Poems of James Russell Lowell Part 80

Soon they grew wider in their scope; Whenever Knott a door would ope, It would ope not, or else elope And fly back (curbless as a trope Once started down a stanza's slope By a bard that gave it too much rope--) Like a clap of thunder slamming; And, when kind Jenny brought his hat, (She always, when he walked, did that,) Just as upon his head it sat, Submitting to his settling pat-- Some unseen hand would jam it flat, Or give it such a furious bat That eyes and nose went cramming Up out of sight, and consequently, As when in life it paddled free, His beaver caused much d.a.m.ning; If these things seemed o'erstrained to be, Read the account of Docter Dee, 'Tis in our college library; Read Wesley's circ.u.mstantial plea, And Mrs. Crowe, more like a bee, Sucking the nightshade's honeyed fee, And Stilling's Pneumatology; Consult Scot, Glanvil, and grave Wierus, and both Mathers; further, see Webster, Gasaubon, James First's treatise, a right royal Q. E. D.

Writ with the moon in perigee, Bodin de Demonomanie-- (Accent that last line gingerly) All full of learning as the sea Of fishes, and all disagree, Save in _Sathanas apage_!

Or, what will surely put a flea In unbelieving ears--with glee, Out of a paper (sent to me By some friend who forgot to P...

A... Y...,--I use cryptography Lest I his vengeful pen should dree-- His P... O... S... T... A... G... E...) Things to the same effect I cut, About the tantrums of a ghost, Not more than three weeks since, at most, Near Stratford, in Connecticut.

Knott's Upas daily spread its roots, Sent up on all sides livelier shoots, And bore more pestilential fruits; The ghosts behaved like downright brutes, They snipped holes in his Sunday suits, Practised all night on octave flutes, Put peas (not peace) into his boots, Whereof grew corns in season, They scotched his sheets, and, what was worse, Stuck his silk night-cap full of burs, Till he, in language plain and terse, (But much unlike a Bible verse,) Swore he should lose his reason.

The tables took to spinning, too, Perpetual yarns, and arm-chairs grew To prophets and apostles; One footstool vowed that only he Of law and gospel held the key, That teachers of whate'er degree To whom opinion bows the knee Weren't fit to teach Truth's a. b. c.

And were (the whole lot) to a T.

Mere fogies all and fossils; A teapoy, late the property Of Knox's Aunt Keziah, (Whom Jenny most irreverently Had nicknamed her aunt-tipathy) With tips emphatic claimed to be The prophet Jeremiah; The tins upon the kitchen-wall, Turned tintinnabulators all, And things that used to come at call For simple household services, Began to hop and whirl and prance, Fit to put out of countenance The _Commis_ and _Grisettes_ of France Or Turkey's dancing Dervises.

Of course such doings, far and wide, With rumors filled the country-side, And (as it is our nation's pride To think a Truth not verified Till with majorities allied,) Parties sprang up, affirmed, denied, And candidates with questions plied Who, like the circus-riders, tried At once both hobbies to bestride, And each with his opponent vied In being inexplicit.

Earnest inquirers multiplied; Folks, whose tenth cousins lately died, Wrote letters long, and Knott replied.

All who could either walk or ride, Gathered to wonder or deride, And paid the house a visit; Horses were at his pine-trees tied, Mourners in every corner sighed, Widows brought children there that cried, Swarms of lean Seekers, eager-eyed, (People Knott never could abide,) Into each hole and cranny pried With strings of questions cut and dried From the Devout Inquirer's Guide, For the wise spirits to decide-- As, for example, is it True that the d.a.m.ned are fried or boiled?

Was the Earth's axis greased or oiled?

Who cleaned the moon when it was soiled?

How baldness might be cured or foiled?

How heal diseased potatoes?

Did spirits have the sense of smell?

Where would departed spinsters dwell?

If the late Zenas Smith were well?

If Earth were solid or a sh.e.l.l?

Were spirits fond of Doctor Fell?

_Did_ the bull toll c.o.c.k-Robin's knell?

What remedy would bugs expel?

If Paine's invention were a sell?

Did spirits by Webster's system spell?

Was it a sin to be a belle?

Did dancing sentence folks to h.e.l.l?

