began as follows--
But bless our editorial heart, what a long chapter we have been betrayed
into! We had quite forgotten all such petty restrictions as chapters, we
solemnly declare. So here goes, to give the goblin a fair start in a new
one. A clear stage and no favour for the goblins, ladies and gentlemen,
if you please.
CHAPTER XXIX. THE STORY OF THE GOBLINS WHO STOLE A SEXTON
In an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, a long, long
while ago--so long, that the story must be a true one, because our
great-grandfathers implicitly believed it--there officiated as sexton
and grave-digger in the churchyard, one Gabriel Grub. It by no means
follows that because a man is a sexton, and constantly surrounded by
the emblems of mortality, therefore he should be a morose and melancholy
man; your undertakers are the merriest fellows in the world; and I once
had the honour of being on intimate terms with a mute, who in private
life, and off duty, was as comical and jocose a little fellow as ever
chirped out a devil-may-care song, without a hitch in his memory,
or drained off a good stiff glass without stopping for breath. But
notwithstanding these precedents to the contrary, Gabriel Grub was an
ill-conditioned, cross-grained, surly fellow--a morose and lonely man,
who consorted with nobody but himself, and an old wicker bottle which
fitted into his large deep waistcoat pocket--and who eyed each merry
face, as it passed him by, with such a deep scowl of malice and
ill-humour, as it was difficult to meet without feeling something the
worse for.
'A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered
his spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the old
churchyard; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning, and,
feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if
he went on with his work at once. As he went his way, up the ancient
street, he saw the cheerful light of the blazing fires gleam through the
old casements, and heard the loud laugh and the cheerful shouts of those
who were assembled around them; he marked the bustling preparations for
next day's cheer, and smelled the numerous savoury odours consequent
thereupon, as they steamed up from the kitchen windows in clouds. All
this was gall and wormwood to the heart of Gabriel Grub; and when groups
of children bounded out of the houses, tripped across the road, and
were met, before they could knock at the opposite door, by half a dozen
curly-headed little rascals who crowded round them as they flocked
upstairs to spend the evening in their Christmas games, Gabriel smiled
grimly, and clutched the handle of his spade with a firmer grasp, as he
thought of measles, scarlet fever, thrush, whooping-cough, and a good
many other sources of consolation besides.
'In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along, returning a short,
sullen growl to the good-humoured greetings of such of his neighbours as
now and then passed him, until he turned into the dark lane which led
to the churchyard. Now, Gabriel had been looking forward to reaching the
dark lane, because it was, generally speaking, a nice, gloomy, mournful
place, into which the townspeople did not much care to go, except in
broad daylight, and when the sun was shining; consequently, he was not
a little indignant to hear a young urchin roaring out some jolly song
about a merry Christmas, in this very sanctuary which had been called
Coffin Lane ever since the days of the old abbey, and the time of the
shaven-headed monks. As Gabriel walked on, and the voice drew nearer, he
found it proceeded from a small boy, who was hurrying along, to join one
of the little parties in the old street, and who, partly to keep himself
company, and partly to prepare himself for the occasion, was shouting
out the song at the highest pitch of his lungs. So Gabriel waited until
the boy came up, and then dodged him into a corner, and rapped him
over the head with his lantern five or six times, just to teach him to
modulate his voice. And as the boy hurried away with his hand to his
head, singing quite a different sort of tune, Gabriel Grub chuckled very
heartily to himself, and entered the churchyard, locking the gate behind
him.
'He took off his coat, set down his lantern, and getting into the
unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so with right good-will.
But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it was no very easy
matter to break it up, and shovel it out; and although there was a moon,
it was a very young one, and shed little light upon the grave, which was
in the shadow of the church. At any other time, these obstacles would
have made Gabriel Grub very moody and miserable, but he was so well
pleased with having stopped the small boy's singing, that he took little
heed of the scanty progress he had made, and looked down into the
grave, when he had finished work for the night, with grim satisfaction,
murmuring as he gathered up his things--
Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;
A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,
A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;
Rank grass overhead, and damp clay around,
Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!
'"Ho! ho!" laughed Gabriel Grub, as he sat himself down on a flat
tombstone which was a favourite resting-place of his, and drew forth his
wicker bottle. "A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas box! Ho! ho! ho!"
'"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice which sounded close behind him.
'Gabriel paused, in some alarm, in the act of raising the wicker bottle
to his lips, and looked round. The bottom of the oldest grave about him
was not more still and quiet than the churchyard in the pale moonlight.
The cold hoar frost glistened on the tombstones, and sparkled like rows
of gems, among the stone carvings of the old church. The snow lay hard
and crisp upon the ground; and spread over the thickly-strewn mounds
of earth, so white and smooth a cover that it seemed as if corpses lay
there, hidden only by their winding sheets. Not the faintest rustle
broke the profound tranquillity of the solemn scene. Sound itself
appeared to be frozen up, all was so cold and still.
'"It was the echoes," said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to his lips
again.
'"It was NOT," said a deep voice.
'Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot with astonishment and
terror; for his eyes rested on a form that made his blood run cold.
