"Well," said the undertaker's wife, when Oliver had finished his supper, which she had regarded in silent horror, and with fearful auguries of his future appetite, "have you done?"
There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver replied in the affirmative.
"Then come with me," said Mrs. Sowerberry, taking up a dim and dirty lamp, and leading the way up stairs; "your bed's under the counter. You won't mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose?—but it doesn't much matter whether you will or not, for you won't sleep any where else. Come; don't keep me here, all night."
Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his new mistress.
A REMNANT OF THE TIME
OF IZAAK WALTON.
VENATOR, AMATOR, EBRIOLUS.
Venator. Good morrow, good morrow! say whither ye go,— To the chase above, or the woods below? Brake and hollow their quarry hold, Streams are bright with backs of gold: 'Twere shame to lose so fair a day,— So, whither ye wend, my masters, say.
Amator. The dappled herd in peace may graze, The fish fling back the sun's bright rays; I bend no bow, I cast no line, The chase of Love alone is mine.
Ebriolus. Your venison and pike Ye may get as ye like, They grace a board right well; But the sport for my share Is the chase of old Care, When the wine-cup tolls his knell.