If so, then where most torture fell-- On little toes or great toes?

If life's true seat were in the brain?

Did Ensign mean to marry Jane?

By whom, in fact, was Morgan slain?

Could matter ever suffer pain?

What would take out a cherry-stain?

Who picked the pocket of Seth Crane, Of Waldo precinct, State of Maine?

Was Sir John Franklin sought in vain?

Did primitive Christians ever train?

What was the family-name of Cain?

Them spoons, were they by Betty ta'en?

Would earth-worm poultice cure a sprain?

Was Socrates so dreadful plain?

What teamster guided Charles's wain?

Was Uncle Ethan mad or sane, And could his will in force remain?

If not, what counsel to retain?

Did Le Sage steal Gil Bias from Spain?

Was Junius writ by Thomas Paine?

Were ducks discomforted by rain?

_How_ did Britannia rule the main?

Was Jonas coming back again?

Was vital truth upon the wane?

Did ghosts, to scare folks, drag a chain?

Who was our Huldah's chosen swain?

Did none have teeth pulled without payin'

Ere ether was invented?

Whether mankind would not agree, If the universe were tuned in C.?

What was it ailed Lucindy's knee?

Whether folks eat folks in Feejee?

Whether _his_ name would end with T.?

If Saturn's rings were two or three, And what b.u.mp in Phrenology They truly represented?

These problems dark, wherein they groped, Wherewith man's reason vainly coped, Now that the spirit-world was oped, In all humility they hoped Would be resolved _instanter_; Each of the miscellaneous rout Brought his, or her, own little doubt, And wished to pump the spirits out, Through his, or her, own private spout, Into his, or her decanter.

PART III.

WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN THAT THE MOST ARDENT SPIRITS ARE MORE ORNAMENTAL THAN USEFUL.

Many a speculating wight Came by express-trains, day and night, To see if Knott would "sell his right,"

Meaning to make the ghosts a sight-- What they call a "meenaygerie;"

One threatened, if he would not "trade,"

His run of custom to invade, (He could not these sharp folks persuade That he was not, in some way, paid,) And stamp him as a plagiary, By coming down at one fell swoop, With THE ORIGINAL KNOCKING TROUPE , Come recently from Hades, Who (for a quarter-dollar heard) Would ne'er rap out a hasty word Whence any blame might be incurred From the most fastidious ladies; The late lamented Jesse Soule To stir the ghosts up with a pole And be director of the whole, Who was engaged the rather For the rare merits he'd combine, Having been in the spirit line, Which trade he only did resign, With general applause, to s.h.i.+ne, Awful in mail of cotton fine, As ghost of Hamlet's father!

Another a fair plan reveals Never yet hit on, which, he feels, To Knott's religious sense appeals-- "We'll have your house set up on wheels, A speculation pious; For music, we can shortly find A barrel-organ that will grind Psalm-tunes--an instrument designed For the New England tour--refined From secular drosses, and inclined To an unworldly turn, (combined With no sectarian bias;) Then, travelling by stages slow, Under the style of Knott & Co., I would accompany the show As moral lecturer, the foe Of nationalism; you could throw The rappings in, and make them go Strict Puritan principles, you know, (How _do_ you make 'em? with your toe?) And the receipts which thence might flow, We could divide between us; Still more attractions to combine, Beside these services of mine, I will throw in a very fine (It would do nicely for a sign) Original t.i.tian's Venus."

Another offered handsome fees If Knott would get Demosthenes, (Nay, his mere knuckles, for more ease,) To rap a few short sentences; Or if, for want of proper keys, His Greek might make confusion, Then just to get a rap from Burke, To recommend a little work On Public Elocution.

Meanwhile, the spirits made replies To all the reverent _whats_ and _whys_ Resolving doubts of every size, And giving seekers grave and wise, Who came to know their destinies, A rap-turous reception; When unbelievers void of grace Came to investigate the place, (Creatures of Sadducistic race, With grovelling intellects and base), They could not find the slightest trace To indicate deception; Indeed, it is declared by some That spirits (of this sort) are glum, Almost, or wholly, deaf and dumb, And (out of self-respect) quite mum To sceptic natures cold and numb, Who of _this_ kind of Kingdom Come Have not a just conception; True, there were people who demurred That, though the raps no doubt were heard Both under them and o'er them, Yet, somehow, when a search they made, They found Miss Jenny sore afraid, Or Jenny's lover, Doctor Slade, Equally awe-struck and dismayed, Or Deborah, the chamber-maid, Whose terrors, not to be gainsaid, In laughs hysteric were displayed, Was always there before them; This had its due effect with some Who straight departed, muttering, Hum!

