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<h2> CHAPTER XXIX. THE STORY OF THE GOBLINS WHO STOLE A SEXTON </h2>
<p>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.</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'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—</p>
<p>Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,<br/>
A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;<br/>
A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,<br/>
A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;<br/>
Rank grass overhead, and damp clay around,<br/>
Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!<br/></p>
<p>'"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!"</p>
<p>'"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice which sounded close behind him.</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'"It was the echoes," said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to his lips
again.</p>
<p>'"It was NOT," said a deep voice.</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'"It was NOT the echoes," said the goblin.</p>
<p>'Gabriel Grub was paralysed, and could make no reply.</p>
<p>'"What do you do here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin sternly. '"I came
to dig a grave, Sir," stammered Gabriel Grub.</p>
<p>'"What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such a night as this?"
cried the goblin.</p>
<p>'"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.</p>
<p>'"What have you got in that bottle?" said the goblin.</p>
<p>'"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.</p>
<p>'"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such a night as
this?" said the goblin.</p>
<p>'"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!" exclaimed the wild voices again.</p>
<p>'The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and then raising
his voice, exclaimed—</p>
<p>'"And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?"</p>
<p>'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!"</p>
<p>'The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said, "Well,
Gabriel, what do you say to this?"</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'"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."</p>
<p>'"Work!" said the goblin, "what work?"</p>
<p>'"The grave, Sir; making the grave," stammered the sexton.</p>
<p>'"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?"</p>
<p>'Again the mysterious voices replied, "Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!"</p>
<p>'"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.</p>
<p>'"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."</p>
<p>'"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."</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'"I—I—am afraid I must leave you, Sir," said the sexton,
making an effort to move.</p>
<p>'"Leave us!" said the goblin, "Gabriel Grub going to leave us. Ho! ho!
ho!"</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'"Cold to-night," said the king of the goblins, "very cold. A glass of
something warm here!"</p>
<p>'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.</p>
<p>'"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."</p>
<p>'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 him
while another poured the blazing liquid down his throat; the whole
assembly screeched with laughter, as he coughed and choked, and wiped away
the tears which gushed plentifully from his eyes, after swallowing the
burning draught.</p>
<p>'"And now," said the king, fantastically poking the taper corner of his
sugar-loaf hat into the sexton's eye, and thereby occasioning him the most
exquisite pain; "and now, show the man of misery and gloom, a few of the
pictures from our own great storehouse!"</p>
<p>'As the goblin said this, a thick cloud which obscured the remoter end of
the cavern rolled gradually away, and disclosed, apparently at a great
distance, a small and scantily furnished, but neat and clean apartment. A
crowd of little children were gathered round a bright fire, clinging to
their mother's gown, and gambolling around her chair. The mother
occasionally rose, and drew aside the window-curtain, as if to look for
some expected object; a frugal meal was ready spread upon the table; and
an elbow chair was placed near the fire. A knock was heard at the door;
the mother opened it, and the children crowded round her, and clapped
their hands for joy, as their father entered. He was wet and weary, and
shook the snow from his garments, as the children crowded round him, and
seizing his cloak, hat, stick, and gloves, with busy zeal, ran with them
from the room. Then, as he sat down to his meal before the fire, the
children climbed about his knee, and the mother sat by his side, and all
seemed happiness and comfort.</p>
<p>'But a change came upon the view, almost imperceptibly. The scene was
altered to a small bedroom, where the fairest and youngest child lay
dying; the roses had fled from his cheek, and the light from his eye; and
even as the sexton looked upon him with an interest he had never felt or
known before, he died. His young brothers and sisters crowded round his
little bed, and seized his tiny hand, so cold and heavy; but they shrank
back from its touch, and looked with awe on his infant face; for calm and
tranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace as the beautiful child
seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and they knew that he was an
angel looking down upon, and blessing them, from a bright and happy
Heaven.</p>
<p>'Again the light cloud passed across the picture, and again the subject
changed. The father and mother were old and helpless now, and the number
of those about them was diminished more than half; but content and
cheerfulness sat on every face, and beamed in every eye, as they crowded
round the fireside, and told and listened to old stories of earlier and
bygone days. Slowly and peacefully, the father sank into the grave, and,
soon after, the sharer of all his cares and troubles followed him to a
place of rest. The few who yet survived them, kneeled by their tomb, and
watered the green turf which covered it with their tears; then rose, and
turned away, sadly and mournfully, but not with bitter cries, or
despairing lamentations, for they knew that they should one day meet
again; and once more they mixed with the busy world, and their content and
cheerfulness were restored. The cloud settled upon the picture, and
concealed it from the sexton's view.</p>
<p>'"What do you think of THAT?" said the goblin, turning his large face
towards Gabriel Grub.</p>
<p>'Gabriel murmured out something about its being very pretty, and looked
somewhat ashamed, as the goblin bent his fiery eyes upon him.</p>
<p>'"You miserable man!" said the goblin, in a tone of excessive contempt.
