jest, with elongated groan,To seek to fright me, as I'm here in Hampton Court alone,To wreck my spirits as of old has been the game of spook,"The spectre turned upon me with a sad reproachful look.And cried, "Alack! that living men, so long have held it good,To flee from Ghosts, and hence the Ghost is not yet understood,Now as for me, I moan it not, for jest of idle sport,My task, it is as murdered Ghost, to haunt in Hampton Court!I play the victim to a spook, who chucked me down a stair,Thro' being caught too near my lady's bedroom unaware."

I sauntered towards the orange tree, and lo! the gloaming thro'

I saw a man in trunk and hose, and silver buckled shoe,

With ruffles and embroidered vest, in wig without a hat,

Inclining to the contour, which is designated fat.

Just then the waxing moonlight bloomed behind, and lifed the stain

Of color thro' him, like a Saint upon a window pane,

I could not spare such noted chance; so stepping from the gloom,

I bowed politely and exclaimed

"A Spectre I presume?"

With glad pathetic wondered look, but still in tones of woe,

He answered thus, "Alack! ah me I am exactly so"

And confidential gleam of hope across his features grew,

Which gave me courage thus to start a social interview.

"I pray of thee to speak, alas! why grims it so with thee?

Some evil canker nips thy peace, divulge thy wrongs to me,

That I may give thee hope, for I am one to sympathize

With manhood's lamentation, as with womanhood, her sighs,

But ha! Mayhap it fits your jest, with elongated groan,

To seek to fright me, as I'm here in Hampton Court alone,

To wreck my spirits as of old has been the game of spook,"

The spectre turned upon me with a sad reproachful look.

And cried, "Alack! that living men, so long have held it good,

To flee from Ghosts, and hence the Ghost is not yet understood,

Now as for me, I moan it not, for jest of idle sport,

My task, it is as murdered Ghost, to haunt in Hampton Court!

I play the victim to a spook, who chucked me down a stair,

Thro' being caught too near my lady's bedroom unaware."

"Poor shade of ill mischance!" I sobbed, the while a wayward tear,Tricked out along my nose, and lodged upon my tunic here,"I pray that thou would'st tell me all, withholding ne'er a jot,For I might do thee service, in some most unlikely spot,"

"Poor shade of ill mischance!" I sobbed, the while a wayward tear,

Tricked out along my nose, and lodged upon my tunic here,

"I pray that thou would'st tell me all, withholding ne'er a jot,

For I might do thee service, in some most unlikely spot,"

"O blessed chance!" the Ghost exclaimed, "Thou art the only oneOf all men else, who spoke me so, they always turn and run!Thou art the first, that I have seen drop sympathetic tears,Responsive to my moanings, aye for full one hundred years!And so I feel that I can speak in unreserving tone,And give thee cause for this alack! my chronic nightly groan!

"O blessed chance!" the Ghost exclaimed, "Thou art the only one

Of all men else, who spoke me so, they always turn and run!

Thou art the first, that I have seen drop sympathetic tears,

Responsive to my moanings, aye for full one hundred years!

And so I feel that I can speak in unreserving tone,

And give thee cause for this alack! my chronic nightly groan!

When I was in my thirties, I engaged to mind the spoons,Of Colonel Sir John Bouncer, of the Sixty-fifth Dragoons,And tho' of lowly stature, I am proud I was by half,More manly than the footman, by step, and chest, and calf.With frontispiece well favored, in a frame of powdered wig,I wot amongst the female sex, I joyed a game of tig,I played the captivating spark, till Colonel Bouncer caughtMe jesting with my Mistress, and he spake with furious haught,Expressed him his disfavor loud, unto my Lady thus,"An' thou do not discharge the knave, 'twill cause some future fuss,The cock-a-dandy bantam, pillory graduate, and scoffOn manhood, give him notice!" but no, she begged me off.

When I was in my thirties, I engaged to mind the spoons,

Of Colonel Sir John Bouncer, of the Sixty-fifth Dragoons,

And tho' of lowly stature, I am proud I was by half,

More manly than the footman, by step, and chest, and calf.

With frontispiece well favored, in a frame of powdered wig,

I wot amongst the female sex, I joyed a game of tig,

I played the captivating spark, till Colonel Bouncer caught

Me jesting with my Mistress, and he spake with furious haught,

Expressed him his disfavor loud, unto my Lady thus,

"An' thou do not discharge the knave, 'twill cause some future fuss,

The cock-a-dandy bantam, pillory graduate, and scoff

On manhood, give him notice!" but no, she begged me off.

It was not long thereafter, an early postman boreA warrant for the Colonel, to start for Singapore,He sailed, and in the August, 'twas just ten months awayHe stayed, and he was due in town, upon the first of May,Twas on that ninth of August at twelve o'clock at night,'Thro Bouncer Hall I wandered, to see that all was right;And in my course of searching, to check the silver stock,I chanced upon the key, with which my Lady wound the clock,A Louis clock she valued, it was on the mantel shelfIn her boudoir, her habit was to wind it up herself,I brought it to her bedroom, and scratched a single knock,And asked her through the keyhole, if she had wound the clock.

