No More Learning

"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. "

[Picture: We chumped and chawed the buttered toast]

"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.