Kitabı oku: «Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire», sayfa 2
By this time supper was over, and the family were about to separate for the night, when Stephen, the grocer's eldest son, having risen to quit the room, staggered and complained of a strange dizziness and headache, which almost deprived him of sight, while his heart palpitated frightfully. A dreadful suspicion seized his father. He ran towards him, and assisted him to a seat. Scarcely had the young man reached it, when a violent sickness seized him; a greenish-coloured froth appeared at the mouth, and he began to grow delirious. Guided by the convulsive efforts of the sufferer, Bloundel tore off his clothes, and after a moment's search, perceived under the left arm a livid pustule. He uttered a cry of anguish. His son was plague-stricken.
II.
THE COFFIN-MAKER
The first shock over, the grocer bore the affliction manfully, and like one prepared for it. Exhibiting little outward emotion, though his heart was torn with anguish, and acting with the utmost calmness, he forbade his wife to approach the sufferer, and desired her instantly to retire to her own room with her daughters; and not to leave it on any consideration whatever, without his permission.
Accustomed to regard her husband's word as law, Mrs. Bloundel, for the first time in her life, disputed his authority, and, falling on her knees, besought him, with tears in her eyes, to allow her to nurse her son. But he remained inflexible, and she was forced to comply.
He next gave similar directions to old Josyna respecting his two younger sons, with this difference only, that when they were put to rest, and the door was locked upon them, she was to return to the kitchen and prepare a posset-drink of canary and spirits of sulphur, together with a poultice of mallows, lily-roots, figs, linseed, and palm-oil, for the patient.
These orders given and obeyed, with Leonard Holt's assistance-for Blaize, who had crept into a corner, in extremity of terror, was wholly incapable of rendering any help-he conveyed his son to the adjoining room, on the ground floor, where there was a bed, and placing him within it, heaped blankets upon him to promote profuse perspiration, while the apprentice lighted a fire.
Provided with the most efficacious remedies for the distemper, and acquainted with the mode of treating it prescribed by the College of Physicians, Bloundel was at no loss how to act, but, rubbing the part affected with a stimulating ointment, he administered at the same time doses of mithridate, Venice treacle, and other potent alexipharmics.
He had soon the satisfaction of perceiving that his son became somewhat easier; and after swallowing the posset-drink prepared by old Josyna, who used all the expedition she could, a moisture broke out upon the youth's skin, and appeared to relieve him so much, that, but for the ghastly paleness of his countenance, and the muddy look of his eye, his father would have indulged a hope of his recovery.
Up to this time, the grocer had acted for himself, and felt confident he had acted rightly; but he now deemed it expedient to call in advice, and, accordingly, commissioned his apprentice to fetch Doctor Hodges, a physician, residing in Great Knightrider-street, Doctors' Commons, who had recently acquired considerable reputation for his skilful treatment of those attacked by the plague, and who (it may be incidentally mentioned) afterwards gave to the medical world a curious account of the ravages of the disorder, as well as of his own professional experiences during this terrible period. He likewise told him—and he could not repress a sigh as he did so—to give notice to the Examiner of Health (there were one or two officers, so designated, appointed to every parish, at this awful season, by the city authorities) that his house was infected.
While preparing to set out, Leonard again debated with himself whether he should acquaint his master with Maurice Wyvil's meditated visit. But conceiving it wholly impossible that Amabel could leave her mother's room, even if she were disposed to do so, he determined to let the affair take its course. On his way to the shop, he entered a small room occupied by Blaize, and found him seated near a table, with his hands upon his knees, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, looking the very image of despair. The atmosphere smelt like that of an apothecary's shop, and was so overpowering, that Leonard could scarcely breathe. The table was covered with pill-boxes and phials, most of which were emptied, and a dim light was afforded by a candle with a most portentous crest of snuff.
"So you have been poisoning yourself, I perceive," observed Leonard, approaching him.
"Keep off!" cried the porter, springing suddenly to his feet. "Don't touch me, I say. Poisoning myself! I have taken three rufuses, or pestilential pills; two spoonfuls of alexiteral water; the same quantity of anti-pestilential decoction; half as much of Sir Theodore Mayerne's electuary; and a large dose of orvietan. Do you call that poisoning myself? I call it taking proper precaution, and would recommend you to do the same. Beside this, I have sprinkled myself with vinegar, fumigated my clothes, and rubbed my nose, inside and out, till it smarted so intolerably, I was obliged to desist, with balsam of sulphur."