It was not long thereafter, an early postman bore

A warrant for the Colonel, to start for Singapore,

He sailed, and in the August, 'twas just ten months away

He stayed, and he was due in town, upon the first of May,

Twas on that ninth of August at twelve o'clock at night,

'Thro Bouncer Hall I wandered, to see that all was right;

And in my course of searching, to check the silver stock,

I chanced upon the key, with which my Lady wound the clock,

A Louis clock she valued, it was on the mantel shelf

In her boudoir, her habit was to wind it up herself,

I brought it to her bedroom, and scratched a single knock,

And asked her through the keyhole, if she had wound the clock.

My words were scarcely uttered, when from another door,I heard a foot, that should have been that night in Singapore!I saw an eye, that should have seen that night a foreign shore,"Ha! Caitiff knave!!" He shouted,'Twas all I heard, no more,He collared me by neck, and breech, and swept me off the floor,And bore me down the corridor,And hoisting me as light as cork, an act I could not check,He flung me down the oaken stair, and wanton cracked my neck!For that he paid the penalty, one day on Tyburn tree,Alack! it was the sorest deed, the Law could wreak for meFor when it made a Ghost of him, he came, and sought me out,Where haunting at my Lady's door, I heard the self-same shout,Of "Caitiff knave!!"The pity on't! he took me unaware,Once more by gripping of my breech, and tossed me down the stair!Night after night he compassed it, nor recked he who was thereBut by my crop, and grip of trunks, he bumped me down the stair!Thus mortified by evil fate, his widow nightly wept,To hear the periodic row, and scarce a wink she slept;She daily sought to lay his ghost by penance and by prayer,And got a brace of saintly monks, to exorcise the scareWith holy water sprinked about, a jot he did not care!But seized me with a fiercer grip, and jocked me down the stair!And mocked the frightened monks, who flew, with fringe of standing hair.At last his widow could not reck his evil conduct there,She moved to otherwhere.The only tenants that remained in Bouncer Hall, were rats,Until 'twas taken down, to build some fashionable flats,And when the workmen moved the stair, I wot he was cut up,To see its broken banisters, upon a cart put up.

My words were scarcely uttered, when from another door,

I heard a foot, that should have been that night in Singapore!

I saw an eye, that should have seen that night a foreign shore,

"Ha! Caitiff knave!!" He shouted,

'Twas all I heard, no more,

He collared me by neck, and breech, and swept me off the floor,

And bore me down the corridor,

And hoisting me as light as cork, an act I could not check,

He flung me down the oaken stair, and wanton cracked my neck!

For that he paid the penalty, one day on Tyburn tree,

Alack! it was the sorest deed, the Law could wreak for me

For when it made a Ghost of him, he came, and sought me out,

Where haunting at my Lady's door, I heard the self-same shout,

Of "Caitiff knave!!"

The pity on't! he took me unaware,

Once more by gripping of my breech, and tossed me down the stair!

Night after night he compassed it, nor recked he who was there

But by my crop, and grip of trunks, he bumped me down the stair!

Thus mortified by evil fate, his widow nightly wept,

To hear the periodic row, and scarce a wink she slept;

She daily sought to lay his ghost by penance and by prayer,

And got a brace of saintly monks, to exorcise the scare

With holy water sprinked about, a jot he did not care!

But seized me with a fiercer grip, and jocked me down the stair!

And mocked the frightened monks, who flew, with fringe of standing hair.

At last his widow could not reck his evil conduct there,

She moved to otherwhere.

The only tenants that remained in Bouncer Hall, were rats,

Until 'twas taken down, to build some fashionable flats,

And when the workmen moved the stair, I wot he was cut up,

To see its broken banisters, upon a cart put up.

But vengeance of his hate for me, remained a danger yet,To find a suitable resort, to work it out he set,And tapped the telephone, until he heard of that resort;It is an antient oaken stair, that's here in Hampton Court,'Twas vacant of a Ghost, I faith, a lobby to be let,And with some Royal Spook, he had a ghostly compact set,And then he brought me here to work, his midnight murder yet.An hour ago, accosting me, says he to me, "Prepare!Be ready! for once more to-night, I'll crock thee down the stair!

But vengeance of his hate for me, remained a danger yet,

To find a suitable resort, to work it out he set,

And tapped the telephone, until he heard of that resort;

It is an antient oaken stair, that's here in Hampton Court,

'Twas vacant of a Ghost, I faith, a lobby to be let,

And with some Royal Spook, he had a ghostly compact set,

And then he brought me here to work, his midnight murder yet.

An hour ago, accosting me, says he to me, "Prepare!

Be ready! for once more to-night, I'll crock thee down the stair!

To-night, a cousin German of the noble house of TeckWill occupy the bedroom, and I'll have to crack thy neck!"In yonder wing, and up the stairs as high as thou canst go,There is the bedroom, with a door, of casement rather low,And if thou stay a night therein, thy sleep might wake for shock,Of scratching on the door, and keyhole cry, to wind your clock,And then the shout of"Caitiff knave!"And if thou'rt bold and dare,To peer out on that lobby then, he crocks me down the stair!And leaves thee shivering in thy shirt, with fright and besomed hair!I've heard the County Council, for the City weal is rife,I'd hold it as a favor, if thou'ds't intimate that lifeIs perilled on that lobby, and suggest in thy report,That lifts would be more suitable, than stairs in Hampton Court.

To-night, a cousin German of the noble house of Teck

Will occupy the bedroom, and I'll have to crack thy neck!"

In yonder wing, and up the stairs as high as thou canst go,

There is the bedroom, with a door, of casement rather low,

And if thou stay a night therein, thy sleep might wake for shock,

Of scratching on the door, and keyhole cry, to wind your clock,

And then the shout of

"Caitiff knave!"

