Phantasmagoria And Other Poems Part 3

"And, though we don't consult 'Mine Host'

Before the thing's arranged, Still, if he often quits his post, Or is not a well-mannered Ghost, 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, 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?"

[Picture: The wainscotings begin to go]

"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, 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, Tr.i.m.m.i.n.g 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 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."

(I said "It serves them right!")

"And folk who sup on things like these-"

He muttered, "eggs and bacon- Lobster-and duck-and toasted cheese- If they don't get an awful squeeze, I'm very much mistaken!

"He is immensely fat, and so Well suits the occupation: In point of fact, if you must know, We used to call him years ago, _The Mayor and Corporation_!

[Picture: He goes about and sits on folk]

"The day he was elected Mayor I _know_ that every Sprite meant To vote for _me_, but did not dare- He was so frantic with despair And furious with excitement.

[Picture: He ran to tell the King]

"When it was over, for a whim, He ran to tell the King; And being the reverse of slim, A two-mile trot was not for him A very easy thing.

"So, to reward him for his run (As it was baking hot, And he was over twenty stone), The King proceeded, half in fun, To knight him on the spot."

"'Twas a great liberty to take!"

(I fired up like a rocket).

"He did it just for punning's sake: 'The man,' says Johnson, 'that would make A pun, would pick a pocket!'"

"A man," said he, "is not a King."

I argued for a while, And did my best to prove the thing- The Phantom merely listening With a contemptuous smile.

At last, when, breath and patience spent, I had recourse to smoking- "Your _aim_," he said, "is excellent: But-when you call it _argument_- Of course you're only joking?"

[Picture: The phantom sitting on chair]

Stung by his cold and snaky eye, I roused myself at length To say "At least I do defy The veriest sceptic to deny That union is strength!"

"That's true enough," said he, "yet stay-"

I listened in all meekness- "_Union_ is strength, I'm bound to say; In fact, the thing's as clear as day; But _onions_ are a weakness."

CANTO VI Dyscomfyture

AS one who strives a hill to climb, Who never climbed before: Who finds it, in a little time, Grow every moment less sublime, And votes the thing a bore:

Yet, having once begun to try, Dares not desert his quest, But, climbing, ever keeps his eye On one small hut against the sky Wherein he hopes to rest:

Who climbs till nerve and force are spent, With many a puff and pant: Who still, as rises the ascent, In language grows more violent, Although in breath more scant:

Who, climbing, gains at length the place That crowns the upward track.

And, entering with unsteady pace, Receives a buffet in the face That lands him on his back:

[Picture: Decorative border of man climbing hall] And feels himself, like one in sleep, Glide swiftly down again, A helpless weight, from steep to steep, Till, with a headlong giddy sweep, He drops upon the plain-

So I, that had resolved to bring Conviction to a ghost, And found it quite a different thing From any human arguing, Yet dared not quit my post

But, keeping still the end in view To which I hoped to come, I strove to prove the matter true By putting everything I knew Into an axiom:

Commencing every single phrase With 'therefore' or 'because,'

I blindly reeled, a hundred ways, About the syllogistic maze, Unconscious where I was.

Quoth he "That's regular clap-trap: Don't bl.u.s.ter any more.

Now _do_ be cool and take a nap!

Such a ridiculous old chap Was never seen before!

"You're like a man I used to meet, Who got one day so furious In arguing, the simple heat Scorched both his slippers off his feet!"

I said "_That's very curious_!"

[Picture: Scorched both his slippers off his feet]

"Well, it _is_ curious, I agree, And sounds perhaps like fibs: But still it's true as true can be- As sure as your name's Tibbs," said he.

I said "My name's _not_ Tibbs."

"_Not_ Tibbs!" he cried-his tone became A shade or two less hearty- "Why, no," said I. "My proper name Is Tibbets-" "Tibbets?" "Aye, the same."

"Why, then YOU'RE NOT THE PARTY!"

With that he struck the board a blow That s.h.i.+vered half the gla.s.ses.