No More Learning

'_

"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. "

[Illustration]


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,
Yet at a fairish height. "

"It's very well," said he, "for Kings
To soar 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.
For any but themselves:

[Illustration]

"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,'
And that I 'kept bad wine'? "

"Inspector Kobold came to 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,
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.

[Illustration: "AND HERE IT TOOK THE FORM OF _THIRST_"]

"Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound,
Warms his old bones like nectar:
And as the inns, where it is found,
Are his especial hunting-ground,
We call him the _Inn-Spectre_. "

I bore it--bore 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!