And if thou'rt bold and dare,

To peer out on that lobby then, he crocks me down the stair!

And leaves thee shivering in thy shirt, with fright and besomed hair!

I've heard the County Council, for the City weal is rife,

I'd hold it as a favor, if thou'ds't intimate that life

Is perilled on that lobby, and suggest in thy report,

That lifts would be more suitable, than stairs in Hampton Court.

Then with a comprehensive wail of anguish at his fate,He gradually vanished thro' the grating of a gate,And left me sorely puzzled, in a sad reflective state,Then up a creeping tree, and spout, with stern resolve of hateCompressed within my breast for Bouncer's evil ghost I clomb,And slipping thro' the window frame with feline caution dumb,I slid behind a folding screen, and with a craning neck,I listened for the snoring of the Colonel Van der Teck,But not a soul had come that night into the room to rest,There was no cousin German, and the bed was yet unpressed;A knavish and mendacious trick it was of Bouncer's Ghost,To crack his butler's neck again, but with some beans and toast,I picketed behind the door, on eager ear to catch,The slightest human murmur, thro' the keyhole of the latch,At last it came! the midnight yet, was booming from a clock,When lo! a scratching on the door, and half-way thro' the lock,I heard the question, and with shout, I gave the ghosts a shock,By springing to the lobby, like a chip of blasting rock!And bounded twixt the spectres, with the rage of fighting cock,

Then with a comprehensive wail of anguish at his fate,

He gradually vanished thro' the grating of a gate,

And left me sorely puzzled, in a sad reflective state,

Then up a creeping tree, and spout, with stern resolve of hate

Compressed within my breast for Bouncer's evil ghost I clomb,

And slipping thro' the window frame with feline caution dumb,

I slid behind a folding screen, and with a craning neck,

I listened for the snoring of the Colonel Van der Teck,

But not a soul had come that night into the room to rest,

There was no cousin German, and the bed was yet unpressed;

A knavish and mendacious trick it was of Bouncer's Ghost,

To crack his butler's neck again, but with some beans and toast,

I picketed behind the door, on eager ear to catch,

The slightest human murmur, thro' the keyhole of the latch,

At last it came! the midnight yet, was booming from a clock,

When lo! a scratching on the door, and half-way thro' the lock,

I heard the question, and with shout, I gave the ghosts a shock,

By springing to the lobby, like a chip of blasting rock!

And bounded twixt the spectres, with the rage of fighting cock,

Then facing Colonel Bouncer's Ghost, "Thou caitiff spook" I cried,"Was it for this, that Shakespeare wrote, and Colonel Hampden died?For this! that Cromwell lopped a royal head as traitor knave?For this! that all his cuirassiers were sworn to pray and shave?Was it for this we lost a world! when George the Third was king?For this! that laureates have lived of royal deeds to sing?For this! the printing press was made, torpedoes, dynamite?The iron ships, and bullet proof cuirass to scape the fight?Was it for this! we've wove around the world a social netOf speaking steel, that thou should'st perpetrate thy murder yet?Out! out on thee! as traitor of thine oath unto the crown!By gripping of thy butler, by his breech to jock him down,Was it for this! that justice wrung thy neck on Tyburn tree,To expiate the direful debt to justice due by thee?For this! did Lord Macaulay write "The Lays of Antient Rome?"For this! did Government send out to bring us Jabez home?Have we been privileged to pay our swollen rates and tax?And legislative rights imposed upon the noble's backs?For this! was England parcelled out amongst the Norman few,That thou should'st haunt in Hampton Court thy noisome work to do?For this! is London soaring up, to Babel flights of flatsAs cross between a poorhouse, and a prison?—are top hatsStill worn by busmen, beadles, undertakers, men of prayer!That thou should'st cause the lieges to irradiate their hair,With horror at thy felon work? paugh! out upon thee! there!Thou misbegotten sprite! was it for this! we fought and flew,On many a bloody battle field, right on to Peterloo?Thou gall embittered martinet! What boots it if thou crackThy butler's neck? Unto that lock, he'll still be harking back,And grow envigorated, by thy ghastly midnight work,Like shooting of the chutes, or breezing down the switchback jerk!"Psha! that unto thee!" and I snapped my finger at him "bosh!Go, give thy vengeful spirit to contrition, for the wash,And with the soap of keen remorse, erase the stain of blood,From out thy soul, and straight atone, with deeds of useful good,Go, croak behind the Marble Arch, or take a flag and standIn Grosvenor Square, as captain of a hallelujah band,Do anything, but mockery of murder, in the dark,Ay even spout in windy speech, from wagons in the park,Thou thing of misty cobwebine! thou woman frighter go!And never more be seen again, to make thyself a show.For children's fears, or if thou would'st a manly vengeance dare,Pick up this fourteen stone of mine, and jock me down the stairThou idiot spook, thou ill-conditioned cloud concocted spriteWith the immortal bard I cry, Avaunt! and quit my sight!"So fiercely did I thus denounce, his evil midnight trick,The vigour of the vengeful scowl upon his brow grew sickWith quail of deep abasement, to behold a mortal's bloodOn fire, to beard a felon spook, and ghosts were understood,A transposition of remorse, upon his features came,Until he shook before me, in an abject wreck of shame,And cried with tones of keen reproach,

Then facing Colonel Bouncer's Ghost, "Thou caitiff spook" I cried,

"Was it for this, that Shakespeare wrote, and Colonel Hampden died?

