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Your fault! 'Tis you'll have forced me! Who 's


To give up life yet try no self-defence?

At all events, I'll run the risk. Eh?


May I sit, sir? This dear old table, now!

Please, sir, a parting egg-nogg and cigar!
I've been so happy with you! Nice stuffed chairs,
And sympathetic sideboards; what an end
To all the instructive evenings! (It's alight.)
Well, nothing lasts, as Bacon came and said!
Here goes,but keep your temper, or I'll scream!


You see, sir, it's your own fault more than mine;
It's all your fault, you curious gentlefolk!
You 're prigs,-excuse me,—like to look so spry,
So clever, while you cling by half a claw

To the perch whereon you puff yourselves at roost,
Such piece of self-conceit as serves for perch
Because you chose it, so it must be safe.
Oh, otherwise you 're sharp enough! You spy
Who slips, who slides, who holds by help of wing,
Wanting real foothold,-who can't keep upright
On the other perch, your neighbour chose, not you:

There's no outwitting you respecting him!

For instance, men love money—that, you know—
And what men do to gain it: well, suppose
A poor lad, say a help's son in your house,
Listening at keyholes, hears the company
Talk grand of dollars, V-notes, and so forth,
How hard they are to get, how good to hold,
How much they buy,—if, suddenly, in pops he-
"I've got a V-note!"--what do you say to him?
What's your first word which follows your last kick?
"Where did you steal it, rascal ?" That's because
He finds you, fain would fool you, off your perch,
Not on the special piece of nonsense, sir,
Elected your parade-ground: let him try
Lies to the end of the list,-" He picked it up,
His cousin died and left it him by will,
The President flung it to him, riding by,

An actress trucked it for a curl of his hair,
He dreamed of luck and found his shoe enriched,
He dug up clay, and out of clay made gold "-
How would you treat such possibilities?

Would not you, prompt, investigate the case

With cow-hide? "Lies, lies, lies," you'd shout and



Which of the stories might not prove mere truth?
This last, perhaps, that clay was turned to coin!


Let's see, now, give him me to speak for him!
How many of your rare philosophers,

In plaguy books I've had to dip into,

Believed gold could be made thus, saw it made
And made it? Oh, with such philosophers
You 're on your best behaviour! While the lad—
With him, in a trice, you settle likelihoods,
Nor doubt a moment how he got his prize:
In his case, you hear, judge and execute,
All in a breath: so would most men of sense.

But let the same lad hear you talk as grand
At the same keyhole, you and company,
Of signs and wonders, the invisible world;
How wisdom scouts our vulgar unbelief
More than our vulgarest incredulity;
How good men have desired to see a ghost,
What Johnson used to say, what Wesley did,
Mother Goose thought, and fiddle-diddle-dee :-
If he then break in with, "Sir, I saw a ghost!"
Ah, the ways change! He finds you perched and

It's a conceit of yours that ghosts may be:

There's no talk now of cow-hide. "Tell it out!
Don't fear us! Take your time and recollect!
Sit down first try a glass of wine, my boy!


And, David, (is not that your Christian name?)
Of all things, should this happen twice-it may-
Be sure, while fresh in mind, you let us know!"
Does the boy blunder, blurt out this, blab that,
Break down in the other, as beginners will?
All's candour, all 's considerateness-" No haste!
Pause and collect yourself! We understand!
That's the bad memory, or the natural shock,
Or the unexplained phenomena !"


The boy takes heart of grace; finds, never fear,
The readiest way to ope your own heart wide,
Show-what I call your peacock-perch, pet post
To strut, and spread the tail, and squawk upon!
"Just as you thought, much as you might expect!
There be more things in heaven and earth,

And so on. Shall not David take the hint,

Grow bolder, stroke you down at quickened rate?
If he ruffle a feather, it 's "Gently, patiently!
Manifestations are so weak at first!

Doubting, moreover, kills them, cuts all short,
Cures with a vengeance!"

There, sir, that's your style!

You and your boy-such pains bestowed on him,

Or any headpiece of the average worth,

To teach, say, Greek, would perfect him apace,
Make him a Person (" Porson?" thank you, sir!)
Much more, proficient in the art of lies.
You never leave the lesson! Fire alight,

Catch you permitting it to die! You've friends;
There's no withholding knowledge,―least from those
Apt to look elsewhere for their souls' supply:
Why should not you parade your lawful prize?
Who finds a picture, digs a medal up,

Hits on a first edition,-he henceforth

Gives it his name, grows notable: how much more, Who ferrets out a "medium ?"

"David 's yours,

You highly-favoured man? Then, pity souls
Less privileged! Allow us share your luck!"
So, David holds the circle, rules the roast,
Narrates the vision, peeps in the glass ball,
Sets to the spirit-writing, hears the raps,
As the case may be.

Now mark! To be preciseThough I say, "lies" all these, at this first stage, 'Tis just for science' sake: I call such grubs By the name of what they 'll turn to, dragonflies. Strictly, it's what good people style untruth; But yet, so far, not quite the full-grown thing:

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