In such a case your course is clear –
‘Just as you please, my little dear!’
Or any other answer.
“But if the wretch says nothing more,
You’d best perhaps curtail your
Exertions – go and shake the door,
And then, if he begins to snore,
[130] You’ll know the thing’s a failure.
“By day, if he should be alone –
At home or on a walk –
You merely give a hollow groan,
To indicate the kind of tone
In which you mean to talk.
“But if you find him with his friends,
The thing is rather harder.
In such a case success depends
On picking up some candle-ends,
[140] Or butter, in the larder.
“With this you make a kind of slide
(It answers best with suet),
On which you must contrive to glide,
And swing yourself from side to side –
One soon learns how to do it.
“The Second tells us what is right
In ceremonious calls:
First burn a blue or crimson light,
(A thing I quite forgot to-night,)
[150] Then scratch the door or walls.”
I said “You’ll visit here no more,
If you attempt the Guy:
I’ll have no bonfires on my floor –
And, as for scratching at the door,
I’d like to see you try!”
“The Third was written to protect
The interests of the Victim,
And tells us, as I recollect,
To treat him with a grave respect,
[160] And not to contradict him.”
“That’s plain,” said I, “as Tare and Tret,
To any comprehension:
I only wish some ghosts I’ve met
Would not so constantly forget
The maxim that you mention.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “you first transgressed
The laws of hospitality:
You’ll mostly come off second-best
When you omit to treat your guest
[170] With proper cordiality.
“If you address a ghost as ‘thing,’
Or strike him with a hatchet,
He is permitted by the king
To drop all formal parleying –
And then you’re sure to catch it!
“The Fourth prohibits trespassing
Where other ghosts are quartered:
And those convicted of the thing
(Unless when pardoned by the king)
[180] Must instantly be slaughtered.”
I said “That rule appears to me
Wanting in common sense –”
“‘To slaughter’ does not mean,” said he,
“‘To kill’ with us, and that, you see,
Makes a great difference.
“In fact we’re simply cut up small,
(Ghosts soon unite anew;)
The process scarcely hurts at all,
Not more than when you’re what you call
[190] ‘Cut up’ by a Review.
“The Fifth is one you may prefer
That I should quote entire –
The king must be addressed as ‘Sir’:
This, from a simple courtier,
Is all the laws require:
“But, should you wish to do the thing
With out-and-out politeness,
Accost him as ‘My Goblin-King!’
And always use, in answering,
[200] The phrase ‘Your Royal Whiteness!’
“I’m getting rather hoarse, I fear,
After so much reciting;
So, if you don’t object, my dear,
We’ll try a glass of bitter beer –
I think it looks inviting.”
Canto III – Scarmoges
“And did you really walk,” said I,
“On such a wretched night?
I always fancied ghosts could fly –
If not exactly in the sky,
[210] Yet at a fairish height.”
“It’s very well,” he said, “for kings
To fly above the earth:
But Phantoms often find that wings,
Like many other pleasant things,
Cost more than they are worth.
“Spectres of course are rich, and so
Can buy them from the Elves:
But we prefer to keep below –
They’re stupid company, you know,
[220] For any but themselves.
“For, though they claim to be exempt
From pride, they treat a Phantom
As something quite beneath contempt,
(Just as no turkey ever dreamt
Of noticing a Bantam).”
“They seem too proud,” said I, “to go
To houses such as mine –
Pray how did they contrive to know
So quickly that ‘the place was low,’
[230] And that I ‘kept bad wine’?”
“Inspector Kobold called on you –”
The little ghost began:
Here I broke in; “Inspector who?
Inspecting ghosts is something new:
Explain yourself, my man!”
“His name is Kobold,” said my guest,
“One of the Spectre order:
You’ll very often see him dressed
In a yellow gown, a crimson vest,
[240] And a night-cap with a border.
“He tried the Brocken business first,
But caught a sort of chill;
So came to England to be nursed,
And here it took the form of thirst,
Which he complains of still.
“The remedy, he says, is port,
(Which he compares to nectar,)
And, as the inns where it is bought,
Have always been his chief resort,
[250] We call him the ‘Inn-Spectre.’”
I bear it as well as any man
The washiest of witticisms;
And nothing could be sweeter than
My temper, till the ghost began
Some most provoking criticisms.
