  The Ghosts of Hampton Court IN THE following verses, a remarkable supernatural interview is narrated. It is now for the first time launched into publicity, on the authority, and with the approbation of a quaint old friend of mine, Professor Simon Chuffkrust, a savant who has daringly groped his way through certain gloomy mysteries of occult science. The confidential and impressive manner of Chuffkrust, is jewelled with eyes of sparkling jet, semitoned behind a screen of moonblue spectacles. It also hints at the necessity, and use, of making the ghost a more familiar study, whereby the belated world would rid itself of much unnecessary fright, consequent on the invariable habit of spasmodically avoiding the familiar advances of the common or bedroom spook. I N Hampton Court I wandered on a twilight evening grey,Amidst its mazy precincts I had lost my tourist way, And while I cogitated, on a seat of carven stone, I heard beneath an orange tree, an elongated groan! I crinkled with astonishment, 'twas not a fit of fright, For loud elastic wailings, I have heard at twelve at night, The midnight peace disturbing in the lamplit streets below, But this was uttered in an unfamiliar groan of woe, And Hampton Court I wot had got some questionable nooks, In which it harboured spectres, and disreputable spooks, In which it shrouded headless Queens, and shades of evil Kings With ill-conditioned titled knaves, in lemans leading strings. I listened! 'twas a voice that cried as 'twere from out the dust Of time, that clogged its music, with a husk of mould and rust, A voice that once as tenor, might have won a slight repute, But combination now of asthma, whooping cough, and flute. I sauntered towards the orange tree, and lo! the gloaming thro' I saw a man in trunk and hose, and silver buckled shoe, With ruffles and embroidered vest, in wig without a hat, Inclining to the contour, which is designated fat. Just then the waxing moonlight bloomed behind, and lifed the stain illustration Of color thro' him, like a Saint upon a window pane, I could not spare such noted chance; so stepping from the gloom, I bowed politely and exclaimed "A Spectre I presume?" With glad pathetic wondered look, but still in tones of woe, He answered thus, "Alack! ah me I am exactly so" And confidential gleam of hope across his features grew, Which gave me courage thus to start a social interview. "I pray of thee to speak, alas! why grims it so with thee? Some evil canker nips thy peace, divulge thy wrongs to me, That I may give thee hope, for I am one to sympathize With manhood's lamentation, as with womanhood, her sighs, But ha! Mayhap it fits your jest, with elongated groan, To seek to fright me, as I'm here in Hampton Court alone, To wreck my spirits as of old has been the game of spook," illustration The spectre turned upon me with a sad reproachful look. And cried, "Alack! that living men, so long have held it good, To flee from Ghosts, and hence the Ghost is not yet understood, Now as for me, I moan it not, for jest of idle sport, My task, it is as murdered Ghost, to haunt in Hampton Court! I play the victim to a spook, who chucked me down a stair, Thro' being caught too near my lady's bedroom unaware." "Poor shade of ill mischance!" I sobbed, the while a wayward tear, Tricked out along my nose, and lodged upon my tunic here, "I pray that thou would'st tell me all, withholding ne'er a jot, For I might do thee service, in some most unlikely spot," "O blessed chance!" the Ghost exclaimed, "Thou art the only one Of all men else, who spoke me so, they always turn and run! Thou art the first, that I have seen drop sympathetic tears, Responsive to my moanings, aye for full one hundred years! And so I feel that I can speak in unreserving tone, And give thee cause for this alack! my chronic nightly groan! When I was in my thirties, I engaged to mind the spoons, Of Colonel Sir John Bouncer, of the Sixty-fifth Dragoons, And tho' of lowly stature, I am proud I was by half, More manly than the footman, by step, and chest, and calf. With frontispiece well favored, in a frame of powdered wig, I wot amongst the female sex, I joyed a game of tig, I played the captivating spark, till Colonel Bouncer caught Me jesting with my Mistress, and he spake with furious haught, Expressed him his disfavor loud, unto my Lady thus, "An' thou do not discharge the knave, 'twill cause some