THE STORY OF THE GOBLINS WHOSTOLE A SEXTONn an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, along, long while ago―so long, that the story must be a trueone, because our great-grandfathers implicitly believed it―there officiated as sexton and grave-digger in the churchyard, oneGabriel Grub. It by no means follows that because a man is asexton, and constantly surrounded by the emblems of mortality,therefore he should be a morose and melancholy man; yourundertakers are the merriest fellows in the world; and I once hadthe honour of being on intimate terms with a mute, who in privatelife, and off duty, was as comical and jocose a little fellow as everchirped out a devil-may-care song, without a hitch in his memory,or drained off a good stiff glass without stopping for breath. Butnotwithstanding these precedents to the contrary, Gabriel Grubwas an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, surly fellow―a morose andlonely man, who consorted with nobody but himself, and an oldwicker bottle which fitted into his large deep waistcoat pocket―and who eyed each merry face, as it passed him by, with such adeep scowl of malice and ill-humour, as it was difficult to meetwithout feeling something the worse for.

　　‘A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shoulderedhis spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the oldchurchyard; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning, and,feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if hewent on with his work at once. As he went his way, up the ancientstreet, he saw the cheerful light of the blazing fires gleam throughthe old casements, and heard the loud laugh and the cheerfulshouts of those who were assembled around them; he marked thebustling preparations for next day’s cheer, and smelled thenumerous savoury odours consequent thereupon, as they steamedup from the kitchen windows in clouds. All this was gall andwormwood to the heart of Gabriel Grub; and when groups ofchildren bounded out of the houses, tripped across the road, andwere met, before they could knock at the opposite door, by half adozen curly-headed little rascals who crowded round them as theyflocked upstairs to spend the evening in their Christmas games,Gabriel smiled grimly, and clutched the handle of his spade with afirmer grasp, as he thought of measles, scarlet fever, thrush,whooping-cough, and a good many other sources of consolationbesides.

　　‘In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along, returning ashort, sullen growl to the good-humoured greetings of such of hisneighbours as now and then passed him, until he turned into thedark lane which led to the churchyard. Now, Gabriel had beenlooking forward to reaching the dark lane, because it was,generally speaking, a nice, gloomy, mournful place, into which thetownspeople did not much care to go, except in broad daylight,and when the sun was shining; consequently, he was not a littleindignant to hear a young urchin roaring out some jolly songabout a merry Christmas, in this very sanctuary which had beencalled Coffin Lane ever since the days of the old abbey, and thetime of the shaven-headed monks. As Gabriel walked on, and thevoice drew nearer, he found it proceeded from a small boy, whowas hurrying along, to join one of the little parties in the old street,and who, partly to keep himself company, and partly to preparehimself for the occasion, was shouting out the song at the highestpitch of his lungs. So Gabriel waited until the boy came up, andthen dodged him into a corner, and rapped him over the head withhis lantern five or six times, just to teach him to modulate hisvoice. And as the boy hurried away with his hand to his head,singing quite a different sort of tune, Gabriel Grub chuckled veryheartily to himself, and entered the churchyard, locking the gatebehind him.

　　‘He took off his coat, set down his lantern, and getting into theunfinished 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 veryeasy matter to break it up, and shovel it out; and although therewas a moon, it was a very young one, and shed little light upon thegrave, which was in the shadow of the church. At any other time,these obstacles would have made Gabriel Grub very moody andmiserable, but he was so well pleased with having stopped thesmall boy’s singing, that he took little heed of the scanty progresshe had made, and looked down into the grave, when he hadfinished work for the night, with grim satisfaction, murmuring ashe 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 aflat tombstone which was a favourite resting-place of his, and drewforth his wicker bottle. “A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas box!

　　Ho! ho! ho!”

　　‘“Ho! ho! ho!” repeated a voice which sounded close behindhim.