For this! that Cromwell lopped a royal head as traitor knave?

For this! that all his cuirassiers were sworn to pray and shave?

Was it for this we lost a world! when George the Third was king?

For this! that laureates have lived of royal deeds to sing?

For this! the printing press was made, torpedoes, dynamite?

The iron ships, and bullet proof cuirass to scape the fight?

Was it for this! we've wove around the world a social net

Of speaking steel, that thou should'st perpetrate thy murder yet?

Out! out on thee! as traitor of thine oath unto the crown!

By gripping of thy butler, by his breech to jock him down,

Was it for this! that justice wrung thy neck on Tyburn tree,

To expiate the direful debt to justice due by thee?

For this! did Lord Macaulay write "The Lays of Antient Rome?"

For this! did Government send out to bring us Jabez home?

Have we been privileged to pay our swollen rates and tax?

And legislative rights imposed upon the noble's backs?

For this! was England parcelled out amongst the Norman few,

That thou should'st haunt in Hampton Court thy noisome work to do?

For this! is London soaring up, to Babel flights of flats

As cross between a poorhouse, and a prison?—are top hats

Still worn by busmen, beadles, undertakers, men of prayer!

That thou should'st cause the lieges to irradiate their hair,

With horror at thy felon work? paugh! out upon thee! there!

Thou misbegotten sprite! was it for this! we fought and flew,

On many a bloody battle field, right on to Peterloo?

Thou gall embittered martinet! What boots it if thou crack

Thy butler's neck? Unto that lock, he'll still be harking back,

And grow envigorated, by thy ghastly midnight work,

Like shooting of the chutes, or breezing down the switchback jerk!

"Psha! that unto thee!" and I snapped my finger at him "bosh!

Go, give thy vengeful spirit to contrition, for the wash,

And with the soap of keen remorse, erase the stain of blood,

From out thy soul, and straight atone, with deeds of useful good,

Go, croak behind the Marble Arch, or take a flag and stand

In Grosvenor Square, as captain of a hallelujah band,

Do anything, but mockery of murder, in the dark,

Ay even spout in windy speech, from wagons in the park,

Thou thing of misty cobwebine! thou woman frighter go!

And never more be seen again, to make thyself a show.

For children's fears, or if thou would'st a manly vengeance dare,

Pick up this fourteen stone of mine, and jock me down the stair

Thou idiot spook, thou ill-conditioned cloud concocted sprite

With the immortal bard I cry, Avaunt! and quit my sight!"

So fiercely did I thus denounce, his evil midnight trick,

The vigour of the vengeful scowl upon his brow grew sick

With quail of deep abasement, to behold a mortal's blood

On fire, to beard a felon spook, and ghosts were understood,

A transposition of remorse, upon his features came,

Until he shook before me, in an abject wreck of shame,

And cried with tones of keen reproach,

"Adzooks! Alack! Ah me!Oddsbodikins, well well! heigho! that I should die to see,My ghost derided, with contempt of scoffing stock from thee!But of thy clacking caustic tongue, I prithee give no more,I'll take my passage by a breeze, to-night for Singapore,Or anywhere the wind may blow, Japan! or Timbuctoo!To rid me of thy clapper jaw, a flout on thee! Adieu!"

"Adzooks! Alack! Ah me!

Oddsbodikins, well well! heigho! that I should die to see,

My ghost derided, with contempt of scoffing stock from thee!

But of thy clacking caustic tongue, I prithee give no more,

I'll take my passage by a breeze, to-night for Singapore,

Or anywhere the wind may blow, Japan! or Timbuctoo!

To rid me of thy clapper jaw, a flout on thee! Adieu!"

He then evaporated, and with some pride embued,I turned, for an expression of the butler's gratitude,But he was gone! and from his place, with india rubber shoe,A lamp was flashed upon my face, by number 90, Q,They're never where they're wanted, and that blue, belted elf,Did hail me up for trespass, and for shouting to myself!

He then evaporated, and with some pride embued,

I turned, for an expression of the butler's gratitude,

But he was gone! and from his place, with india rubber shoe,

A lamp was flashed upon my face, by number 90, Q,

They're never where they're wanted, and that blue, belted elf,

Did hail me up for trespass, and for shouting to myself!

Ye filial Sarafice

HE was ye wrothful widowere,Unto his child spak he,"Thou art not wise in this my son,To court with Susan Lee,A Mayde, ye least that's prattled of,Ye safer for her fame,Bethink thee, thou art Jabez Gray,Respect thy Sire, his name!"Ye reputation of ye Mayde,Is dewdrop to ye rootOf wedded life, that canks ye blight,Or ripes ye wholesome fruit,Then part thee boy, from Susan Lee,Her ways and lightsome game,As Jabez Gray, behave thee well,Respect thy Sire, his name!"Willow Oh and Wallow!Ah! well a day, for Jabez Gray,O wallow was his woe,It stung his heart with pain and rue,That Mayden Lee should go,Alack! Ah! me, that such should be,But compensation came,For he was true, as Jabez Gray,Unto his Sire, his name.He gave unto ye Mayde, ye sore,And sorry last farewell,Ye pang unto his crinkled heart,Was gall of woe to tell!But from his conscience, filial faith,With healing balsam cameHis heart unto, for he was true,Unto his Sire, his name.O then 'twas his, 'twas Jabez Gray'sReward and recompense,To hear his Sire bespeake ye Mayde,In fond and future tense,He pry'd it in ye dark of night,Beyond ye garden gate,"I'll wed thee Sue, myself, to saveThy name from evil prate."He heard ye Sire bespeak ye Mayde,In tender guise, ye same,As he did plead, before ye split,To save ye Sire, his name.He heard ye Parent, tell to Sue,Ye lack of manly sense,Of him, ye son, and with ye kiss,He spake in future tense.Ye little month did pass, and then,Ye Parent wed ye Mayde,And this, ye counsel to ye son,In confidence he say'd,"Ye Spinster Sue is now ye Wife,Of fair and goodly fame,Be duteous to her, as ye sonRespect thy Sire, his name!"

