EVENTS- IN A COUNTRY VILLAGE

By HELEN FOLEY

WHEN Death walked down our village street

One April night, I heard afar Steps like a policeman's on the beat, Heavy, majestic,' regular, - Come down the hill past White Horse Inn, Over the cobblestones uneven, Hard and triumphant like the din Of labourers clattering into heaven.

And as he came Death cheerfully Hummed a popular graveyard tune, Until I wondered fearfully What shape would turn the corner soon, What compound awful and benign Of Gabriel and Beelzebub, Or just a reveller flushed with wine, Emerging from some ghostly pub. • The village dreamed, the village slumbered Close to the safe, indifferent soil, Each inmate happily encumbered With centuries of sleep and toil.

Only a handful heard the sounds—

Madge who stopped quarrelling to say : " There's crazy Billy on his rounds" ;

Prue on her knees afraid to pray ;

Old Jarvis struck all of a heap, Trimming his little wick of life, While Jacob, troubled in his sleep, Groped for a long-forgotten wife.

But Ruth heard steps and laughed and simpered, Thinking her lover passed, not Death, And Mary's new-born baby whimpered, And quickly drew a second breath.

Far off the principal village cock Crowed in a fright five hours too soon, While Farmer Brown's scared terrier, Jock, Bayed the old irritable moon.

The village gossip looking out,' Saw—" Heavens Almighty, that is queer !

A gargoyle winking from its spout At some spook friend in the church square.

And further on Death paused to search For souls astride the tombstones tall, But as he passed the moonstruck church,

No shadow fell upon the wall ; And as he turned doiVti Sadler's Road, Never an echo rose to greet His sounding steps, while lamplight showed Only an empty Village street. Miss Jason's cottage spick and span,

Stood far off where the village yields,

Beyond the last outposts of man, To darkness, time and the hushed fields.

Death reached her gate, entered her garden, And withering as he brushed a flower, Glanced upwards as if asking pardon For calling at so late an hour.

The stranger knew the house as well As its own mistress might, for he Never delayed to ring the bell, Opened the door without a key, Stepped in the hall and scattered hosts

Of spirits gossiping in the shades—

(Some of those tame old-fashioned ghosts That haunt the houses of old maids).

Under the darkness of his cloak He brought in gifts time cannot fade :

Oblivion shadowy as smoke—

(Morphia for spirit's ease delayed By spirit's fear of that repose) ; Deliverance from the daily task, Stillness that looks like sleep and shows Corruption'wearing beauty's mask. All these he brought and thus endowed And set his seat upon the house.

The house awoke, a clock struck loud Its warning chime, enough to rouse A demon drowsing in the pit.

The old watch-dog caught unawares, Half heard a footstep, barked at it, And snarling, rose to guard the stairs, Daring the enemy to pass Love's last desperate barricade.

But Anna Jason's eat, alas !.

Slipped past him up the steps, betrayed Her mistress' door that hid the prize (While close behind the intruder trod), And opened wide her scarab eyes, And glowed like an Egyptian god.

When Death had passed our village street,

I heard the footsteps die away

Of one plodding on tired feet,

Far from the house where Anna lay. She lay like one who turns in sleep To greet an old expected friend,

And smiling promises to keep The secret of the story's 'e.nd,