  Madame Stiffins ghost IN BURTON Crescent, on the semi-circle apex there, I lodged some little period up a six flight four foot stair, It came about by freak of chance, 'twas in a cul-de-sac, I found myself one morning, and compelled to tramp it back, Whilst blessing gates of London town that bar the traffic yet, I saw a window label, lettered, "lodgings to be let," A gloomy habitation 'twas, to give the nerves the creep! But possibly a comfortable roosting place to sleep, Of knockers on its oaken door, it bore a double stock, I took those knockers, and I struck duet of double knock, And just as I was rounding off my rallantando din, The door was gently opened and a lady cried "Come in!" I must confess, I fluttered with a flick of some surprise, To see a lady so petite, and with such piercing eyes, An artificial bloom was on her cheek, and nose, and neck, Her gown was of a quaint brocade in antique floral check. By transmutating hand of time, and his assistant care, The golden sheen to silver light was paling thro' her hair, And from the dentistry of art, that crowned her rippled chin, She greeted me with pearly smile, the moment I stepped in. I noted on her fingers small, some antique diamond rings, And in her slippers russet brown, she tripped as 'twere on springs, A dainty wrap, completed her little quaintly self, She seemed a living Watteau, that stepped from off a shelf. She seemed a living Watteau, from out a canvas sprung, She wasn't—no, she wasn't—well you could not call her young. She greeted me upsmiling, with business kindled fire, And volunteered the question, "What rooms do you require?" It wasn't my intention, to move upon that day, My humor was to dawdle, in idle sort of way, So left it to her option, if twenty rooms or one, In earth upon the basement, or garret near the sun. She showed her approbation of my eccentric style, And greeted me politely, with confidential smile, "I have a room, the lodger is yet remaining there, But leaving soon—I'll show it, if you will step the stair.— She mounted up before me, her little cloak, like wings, Did supplement her flexor, and her extensor springs, She paused upon each lobby, to note the pleasing scene, Of leaves amongst the chimneys, that lent a tint of green. The sanitary question, she settled with some pains, Explained, the County Council had just been down the drains, illustration And thus discussing features, and questions to be met, We landed on the landing of lodging to be let. Upon the door with knuckle she struck a low rum-tin, And tardily was answered by husky voice "Come in." To purpose of her visit, he gave a mild assent, Which somewhat indicated a debt of backward rent. We entered the apartment, and gaunt, and wan, and scared! From tangle of the blankets, blear-eyed, and towsel-haired, A moment rose the lodger, then underneath the clothes, He snapped himself like oyster, and only left his nose. I took a swift synopsis, again we stepped the stair, She bowed me to her parlour, and all around me there, Were virtue objects, suited for curioso sale, Art of the reign of Louis, and good old Chippendale, Cameo ware of Wedgewood, and Worcester bric-a-brac, Miniatures of beauties, and oriental lac, A cabinet and tables, in marquetry of buhl, And feminine arrangements, of bombazine and tulle. Old mezzotint engravings of Regent, buck and lord, Between the window curtains, an agÈd harpsichord.— The instrument she fingered, and sang an olden rune, She sang with taste, but slightly, the strings were out of tune, She warbled of the Regent, of Sheridan and Burke, Buck Nash, and of Beau Brummel, and of the fatal work, Enacted in a duel, then struck a broken string, And with a sigh she faltered, and then she ceased to sing. I told her, composition of song, was in my line, Then, with a look intended as tender and divine, And mode of days of Brummel, in manner and in style, She lauded up the bedroom with captivating smile, Electro-biologic, magnetic in her glance, She fixed me like a medium, as tenant in advance! I entered occupation, as soon as I could get, And everything in order, was for my comfort set, The room was daily garnished, and swept, my bed was made, In this was comprehended the lot for which I paid, My daily mastication, in public grill was frayed, Monotonous, and easy, with quiet self-content, I went and came in silence, in silence came and went, Was no domestic welcome when I came in, not one! And in the morning ditto, till I was up and gone. No sound of brush or bucket! no jar of door, or delph! No foot upon the stairs, except the pair I have myself! No smutty wench to greet me with cloud of dusty mat! No snarl of vicious lap dog, or hiss of humping cat! No slavey whiting up the steps, did ever strike my sight! Yet everything was fixed for me, when I came home at night! illustration illustration illustration But often on my pillow, when darkness was my ward, I heard the muffled numbers of distant harpsichord! I heard a plaintive ballad, to measured cadence set, Of long ago, that sounded for lordly minuet! In wierdly notes it fluttered and lingered on the wing, With wailing for the duel! the sigh! and broken string! But once when I was taking a smoking circumflex, Around the Burton Crescent, and just at its apex, I heard a voice behind me, that put me on some toast, "Look! there's the man, that's living with Madame Stiffin's Ghost!" I turned, and in the lamplight, distinctly I could see, A woman's dexter finger, was indicating me! "He's living as a lodger, above the second floor Of yonder house, that's haunted, with double-knockered door, Look! isn't he a cough-drop? it's only such a scare, Would live in such a lodging, with Madam Stiffin there!" I never felt so worried at anything before! Could scarcely find the keyhole of double-knockered door, And up the stairs I tottered, as in a walking trance, Next morning, she'd be coming for payment in advance, Next morning, at the striking of twelve upon the clock, I started from my slumber, it was her double knock! I jumped up at the summons, and leaping out of bed, I answered, and she entered, and unto her I said, "I'm here thro' false pretences; I understand you're dead!" illustration A peal of mocking laughter, the little Watteau shook, And with her arms akimbo, an attitude she struck, She made an accusation of drink, and with a glance Of keen reproach, demanded, her payment in advance! I had already promised myself, that none should boast, Of knowing me in future, as tenant of a ghost, So got my cash, pretending to settle there, and then, And just as she was lifting my eagle pointed pen, Said I "Perhaps you'll give me receipt for also this?" With that I would have tested her presence with a kiss! I think my arm went thro' her, of that I can't be sure, But with the table circuit, she took the bedroom door, I took it quite as quick, and abreviated sight, I caught of her next landing, and on her hasty flight, From lobby down to lobby I chased her like a hare, I tracked her to the kitchen, but lo! she wasn't there! I flew into the area, back up the stairs I flew, In drawing-room and parlour, in every bedroom too, To overtake and seize her, with skidding foot I sped, And under every sofa, and under every bed, I searched,—it was a marvel!—exploited every flue, Unlocked a couple of wardrobes and looked them thro' and thro', Until in all its horror, the grim conviction grew, I had in fact been lodging unconscious with a spook! I rushed to get my waistcoat, pants, traps, and took my hook! decoration |
|