HE was ye wrothful widowere,

Unto his child spak he,

"Thou art not wise in this my son,

To court with Susan Lee,

A Mayde, ye least that's prattled of,

Ye safer for her fame,

Bethink thee, thou art Jabez Gray,

Respect thy Sire, his name!

"Ye reputation of ye Mayde,Is dewdrop to ye rootOf wedded life, that canks ye blight,Or ripes ye wholesome fruit,Then part thee boy, from Susan Lee,Her ways and lightsome game,As Jabez Gray, behave thee well,Respect thy Sire, his name!"

"Ye reputation of ye Mayde,

Is dewdrop to ye root

Of wedded life, that canks ye blight,

Or ripes ye wholesome fruit,

Then part thee boy, from Susan Lee,

Her ways and lightsome game,

As Jabez Gray, behave thee well,

Respect thy Sire, his name!"

Willow Oh and Wallow!

Ah! well a day, for Jabez Gray,O wallow was his woe,It stung his heart with pain and rue,That Mayden Lee should go,

Ah! well a day, for Jabez Gray,

O wallow was his woe,

It stung his heart with pain and rue,

That Mayden Lee should go,

Alack! Ah! me, that such should be,But compensation came,For he was true, as Jabez Gray,Unto his Sire, his name.

Alack! Ah! me, that such should be,

But compensation came,

For he was true, as Jabez Gray,

Unto his Sire, his name.

He gave unto ye Mayde, ye sore,And sorry last farewell,Ye pang unto his crinkled heart,Was gall of woe to tell!But from his conscience, filial faith,With healing balsam cameHis heart unto, for he was true,Unto his Sire, his name.

He gave unto ye Mayde, ye sore,

And sorry last farewell,

Ye pang unto his crinkled heart,

Was gall of woe to tell!

But from his conscience, filial faith,

With healing balsam came

His heart unto, for he was true,

Unto his Sire, his name.

O then 'twas his, 'twas Jabez Gray'sReward and recompense,To hear his Sire bespeake ye Mayde,In fond and future tense,

O then 'twas his, 'twas Jabez Gray's

Reward and recompense,

To hear his Sire bespeake ye Mayde,

In fond and future tense,

He pry'd it in ye dark of night,Beyond ye garden gate,"I'll wed thee Sue, myself, to saveThy name from evil prate."

He pry'd it in ye dark of night,

Beyond ye garden gate,

"I'll wed thee Sue, myself, to save

Thy name from evil prate."

He heard ye Sire bespeak ye Mayde,In tender guise, ye same,As he did plead, before ye split,To save ye Sire, his name.He heard ye Parent, tell to Sue,Ye lack of manly sense,Of him, ye son, and with ye kiss,He spake in future tense.

He heard ye Sire bespeak ye Mayde,

In tender guise, ye same,

As he did plead, before ye split,

To save ye Sire, his name.

He heard ye Parent, tell to Sue,

Ye lack of manly sense,

Of him, ye son, and with ye kiss,

He spake in future tense.

Ye little month did pass, and then,Ye Parent wed ye Mayde,And this, ye counsel to ye son,In confidence he say'd,"Ye Spinster Sue is now ye Wife,Of fair and goodly fame,Be duteous to her, as ye sonRespect thy Sire, his name!"

Ye little month did pass, and then,

Ye Parent wed ye Mayde,

And this, ye counsel to ye son,

In confidence he say'd,

"Ye Spinster Sue is now ye Wife,

Of fair and goodly fame,

Be duteous to her, as ye son

Respect thy Sire, his name!"

