L’envoi

“Well, but that’s not the end?” “Yes it is, my good friend.” “Oh, I say! That wont pay; ’Tis a shocking bad way To leave off so abruptly. I wanted to hear A great many particulars: first, I’m not clear, Is the young woman killed?” “Be at rest on that head, She’s completely defunct, most excessively dead. Blaker’s shot did the business; she’d just strength to fly, Reached her home, rang the bell, and then sank down to die.” “Poor girl! really it’s horrid! However I knew it Could come to no good—I felt certain she’d rue it— But pray, why in the world did the jade go to do it?” “’Tis not easy to say; but at first, I suppose, Just by way of a freak she rode out in man’s clothes.” “Then her taking the money?” “A mere idiosyncrasy, As when, some years since, a young gent, being with drink crazy, Set off straight on end to the British Museum, And, having arrived there, transgressed all the laws Of good breeding, by smashing the famed Portland Vase; Or the shop-lifting ladies, by dozens you see ’em, For despising the diff’rence ’twixt tuum and meum, Brought before the Lord Mayor every week, in the papers. Why, the chief linen-drapers Have a man in their shops solely paid for revealing When they can’t keep their fair hands from picking and stealing. ’Twas a mere woman’s fancy, a female caprice, And you know at that time they’d no rural police.” “Hum! it may have been so. Well, is that all about it?” “No; there’s more to be told, though I dare say you’ll doubt it- s being true; but the story goes on to relate, That, after Maude’s death, the old Hall and estate Were put up to auction, and Master Blair thought it Seemed a famous investment, bid for it and bought it, And fitted it up in extremely bad taste; But scarce had he placed His foot o’er the threshold,—the very first night, He woke up in a fright, Being roused from his sleep by a terrible cry Of ‘Fire!’—had only a minute to fly In his shirt, Mrs. Blair in her⸺Well, never mind, In the dress she had on at the time; while behind Followed ten little blessings, who looked very winning In ten little nightgowns of Irish linen; They’d just time to escape, when the flames, with a roar Like thunder, burst forth from each window and door; And there, with affright, They perceive by the light Maude Allinghame’s sprite— Her real positive ghost—no fantastic illusion Conceived by their brains from the smoke and confusion— With a hot flaming brand In each shadowy hand, Flaring up, like a fiend, in the midst of the fire, And exciting the flames to burn fiercer and higher. From what follows we learn that ghosts, spirits, and elves, Are the creatures of habit as well as ourselves; For Maude (that is, ghost Maude), when once she had done The trick, seemed to think it was capital fun; And whenever the house is rebuilt, and prepared For a tenant, the rooms being all well scrubbed and aired, The very first night the new owner arrives Maude’s implacable spirit still ever contrives Many various ways in To set it a blazing; In this way she’s done Both the Phœnix and Sun So especially brown by the fires she’s lighted, That now, being invited To grant an insurance, they always say when a nice Offer is made them, ’Tis no use to persuade them, If a ghost’s in the case, they wont do it at any price.”