　　‘Gabriel paused, in some alarm, in the act of raising the wickerbottle to his lips, and looked round. The bottom of the oldest graveabout him was not more still and quiet than the churchyard in thepale moonlight. The cold hoar frost glistened on the tombstones,and sparkled like rows of gems, among the stone carvings of theold church. The snow lay hard and crisp upon the ground; andspread over the thickly-strewn mounds of earth, so white andsmooth a cover that it seemed as if corpses lay there, hidden onlyby their winding sheets. Not the faintest rustle broke the profoundtranquillity of the solemn scene. Sound itself appeared to befrozen up, all was so cold and still.

　　‘“It was the echoes,” said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to hislips again.

　　‘“It was not,” said a deep voice.

　　‘Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot withastonishment and terror; for his eyes rested on a form that madehis 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 thisworld. His long, fantastic legs which might have reached theground, were cocked up, and crossed after a quaint, fantasticfashion; his sinewy arms were bare; and his hands rested on hisknees. 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 inlieu of ruffor neckerchief; and his shoes curled up at his toes intolong points. On his head, he wore a broad-brimmed sugar-loaf hat,garnished with a single feather. The hat was covered with thewhite frost; and the goblin looked as if he had sat on the sametombstone very comfortably, for two or three hundred years. Hewas 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 agoblin 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 goblinsternly. ‘“I came to dig a grave, sir,” stammered Gabriel Grub.

　　‘“What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such anight as this?” cried the goblin.

　　‘“Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!” screamed a wild chorus ofvoices that seemed to fill the churchyard. Gabriel looked fearfullyround―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 perhapshis questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.

　　‘“Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such anight as this?” said the goblin.

　　‘“Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!” exclaimed the wild voices again.

　　‘The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and thenraising his voice, exclaimed―‘“And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?”

　　‘To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain thatsounded like the voices of many choristers singing to the mightyswell of the old church organ―a strain that seemed borne to thesexton’s ears upon a wild wind, and to die away as it passedonward; but the burden of the reply was still the same, “GabrielGrub! 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 eitherside of the tombstone, and looking at the turned-up points with asmuch complacency as if he had been contemplating the mostfashionable pair of Wellingtons in all Bond Street.

　　‘“It’s―it’s―very curious, sir,” replied the sexton, half dead withfright; “very curious, and very pretty, but I think I’ll go back andfinish 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 atime when all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in it?”

　　‘Again the mysterious voices replied, “Gabriel Grub! GabrielGrub!”

　　‘“I am afraid my friends want you, Gabriel,” said the goblin,thrusting his tongue farther into his cheek than ever―and a mostastonishing tongue it was―“I’m afraid my friends want you,Gabriel,” said the goblin.

　　‘“Under favour, sir,” replied the horror-stricken sexton, “I don’tthink they can, sir; they don’t know me, sir; I don’t think thegentlemen have ever seen me, sir.”

　　‘“Oh, yes, they have,” replied the goblin; “we know the manwith the sulky face and grim scowl, that came down the street to-night, throwing his evil looks at the children, and grasping hisburying-spade the tighter. We know the man who struck the boyin 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 echoesreturned twentyfold; and throwing his legs up in the air, stoodupon his head, or rather upon the very point of his sugar-loaf hat,on the narrow edge of the tombstone, whence he threw aSomerset with extraordinary agility, right to the sexton’s feet, atwhich he planted himself in the attitude in which tailors generallysit upon the shop-board.

　　‘“I―I―am afraid I must leave you, sir,” said the sexton, makingan 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, abrilliant illumination within the windows of the church, as if thewhole building were lighted up; it disappeared, the organ pealedforth a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very counterpartof the first one, poured into the churchyard, and began playing atleap-frog with the tombstones, never stopping for an instant totake breath, but “overing” the highest among them, one after theother, with the most marvellous dexterity. The first goblin was amost astonishing leaper, and none of the others could come nearhim; even in the extremity of his terror the sexton could not helpobserving, that while his friends were content to leap over thecommon-sized gravestones, the first one took the family vaults,iron railings and all, with as much ease as if they had been somany street-posts.

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