To owls that hoot an' cry, an' dogs that bark.
Some stay in garrets an' old houses, too;
N' you can't tell when they'll git you, till they do.
Most girls are 'fraid o' goblins. Sam an' me,
We ain't, because I'll tell you why, you see
That graveyard 'way off yonder on the hill?
Well, Sam he says, "Say, Bill"—Sam calls me "Bill,"—
"Let's go an' look for goblins;" so we did,
'Cause paw he'd told us how the goblins hid
Around among the tombstones cre-epin' sof,
Awaitin' jest to carry fellers off.
One night we sneaked up close, an' gee—mum-ee,
There stood a white one lookin' at Sam an' me.
We wasn't scared, not much. It shook its head,
An' we—we said our prayers, an' Sam, he said,
"'F 'e gits me first you tell maw what he done."
Then it came creepin' up—we couldn't run,
We felt so we-ak, an' shivered so—somehow—
An' then it "mo-o-ed"—'twas jist our old white cow.
GHOSTS
Thomas Carlyle.
COULD anything be more miraculous than an actual authentic ghost? The English Johnson longed all his life to see one, but could not, though he went to the church vaults, and tapped on coffins. Foolish doctor! Did he never, with the mind's eye as well as with the body's, look round him into that full tide of human life he so loved? Did he never so much as look into himself? The good doctor was a ghost, as actual and authentic as heart could wish ; well-nigh a million of ghosts were traveling the streets by his side. Sweep away the illusions
