As one evening, dark and gloomy,
I, within my arm-chair roomy,
Sat beneath the glaring gaslights,
Feeling somewhat sad and sore;
And kept shifting my position,
And consigning to perdition
The vile "screw"
my great ambition
'Twas to ride the day before-
A Roman-nosed old charger-
That auspicious "day before."
Such a brute !-O never more.
When I heard a gentle tapping,
Then a more decided rapping
And I broke my biggest blister
As I darted to the door;
For I long had been expecting
An old friend, and not reflecting
Or I might have been suspecting—
That he meant to be a bore-
What forms "old Harry" borrows
When he seeks a soul to floor.
It was-Jones-and nothing more.
Then replying to my greeting
(I rejoiced so at our meeting),
He re-wound a costly kerchief
Which about his throat he wore ;
And upon his brow expanding-
As he stood upon the landing-
Placed a cap the most commanding
I had ever seen before;
An astounding and confounding
Cap, I'd never seen before;
Fitted for a Turk-or Moor.
And while I was faintly asking
What the cause of such odd masquing, Straight he flashed some "parlour lightning"
Right across the passage floor;
And his eyes gleamed, to my thinking,
Like some demon's who'd been drinking,
As he stood there winking, blinking,
Just outside the open door; Growling gruffly from the darkness, "What I've often done before,
Turkish-bath—and nothing more."
"Tell me, Jones," I kept repeating,
Though my heart was loudly beating,
"What has brought you here this evening,
From the Thames's darkening shore?
Come within, I'm quite at leisure,
And my cup of joy's full measure
Sparkles brighter for this pleasure ;
Take a chair, and shut the door."
But the demon stood there mouthing,
Ever-ever-evermore
"Turkish-bath"-for ever more.
Then my anger waxing greatly,
I advanced with postures stately
(O the anguish of that blister
I had broken just before).
"Come, what mean you by this shouting,
All my kindly greetings scouting?
Get you out or cease such flouting ;
I detest a noisy bore.
Get you back into the darkness,
Don't forget to shut the door."
Yelled the demon- "Never more."
Then another stream of lightning
Came, my humble chamber bright'ning;
And I felt myself attracted
(By no power I'd felt before); And, amid sulphureous flashes,
Off the demon with me dashes,
To a palace damp with splashes,
And he drags me through the door
To a reeking, fiery palace,
With a slimy marble floor;
Turkish-bath—and nothing more.
There foul phantoms, when they found me,
Jeered and gibbered all around me,
Showering drops of fetid moisture
From each oil-exuding pore;
And they kicked me, when down drooping,
To the greasy flooring stooping,
Shouting, bellowing, and whooping,
"Why, it's only ninety-four!
Make him squat above the furnace,
Where 'tis more than ninety-four."
Cried I wailing-" Please no more."
Then down shrinking, faintly sinking,
Filthy stream of foul drops drinking,
Fell I, spluttering and fizzing,
On the fiery furnace floor;
While the demon, grimly grinning,
Still kept dinning-still kept dinning,
Horrid peals of laughter winning
From the marble-portalled door,-
Hellish shrieks of horrid laughter,
That the demon-echoes bore.
"Turkish-bath-for ever more !
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