It's fancying, fable-making, nonsense-work-
What never meant to be so very bad-

The knack of story-telling, brightening up
Each dull old bit of fact that drops its shine.
One does see somewhat when one shuts one's eyes,
If only spots and streaks; tables do tip

In the oddest way of themselves and pens, good

Lord,

Who knows if you drive them or they drive you?
'Tis but a foot in the water and out again;
Not that duck-under which decides your dive.
Note this, for it 's important: listen why.

I'll prove, you push on David till he dives
And ends the shivering. Here's your circle, now:
Two-thirds of them, with heads like you their host,

Turn up their eyes, and cry, as you expect,

66

Lord, who'd have thought it!" But there's always

one

Looks wise, compassionately smiles, submits

"Of your veracity no kind of doubt,

But do you feel so certain of that boy's?

Really, I wonder! I confess myself

More chary of my faith!" That's galling, sir!

What, he the investigator, he the sage,

When all 's done? Then, you just have shut your eyes,

Opened your mouth, and gulped down David whole, You! Terrible were such catastrophe!

So, evidence is redoubled, doubled again,

And doubled besides; once more, "He heard, we

heard,

You and they heard, your mother and your wife,
Your children and the stranger in your gates:
Did they or did they not?" So much for him,
The black sheep, guest without the wedding-garb,
And doubting Thomas! Now's your turn to crow:
"He's kind to think you such a fool: Sludge cheats?
Leave you alone to take precautions!"

Straight

The rest join chorus. Thomas stands abashed,
Sips silent some such beverage as this,
Considers if it be harder, shutting eyes
And gulping David in good fellowship,
Than going elsewhere, getting, in exchange,
With no egg-nogg to lubricate the food,

Some just as tough a morsel. Over the way,

Holds Captain Sparks his court: is it better there?

Have not you hunting-stories, scalping-scenes,

And Mexican War exploits to swallow plump

If

you 'd be free of the stove-side, rocking-chair, And trio of affable daughters?

Doubt succumbs!

Victory! All your circle 's yours again!

Out of the clubbing of submissive wits,

David's performance rounds, each chink gets patched,
Every protrusion of a point 's filed fine,

All 's fit to set a-rolling round the world,
And then return to David finally,

Lies seven-feet-thick about his first half-inch.
Here's a choice birth of the supernatural,

Poor David's pledged to! You've employed no tool
That laws exclaim at, save the devil's own,
Yet screwed him into henceforth gulling you
To the top of your bent,—all out of one half-lie!

You hold, if there's one half or a hundredth part
Of a lie, that 's his fault,-his be the penalty!
I dare say! You'd prove firmer in his place?
You'd find the courage,-that first flurry over,
That mild bit of romancing-work at end,—
To interpose with "It gets serious, this;
Must stop here. Sir, I saw no ghost at all.
Inform your friends I made . well, fools of them,
And found you ready made. I've lived in clover
These three weeks: take it out in kicks of me!"
I doubt it! Ask your conscience! Let me know,
Twelve months hence, with how few embellishments

You 've told almighty Boston of this passage

Of arms between us, your first taste of the foil

From Sludge who could not fence, sir! Sludge, your boy!

I lied, sir, there! I got up from my gorge

On offal in the gutter, and preferred

Your canvass-backs: I took their carver's size,
Measured his modicum of intelligence,

Tickled him on the cockles of his heart

With a raven feather, and next week found myself
Sweet and clean, dining daintily, dizened smart,
Set on a stool buttressed by ladies' knees,
Every soft smiler calling me her pet,
Encouraging my story to uncoil

And creep out from its hole, inch after inch,

66

How last night, I no sooner snug in bed,

Tucked up, just as they left me, than came raps !

While a light whisked " "Shaped somewhat like a star ?"

"Well, like some sort of stars, ma'am."-" So we thought!

And any voice? Not yet? Try hard, next time, If you can't hear a voice; we think you may:

At least, the Pennsylvanian 'mediums' did." Oh, next time comes the voice! "Just as we hoped!"

Are not the hopers proud now, pleased, profuse
Of the natural acknowledgment?

Of course!

So, off we push, illy-oh-yo, trim the boat,

On we sweep with a cataract ahead,

We 're midway to the Horse-shoe: stop, who can,
The dance of bubbles gay about our prow!
Experiences become worth waiting for,
Spirits now speak up, tell their inmost mind,
And compliment the "medium" properly,
Concern themselves about his Sunday coat,

See rings on his hand with pleasure. Ask yourself
How you 'd receive a course of treats like these!
Why, take the quietest hack and stall him

up,

Cram him with corn a month, then out with

him

Among his mates on a bright April morn,

With the turf to tread;

see if

you

find or no A caper in him, if he bucks or bolts!

Much more a youth whose fancies sprout as rank
As toadstool-clump from melon-bed. 'Tis soon,
"Sirrah, you spirit, come, go, fetch and carry,
Read, write, rap, rub-a-dub, and hang yourself!"
I'm spared all further trouble; all 's arranged;
Your circle does my business; I may rave