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The Ghost, the Gallant, the Gael, and the Goblin

Fun, n.s. VII - 14th Mar. 1868

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 pregnant 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'.

Illustration by Gilbert

They'd barely speak, and each, in fine,
Grew more and more reflective,
Each thought his own particular line
By far the more effective.
At length they settled some one should
By each of them be haunted,
And so arranged that either could
Exert his prowess vaunted.

"The Quaint against the Statuesque" —
By competition lawful —
The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,
The ghost the Grandly Awful.
"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan —
In attitude commanding,
I see a stalwart Englishman
By yonder tailor's standing.

Illustration by Gilbert

"The very fittest man on earth
My influence to try on —
Of gentle, p'raps of noble 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 noble 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 rawkie!
Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead
And fash' wi' unco pawkie!'
He'll faint away when I appear
Upon his native heather;
Or p'raps he'll only scream with fear,
Or p'raps the two together."

Illustration by Gilbert

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.
Unto this day the imp and ghost
(Whose powers the imp derided)
Stand each at his allotted post —
The bet is undecided.

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