THE CRAVEN. A TURKISH-BATH-MARE. As one evening, dark and gloomy, my great ambition Such a brute !-O never more. When I heard a gentle tapping, It was-Jones-and nothing more. Then replying to my greeting 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, 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, From the Thames's darkening shore? Come within, I'm quite at leisure, Ever-ever-evermore "Turkish-bath"-for ever more. Then my anger waxing greatly, 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, 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, From each oil-exuding pore; And they kicked me, when down drooping, Cried I wailing-" Please no more." Then down shrinking, faintly sinking, On the fiery furnace floor; * "Turkish-bath-for ever more ! * * * |