“Cooks need not be indulged in waste,
Yet still you’d better teach them
Dishes should have some sort of taste –
Pray, why are all the cruets placed
[260] Where nobody can reach them?
“That man of yours will never earn
His living as a waiter –
Is that queer thing supposed to burn?
(It’s far too dismal a concern
To call a Moderator).
“The duck was tender, but the peas
Were very much too old:
And just remember, if you please,
The next time you have toasted cheese,
[270] Don’t let them send it cold.
“You’d find the bread improved, I think,
By getting better flour:
And have you anything to drink
That looks a little less like ink,
And isn’t quite so sour?”
Then, peering round with curious eyes,
He muttered “Goodness gracious!”
And so went on to criticise –
“Your room’s an inconvenient size;
[280] It’s neither snug nor spacious.
“That narrow window, I expect,
Serves but to let the dusk in –”
I cried “But please to recollect
’Twas fashioned by an architect
Who pinned his faith on Ruskin!”
“I don’t care who he was, Sir, or
On whom he pinned his faith!
Constructed by whatever law,
So poor a job I never saw,
[290] As I’m a living Wraith!
&
nbsp; “What a re-markable cigar!
How much are they a dozen?”
I growled “No matter what they are!
You’re getting as familiar
As if you were my cousin!
“Now that’s a thing I will not stand,
And so I tell you flat –”
“Aha,” said he, ‘We’re getting grand!”
(Taking a bottle in his hand,)
[300] “I’ll soon arrange for that!”
And here he took a careful aim,
And gaily cried “Here goes!”
I tried to dodge it as it came,
But somehow caught it, all the same,
Exactly on my nose.
And I remember nothing more
That I can clearly fix,
Till I was sitting on the floor,
Repeating “Two and five are four,
[310] But three and two are six.”
What really passed I never learned,
Nor guessed: I only know
That, when at last my sense returned,
The lamp, neglected, dimly burned –
The fire was getting low –
Through driving mists I seemed to see
A form of sheet and bone –
And found that he was telling me
The whole of his biography,
[320] In a familiar tone.
Canto IV – Hys Nouryture
“Oh, when I was a little Ghost,
A merry time had we!
Each seated on his favourite post,
We chumped and chawed the buttered toast
They gave us for our tea.”
“That story is in print!” I cried.
“Don’t say it’s not, because
It’s known as well as Bradshaw’s Guide!”
(The ghost uneasily replied
[330] He hardly thought it was.)
“It’s not in Nursery Rhymes? And yet
I almost think it is –
‘Three little ghostesses’ were set
‘On postesses,’ you know, and ate
Their ‘buttered toastesses.’
“I have the book; so if you doubt it –”
I turned to search the shelf –
“Don’t stir!” he cried. “We’ll do without it:
I now remember all about it;
[340] I wrote the thing myself.
“It came out in a ‘Monthly,’ or
At least my agent said it did:
Some literary swell, who saw
It, thought it seemed adapted for
The Magazine he edited.
“My father was a Brownie, Sir;
My mother was a Fairy.
The notion had occurred to her,
The children would be happier,
[350] If they were taught to vary.
“The notion soon became a craze;
And, when it once began, she
Brought us all out in different ways –
One was a Pixy, two were Fays,
Another was a Banshee;
“The Fetch and Kelpie went to school
And gave a lot of trouble;
Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,
And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),
[360] A Goblin, and a Double –
“(If that’s a snuff-box on the shelf,”
He added with a yawn,
“I’ll take a pinch) – next came an Elf,
And then a Phantom (that’s myself),
And last, a Leprechaun.
“One day, some Spectres chanced to call,
Dressed in the usual white:
I stood and watched them in the hall,
And couldn’t make them out at all,
[370] They seemed so strange a sight:
“I wondered what on earth they were,
That looked all head and sack;
But mother told me not to stare,
And then she twitched me by the hair,
And punched me in the back.
“Since then I’ve often wished that I
Had been a Spectre born:
But what’s the use?” (He heaved a sigh.)
“They are the ghost-nobility,
[380] And look on us with scorn.
“My phantom-life was soon begun:
When I was barely six,
I went out with an older one –
And just at first I thought it fun,
And went at it like bricks.
“I’ve haunted dungeons, castles, towers –
Wherever I was sent:
I’ve often sat and howled for hours,
Drenched to the skin with driving showers,
[390] Upon a battlement.