future fuss, The cock-a-dandy bantam, pillory graduate, and scoff On manhood, give him notice!" but no, she begged me off. It was not long thereafter, an early postman bore A warrant for the Colonel, to start for Singapore, He sailed, and in the August, 'twas just ten months away He stayed, and he was due in town, upon the first of May, Twas on that ninth of August at twelve o'clock at night, 'Thro Bouncer Hall I wandered, to see that all was right; And in my course of searching, to check the silver stock, I chanced upon the key, with which my Lady wound the clock, A Louis clock she valued, it was on the mantel shelf In her boudoir, her habit was to wind it up herself, I brought it to her bedroom, and scratched a single knock, And asked her through the keyhole, if she had wound the clock. illustration My words were scarcely uttered, when from another door, I heard a foot, that should have been that night in Singapore! I saw an eye, that should have seen that night a foreign shore, "Ha! Caitiff knave!!" He shouted, 'Twas all I heard, no more, He collared me by neck, and breech, and swept me off the floor, And bore me down the corridor, And hoisting me as light as cork, an act I could not check, He flung me down the oaken stair, and wanton cracked my neck! For that he paid the penalty, one day on Tyburn tree, Alack! it was the sorest deed, the Law could wreak for me For when it made a Ghost of him, he came, and sought me out, Where haunting at my Lady's door, I heard the self-same shout, Of "Caitiff knave!!" The pity on't! he took me unaware, illustration Once more by gripping of my breech, and tossed me down the stair! Night after night he compassed it, nor recked he who was there But by my crop, and grip of trunks, he bumped me down the stair! Thus mortified by evil fate, his widow nightly wept, To hear the periodic row, and scarce a wink she slept; She daily sought to lay his ghost by penance and by prayer, And got a brace of saintly monks, to exorcise the scare With holy water sprinked about, a jot he did not care! But seized me with a fiercer grip, and jocked me down the stair! And mocked the frightened monks, who flew, with fringe of standing hair. At last his widow could not reck his evil conduct there, She moved to otherwhere. The only tenants that remained in Bouncer Hall, were rats, Until 'twas taken down, to build some fashionable flats, And when the workmen moved the stair, I wot he was cut up, To see its broken banisters, upon a cart put up. But vengeance of his hate for me, remained a danger yet, To find a suitable resort, to work it out he set, And tapped the telephone, until he heard of that resort; It is an antient oaken stair, that's here in Hampton Court, 'Twas vacant of a Ghost, I faith, a lobby to be let, And with some Royal Spook, he had a ghostly compact set, And then he brought me here to work, his midnight murder yet. An hour ago, accosting me, says he to me, "Prepare! Be ready! for once more to-night, I'll crock thee down the stair! illustration To-night, a cousin German of the noble house of Teck Will occupy the bedroom, and I'll have to crack thy neck!" In yonder wing, and up the stairs as high as thou canst go, There is the bedroom, with a door, of casement rather low, And if thou stay a night therein, thy sleep might wake for shock, Of scratching on the door, and keyhole cry, to wind your clock, And then the shout of "Caitiff knave!" And if thou'rt bold and dare, To peer out on that lobby then, he crocks me down the stair! And leaves thee shivering in thy shirt, with fright and besomed hair! I've heard the County Council, for the City weal is rife, I'd hold it as a favor, if thou'ds't intimate that life Is perilled on that lobby, and suggest in thy report, That lifts would be more suitable, than stairs in Hampton Court. illustration Then with a comprehensive wail of anguish at his fate, He gradually vanished thro' the grating of a gate, And left me sorely puzzled, in a sad reflective state, Then up a creeping tree, and spout, with stern resolve of hate Compressed within my breast for Bouncer's evil ghost I clomb, And slipping thro' the window frame with feline caution dumb, I slid behind a folding screen, and with a craning neck, I listened for the snoring of the Colonel Van der Teck, But not a soul had come that night into the room to rest, There was no cousin German, and the bed was yet unpressed; A