The joy of the natives was past all belief;
The tidings they heard gave them perfect relief;
The ghost was a cow! and, Oh! glorious reality!
No phamtom infested that charming locality.
But they'll never have done.
Who in earnest, or fun
Still chaff Crump with "There 's footsteps; now, Anthony, run!"
Moral.
Dear Reader, if ever you hear of a ghost,
(And nursemaids and imbeciles talk 'bout them most),
Nip such stories at once in the bud, for you'll find
They lay terrible hold on the juvenile mind;
Nor, when they get older, can Reason quite clear
The brain of the poison thus planted by Fear;
And 'tis strange with what fondness the memory clings
To the morbid enjoyment of unexplained things.
Then, if true, as folks talk,
That a ghost can but walk,
One has only to bun,
Their intention to balk;
While there's not upon record,
(For all they assert),
The name of one person
A ghost ever hurt!