Madame Stiffins ghost

INBURTON Crescent, on the semi-circle apex there,I lodged some little period up a six flight four foot stair,It came about by freak of chance, 'twas in a cul-de-sac,I found myself one morning, and compelled to tramp it back,Whilst blessing gates of London town that bar the traffic yet,I saw a window label, lettered, "lodgings to be let,"A gloomy habitation 'twas, to give the nerves the creep!But possibly a comfortable roosting place to sleep,Of knockers on its oaken door, it bore a double stock,I took those knockers, and I struck duet of double knock,And just as I was rounding off my rallantando din,The door was gently opened and a lady cried "Come in!"I must confess, I fluttered with a flick of some surprise,To see a lady so petite, and with such piercing eyes,An artificial bloom was on her cheek, and nose, and neck,Her gown was of a quaint brocade in antique floral check.By transmutating hand of time, and his assistant care,The golden sheen to silver light was paling thro' her hair,And from the dentistry of art, that crowned her rippled chin,She greeted me with pearly smile, the moment I stepped in.I noted on her fingers small, some antique diamond rings,And in her slippers russet brown, she tripped as 'twere on springs,A dainty wrap, completed her little quaintly self,She seemed a living Watteau, that stepped from off a shelf.She seemed a living Watteau, from out a canvas sprung,She wasn't—no, she wasn't—well you could not call her young.She greeted me upsmiling, with business kindled fire,And volunteered the question,"What rooms do you require?"It wasn't my intention, to move upon that day,My humor was to dawdle, in idle sort of way,So left it to her option, if twenty rooms or one,In earth upon the basement, or garret near the sun.She showed her approbation of my eccentric style,And greeted me politely, with confidential smile,"I have a room, the lodger is yet remaining there,But leaving soon—I'll show it, if you will step the stair.—She mounted up before me, her little cloak, like wings,Did supplement her flexor, and her extensor springs,She paused upon each lobby, to note the pleasing scene,Of leaves amongst the chimneys, that lent a tint of green.The sanitary question, she settled with some pains,Explained, the County Council had just been down the drains,And thus discussing features, and questions to be met,We landed on the landing of lodging to be let.Upon the door with knuckle she struck a low rum-tin,And tardily was answered by husky voice "Come in."To purpose of her visit, he gave a mild assent,Which somewhat indicated a debt of backward rent.We entered the apartment, and gaunt, and wan, and scared!From tangle of the blankets, blear-eyed, and towsel-haired,A moment rose the lodger, then underneath the clothes,He snapped himself like oyster, and only left his nose.I took a swift synopsis, again we stepped the stair,She bowed me to her parlour, and all around me there,Were virtue objects, suited for curioso sale,Art of the reign of Louis, and good old Chippendale,Cameo ware of Wedgewood, and Worcester bric-a-brac,Miniatures of beauties, and oriental lac,A cabinet and tables, in marquetry of buhl,And feminine arrangements, of bombazine and tulle.Old mezzotint engravings of Regent, buck and lord,Between the window curtains, an agèd harpsichord.—The instrument she fingered, and sang an olden rune,She sang with taste, but slightly, the strings were out of tune,She warbled of the Regent, of Sheridan and Burke,Buck Nash, and of Beau Brummel, and of the fatal work,Enacted in a duel, then struck a broken string,And with a sigh she faltered, and then she ceased to sing.I told her, composition of song, was in my line,Then, with a look intended as tender and divine,And mode of days of Brummel, in manner and in style,She lauded up the bedroom with captivating smile,Electro-biologic, magnetic in her glance,She fixed me like a medium, as tenant in advance!I entered occupation, as soon as I could get,And everything in order, was for my comfort set,The room was daily garnished, and swept, my bed was made,In this was comprehended the lot for which I paid,My daily mastication, in public grill was frayed,Monotonous, and easy, with quiet self-content,I went and came in silence, in silence came and went,Was no domestic welcome when I came in, not one!And in the morning ditto, till I was up and gone.No sound of brush or bucket! no jar of door, or delph!No foot upon the stairs, except the pair I have myself!No smutty wench to greet me with cloud of dusty mat!No snarl of vicious lap dog, or hiss of humping cat!No slavey whiting up the steps, did ever strike my sight!Yet everything was fixed for me, when I came home at night!

INBURTON Crescent, on the semi-circle apex there,

I lodged some little period up a six flight four foot stair,

It came about by freak of chance, 'twas in a cul-de-sac,

I found myself one morning, and compelled to tramp it back,

Whilst blessing gates of London town that bar the traffic yet,

I saw a window label, lettered, "lodgings to be let,"

A gloomy habitation 'twas, to give the nerves the creep!

But possibly a comfortable roosting place to sleep,

Of knockers on its oaken door, it bore a double stock,

I took those knockers, and I struck duet of double knock,

And just as I was rounding off my rallantando din,

The door was gently opened and a lady cried "Come in!"

I must confess, I fluttered with a flick of some surprise,

To see a lady so petite, and with such piercing eyes,

An artificial bloom was on her cheek, and nose, and neck,

Her gown was of a quaint brocade in antique floral check.

By transmutating hand of time, and his assistant care,

The golden sheen to silver light was paling thro' her hair,

And from the dentistry of art, that crowned her rippled chin,

She greeted me with pearly smile, the moment I stepped in.

I noted on her fingers small, some antique diamond rings,

And in her slippers russet brown, she tripped as 'twere on springs,

A dainty wrap, completed her little quaintly self,

She seemed a living Watteau, that stepped from off a shelf.

She seemed a living Watteau, from out a canvas sprung,

She wasn't—no, she wasn't—well you could not call her young.

She greeted me upsmiling, with business kindled fire,

And volunteered the question,

"What rooms do you require?"

It wasn't my intention, to move upon that day,

My humor was to dawdle, in idle sort of way,

So left it to her option, if twenty rooms or one,

In earth upon the basement, or garret near the sun.

She showed her approbation of my eccentric style,

And greeted me politely, with confidential smile,

"I have a room, the lodger is yet remaining there,

But leaving soon—I'll show it, if you will step the stair.—

She mounted up before me, her little cloak, like wings,

Did supplement her flexor, and her extensor springs,

She paused upon each lobby, to note the pleasing scene,

Of leaves amongst the chimneys, that lent a tint of green.