"You!" He appeared disposed to add more, but indignation choked his
utterance, so he lifted up one of his very pliable legs, and, flourishing
it above his head a little, to insure his aim, administered a good sound
kick to Gabriel Grub; immediately after which, all the goblins in waiting
crowded round the wretched sexton, and kicked him without mercy, according
to the established and invariable custom of courtiers upon earth, who kick
whom royalty kicks, and hug whom royalty hugs.</p>
<p>'"Show him some more!" said the king of the goblins.</p>
<p>'At these words, the cloud was dispelled, and a rich and beautiful
landscape was disclosed to view—there is just such another, to this
day, within half a mile of the old abbey town. The sun shone from out the
clear blue sky, the water sparkled beneath his rays, and the trees looked
greener, and the flowers more gay, beneath its cheering influence. The
water rippled on with a pleasant sound, the trees rustled in the light
wind that murmured among their leaves, the birds sang upon the boughs, and
the lark carolled on high her welcome to the morning. Yes, it was morning;
the bright, balmy morning of summer; the minutest leaf, the smallest blade
of grass, was instinct with life. The ant crept forth to her daily toil,
the butterfly fluttered and basked in the warm rays of the sun; myriads of
insects spread their transparent wings, and revelled in their brief but
happy existence. Man walked forth, elated with the scene; and all was
brightness and splendour.</p>
<p>'"YOU a miserable man!" said the king of the goblins, in a more
contemptuous tone than before. And again the king of the goblins gave his
leg a flourish; again it descended on the shoulders of the sexton; and
again the attendant goblins imitated the example of their chief.</p>
<p>'Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it taught to
Gabriel Grub, who, although his shoulders smarted with pain from the
frequent applications of the goblins' feet thereunto, looked on with an
interest that nothing could diminish. He saw that men who worked hard, and
earned their scanty bread with lives of labour, were cheerful and happy;
and that to the most ignorant, the sweet face of Nature was a
never-failing source of cheerfulness and joy. He saw those who had been
delicately nurtured, and tenderly brought up, cheerful under privations,
and superior to suffering, that would have crushed many of a rougher
grain, because they bore within their own bosoms the materials of
happiness, contentment, and peace. He saw that women, the tenderest and
most fragile of all God's creatures, were the oftenest superior to sorrow,
adversity, and distress; and he saw that it was because they bore, in
their own hearts, an inexhaustible well-spring of affection and devotion.
Above all, he saw that men like himself, who snarled at the mirth and
cheerfulness of others, were the foulest weeds on the fair surface of the
earth; and setting all the good of the world against the evil, he came to
the conclusion that it was a very decent and respectable sort of world
after all. No sooner had he formed it, than the cloud which had closed
over the last picture, seemed to settle on his senses, and lull him to
repose. One by one, the goblins faded from his sight; and, as the last one
disappeared, he sank to sleep.</p>
<p>'The day had broken when Gabriel Grub awoke, and found himself lying at
full length on the flat gravestone in the churchyard, with the wicker
bottle lying empty by his side, and his coat, spade, and lantern, all well
whitened by the last night's frost, scattered on the ground. The stone on
which he had first seen the goblin seated, stood bolt upright before him,
and the grave at which he had worked, the night before, was not far off.
At first, he began to doubt the reality of his adventures, but the acute
pain in his shoulders when he attempted to rise, assured him that the
kicking of the goblins was certainly not ideal. He was staggered again, by
observing no traces of footsteps in the snow on which the goblins had
played at leap-frog with the gravestones, but he speedily accounted for
this circumstance when he remembered that, being spirits, they would leave
no visible impression behind them. So, Gabriel Grub got on his feet as
well as he could, for the pain in his back; and, brushing the frost off
his coat, put it on, and turned his face towards the town.</p>
<p>'But he was an altered man, and he could not bear the thought of returning
to a place where his repentance would be scoffed at, and his reformation
disbelieved. He hesitated for a few moments; and then turned away to
wander where he might, and seek his bread elsewhere.</p>
<p>'The lantern, the spade, and the wicker bottle were found, that day, in
the churchyard. There were a great many speculations about the sexton's
fate, at first, but it was speedily determined that he had been carried
away by the goblins; and there were not wanting some very credible
witnesses who had distinctly seen him whisked through the air on the back
of a chestnut horse blind of one eye, with the hind-quarters of a lion,
and the tail of a bear. At length all this was devoutly believed; and the
new sexton used to exhibit to the curious, for a trifling emolument, a
good-sized piece of the church weathercock which had been accidentally
kicked off by the aforesaid horse in his aerial flight, and picked up by
himself in the churchyard, a year or two afterwards.</p>
<p>'Unfortunately, these stories were somewhat disturbed by the unlooked-for
reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some ten years afterwards, a ragged,
contented, rheumatic old man. He told his story to the clergyman, and also
to the mayor; and in course of time it began to be received as a matter of
history, in which form it has continued down to this very day. The
believers in the weathercock tale, having misplaced their confidence once,
were not easily prevailed upon to part with it again, so they looked as
wise as they could, shrugged their shoulders, touched their foreheads, and
murmured something about Gabriel Grub having drunk all the Hollands, and
then fallen asleep on the flat tombstone; and they affected to explain
what he supposed he had witnessed in the goblin's cavern, by saying that
he had seen the world, and grown wiser. But this opinion, which was by no
means a popular one at any time, gradually died off; and be the matter how
it may, as Gabriel Grub was afflicted with rheumatism to the end of his
days, this story has at least one moral, if it teach no better one—and
that is, that if a man turn sulky and drink by himself at Christmas time,
he may make up his mind to be not a bit the better for it: let the spirits
be never so good, or let them be even as many degrees beyond proof, as
those which Gabriel Grub saw in the goblin's cavern.'</p>
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