Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,

         Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well

      Rest on the friendly knee, intent to ask

               The tale one loves to tell.

      Rude scoffer of the seething outer strife,

         Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,

      Deem, if thou wilt, such hours a waste of life,

               Empty of all delight!

      Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy

         Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguilded.

      Ah, happy he who owns the tenderest joy,

               The heart-love of a child!

      Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!

         Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days,

      Albeit bright memories of the sunlit shore

               Yet haunt my dreaming gaze.

      One winter night, at half-past nine,

            Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,

      I had come home, too late to dine,

      And supper, with cigars and wine,

            Was waiting in the study.

      There was a strangeness in the room,

            And Something white and wavy

      Was standing near me in the gloom —

      I took it for the carpet-broom

            Left by that careless slavey.

      But presently the Thing began

            To shiver and to sneeze:

      On which I said “Come, come, my man!

      That’s a most inconsiderate plan.

            Less noise there, if you please!”

      “I’ve caught a cold,” the Thing replies,

            “Out there upon the landing.”

      I turned to look in some surprise,

      And there, before my very eyes,

            A little Ghost was standing!

      He trembled when he caught my eye,

            And got behind a chair.

      “How came you here,” I said, “and why?

      I never saw a thing so shy.

            Come out!  Don’t shiver there!”

      He said “I’d gladly tell you how,

            And also tell you why;

      But” (here he gave a little bow)

      “You’re in so bad a temper now,

            You’d think it all a lie.

      “And as to being in a fright,

            Allow me to remark

      That Ghosts have just as good a right

      In every way, to fear the light,

            As Men to fear the dark.”

      “No plea,” said I, “can well excuse

            Such cowardice in you:

      For Ghosts can visit when they choose,

      Whereas we Humans ca’n’t refuse

            To grant the interview.”

      He said “A flutter of alarm

            Is not unnatural, is it?

      I really feared you meant some harm:

      But, now I see that you are calm,

            Let me explain my visit.

      “Houses are classed, I beg to state,

            According to the number

      Of Ghosts that they accommodate:

      (The Tenant merely counts as weight,

            With Coals and other lumber).

      “This is a ‘one-ghost’ house, and you

            When you arrived last summer,

      May have remarked a Spectre who

      Was doing all that Ghosts can do

            To welcome the new-comer.

      “In Villas this is always done —

            However cheaply rented:

      For, though of course there’s less of fun

      When there is only room for one,

            Ghosts have to be contented.

      “That Spectre left you on the Third —

            Since then you’ve not been haunted:

      For, as he never sent us word,

      ’Twas quite by accident we heard

            That any one was wanted.

      “A Spectre has first choice, by right,

            In filling up a vacancy;

      Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite —

      If all these fail them, they invite

            The nicest Ghoul that they can see.

      “The Spectres said the place was low,

            And that you kept bad wine:

      So, as a Phantom had to go,

      And I was first, of course, you know,

            I couldn’t well decline.”

      “No doubt,” said I, “they settled who

            Was fittest to be sent

      Yet still to choose a brat like you,

      To haunt a man of forty-two,

            Was no great compliment!”

      “I’m not so young, Sir,” he replied,

            “As you might think.  The fact is,

      In caverns by the water-side,

      And other places that I’ve tried,

            I’ve had a lot of practice:

      “But I have never taken yet

            A strict domestic part,

      And in my flurry I forget

      The Five Good Rules of Etiquette

            We have to know by heart.”

      My sympathies were warming fast

            Towards the little fellow:

      He was so utterly aghast

      At having found a Man at last,

            And looked so scared and yellow.

      “At least,” I said, “I’m glad to find

            A Ghost is not a dumb