A RENCONTRE.
(For investigation by the Psychical Society.)
The way was long, the train was slow,
As local trains are wont to go,
A feeble ray of glimmering light
Strove vainly with the darkling night,
And scarce enabled me to see
The features of my vis-à-vis.
Pale was his brow: no paler grow
The snowdrops lurking in the snow;
Hollow his cheeks, and sunk his eyes
That gazed on me in mournful wise.
So strange a man I ne'er had seen,
So wan a look, so weird a mien,
And, as I eyed him, I confess
A feeling of uncanniness
Crept slowly over me and stole
Into the marrow of my soul.
Awhile we sped, nor spake a word;
Nought but the droning wheels was heard;
But as we journeyed on together,
By tentative degrees we fell
From observations on the weather
To talk of other things as well.
"I had a few hours off," said he;
"So I just ran across to see
The last inventions——I refer
To Kensington Museum, Sir.
You know it? What a grand display!
A splendid exhibition, eh?
I never saw so fine a show
Of coffins anywhere, you know!
And there is one that's simply sweet,
With handles, knobs, and plate complete!"
"A coffin!"—Cold a shudder ran
Adown me as I eyed the man.
"Aye, to be sure. What else?" he said.
"The one that's just been patented.
Why, my good Sir, I will engage
It is the marvel of the age;
For, mark you, they no longer use
Your clumsy, antiquated screws,
But just a simple catch and pin
That may be managed from within!"
He ceased, for we had reached a station
That chanced to be his destination.
"My home!" he murmured, with a sigh.
"Home—home! Sweet home!—Good-night!—Good-bye!"
"Good-night!" I answered; and my heart
Leaped when I saw his form depart.
But as we slowly glided past
The spot where I had seen him last,
Upon the station lamps, methought,
The letters of a name I caught.
I looked again.—My hair uprose,
The very soul within me froze,
For lo! upon the lamps was seen
The curdling legend—Kensal Green!