"Well, well, if you don't escape the plague, it won't be your fault," returned Leonard, scarcely able to refrain from laughing. "But I have something to tell you before I go."
"What is the matter?" demanded Blaize, in alarm. "Where—where are you going?"
"To fetch the doctor," replied Leonard.
"Is Master Stephen worse?" rejoined the porter.
"On the contrary, I hope he is better," replied Leonard "I shall be back directly, but as I have to give notice to the Examiner of Health that the house is infected, I may be detained a few minutes longer than I anticipate. Keep the street-door locked; I will fasten the yard-gate, and do not for your life let any one in, except Doctor Hodges, till I return. Do you hear?—do you understand what I say?"
"Yes, I hear plain enough," growled Blaize. "You say that the house is infected, and that we shall all be locked up."
"Dolt!" exclaimed the apprentice, "I said no such thing." And he repeated his injunctions, but Blaize was too much terrified to comprehend them. At last, losing all patience, Leonard cried in a menacing tone, "If you do not attend to me, I will cudgel you within an inch of your life, and you will find the thrashing harder to bear even than the plague itself. Rouse yourself, fool, and follow me."
Accompanied by the porter, he hurried to the yard-gate, saw it bolted within-side, and then returned to the shop, where, having found his cap and cudgel, he directed Blaize to lock the door after him, cautioning him, for the third time, not to admit any one except the doctor. "If I find, on my return, that you have neglected my injunctions," he concluded, "as sure as I now stand before you, I'll break every bone in your body."
Blaize promised obedience, adding in a supplicating tone, "Leonard, if I were you, I would not go to the Examiner of Health. Poor Stephen may not have the plague, after all. It's a dreadful thing to be imprisoned for a month, for that's the time appointed by the Lord Mayor. Only a week ago I passed several houses in Holborn, shut up on account of the plague, with a watchman at the door, and I never shall forget the melancholy faces I saw at the windows. It was a dreadful spectacle, and has haunted me ever since."
"It cannot be helped," rejoined Leonard, with a sigh. "If we disobey the Lord Mayor's orders, and neglect giving information, we shall all be sent to Newgate, while poor Stephen will be taken to the pest-house. Besides, the searchers will be here before morning. They are sure to learn what has happened from Doctor Hodges."
"True, true," replied Blaize; "I had forgotten that. Let me go with you, dear Leonard. I dare not remain here longer."
"What! would you leave your kind good master, at a time like this, when he most needs your services?" rejoined Leonard, reproachfully. "Out, cowardly hound! I am ashamed of you. Shake off your fears, and be a man. You can but die once; and what matters it whether you die of the plague or the cholic?"
"It matters a great deal," replied Blaize. "I am afraid of nothing but the plague. I am sure I shall be its next victim in this house. But you are right—I cannot desert my kind master, nor my old mother. Farewell, Leonard. Perhaps we may never meet again. I may be dead before you come back. I feel very ill already."
"No wonder, after all the stuff you have swallowed," returned Leonard. "But pluck up your courage, or you will bring on the very thing you are anxious to avoid. As many people have died from fear as from any other cause. One word before I go. If any one should get into the house by scaling the yard-wall, or through the window, instantly alarm our master."
"Certainly," returned Blaize, with a look of surprise, "But do you expect any one to enter the house in that way?"
"Ask no questions, but do as I bid you," rejoined Leonard, opening the door, and about to go forth.
"Stop a moment," cried Blaize, detaining him, and drawing from his pocket a handful of simples. "Won't you take some of them with you to guard against infection? There's wormwood, woodsorrel, masterwort, zedoary, and angelica; and lastly, there is a little bottle of the sovereign preservative against the plague, as prepared by the great Lord Bacon, and approved by Queen Elizabeth. Won't you take that?"
"I have no fear," replied Leonard, shutting the door in his face. And as he lingered for a moment while it was locked, he heard Blaize say to himself, "I must go and take three more rufuses and a large dose of diascordium."
