The Bab Ballads Part 12

O'er unreclaimed suburban clays Some years ago were hobblin'

An elderly ghost of easy ways, And an influential goblin.

The ghost was a sombre spectral shape, A fine old five-act fogy, The goblin imp, a lithe young ape, A fine low-comedy bogy.

And as they exercised their joints, Promoting quick digestion, They talked on several curious points, And raised this delicate question: "Which of us two is Number One-- The ghostie, or the goblin?"

And o'er the point they raised in fun They fairly fell a-squabblin'.

They'd barely speak, and each, in fine, Grew more and more reflective: Each thought his own particular line By chalks the more effective.

At length they settled some one should By each of them be haunted, And so arrange that either could Exert his prowess vaunted.

"The Quaint against the Statuesque"-- By compet.i.tion lawful-- The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque, The ghost the Grandly Awful.

"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan-- In att.i.tude commanding, I see a stalwart Englishman By yonder tailor's standing.

"The very fittest man on earth My influence to try on-- Of gentle, p'r'aps of n.o.ble birth, And dauntless as a lion!

Now wrap yourself within your shroud-- Remain in easy hearing-- Observe--you'll hear him scream aloud When I begin appearing!

The imp with yell unearthly--wild-- Threw off his dark enclosure: His dauntless victim looked and smiled With singular composure.

For hours he tried to daunt the youth, For days, indeed, but vainly-- The stripling smiled!--to tell the truth, The stripling smiled inanely.

For weeks the goblin weird and wild, That n.o.ble stripling haunted; For weeks the stripling stood and smiled, Unmoved and all undaunted.

The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan Has failed you, goblin, plainly: Now watch yon hardy Hieland man, So stalwart and ungainly.

"These are the men who chase the roe, Whose footsteps never falter, Who bring with them, where'er they go, A smack of old SIR WALTER.

Of such as he, the men sublime Who lead their troops victorious, Whose deeds go down to after-time, Enshrined in annals glorious!

"Of such as he the bard has said 'Hech thrawfu' raltie rorkie!

Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead And fash' wi' unco pawkie!'

He'll faint away when I appear, Upon his native heather; Or p'r'aps he'll only scream with fear, Or p'r'aps the two together."

The spectre showed himself, alone, To do his ghostly battling, With curdling groan and dismal moan, And lots of chains a-rattling!

But no--the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff Withstood all ghostly harrying; His fingers closed upon the snuff Which upwards he was carrying.

For days that ghost declined to stir, A foggy shapeless giant-- For weeks that splendid officer Stared back again defiant.

Just as the Englishman returned The goblin's vulgar staring, Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned The ghost's unmannered scaring.

For several years the ghostly twain These Britons bold have haunted, But all their efforts are in vain-- Their victims stand undaunted.

This very day the imp, and ghost, Whose powers the imp derided, Stand each at his allotted post-- The bet is undecided.

The Phantom Curate. A Fable

A BISHOP once--I will not name his see-- Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional; From pulpit shackles never set them free, And found a sin where sin was unintentional.

All pleasures ended in abuse auricular-- The Bishop was so terribly particular.

Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man, He sought to make of human pleasures clearances; And form his priests on that much-lauded plan Which pays undue attention to appearances.

He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em, Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em.

Enraged to find a deacon at a dance, Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity, He sought by open censure to enhance Their dread of joining harmless social jollity.

Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety) The ordinary pleasures of society.

One evening, sitting at a pantomime (Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him), Roaring at jokes, sans metre, sense, or rhyme, He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him, His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it, A curate, also heartily enjoying it.

Again, 't was Christmas Eve, and to enhance His children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking, He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance; When something checked the current of his frolicking: That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly, Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley!"

Once, yielding to an universal choice (The company's demand was an emphatic one, For the old Bishop had a glorious voice), In a quartet he joined--an operatic one.

Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it, When, lo! that curate came and took the ba.s.s in it!

One day, when pa.s.sing through a quiet street, He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering; And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet, To see that gentleman his Judy lathering; And heard, as Punch was being treated penalty, That phantom curate laughing all hyaenally.

Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls, Bright eyes, straw hats, bottines that fit amazingly, A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls; And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly; But suddenly declines to play at all in it-- The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!

Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed From cares episcopal and ties monarchical, He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed, In manner anything but hierarchical-- He sees--and fixes an unearthly stare on it-- That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it!

At length he gave a charge, and spake this word: "Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may; To check their harmless pleasuring's absurd; What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may."

He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him, The curate vanished--no one since has heard of him.

The Sensation Captain

No n.o.bler captain ever trod Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD, So good--so wise--so brave, he!

But still, as all his friends would own, He had one folly--one alone-- This Captain in the Navy.

I do not think I ever knew A man so wholly given to Creating a sensation, Or p'raps I should in justice say-- To what in an Adelphi play Is known as "situation."

He pa.s.sed his time designing traps To flurry unsuspicious chaps-- The taste was his innately; He couldn't walk into a room Without e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. "Boom!"

Which startled ladies greatly.

He'd wear a mask and m.u.f.fling cloak, Not, you will understand, in joke, As some a.s.sume disguises; He did it, actuated by A simple love of mystery And fondness for surprises.

I need not say he loved a maid-- His eloquence threw into shade All others who adored her.

The maid, though pleased at first, I know, Found, after several years or so, Her startling lover bored her.

So, when his orders came to sail, She did not faint or scream or wail, Or with her tears anoint him: She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye,"

With laughter dancing in her eye-- Which seemed to disappoint him.

But ere he went aboard his boat, He placed around her little throat A ribbon, blue and yellow, On which he hung a double-tooth-- A simple token this, in sooth-- 'Twas all he had, poor fellow!

"I often wonder," he would say, When very, very far away, "If ANGELINA wears it?

A plan has entered in my head: I will pretend that I am dead, And see how ANGY bears it."

The news he made a messmate tell.

His ANGELINA bore it well, No sign gave she of crazing; But, steady as the Inchcape Rock, His ANGELINA stood the shock With fort.i.tude amazing.