knavish and mendacious trick it was of Bouncer's Ghost, To crack his butler's neck again, but with some beans and toast, I picketed behind the door, on eager ear to catch, The slightest human murmur, thro' the keyhole of the latch, At last it came! the midnight yet, was booming from a clock, When lo! a scratching on the door, and half-way thro' the lock, I heard the question, and with shout, I gave the ghosts a shock, By springing to the lobby, like a chip of blasting rock! And bounded twixt the spectres, with the rage of fighting cock, illustration Then facing Colonel Bouncer's Ghost, "Thou caitiff spook" I cried, "Was it for this, that Shakespeare wrote, and Colonel Hampden died? For this! that Cromwell lopped a royal head as traitor knave? For this! that all his cuirassiers were sworn to pray and shave? Was it for this we lost a world! when George the Third was king? For this! that laureates have lived of royal deeds to sing? For this! the printing press was made, torpedoes, dynamite? The iron ships, and bullet proof cuirass to scape the fight? Was it for this! we've wove around the world a social net Of speaking steel, that thou should'st perpetrate thy murder yet? Out! out on thee! as traitor of thine oath unto the crown! By gripping of thy butler, by his breech to jock him down, Was it for this! that justice wrung thy neck on Tyburn tree, To expiate the direful debt to justice due by thee? For this! did Lord Macaulay write "The Lays of Antient Rome?" For this! did Government send out to bring us Jabez home? Have we been privileged to pay our swollen rates and tax? And legislative rights imposed upon the noble's backs? For this! was England parcelled out amongst the Norman few, That thou should'st haunt in Hampton Court thy noisome work to do? For this! is London soaring up, to Babel flights of flats As cross between a poorhouse, and a prison?—are top hats Still worn by busmen, beadles, undertakers, men of prayer! That thou should'st cause the lieges to irradiate their hair, With horror at thy felon work? paugh! out upon thee! there! Thou misbegotten sprite! was it for this! we fought and flew, On many a bloody battle field, right on to Peterloo? Thou gall embittered martinet! What boots it if thou crack Thy butler's neck? Unto that lock, he'll still be harking back, And grow envigorated, by thy ghastly midnight work, Like shooting of the chutes, or breezing down the switchback jerk! "Psha! that unto thee!" and I snapped my finger at him "bosh! Go, give thy vengeful spirit to contrition, for the wash, And with the soap of keen remorse, erase the stain of blood, From out thy soul, and straight atone, with deeds of useful good, Go, croak behind the Marble Arch, or take a flag and stand In Grosvenor Square, as captain of a hallelujah band, Do anything, but mockery of murder, in the dark, Ay even spout in windy speech, from wagons in the park, Thou thing of misty cobwebine! thou woman frighter go! And never more be seen again, to make thyself a show. For children's fears, or if thou would'st a manly vengeance dare, Pick up this fourteen stone of mine, and jock me down the stair Thou idiot spook, thou ill-conditioned cloud concocted sprite With the immortal bard I cry, Avaunt! and quit my sight!" So fiercely did I thus denounce, his evil midnight trick, The vigour of the vengeful scowl upon his brow grew sick With quail of deep abasement, to behold a mortal's blood On fire, to beard a felon spook, and ghosts were understood, A transposition of remorse, upon his features came, Until he shook before me, in an abject wreck of shame, And cried with tones of keen reproach, "Adzooks! Alack! Ah me! Oddsbodikins, well well! heigho! that I should die to see, My ghost derided, with contempt of scoffing stock from thee! But of thy clacking caustic tongue, I prithee give no more, I'll take my passage by a breeze, to-night for Singapore, Or anywhere the wind may blow, Japan! or Timbuctoo! To rid me of thy clapper jaw, a flout on thee! Adieu!" He then evaporated, and with some pride embued, I turned, for an expression of the butler's gratitude, But he was gone! and from his place, with india rubber shoe, A lamp was flashed upon my face, by number 90, Q, They're never where they're wanted, and that blue, belted elf, Did hail me up for trespass, and for shouting to myself! decoration |
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