THE GHOST OF AUNT ELIZA OH! once I was gay As a child at play, I'm sadder now and wiser, For it's mine to boast I've seen the ghost Of my maiden aunt Eliza. I own, with a sigh, That never I Much did idolize her. A Vigilant Old termagant Was my gaunt aunt Eliza. I did not know, When I laid her low Beneath the ancient minster, That her coffin lid could fail to keep hid That venerable spinster. She told me oft (But I hear I scoffed) That nought on earth could stop her, She'd rise from her grave Should I behave In a way she thought improper. So I tried for days Her ghost to raise, Committed crimes by the dozen, I forged a will, Ran a private still, And scraged my second cousin. But she heeded nought, And I rather thought Perhaps she didn't get out From the place where she was gone to. But on Christmas day, Sad to say! (It was somebody else's sister), I saw her to 'Neath the mistletoe, Then and there I kissed her. Then, gaunt and grim, through blue lights dim, Appeared my aunt Eliza, And from my bones With moans and groans, That I did surprise her. And, since that night, A weary wight, Haunted by aunt I wander, That vigilant Old termagant Keeps up her mournful daunder. And never a whit Cant I get quit Of that grim moralizer, I'm always watched, and mostly "cotched," By my gaunt aunt Eliza. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　--J.W. Brodie-Innes.

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