THE GOBLIN GATE.

WE once knew a most worthy man, whose irreproachable life was at one time threatened with mental and physical wreck, all on account of his front gate. He lived out on North Hill, with his charming wife and seven lovely daughters. He was a pale-faced, anxious-looking man, who moved about and looked and spoke as though he supped with sorrow seven times a week. He has, with all those seven lovely daughters, only one front gate, and that’s what made him pale. In one Summer he spent $217 repairing that front gate—putting in new ones, and experimenting with various kinds of hinges; and after all that, the gate swung all through the Winter on a leather strap and a piece of clothes-line—and there was peace in the household, and the man grew fat. But when the April days were nigh, it soon became apparent to the man that his troubles were at hand, and anxiety soon drove the roses from his damask cheeks and robbed his ribs of their substance. He used to climb over the back fence, to avoid calling attention to the disreputable looking old gate; but his self-denial was of no avail. One evening his eldest daughter, Sophronia, said:

“Pa, that horrid old gate is the most disgusting thing on Fifth Street. If you can’t afford to have it fixed, I’d take it away and put up a stile.”

And pa only groaned. But an evening or so later, his youngest daughter, Elfrida, came in and said, with considerable warmth:

“Pa! I wish you had that beastly old gate tied to your neck; that’s what I wish!”

And she dissolved in tears, and evaporated up stairs in a misty cloud, while her sisters followed slowly, casting reproachful glances at pa. And the next evening, his third daughter, Azalea, came bouncing into the room, about 9:30 P. M., with her gloves in a condition to indicate that she had been patting gravel, and said, with some energy, that if pa had no feeling, other people had; and she wished she was dead, she did; and she hoped that the next time pa went out of that hateful old gate, he’d fall clear from Fifth Street to the bridge, so she did. And she broke down, and disappeared with a staccato accompaniment of sobs and sniffles. And the next time pa went out of that gate, he found it prostrate between the two posts, and saw that the fragile strands of the clothes-line had parted, under some extraordinary pressure; and that was what ailed Azalea’s gloves. Pa saw there was nothing for it but a new gate, and he groaned aloud as he viewed the dreary prospect of furnishing gates to support the manly forms of the best young men of Burlington for another Summer. It soon became evident that he was getting up a gate he could match against time. He pondered, and pondered, and pondered. He became the confidant of carpenters; he was often seen guiltily showing certain plans and drawings to blacksmiths and cunning workers in iron and steel. And in due time he had a new gate up; a massive gate, with great posts, ornamental and substantial—and the seven sisters were pleased. They read the little brass plate, that informed them that a patent was applied for, and they saw the words, “For 130 pounds;” but they didn’t know what it meant until the gate had swung on the uneven tenor of its way about a week.

One evening, the weather, though sufficiently cool to be bracing; admitted a test of the new gate. A murmur of voices arose from the vicinity of that popular lovers’ retreat, as Sophronia swung idly to and fro on its heavy frame. Presently, a pale-faced, anxious-looking man, who was holding his hand upon his breast to still his beating heart, as he crouched in a dark corner of the porch, heard Rodolphus say:

“But believe me, Sophronia, my own heart’s idol, between the touches of the rude hand of time and the unkind——” As he began the word, he leaned forward and bent his weight upon the gate, and with a sharp click a little trap-door in the side of the post flew open, and a gaunt, many-jointed arm of steel, with an iron knob as big as a Virginia gourd on the end of it flew out, and, with the rapidity of lightning, hit Rodolphus two resounding pelts between the shoulders, that sounded like a bass drum explosion.

“Oh-h-h! gosh!” he roared, “I’m stabbed! I’m stabbed!” and, without waiting to pick up his hat, fled, shrieking for the doctor; while Sophronia rushed into the house, crying, “Pa! pa! pa! Rodolphus is shot!” and swooned. The pale-faced man said nothing, but shrank still further back into the shadow, and thrust his handkerchief into his mouth to stifle a smile. Pretty soon he knew the voice of his daughter Azalea at the gate, saying “Good night.” But a rich, manly voice detained her; and the measured swing of the gate was again heard in the distance. Soon he heard Lorenzo say, as he made ready to climb upon the gate:

“But whatever of sorrow may await our future, dear one, I would it might fall upon me——”

And just as he lifted his last foot from the ground, the trap opened, and the gaunt arm reached out and fell upon him, with that big knob, four times; and every time it reached him, Lorenzo shrieked:

“Bleeding heart! Oh, mercy, mercy, Mr. Man! Oh, murder!”

And as he ambled away in the starlight, wailing for arnica, Azalea fled wildly to her home, shrieking, “Oh pa, pa, pa! somebody is murdering Lorenzo!” And on the porch a pale-faced man thrust the rim of his felt hat into his mouth, to reinforce his handkerchief, and hugged himself in placid content. Pretty soon the man’s fifth daughter came home from a party, and she, too, perched on the gate; and, in a moment or two, Alphonso said:

“But, my own Miriam, would I could tell you what I feel for you——”

But he didn’t; for, just as he leaned upon the gate, the gaunt arm reached out and felt for him with about seventy-five pounds of iron, and knocked his breath so far out of him that he couldn’t shriek until he had run half a mile away from the house. And Miriam ran into the house, screaming that Alphonso had a fit.

And the pale-faced man rose up out of the shadow and emptied his mouth; and as he stood under the quiet starlight, looking at the gate whose powerful but delicate mechanism repelled every ounce of weight over 130 pounds, a look of ineffable peace stole over the pale face, and the smile that rested on the quiet features told that the struggle of a lifetime was ended in victory—and a gate had been discovered that could set at naught the oppressions of thoughtless young people.