84 fHE COFFIN MAKER. 



awake till it is over, and the blessing of the widow be on you for 

 ever ! ' To this strange prayer I could only offer a solemn assu- 

 rance that I would do my utmost to obey her ; and with slow, 

 creeping steps we ascended the narrow stairs which led to the 

 chamber of death. It was a dark, wretched-looking, ill-furnish- 

 ed room, and a drizzling November rain pattered unceasingly at 

 the latticed window, which was shaken from time to time by the 

 fitful gusts of a moaning wind. A damp chillness pervaded the 

 atmosphere, and rotted the falling paper from the walls; and, as 

 I looked towards the hearth, (for there was no grate,) I felt pain- 

 fully convinced that the old man had died without the common 

 comforts his situation imperiously demanded. The white- wash- 

 ed sides of the narrow fire-place were encrusted with a green 

 damp, and the chimney- vent was stuffed with straw and fragments 

 of old carpet, to prevent the cold wind from whistling through 

 the aperture. The common expression, * lie has seen better 

 days,' never so forcibly occurred to me as at that moment. He 

 had seen better days : he had toiled cheerfully through the day, 

 and sat down to a comfortable evening meal. The wine cup had 

 gone round ; and the voice of laughter had been heard at his 

 table for many a year, and yet here he had crept to die like a 

 beggar ! I looked at the flock bed, and felt my heart grow sick 

 within me. The corpse of a man, apparently about sixty, lay 

 stretched upon it, and on his hollow and emaciated features the 

 hand of death [)ad printed the ravages of many days. The veins 

 had ceased to give even the appearance of life to the discoloured 

 skin ; the eyelids were deep sunken, and the whole countenance 

 was (and none but those accustomed to gaze on the face of the 

 dead can understand me) utterly expressionless. But if a «ight 

 like this was sickening and horrible, what shall I say of the 

 miserable being to whom a temporary oblivion was giving strength 

 for renewed agony ? He had apparently been sitting at the foot 

 of the corpse, and, as the torpor of heavy slumber stole over him, 

 had sunk forward, his hand still retaining the hand of the dead 

 man. His face was hid ; but his figure, and the thick curls of 

 dark hair, bespoke early youth. I judged him at most, to be 

 two-and-twenty. I began my task of measuring the body, and 

 few can tell the shudder which thrilled my frame as the carpen- 

 ter's rule passed those locked hands — the vain effort of the 

 living still to claim kindred with the dead ! It was over, and I 

 stole from the room, cautiously and silently as I entered. Once, 

 and only once, I tiirned to gaze at the melancholy group. 