Transparent hoax! and Gammon!

But these were few: believing souls Came, day by day, in larger shoals, As the ancients to the windy holes 'Neath Delphi's tripod brought their doles, Or to the shrine of Ammon.

The spirits seemed exceeding tame, Call whom you fancied, and he came; The shades august of eldest fame You summoned with an awful ease; As grosser spirits gurgled out From chair and table with a spout, In Auerbach's cellar once, to flout The senses of the rabble rout, Where'er the gimlet twirled about Of cunning Mephistophiles-- So did these spirits seem in store, Behind the wainscot or the door, Ready to thrill the being's core Of every enterprising bore With their astounding glamour; Whatever ghost one wished to hear, By strange coincidence, was near To make the past or future clear, (Sometimes in shocking grammar,) By raps and taps, now there, now here-- It seemed as if the spirit queer Of some departed auctioneer Were doomed to practise by the year With the spirit of his hammer; Whate'er you asked was answered, yet One could not very deeply get Into the obliging spirits' debt, Because they used the alphabet In all communications, And new revealings (though sublime) Rapped out, one letter at a time, With boggles, hesitations, Stoppings, beginnings o'er again, And getting matters into train, Could hardly overload the brain With too excessive rations, Since just to ask _if two and two_ _Really make four?_ or, _How d' ye do?_ And get the fit replies thereto In the tramundane rat-tat-too, Might ask a whole day's patience.

'Twas strange ('mongst other things) to find In what odd sets the ghosts combined, Happy forthwith to thump any Piece of intelligence inspired, The truth whereof had been inquired By some one of the company; For instance, Fielding, Mirabeau, Orator Henley, Cicero, Paley, John Zisca, Marivaux, Melancthon, Robertson, Junot, Scaliger, Chesterfield, Rousseau, Hakluyt, Boccaccio, South, De Foe, Diaz, Josephus, Richard Roe, Odin, Arminius, Charles _le gros_, Tiresias, the late James Crow, Casabianca, Grose, Prideaux, Old Grimes, Young Norval, Swift, Brissot, Maimonides, the Chevalier D'O, Socrates, Fenelon, Job, Stow, The inventor of _Elixir pro_, Euripides, Spinoza, Poe, Confucius, Hiram Smith, and Fo, Came (as it seemed, somewhat _de trop_) With a disembodied Esquimaux, To say that it was so and so, With Franklin's expedition; One testified to ice and snow, One that the mercury was low, One that his progress was quite slow, One that he much desired to go, One that the cook had frozen his toe, (Dissented from by Dandolo, Wordsworth, Cynaegirus, Boileau, La Hontan, and Sir Thomas Roe,) One saw twelve white bears in a row, One saw eleven and a crow, With other things we could not know (Of great statistic value, though) By our mere mortal vision.

Sometimes the spirits made mistakes, And seemed to play at ducks and drakes With bold inquiry's heaviest stakes In science or in mystery; They knew so little (and that wrong) Yet rapped it out so bold and strong, One would have said the entire throng Had been Professors of History; What made it odder was, that those Who, you would naturally suppose, Could solve a question, if they chose, As easily as count their toes, Were just the ones that blundered; One day, Ulysses, happening down, A reader of Sir Thomas Browne And who (with him) had wondered What song it was the Sirens sang, Asked the shrewd Ithacan--_bang! bang!_ With this response the chamber rang, "I guess it was Old Hundred."

And Franklin, being asked to name The reason why the lightning came, Replied, "Because it thundered."

On one sole point the ghosts agreed, One fearful point, than which, indeed, Nothing could seem absurder; Poor Colonel Jones they all abused, And finally downright accused The poor old man of murder; 'Twas thus; by dreadful raps was shown.

