Phantasmagoria and Other Poems | Page 3

it like a man -
This agonizing witticism!
And nothing
could be sweeter than
My temper, till the Ghost began
Some most
provoking criticism.
"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
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,
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:
It's neither snug nor spacious.
"That narrow window, I expect,
Serves but to let the dusk in--"
"But

please," said I, "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,
As I'm a
living Wraith!
"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)

"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,
But FIVE
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 Thing that smirked and
smiled:
And found that he was giving me
A lesson in Biography,

As if I were a child.
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

He hardly thought it was).
"It's not in Nursery Rhymes? And yet
I almost think it is -
'Three
little Ghosteses' were set
'On posteses,' you know, and ate
Their
'buttered toasteses.'
"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;
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,
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),
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,
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,

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 learned
a lot of tricks.
"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,
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,
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!