It was a bright moonlight night, and as the apprentice turned to depart, he perceived a figure hastily retreating on the other side of the way. Making sure it was Maurice Wyvil, though he could not distinguish the garb of the person—that side of the street being in the shade—and stung by jealousy, he immediately started in pursuit. The fugitive struck down Lad-lane, and run on till he came to the end of Lawrence-lane, where, finding himself closely pressed, he suddenly halted, and pulling his hat over his brows to conceal his features, fiercely confronted his pursuer.
"Why do you follow me thus, rascal?" he cried, drawing his sword. "Would you rob me? Begone, or I will call the watch."
"It is his voice!" cried the apprentice. "I have news for you, Mr. Maurice Wyvil. You will not see Amabel to-night. The plague is in her father's house."
"The plague!" exclaimed Wyvil, in an altered tone, and dropping the point of his sword. "Is she smitten by it?"
The apprentice answered by a bitter laugh, and without tarrying longer to enjoy his rival's distress, set off towards Cheapside. Before reaching the end of Lawrence-lane, however, he half-repented his conduct, and halted to see whether Wyvil was following him; but as he could perceive nothing of him, he continued his course.
Entering Cheapside, he observed, to his surprise, a crowd of persons collected near the Cross, then standing a little to the east of Wood-street. This cross, which was of great antiquity, and had undergone many mutilations and alterations since its erection in 1486, when it boasted, amongst other embellishments, images of the Virgin and Saint Edward the Confessor, was still not without some pretensions to architectural beauty. In form it was hexagonal, and composed of three tiers, rising from one another like the divisions of a telescope, each angle being supported by a pillar surmounted by a statue, while the intervening niches were filled up with sculptures, intended to represent some of the sovereigns of England. The structure was of considerable height, and crowned by a large gilt cross. Its base was protected by a strong wooden railing. About a hundred yards to the east, there stood a smaller hexagonal tower, likewise ornamented with carvings, and having a figure on its conical summit blowing a horn. This was the Conduit. Midway between these buildings the crowd alluded to above was collected.
As Leonard drew near, he found the assemblage was listening to the exhortations of an enthusiast, whom he instantly recognised from a description he had heard of him from Blaize. The name of this half-crazed being was Solomon Eagle. Originally a Quaker, upon the outbreak of the plague he had abandoned his home and friends, and roamed the streets at night, denouncing doom to the city. He was a tall gaunt man, with long jet-black hair hanging in disordered masses over his shoulders. His eyes were large and black, and blazed with insane lustre, and his looks were so wild and terrific, that it required no great stretch of imagination to convert him into the genius of the pestilence. Entirely stripped of apparel except that his loins were girt with a sheep-skin, in imitation of Saint John in the Wilderness, he bore upon his head a brazier of flaming coals, the lurid light of which falling upon his sable locks and tawny skin, gave him an unearthly appearance.
Impelled by curiosity, Leonard paused for a moment to listen, and heard him thunder forth the following denunciation:—"And now, therefore, as the prophet Jeremiah saith, 'I have this day declared it to you, but ye have not obeyed the voice of the Lord your God, nor anything for the which he hath sent me unto you. Now, therefore, know certainly that ye shall die by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence.' Again, in the words of the prophet Amos, the Lord saith unto YOU by my mouth, 'I have sent among you the pestilence after the manner of Egypt, yet have you not returned unto me. Therefore, will I do this unto thee, O Israel; and because I will do this unto thee, prepare to meet thy God?' Do you hear this, O sinners? God will proceed against you in the day of His wrath, though He hath borne with you in the day of His patience? O how many hundred years hath He spared this city, notwithstanding its great provocations and wickedness! But now He will no longer show it pity, but will pour out His wrath upon it I Plagues shall come upon it, and desolation; and it shall be utterly burnt with fire,—for strong is the Lord who judgeth it!"
His address concluded, the enthusiast started off at a swift pace, shrieking, in a voice that caused many persons to throw open their windows to listen to him, "Awake! sinners, awake'—the plague is at your doors!—the grave yawns for you!—awake, and repent!" And followed by the crowd, many of whom kept up with him, he ran on vociferating in this manner till he was out of hearing.
