And lo! up the stairs, dotting one, one, after the other,
Came the leg of a wonder, hop! hop! through the silence of evening
And then a voice snarling from the throat of him they call Murray,
Who said, as he hopp’d, “must the Muck Times be mournful at all times?
Lo, Slop, I’ve a sop, for your mop; yes—hop! hop! I’ve a story,
With which I’ll light you up, if you’ll light me, Slop, up another.”
“Don’t be so bold!” methought a larking voice from the skylight
Answer’d, and therewithal I felt fear as of frightening;
Knowing not why, or how, my soul seem’d night-cap to my body.
Then came again the voice, but then with a louder squalling—