The sanitary question, she settled with some pains,

Explained, the County Council had just been down the drains,

And thus discussing features, and questions to be met,We landed on the landing of lodging to be let.Upon the door with knuckle she struck a low rum-tin,And tardily was answered by husky voice "Come in."To purpose of her visit, he gave a mild assent,Which somewhat indicated a debt of backward rent.We entered the apartment, and gaunt, and wan, and scared!From tangle of the blankets, blear-eyed, and towsel-haired,A moment rose the lodger, then underneath the clothes,He snapped himself like oyster, and only left his nose.

And thus discussing features, and questions to be met,

We landed on the landing of lodging to be let.

Upon the door with knuckle she struck a low rum-tin,

And tardily was answered by husky voice "Come in."

To purpose of her visit, he gave a mild assent,

Which somewhat indicated a debt of backward rent.

We entered the apartment, and gaunt, and wan, and scared!

From tangle of the blankets, blear-eyed, and towsel-haired,

A moment rose the lodger, then underneath the clothes,

He snapped himself like oyster, and only left his nose.

I took a swift synopsis, again we stepped the stair,She bowed me to her parlour, and all around me there,Were virtue objects, suited for curioso sale,Art of the reign of Louis, and good old Chippendale,Cameo ware of Wedgewood, and Worcester bric-a-brac,Miniatures of beauties, and oriental lac,A cabinet and tables, in marquetry of buhl,And feminine arrangements, of bombazine and tulle.Old mezzotint engravings of Regent, buck and lord,Between the window curtains, an agèd harpsichord.—The instrument she fingered, and sang an olden rune,She sang with taste, but slightly, the strings were out of tune,She warbled of the Regent, of Sheridan and Burke,Buck Nash, and of Beau Brummel, and of the fatal work,Enacted in a duel, then struck a broken string,And with a sigh she faltered, and then she ceased to sing.I told her, composition of song, was in my line,Then, with a look intended as tender and divine,And mode of days of Brummel, in manner and in style,She lauded up the bedroom with captivating smile,Electro-biologic, magnetic in her glance,She fixed me like a medium, as tenant in advance!

I took a swift synopsis, again we stepped the stair,

She bowed me to her parlour, and all around me there,

Were virtue objects, suited for curioso sale,

Art of the reign of Louis, and good old Chippendale,

Cameo ware of Wedgewood, and Worcester bric-a-brac,

Miniatures of beauties, and oriental lac,

A cabinet and tables, in marquetry of buhl,

And feminine arrangements, of bombazine and tulle.

Old mezzotint engravings of Regent, buck and lord,

Between the window curtains, an agèd harpsichord.—

The instrument she fingered, and sang an olden rune,

She sang with taste, but slightly, the strings were out of tune,

She warbled of the Regent, of Sheridan and Burke,

Buck Nash, and of Beau Brummel, and of the fatal work,

Enacted in a duel, then struck a broken string,

And with a sigh she faltered, and then she ceased to sing.

I told her, composition of song, was in my line,

Then, with a look intended as tender and divine,

And mode of days of Brummel, in manner and in style,

She lauded up the bedroom with captivating smile,

Electro-biologic, magnetic in her glance,

She fixed me like a medium, as tenant in advance!

I entered occupation, as soon as I could get,And everything in order, was for my comfort set,The room was daily garnished, and swept, my bed was made,In this was comprehended the lot for which I paid,My daily mastication, in public grill was frayed,Monotonous, and easy, with quiet self-content,I went and came in silence, in silence came and went,Was no domestic welcome when I came in, not one!And in the morning ditto, till I was up and gone.No sound of brush or bucket! no jar of door, or delph!No foot upon the stairs, except the pair I have myself!No smutty wench to greet me with cloud of dusty mat!No snarl of vicious lap dog, or hiss of humping cat!No slavey whiting up the steps, did ever strike my sight!Yet everything was fixed for me, when I came home at night!

I entered occupation, as soon as I could get,

And everything in order, was for my comfort set,

The room was daily garnished, and swept, my bed was made,

In this was comprehended the lot for which I paid,

My daily mastication, in public grill was frayed,

Monotonous, and easy, with quiet self-content,

I went and came in silence, in silence came and went,

Was no domestic welcome when I came in, not one!

And in the morning ditto, till I was up and gone.

No sound of brush or bucket! no jar of door, or delph!

No foot upon the stairs, except the pair I have myself!

No smutty wench to greet me with cloud of dusty mat!

No snarl of vicious lap dog, or hiss of humping cat!

No slavey whiting up the steps, did ever strike my sight!

Yet everything was fixed for me, when I came home at night!

But often on my pillow, when darkness was my ward,I heard the muffled numbers of distant harpsichord!I heard a plaintive ballad, to measured cadence set,Of long ago, that sounded for lordly minuet!In wierdly notes it fluttered and lingered on the wing,With wailing for the duel! the sigh! and broken string!

But often on my pillow, when darkness was my ward,

I heard the muffled numbers of distant harpsichord!

I heard a plaintive ballad, to measured cadence set,

Of long ago, that sounded for lordly minuet!

In wierdly notes it fluttered and lingered on the wing,

With wailing for the duel! the sigh! and broken string!