Hurrying forward in the opposite direction, Leonard glanced at the ancient and picturesque houses on either side of the way,—now bathed in the moonlight, and apparently hushed in repose and security,—and he could not repress a shudder as he reflected that an evil angel was, indeed, abroad, who might suddenly arouse their slumbering inmates to despair and death. His thoughts took another turn as he entered the precincts of Saint Paul's, and surveyed the venerable and majestic fabric before him. His eyes rested upon its innumerable crocketed pinnacles, its buttresses, its battlements, and upon the magnificent rose-window terminating the choir. The apprentice had no especial love for antiquity, but being of an imaginative turn, the sight of this reverend structure conjured up old recollections, and brought to mind the noble Collegiate Church of his native town.
"Shall I ever see Manchester again?" he sighed: "shall I take Amabel with me there? Alas! I doubt it. If I survive the plague, she, I fear, will never be mine."
Musing thus, he scanned the roof of the cathedral, and noticing its stunted central tower, could not help thinking how much more striking its effects must have been, when the lofty spire it once supported was standing. The spire, it may be remarked, was twice destroyed by lightning; first in February, 1444, and subsequently in June, 1561, when it was entirely burnt down, and never rebuilt. Passing the Convocation House, which then stood at one side of the southern transept, Leonard struck down Paul's Chain, and turning to the right, speeded along Great Knightrider-street, until he reached an old habitation at the corner of the passage leading to Doctors' Commons.
Knocking at the door, an elderly servant presently appeared, and in answer to his inquiries whether Doctor Hodges was at home, stated that he had gone out, about half an hour ago, to attend Mr. Fisher, a proctor, who had been suddenly attacked by the plague at his residence in Bartholomew-close, near Smithfield.
"I am come on the same errand," said Leonard, "and must see your master instantly."
"If you choose to go to Bartholomew-close," replied the servant, "you may probably meet with him. Mr. Fisher's house is the last but two, on the right, before you come to the area in front of the church."
"I can easily find it," returned Leonard, "and will run there as fast as I can. But if your master should pass me on the road, beseech him to go instantly to Stephen Bloundell's, the grocer, in Wood-street."
The servant assenting, Leonard hastily retraced his steps, and traversing Blow-bladder-street and Saint-Martin's-le-Grand, passed through Aldersgate. He then shaped his course through the windings of Little Britain and entered Duck-lane. He was now in a quarter fearfully assailed by the pestilence. Most of the houses had the fatal sign upon their doors—a red cross, of a foot long, with the piteous words above it, "Lord have mercy upon us," in characters so legible that they could be easily distinguished by the moonlight, while a watchman, with a halberd in his hand, kept guard outside.
Involuntarily drawing in his breath, Leonard quickened his pace. But he met with an unexpected and fearful interruption. Just as he reached the narrow passage leading from Duck-lane to Bartholomew-close, he heard the ringing of a bell, followed by a hoarse voice, crying, "Bring out your dead—bring out your dead!" he then perceived that a large, strangely-shaped cart stopped up the further end of the passage, and heard a window open, and a voice call out that all was ready. The next moment a light was seen at the door, and a coffin was brought out and placed in the cart. This done, the driver, who was smoking a pipe, cracked his whip, and put the vehicle in motion.
Shrinking into a doorway, and holding a handkerchief to his face, to avoid breathing the pestilential effluvia, Leonard saw that there were other coffins in the cart, and that it was followed by two persons in long black cloaks. The vehicle itself, fashioned like an open hearse, and of the same sombre colour, relieved by fantastical designs, painted in white, emblematic of the pestilence, was drawn by a horse of the large black Flanders breed, and decorated with funeral trappings. To Leonard's inexpressible horror, the cart again stopped opposite him, and the driver ringing his bell, repeated his doleful cry. While another coffin was brought out, and placed with the rest, a window in the next house was opened, and a woman looking forth screamed, "Is Anselm Chowles, the coffin-maker, there?"
"Yes, here I am, Mother Malmayns," replied one of the men in black cloaks, looking up as he spoke, and exhibiting features so hideous, and stamped with such a revolting expression, that Leonard's blood curdled at the sight. "What do you want with me?" he added.
"I want you to carry away old Mike Norborough," replied the woman.
"What, is the old miser gone at last?" exclaimed Chowles, with an atrocious laugh. "But how shall I get paid for a coffin?"
"You may pay yourself with what you can find in the house," replied Mother Malmayns; "or you may carry him to the grave without one, if you prefer it."
