"Gentlemen," said the president, "we cannot afford the expensive luxury of drinking your healths; but we sincerely join in 'my service to you.'"
Here Dr. Dose passed over to us his box--not for a pinch, but a pill! which pill, though we might drink, we declined to swallow. Mr. Rasp was in high feather, and plied the four teetotallers very liberally with wine. Seeing the comical coffin-maker in committee with his two mutes, he chirruped joyously,
But wine sheds perfume, and its purple bloom
Fill what you like, but drink what you fill,
Though it must be a bumper, a bumper, or nil.
But summer and winter the red wine flows!
Now, my Cockolorums, for a volley in platoons!
The blossoms fall, and the leaves are sear,
And merry merry Christmas will soon be here;
A pocket full of money, and a barrel full of beer!
A messenger arrived with a despatch for Mr. Merripall, announcing the demise of Alderman Callipash. There was an immediate movement on the part of the mutes.
"Gentlemen," said the president, "no such violent hurry; the alderman will wait for us. Our parting toast first--_The Dance of Death!_ Come, brother Crape, strike up the tune, and lead the carant."
Mr. Crape practised an introductory caper, in the process of which he kicked the shins of one Cockolorum, trod upon the gouty toe of another, and then led off, the club keeping the figure with becoming gravity, and chanting in full chorus:
Messrs. Crape, Crambo, Sable, Shovelton, Hatband, and Stiflegig, joined a pleasant party outside of a hearse that had been doing duty in the neighbourhood; and an empty mourning-coach accommodated Mr. Rasp, Mr. Bluemould, Dr. Dose, and Professor Nogo. Mr. Furnish, and a few, heated with wine, took water; but as the moon had just emerged from behind a black cloud, and shone with mild lustre, we preferred walking, particularly with the jocular companionship of Mr. Bosky and Mr. Merripall. And Death's door was closed for the night.
|Had we been inclined to superstition, what a supernatural treat had been the discourse of Mr. Merripall! His tales of "goblins damned" were terrible enough to have bristled up our hair till it lifted our very hats off our very heads. His reminiscences of resurrection men * were extensive and curious; he knew their "whereabouts" for ten miles round London.