'Seated on an upright tombstone, close to him, was a strange, unearthly
figure, whom Gabriel felt at once, was no being of this world. His long,
fantastic legs which might have reached the ground, were cocked up, and
crossed after a quaint, fantastic fashion; his sinewy arms were bare;
and his hands rested on his knees. On his short, round body, he wore a
close covering, ornamented with small slashes; a short cloak dangled at
his back; the collar was cut into curious peaks, which served the goblin
in lieu of ruff or neckerchief; and his shoes curled up at his toes
into long points. On his head, he wore a broad-brimmed sugar-loaf hat,
garnished with a single feather. The hat was covered with the white
frost; and the goblin looked as if he had sat on the same tombstone very
comfortably, for two or three hundred years. He was sitting perfectly
still; his tongue was put out, as if in derision; and he was grinning at
Gabriel Grub with such a grin as only a goblin could call up.
'"It was NOT the echoes," said the goblin.
'Gabriel Grub was paralysed, and could make no reply.
'"What do you do here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin sternly. '"I
came to dig a grave, Sir," stammered Gabriel Grub.
'"What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such a night as
this?" cried the goblin.
'"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!" screamed a wild chorus of voices that
seemed to fill the churchyard. Gabriel looked fearfully round--nothing
was to be seen.
'"What have you got in that bottle?" said the goblin.
'"Hollands, sir," replied the sexton, trembling more than ever; for
he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought that perhaps his
questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.
'"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such a night as
this?" said the goblin.
'"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!" exclaimed the wild voices again.
'The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and then raising
his voice, exclaimed--
'"And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?"
'To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain that sounded
like the voices of many choristers singing to the mighty swell of the
old church organ--a strain that seemed borne to the sexton's ears upon
a wild wind, and to die away as it passed onward; but the burden of the
reply was still the same, "Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!"
'The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said, "Well,
Gabriel, what do you say to this?"
'The sexton gasped for breath. '"What do you think of this, Gabriel?"
said the goblin, kicking up his feet in the air on either side of the
tombstone, and looking at the turned-up points with as much complacency
as if he had been contemplating the most fashionable pair of Wellingtons
in all Bond Street.
'"It's--it's--very curious, Sir," replied the sexton, half dead with
fright; "very curious, and very pretty, but I think I'll go back and
finish my work, Sir, if you please."
'"Work!" said the goblin, "what work?"
'"The grave, Sir; making the grave," stammered the sexton.
'"Oh, the grave, eh?" said the goblin; "who makes graves at a time when
all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in it?"
'Again the mysterious voices replied, "Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!"
'"I am afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the goblin, thrusting
his tongue farther into his cheek than ever--and a most astonishing
tongue it was--"I'm afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the
goblin.
'"Under favour, Sir," replied the horror-stricken sexton, "I don't think
they can, Sir; they don't know me, Sir; I don't think the gentlemen have
ever seen me, Sir."
'"Oh, yes, they have," replied the goblin; "we know the man with the
sulky face and grim scowl, that came down the street to-night, throwing
his evil looks at the children, and grasping his burying-spade the
tighter. We know the man who struck the boy in the envious malice of his
heart, because the boy could be merry, and he could not. We know him, we
know him."
'Here, the goblin gave a loud, shrill laugh, which the echoes returned
twentyfold; and throwing his legs up in the air, stood upon his head, or
rather upon the very point of his sugar-loaf hat, on the narrow edge of
the tombstone, whence he threw a Somerset with extraordinary agility,
right to the sexton's feet, at which he planted himself in the attitude
in which tailors generally sit upon the shop-board.
'"I--I--am afraid I must leave you, Sir," said the sexton, making an
effort to move.
'"Leave us!" said the goblin, "Gabriel Grub going to leave us. Ho! ho!
ho!"
'As the goblin laughed, the sexton observed, for one instant, a
brilliant illumination within the windows of the church, as if the
whole building were lighted up; it disappeared, the organ pealed forth
a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very counterpart of the
first one, poured into the churchyard, and began playing at leap-frog
with the tombstones, never stopping for an instant to take breath, but
"overing" the highest among them, one after the other, with the most
marvellous dexterity. The first goblin was a most astonishing leaper,
and none of the others could come near him; even in the extremity of his
terror the sexton could not help observing, that while his friends were
content to leap over the common-sized gravestones, the first one took
the family vaults, iron railings and all, with as much ease as if they
had been so many street-posts.
'At last the game reached to a most exciting pitch; the organ played
quicker and quicker, and the goblins leaped faster and faster, coiling
themselves up, rolling head over heels upon the ground, and bounding
over the tombstones like footballs. The sexton's brain whirled round
with the rapidity of the motion he beheld, and his legs reeled beneath
him, as the spirits flew before his eyes; when the goblin king, suddenly
darting towards him, laid his hand upon his collar, and sank with him
through the earth.
'When Gabriel Grub had had time to fetch his breath, which the rapidity
of his descent had for the moment taken away, he found himself in what
appeared to be a large cavern, surrounded on all sides by crowds of
goblins, ugly and grim; in the centre of the room, on an elevated seat,
was stationed his friend of the churchyard; and close behind him stood
Gabriel Grub himself, without power of motion.
'"Cold to-night," said the king of the goblins, "very cold. A glass of
something warm here!"
'At this command, half a dozen officious goblins, with a perpetual smile
upon their faces, whom Gabriel Grub imagined to be courtiers, on that
account, hastily disappeared, and presently returned with a goblet of
liquid fire, which they presented to the king.
'"Ah!" cried the goblin, whose cheeks and throat were transparent, as
he tossed down the flame, "this warms one, indeed! Bring a bumper of the
same, for Mr. Grub."
'It was in vain for the unfortunate sexton to protest that he was not in
the habit of taking anything warm at night; one of the goblins held
