  A Tram Car Ghost THE last car at night, is a vehicle laden with varied symptoms of mysterious hauntings that more or less oppress the fares, some toned down by the lassitude of overwork, drop gratefully into their seats, and quickly fall into fitful slumber, others seem to court a spasmodic notoriety by loud and disjointed converse. A weary of world expression clouds the features of a few with an unuttered protest, for the disagreeable fact of their birth, whilst others seem by their grumpy glances to suggest a jealous objection to other people's existence. A select few, unconsciously advertise a flippant gratification at the possession of life, and squeeze festivity from it, as colour from a blue rag. But all are haunted with the mysterious workings of unseen spirits, that usually accompany the fares, in the latest car at night. T HERE wasn't a soul in the tramway car,Well not that myself could see, But the sad conductor took my arm, And steadfast gazed on me— Then pointing up to the corner seat, "Look! that's his regular game, I'm sorry to have it to say of a ghost, But he hasn't a tint of shame!" You'll think the tram conductor was drunk, His breath was sweet as mine, Like the orris root, or a tint of mint, Or scent of a similar line. It might be a ginger cordial; but The air of the night was strong, And it wouldn't be proper to say I'm sure, I might perhaps be wrong. "Will you slack?" said I, but he caught my arm "The man that I killed is there! I hate to have it to say. But no, I can't recover my fare! I asked it from him one winter's night, But full as a tick with drink, The only answer he gave to me, Was just a chuckle and wink. With this American tink-a-ting, I couldn't defraud the Co., So caught his collar, and chucked him off The back of the tram car, so. There wasn't a soul that saw the deed, Not even the driver knew, And there he lay on the tramway track, Till the townward car was due. It broke his neck, and his shoulder blade, His legs, and arms, its broke, And laid him out, a squirming trout, 'Twas then he awoke, and spoke! Said he, "What's up? is the dancing done? The waltz has made me sore!" And wriggling out on the frosty ground, He never spoke no more! Heigho! the murder was caused by me, Was never a soul who knew, That I am the man, who chucked the man, That the townward tram car slew! And everybody on earth was done With the murdered man, but me! The very next night, in the corner seat, I looked, and there was he! I thought at first that he might be a twin, And asked his thruppeny fare, But he sneered at me, I turned away, And left him sneering there! Thinks I, I'll watch him, and jot my tot, And when he is goin' to go, I'll chuck him the same, as I did before, For sake of the tramway co. I calculated the list of fares, Then turned around to look, But hey! I'm blowed, if he hadn't gone off, Gone! with his bloomin' hook! But how it was done, or whither he went, I never could guess, or think, For the ventilators all were shut, There wasn't an open chink! And I was up at the door so tight, He couldn't have passed me by, I never did close an eye that night, No lid of a bloomin' eye! I hates to see the company done, And that was a cheated fare, I'd rather lose my regular meals, Than wrong the company, there! I'd rather work from ante M, six Till three of the A.M. clock, Than wrong the tramway co. of a coin, That wasn't my legal stock. There's nobody sees the ghost but me, Because he's a sneaking sprite, He always comes when I take my turn On the latest car at night. That's him! he's there in the corner seat, The man that I killed is there, I hate to have it to say, But no, I can't recover my fare! I've this American tink-a-ting, And tickets of sortin's three, But that embezzling raw will come To cheat, and sneer at me. I cawnt tell why, but he worry's me so, I'd collar him if I could, He hasn't a scruff, or any a crop, O' the neck, or flesh or blood, He hasn't a waistband, I could grip, Nor anythink I could kick, I'd like to fetch him a trip, but ah! To think of it, makes me sick He hasn't a face, to black his eye, Or even a hat to block, But all the same, in the corner there, He gives the fares a shock! He dosses himself in the favourite seat, And while he's nestlin' there, The passengers cawnt shove up to the end, To make my regular fare. For some insist that the seat is cold! And others complain it's hot! And some it's damp, and some remark, It's a most infernal spot! And some keep shovin' their sticks above, To let in the atmosphere, While others are closin' them up with a curse, The thing is devilish queer. It's pisonous hard on a man like me, Who lives on what he can get, But I'll have to try and see if I cawnt, Jest manage to shuffle him yet. Ha! there, he's gone! I knew that he would, Waltz out of my bloomin' sight! His regular trick with my thruppeny fare, Now—jump with the car, good night." illustration |
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