Phantasmagoria and Other Poems

by Lewis Carroll

  "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!

  "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,

  And natural ingenuity.

  "Shakspeare 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

  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,

  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,

  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,

  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

  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 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?"

  "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,

  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

  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!

  "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.

  "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?"

  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:

  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 bluster 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 !"

  "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 shivered half the glasses.

  "Why couldn't you have told me so

  Three quarters of an hour ago,

  You prince of all the asses?

  "To walk four miles through mud and rain,

  To spend the night in smoking,

  And then to find that it's in vain —

  And I've to do it all again —

  It's really too provoking!

  "Don't talk!" he cried, as I began

  To mutter some excuse.

  "Who can have patience with a man

  That's got no more discretion than

  An idiotic goose?

  "To keep me waiting here, instead

  Of telling me at once

  That this was not the house!" he said.

  "There, that'll do — be off to bed!

  Don't gape like that, you dunce!"

  "It's very fine to throw the blame

  On me in such a fashion!

  Why didn't you enquire my name

  The very minute that you came?"

  I answered in a passion.

  "Of course it worries you a bit

  To come so far on foot —

  But how was I to blame for it?"

  "Well, well!" said he. "I must admit

  That isn't badly put.

  "And certainly you've given me

  The best of wine and victual —

  Excuse my violence," said he,

  "But accidents like this, you see,

  They put one out a little.

  "'Twas my fault after all, I find —

  Shake hands, old Turnip-top!"

  The name was hardly to my mind,

  But, as no doubt he meant it kind,

  I let the matter drop.

  "Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!

  When I am gone, perhaps

  They'll send you some inferior Sprite,

  Who'll keep you in a constant fright

  And spoil your soundest naps.

  "Tell him you'll stand no sort of trick;

  Then, if he leers and chuckles,

  You just be handy with a stick

  (Mind that it's pretty hard and thick)

  And rap him on the knuckles!

  "Then carelessly remark 'Old coon!

  Perhaps you're not aware

  That, if you don't behave, you'll soon

  Be chuckling to another tune —

  And so you'd best take care!'

  "That's the right way to cure a Sprite

  Of such like goings-on —

  But gracious me! It's getting light!

  Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!"

  A nod, and he was gone.

  Canto VII — Sad Souvenaunce

  What's this?" I pondered. "Have I slept?

  Or can I have been drinking?"

  But soon a gentler feeling crept

  Upon me, and I sat and wept

  An hour or so, like winking.

  "No need for Bones to hurry so!"

  I sobbed. "In fact, I doubt

  If it was worth his while to go —

  And who is Tibbs, I'd like to know,

  To make such work about?

  "If Tibbs is anything like me,

  It's possible ," I said,

  "He won't be over-pleased to be

  Dropped in upon at half-past three,

  After he's snug in bed.

  "And if Bones plagues him anyhow —

  Squeaking and all the rest of it,

  As he was doing here just now —

  I prophesy there'll be a row,

  And Tibbs will have the best of it!"

  Then, as my tears could never bring

  The friendly Phantom back,

  It seemed to me the proper thing

  To mix another glass, and sing

  The following Coronach.

  'And art thou gone, beloved Ghost?

  Best of familiars!

  Nay then, farewell, my duckling roast,

  Farewell, farewell, my tea and toa
st,

  My meerschaum and cigars!

  The hues of life are dull and gray,

  The sweets of life insipid,

  When thou, my charmer, art away —

  Old Brick, or rather, let me say,

  Old Parallelepiped!'

  Instead of singing Verse the Third,

  I ceased — abruptly, rather:

  But, after such a splendid word

  I felt that it would be absurd

  To try it any farther.

  So with a yawn I went my way

  To seek the welcome downy,

  And slept, and dreamed till break of day

  Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay

  And Leprechaun and Brownie!

  For year I've not been visited

  By any kind of Sprite;

  Yet still they echo in my head,

  Those parting words, so kindly said,

  "Old Turnip-top, good-night!"

  Echoes

  LADY Clara Vere de Vere

  Was eight years old, she said:

  Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.

  She took her little porringer:

  Of me she shall not win renown:

  For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her down.

  "Sisters and brothers, little Maid?

  There stands the Inspector at thy door:

  Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four."

  "Kind words are more than coronets,"

  She said, and wondering looked at me:

  "It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea."

  A Sea Dirge

  THERE are certain things – as, a spider, a ghost,

  The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three –

  That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most

  Is a thing they call the Sea.