The Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook 685

THE RETIRED PORK-BUTCHER AND THE

SPOOK

I MAY as well

Proceed to tell
About a Mister Higgs,
Who grew quite rich
In trade the which
Was selling pork and pigs.

From trade retired,
He much desired
To rank with gentlefolk,
So bought a place

He called "The Chase,"
And furnished it-old oak.

Ancestors got

(Twelve pounds the lot,
In Tottenham Court Road);
A pedigree-

For nine pounds three,

The Heralds' Court bestowed.

Within the hall,

And on the wall,

Hung armour bright and strong.

"To Ethelbred

The label read

"De Higgs, this did belong."

'Twas quite complete,

This country seat,

Yet neighbours stayed away.

Nobody called,

Higgs was blackballed,

Which caused him great dismay.

<< Why can it be?" One night said he When thinking of it o'er. There came a knock ('Twas twelve o'clock) Upon his chamber door.

Higgs cried, "Come in!"
A vapour thin

The keyhole wandered through.
Higgs rubbed his eyes

In mild surprise:

A ghost appeared in view.

"I beg," said he, "You'll pardon me, In calling rather late. A family ghost,

I seek a post,

With wage commensurate.

"I'll serve you well;

My fiendish yell' Is certain sure to please. 'Sepulchral tones,'

And rattling bones,' I'm very good at these.

"Five bob I charge

To roam at large,

With clanking chains' ad lib.;

I do such things

As 'gibberings'

At one-and-three per gib.

"Or, by the week,

I merely seek

Two pounds-which is not dear;

Because I need,

Of course, no feed,

No washing, and no beer."

The Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook 687

Higgs thought it o'er

A bit, before

He hired the family ghost,

But, finally,

He did agree

To give to him the post.

It got about—

You know, no doubt,
How quickly such news flies-
Throughout the place,
From "Higgses Chase"
Proceeded ghostly cries.

The rumour spread,
Folks shook their head,
But dropped in one by one.
A bishop came

(Forget his name),

And then the thing was done.

For afterwards

All left their cards,

"Because," said they, "you see,

One who can boast

A family ghost
Respectable must be."

When it was due,

The "ghostes's" screw

Higgs raised-as was but right—

They often play,

In friendly way,

A game of cards at night.

G. E. Farrow.

SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE

Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme,-
On Apuleius's Golden Ass,

Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,—

The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!

Body of turkey, head of owl,

Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,

Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,

Over and over the Mænads sang:

"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt

By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Skipper Ireson's Ride

Small pity for him!-He sailed away
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,-
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's-people on her deck!
"Lay by lay by!" they called to him.
Back he answered, "Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!"

And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lie forevermore.
Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea,-
Looked for the coming that might not be!
What did the winds and the sea-birds say
Of the cruel captain who sailed away?—
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!

Through the street, on either side,
Up flew windows, doors swung wide;
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.
Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,
Hulks of old sailors run aground,
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
Little the wicked skipper knew

Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.

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