“It’s quite old-fashioned now to groan
When you begin to speak:
This is the newest thing in tone –”
And here, (it chilled me to the bone)
He gave an awful squeak.
“Perhaps,” he added, “to your ear
That sounds an easy thing?
Try it yourself, my little dear!
It took me something like a year,
[400] With constant practising.
“And when you’ve learned to squeak, my man,
And caught the double sob,
You’re pretty much where you began –
Just try and gibber if you can!
That’s something like a job!
“I’ve tried it, and can only say
I’m sure you couldn’t do it, e-
ven if you practised night and day,
Unless you have a turn that way,
[410] And natural ingenuity.
“Shakespeare I think it is who treats
Of Ghosts, in days of old,
Who ‘gibbered in the Roman streets,’
Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets –
They must have found it cold.
“I’ve often spent ten pounds on stuff,
In dressing as a Double,
But, though it answers as a puff,
It never has effect enough
[420] To make it worth the trouble.
“Long bills soon quenched the little thirst
I had for being funny –
The setting-up is always worst:
Such heaps of things you want at first,
One must be made of money!
“For instance, take a haunted tower,
With skull, cross-bones, and sheet;
Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour,
Condensing lens of extra power,
[430] And set of chains, complete:
“What with the things you have to hire –
The fitting on the robe –
And testing all the coloured fire –
The outfit of itself would tire
The patience of a Job!
“And then they’re so fastidious,
The Haunted-House Committee:
I’ve often known them make a fuss
Because a ghost was French, or Russ,
[440] Or even from the City!
“Some dialects are objected to –
For one, the Irish brogue is:
And then, for all you have to do,
One pound a week they offer you,
And find yourself in Bogies!”
Canto V – Byckerment
“Don’t they consult the ‘Victims,’ though?”
I said. “They should, by rights,
Give them a chance – because, you know,
The tastes of people differ so,
[450] Especially in Sprites.”
The Phantom shook his head and smiled:
“Consult them? Not a bit!
’Twould be a job to drive one wild,
To satisfy one single child –
There’d be no end to it!”
“Of course you can’t leave children free,”
Said I, “to pick and choose:
But, in the case of men like me,
I think ‘Mine Host’ might fairly be
[460] Allowed to state his views.”
He said “It really wouldn’t pay –
Folk are so full of fancies.
We visit for a single day,
And whether then we go, or stay,
Depends on circumstances.
“And, though we don’t consult ‘Mine Host’
Before the thing’s arranged,
Still, if the tenant quits his post,
Or is not a well-mannered ghost,
[470] Then you can have him changed.
“But if the host’s a man like you –
I mean a man of sense;
And if the house is not too new –”
“Why, what has that,” said I, “to do
With ghost’s convenience?”
“A new house does not suit, you know –
It’s such a job to trim it:
But, after twenty years or so,
The wainscotings begin to go,
[480] So twenty is the limit.”
“To trim” was not a phrase I could
Remember having heard:
“Perhaps,” I said, “you’ll be so good
As tell me what is understood
Exactly by that word?”
“It means the loosening all the doors,”
The ghost replied, and laughed:
“It means the drilling holes by scores
In all the skirting-boards and floors,
[490] To make a thorough draught.
“You’ll sometimes find that one or two
Are all you really need
To let the wind come whistling through –
But here there’ll be a lot to do!”
I faintly gasped “Indeed!
“If I’d been rather later, I’ll
Be bound,” I added, trying
(Most unsuccessfully) to smile,
“You’d have been busy all this while,
[500] Trimming and beautifying?”
“Why, no,” said he; “perhaps I should
Have stayed another minute –
But still no ghost, that’s any good,
Without an introduction would
Have ventured to begin it.
“The proper thing, as you were late,
Was certainly to go:
But, with the roads in such a state,
I got the Knight-Mayor’s leave to wait
[510] For half an hour or so.”
“Who’s the Knight-Mayor?” I cried. Instead
Of answering my question,
“Well! if you don’t know that,” he said,
“Either you never go to bed,
Or you’ve a grand digestion!
“He goes about and sits on folk
That eat too much at night:
His duties are to ‘pinch, and poke,
And squeeze them till they nearly choke.’”
[520] (I said “It serves them right!”)
“And folk who sup on things like these –”
He muttered, “eggs and bacon –
Jabberwocky and Other Nonsense Page 11