"No, no, that won't do," returned Chowles. "I've other customers to attend to who will pay; and, besides, I want to get home. I expect friends at supper. Good-night, Mother Malmayns. You know where to find me, if you want me. Move on, Jonas, or you will never reach Saint Sepulchre's."
The woman angrily expostulated with him, and some further parley ensued,—Leonard did not tarry to hear what, but rushing past them, gained Bartholomew-close.
He soon reached the proctor's house, and found it marked with the fatal cross. Addressing a watchman at the door, he learnt, to his great dismay, that Doctor Hodges had been gone more than a quarter of an hour. "He was too late," said the man. "Poor Mr. Fisher had breathed his last before he arrived, and after giving some directions to the family as to the precautions they ought to observe, the doctor departed."
"How unfortunate!" exclaimed Leonard, "I have missed him a second time.
But I will run back to his house instantly."
"You will not find him at home," returned the watchman "He is gone to Saint Paul's, to attend a sick person."
"To Saint Paul's at this hour!" cried the apprentice. "Why, no one is there, except the vergers or the sexton."
"He is gone to visit the sexton, who is ill of the plague," replied the watchman. "I have told you all I know about him. You can do what you think best."
Determined to make another effort before giving in, Leonard hurried back as fast as he could. While threading Duck-lane, he heard the doleful bell again, and perceived the dead-cart standing before a house, from which two small coffins were brought. Hurrying past the vehicle, he remarked that its load was fearfully increased, but that the coffin-maker and his companion had left it. Another minute had not elapsed before he reached Aldersgate, and passing through the postern, he beheld a light at the end of Saint Anne's-lane, and heard the terrible voice of Solomon Eagle, calling to the sleepers to awake and repent.
Shutting his ears to the cry, Leonard did not halt till he reached the great western door of the cathedral, against which he knocked. His first summons remaining unanswered, he repeated it, and a wicket was then opened by a grey-headed verger, with a lantern in his hand, who at first was very angry at being disturbed; but on learning whom the applicant was in search of, and that the case was one of urgent necessity, he admitted that the doctor was in the cathedral at the time.
"Or rather, I should say," he added, "he is in Saint Faith's. I will conduct you to him, if you think proper. Doctor Hodges is a good man,—a charitable man," he continued, "and attends the poor for nothing. He is now with Matthew Malmayns, the sexton, who was taken ill of the plague yesterday, and will get nothing but thanks—if he gets those—for his fee. But, follow me, young man, follow me."
So saying, he shut the wicket, and led the way along the transept. The path was uneven, many of the flags having been removed, and the verger often paused to throw a light upon the ground, and warn his companion of a hole.
On arriving at the head of the nave, Leonard cast his eyes down it, and was surprised at the magical effect of the moonlight upon its magnificent avenue of pillars; the massive shafts on the left being completely illuminated by the silvery beams, while those on the right lay in deep shadow.
"Ay, it is a noble structure," replied the old verger, noticing his look of wonder and admiration, "and, like many a proud human being, has known better days. It has seen sad changes in my time, for I recollect it when good Queen Bess ruled the land. But come along, young man,—you have something else to think of now."
Bestowing a momentary glance upon the matchless choir, with its groined roof, its clerestory windows, its arched openings, its carved stalls, and its gorgeous rose-window, Leonard followed his conductor through a small doorway on the left of the southern transept, and descending a flight of stone steps, entered a dark and extensive vault, for such it seemed. The feeble light of the lantern fell upon ranks of short heavy pillars, supporting a ponderous arched roof.
"You are now in Saint Faith's," observed the verger, "and above you is the choir of Saint Paul's."
Leonard took no notice of the remark, but silently crossing the nave of this beautiful subterranean church (part of which still exists), traversed its northern aisle. At length the verger stopped before the entrance of a small chapel, once dedicated to Saint John the Baptist, but now devoted to a less sacred purpose. As they advanced, Leonard observed a pile of dried skulls and bones in one corner, a stone coffin, strips of woollen shrouds, fragments of coffins, mattocks, and spades. It was evidently half a charnel, half a receptacle for the sexton's tools.
"If you choose to open that door," said the verger, pointing to one at the lower end of the chamber, "you will find him you seek. I shall go no further."
