Contributions to the Pentagram                       17

kicked the door, but getting no response I sat down fuming. After
the lapse of about five minutes, during which time I played "the
Last Rose of Summer," on a piano which I found in the room, by
way of proving that I was in full possession of my faculties; I heard
the sound of wheels, and the landlord flung open the door and
announced that the trap was ready. I remonstrated with him for
locking the door; he appeared amused, and wishing me good morn¬
ing retired into an inner room. There being nothing more to do, I
went round to the stable-yard where the trap, a dog-cart, was wait¬
ing. Finding that the driver took no notice of my oft-repeated
request that he should give me the reins, I concluded that he was
either deaf or mad, and put one foot on the step in order to get in.
The man instantly gave the horse a severe cut over the head, and off
we went at full gallop. After we had gone some distance I managed
to clamber into the trap, having suffered no further damage than a
torn pair of trousers. I made several remarks to the man, all of which
were treated with sUent contempt, and in this way I reached my
destination. Once there, my troubles were at an end, and the
remainder of the day was passed in uneventful apathy. I am firmly
persuaded that if anything else at all out of the way had happened,
my mind would have been unhinged. To explain these various phe¬
nomena is impossible; it is my part to relate as simply as possible the
extraordinary occurrences of that day, it is yours to believe them. I
have related this story at divers times and in divers places, but no one
has ever believed it yet; I should therefore be greatly gratified if any¬
one who does believe it would write and tell me so. But before I lay
down my pen, let me remind those who are inclined to be sceptical,
that "truth is often stranger than fiction."

The Lost Chord

[June 6, 1888]