But once when I was taking a smoking circumflex,Around the Burton Crescent, and just at its apex,I heard a voice behind me, that put me on some toast,"Look! there's the man, that's living with Madame Stiffin's Ghost!"I turned, and in the lamplight, distinctly I could see,A woman's dexter finger, was indicating me!"He's living as a lodger, above the second floorOf yonder house, that's haunted, with double-knockered door,Look! isn't he a cough-drop? it's only such a scare,Would live in such a lodging, with Madam Stiffin there!"I never felt so worried at anything before!Could scarcely find the keyhole of double-knockered door,And up the stairs I tottered, as in a walking trance,Next morning, she'd be coming for payment in advance,Next morning, at the striking of twelve upon the clock,I started from my slumber, it was her double knock!I jumped up at the summons, and leaping out of bed,I answered, and she entered, and unto her I said,"I'm here thro' false pretences;I understand you're dead!"A peal of mocking laughter, the little Watteau shook,And with her arms akimbo, an attitude she struck,She made an accusation of drink, and with a glanceOf keen reproach, demanded, her payment in advance!I had already promised myself, that none should boast,Of knowing me in future, as tenant of a ghost,So got my cash, pretending to settle there, and then,And just as she was lifting my eagle pointed pen,Said I "Perhaps you'll give me receipt for also this?"With that I would have tested her presence with a kiss!I think my arm went thro' her, of that I can't be sure,But with the table circuit, she took the bedroom door,I took it quite as quick, and abreviated sight,I caught of her next landing, and on her hasty flight,From lobby down to lobby I chased her like a hare,I tracked her to the kitchen, but lo! she wasn't there!I flew into the area, back up the stairs I flew,In drawing-room and parlour, in every bedroom too,To overtake and seize her, with skidding foot I sped,And under every sofa, and under every bed,I searched,—it was a marvel!—exploited every flue,Unlocked a couple of wardrobes and looked them thro' and thro',Until in all its horror, the grim conviction grew,I had in fact been lodging unconscious with a spook!I rushed to get my waistcoat, pants, traps, and took my hook!

But once when I was taking a smoking circumflex,

Around the Burton Crescent, and just at its apex,

I heard a voice behind me, that put me on some toast,

"Look! there's the man, that's living with Madame Stiffin's Ghost!"

I turned, and in the lamplight, distinctly I could see,

A woman's dexter finger, was indicating me!

"He's living as a lodger, above the second floor

Of yonder house, that's haunted, with double-knockered door,

Look! isn't he a cough-drop? it's only such a scare,

Would live in such a lodging, with Madam Stiffin there!"

I never felt so worried at anything before!Could scarcely find the keyhole of double-knockered door,And up the stairs I tottered, as in a walking trance,Next morning, she'd be coming for payment in advance,Next morning, at the striking of twelve upon the clock,I started from my slumber, it was her double knock!

I never felt so worried at anything before!

Could scarcely find the keyhole of double-knockered door,

And up the stairs I tottered, as in a walking trance,

Next morning, she'd be coming for payment in advance,

Next morning, at the striking of twelve upon the clock,

I started from my slumber, it was her double knock!

I jumped up at the summons, and leaping out of bed,I answered, and she entered, and unto her I said,"I'm here thro' false pretences;I understand you're dead!"

I jumped up at the summons, and leaping out of bed,

I answered, and she entered, and unto her I said,

"I'm here thro' false pretences;I understand you're dead!"

A peal of mocking laughter, the little Watteau shook,And with her arms akimbo, an attitude she struck,She made an accusation of drink, and with a glanceOf keen reproach, demanded, her payment in advance!

A peal of mocking laughter, the little Watteau shook,

And with her arms akimbo, an attitude she struck,

She made an accusation of drink, and with a glance

Of keen reproach, demanded, her payment in advance!

I had already promised myself, that none should boast,Of knowing me in future, as tenant of a ghost,So got my cash, pretending to settle there, and then,And just as she was lifting my eagle pointed pen,Said I "Perhaps you'll give me receipt for also this?"With that I would have tested her presence with a kiss!I think my arm went thro' her, of that I can't be sure,But with the table circuit, she took the bedroom door,I took it quite as quick, and abreviated sight,I caught of her next landing, and on her hasty flight,From lobby down to lobby I chased her like a hare,I tracked her to the kitchen, but lo! she wasn't there!I flew into the area, back up the stairs I flew,In drawing-room and parlour, in every bedroom too,To overtake and seize her, with skidding foot I sped,And under every sofa, and under every bed,I searched,—it was a marvel!—exploited every flue,Unlocked a couple of wardrobes and looked them thro' and thro',Until in all its horror, the grim conviction grew,I had in fact been lodging unconscious with a spook!I rushed to get my waistcoat, pants, traps, and took my hook!

I had already promised myself, that none should boast,

Of knowing me in future, as tenant of a ghost,

So got my cash, pretending to settle there, and then,

And just as she was lifting my eagle pointed pen,

Said I "Perhaps you'll give me receipt for also this?"

With that I would have tested her presence with a kiss!

I think my arm went thro' her, of that I can't be sure,

But with the table circuit, she took the bedroom door,

I took it quite as quick, and abreviated sight,

I caught of her next landing, and on her hasty flight,

From lobby down to lobby I chased her like a hare,

I tracked her to the kitchen, but lo! she wasn't there!

I flew into the area, back up the stairs I flew,

In drawing-room and parlour, in every bedroom too,

To overtake and seize her, with skidding foot I sped,

And under every sofa, and under every bed,

I searched,—it was a marvel!—exploited every flue,

Unlocked a couple of wardrobes and looked them thro' and thro',

Until in all its horror, the grim conviction grew,

I had in fact been lodging unconscious with a spook!

I rushed to get my waistcoat, pants, traps, and took my hook!

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