Summoning up all his resolution, Leonard pushed open the door. A frightful scene met his gaze. At one side of a deep, low-roofed vault, the architecture of which was of great antiquity, and showed that it had been a place of burial, was stretched a miserable pallet, and upon it, covered by a single blanket, lay a wretch, whose groans and struggles proclaimed the anguish he endured. A lamp was burning on the floor, and threw a sickly light upon the agonized countenance of the sufferer. He was a middle-aged man, with features naturally harsh, but which now, contracted by pain, had assumed a revolting expression. An old crone, who proved to be his mother, and a young man, who held him down in bed by main force, tended him. He was rambling in a frightful manner; and as his ravings turned upon the most loathly matters, it required some firmness to listen to them.
At a little distance from him, upon a bench, sat a stout, shrewd-looking, but benevolent little personage, somewhat between forty and fifty. This was Doctor Hodges. He had a lancet in his hand, with which he had just operated upon the sufferer, and he was in the act of wiping it on a cloth. As Leonard entered the vault, the doctor observed to the attendants of the sick man, "He will recover. The tumour has discharged its venom. Keep him as warm as you can, and do not let him leave his bed for two days. All depends upon that. I will send him proper medicines and some blankets shortly. If he takes cold, it will be fatal."
The young man promised to attend to the doctor's injunctions, and the old woman mumbled her thanks.
"Where is Judith Malmayns?" asked Doctor Hodges: "I am surprised not to see her. Is she afraid of the distemper?"
"Afraid of it!—not she," replied the old woman. "Since the plague has raged so dreadfully, she has gone out as a nurse to the sick, and my poor son has seen nothing of her."
Leonard then recollected that he had heard the woman, who called out of the miser's house, addressed as Mother Malmayns by the coffin-maker, and had no doubt that she was the sexton's wife. His entrance having been so noiseless that it passed unnoticed, he now stepped forward, and, addressing Doctor Hodges, acquainted him with his errand.
"What!" exclaimed the doctor, as soon as he concluded, "a son of Stephen Bloundel, the worthy grocer of Wood-street, attacked by the plague! I will go with you instantly, young man. I have a great regard for your master—a very great regard. There is not a better man living. The poor lad must be saved, if possible." And hastily repeating his instructions to the attendants of the sick man, he left the vault with the apprentice.
They found the verger in the charnel, and before quitting it, the doctor drew a small flask of canary from his pocket, and applied it to his lips.
"This is my anti-pestilential drink," he remarked with a smile, "and it has preserved me from contagion hitherto. You must let us out of the south door, friend," he added to the verger, "for I shall be obliged to step home for a moment, and it will save time. Come with me, young man, and tell me what has been done for the grocer's son."
As they traversed the gloomy aisle of Saint Faith, and mounted to the upper structure, Leonard related all that had taken place since poor Stephen's seizure. The doctor strongly expressed his approval of what had been done, and observed, "It could not be better. With Heaven's help, I have no doubt we shall save him, and I am truly glad of it for his father's sake."
By this time they had reached the southern door, and the verger having unlocked it, they issued forth. It was still bright moonlight, and Leonard, whose mind was greatly relieved by the assurances of the physician, felt in some degree reconciled to the delay, and kept up his part in the conversation promoted by his companion. The doctor, who was an extremely kind-hearted man, and appeared to have a great regard for the grocer, made many inquiries as to his family, and spoke in terms of the highest admiration of the beauty of his eldest daughter. The mention of Amabel's name, while it made Leonard's cheek burn, rekindled all his jealousy of Wyvil, and he tried to make some excuse to get away, but his companion would not hear of it.
"I tell you there is no hurry," said the doctor; "all is going on as well as possible. I will make your excuses to your master."
"On reaching the doctor's house they were ushered into a large room, surrounded with bookshelves and cases of anatomical preparations. Hodges seated himself at a table, on which a shaded lamp was placed, and writing out a prescription, desired his servant to get it made up at a neighbouring apothecary's, and to take it, with a couple of blankets, to the sexton of Saint Paul's. He then produced a bottle of medicated canary, and pouring out a large glass for the apprentice, drained another himself.
"I will answer for its virtue," he said: "it is a sure preservative against the plague."
Having furnished himself with several small packets of simples, a few pots of ointment, one or two phials, and a case of surgical instruments, he told Leonard he was ready to attend him.
"We will go round by Warwick-lane," he added. "I must call upon Chowles, the coffin-maker. It will not detain us a moment; and I have an order to give him."