Some spirit's longing to make known A b.l.o.o.d.y fact, which he alone Was privy to, (such ghosts more p.r.o.ne In Earth's affairs to meddle are;) _Who are you?_ with awe-stricken looks, All ask: his airy knuckles he crooks, And raps, "I _was_ Eliab Snooks, That used to be a peddler; Some on ye still are on my books!"

Whereat, to inconspicuous nooks, (More fearing this than common spooks,) Shrank each indebted meddler; Further the vengeful ghost declared That while his earthly life was spared, About the country he had fared, A duly licensed follower Of that much-wandering trade that wins Slow profit from the sale of tins And various kinds of hollow-ware; That Colonel Jones enticed him in, Pretending that he wanted tin, There slew him with a rolling-pin, Hid him in a potatoe-bin, And (the same night) him ferried Across Great Pond to t' other sh.o.r.e, And there, on land of Widow Moore, Just where you turn to Larkin's store, Under a rock him buried; Some friends (who happened, to be by) He called upon to testify That what he said was not a lie, And that he did not stir this Foul matter, out of any spite But from a simple love of right;-- Which statements the Nine Worthies, Rabbi Akiba, Charlemagne, Seth, Colley Cibber, General Wayne, Cambyses, Ta.s.so, Tubal-Cain, The owner of a castle in Spain, Jehanghire, and the Widow of Nain, (The friends aforesaid) made more plain And by loud raps attested; To the same purport testified Plato, John Wilkes, and Colonel Pride Who knew said Snooks before he died, Had in his wares invested, Thought him ent.i.tled to belief And freely could concur, in brief, In everything the rest did.

Eliab this occasion seized, (Distinctly here the spirit sneezed,) To say that he should ne'er be eased Till Jenny married whom she pleased, Free from all checks and urgin's, (This spirit dropt his final g's) And that, unless Knott quickly sees This done, the spirits to appease, They would come back his life to tease, As thick as mites in ancient cheese, And let his house on an endless lease To the ghosts (terrific rappers these And veritable Eumenides) Of the Eleven Thousand Virgins!

Knott was perplexed and shook his head.

He did not wish his child to wed With a suspected murderer, (For, true or false, the rumor spread) But as for this roiled life he led, "It would not answer," so he said, "To have it go no furderer."

At last, scarce knowing what it meant, Reluctantly he gave consent That Jenny, since 'twas evident That she _would_ follow her own bent, Should make her own election.

For that appeared the only way These frightful noises to allay Which had already turned him gray And plunged him in dejection.

Accordingly, this artless maid Her father's ordinance obeyed, And, all in whitest c.r.a.pe arrayed, (Miss Pulsifer the dresses made And wishes here the fact displayed That she still carries on the trade, The third door south from Bagg's Arcade,) A very faint "I do" essayed And gave her hand to Hiram Slade, From which time forth, the ghosts were laid, And ne'er gave trouble after; But the Selectmen, be it known, Dug underneath the aforesaid stone, Where the poor peddler's corpse was thrown, And found thereunder a jaw-bone, Though, when the crowner sat thereon, He nothing hatched, except alone Successive broods of laughter; It was a frail and dingy thing, In which a grinder or two did cling, In color like mola.s.ses, Which surgeons, called from far and wide, Upon the horror to decide, Having put on their gla.s.ses, Reported thus--"To judge by looks, These bones, by some queer hooks or crooks, _May_ have belonged to Mr. Snooks, But, as men deepest-read in books Are perfectly aware, bones, If buried, fifty years or so, Lose their ident.i.ty and grow From human bones to bare bones."

Still, if to Jaalam you go down, You'll find two parties in the town, One headed by Benaiah Brown, And one by Perez Tinkham; The first believe the ghosts all through And vow that they shall never rue The happy chance by which they knew That people in Jupiter are blue, And very fond of Irish stew, Two curious facts which Prince Lee Boo Rapped clearly to a chosen few-- Whereas the others think 'em A trick got up by Doctor Slade With Deborah the chamber-maid And that sly cretur Jinny, That all the revelations wise, At which the Brownites made big eyes, Might have been given by Jared Keyes, A natural fool and ninny, And, last week, didn't Eliab Snooks Come back with never better looks, As sharp as new-bought mackerel hooks, And bright as a new pin, eh?