Well, you are a lively customer,
you are." --"Lively--do you expect people to be lively when they are full
dressed for a funeral? You are a nice article for your profession. You
don't feel like an undertaker, you don't." "Don't, Jacobs, my boy. As long as I look like one when occasion
demands; when I have done my job I puts my comfort in my pocket, and
thinks how much more pleasanter it is to be going to other people's
funerals than to our own, and then only see the difference as regards
the money." "True," said Jacobs with a groan; "but death's a melancholy article, at
all events." --"So it is." "And then when you come to consider the number of people we have
buried--how many have gone to their last homes--and how many more will
go the same way." --"Yes, yes; that's all very well, Jacob. You are
precious surly this morning. I'll come to-night. You're brewing a
sentimental tale as sure as eggs is eggs." "Well, that is pretty certain; but as I was saying how many more are
there--"

"Ah, don't bother yourself with calculations that have neither beginning
nor end, and which haven't one point to go. Come, Jacob, have you
finished yet?" --"Quite," said Jacob. They now arranged the pall, and placed all in readiness, and returned to
a place down stairs where they could enjoy themselves for an odd half
hour, and pass that time away until the moment should arrive when his
reverence would be ready to bury the deceased, upon consideration of the
fees to be paid upon the occasion. The tap-room was crowded, and there was no room for the men, and they
were taken into the kitchen, where they were seated, and earnestly at
work, preparing for the ceremony that had so shortly to be performed. "Any better, Jacobs?" --"What do you mean?" inquired Jacobs, with a
groan. "It's news to me if I have been ill."

"Oh, yes, you were doleful up stairs, you know." --"I've a proper regard
for my profession--that's the difference between you and I, you know." "I'll wager you what you like, now, that I'll handle a corpse and drive
a screw in a coffin as well as you, now, although you are so solid and
miserable." --"So you may--so you may." "Then what do you mean by saying I haven't a proper regard for my
profession?" --"I say you haven't, and there's the thing that shall prove
it--you don't look it, and that's the truth." "I don't look like an undertaker! indeed I dare say I don't if I ain't
dressed like one." --"Nor when you are," reiterated Jacob. "Why not, pray?" --"Because you have always a grin on your face as broad
as a gridiron--that's why." This ended the dispute, for the employer of the men suddenly put his
head in, saying,--

"Come, now, time's up; you are wanted up stairs, all of you. Be quick;
we shall have his reverence waiting for us, and then we shall lose his
recommendation." "Ready sir," said the round man, taking up his pint and finishing it off
at a draught, at the same moment he thrust the remains of some bread and
cheese into his pocket. Jacob, too, took his pot, and, having finished it, with great gravity
followed the example of his more jocose companion, and they all left the
kitchen for the room above, where the corpse was lying ready for
interment. There was an unusual bustle; everybody was on the tip-top of
expectation, and awaiting the result in a quiet hurry, and hoped to have
the first glimpse of the coffin, though why they should do so it was
difficult to define. But in this fit of mysterious hope and expectation
they certainly stood. "Will they be long?" inquired a man at the door of one inside,--"will
they be long before they come?" --"They are coming now," said the man. "Do you all keep quiet; they are knocking their heads against the top of
the landing. Hark! There, I told you so." The man departed, hearing something, and being satisfied that he had got
some information. "Now, then," said the landlord, "move out of the way, and allow the
corpse to pass out. Let me have no indecent conduct; let everything be
as it should be." The people soon removed from the passage and vicinity of the doorway,
and then the mournful procession--as the newspapers have it--moved
forward. They were heard coming down stairs, and thence along the
passage, until they came to the street, and then the whole number of
attendants was plainly discernible. How different was the funeral of one who had friends. He was alone; none
followed, save the undertaker and his attendants, all of whom looked
solemn from habit and professional motives. Even the jocose man was as
supernaturally solemn as could be well imagined; indeed, nobody knew he
was the same man. "Well," said the landlord, as he watched them down the street, as they
slowly paced their way with funereal, not sorrowful, solemnity--"well, I
am very glad that it is all over." "It has been a sad plague to you," said one. "It has, indeed; it must be to any one who has had another such a job as
this. I don't say it out of any disrespect to the poor man who is dead
and gone--quite the reverse; but I would not have such another affair on
my hands for pounds." "I can easily believe you, especially when we come to consider the
disagreeables of a mob." "You may say that. There's no knowing what they will or won't do,
confound them! If they'd act like men, and pay for what they have, why,
then I shouldn't care much about them; but it don't do to have other
people in the bar." "I should think not, indeed; that would alter the scale of your profits,
I reckon." "It would make all the difference to me. Business," added the landlord,
"conducted on that scale, would become a loss; and a man might as well
walk into a well at once." "So I should say. Have many such occurrences as these been usual in this
part of the country?" inquired the stranger. "Not usual at all," said the landlord; "but the fact is, the whole
neighbourhood has run distracted about some superhuman being they call a
vampyre." "Indeed!" --"Yes; and they suspected the unfortunate man who has been
lying up-stairs, a corpse, for some days." "Oh, the man they have just taken in the coffin to bury?" said the
stranger. "Yes, sir, the same." "Well, I thought perhaps somebody of great consequence had suddenly
become defunct." --"Oh, dear no; it would not have caused half the
sensation; people have been really mad." "It was a strange occurrence, altogether, I believe, was it?" inquired
the stranger.--"Indeed it was, sir. I hardly know the particulars, there
have been so many tales afloat; though they all concur in one point, and
that is, it has destroyed the peace of one family." "Who has done so?" --"The vampyre." "Indeed! I never heard of such an animal, save as a fable, before; it
seems to me extraordinary." "So it would do to any one, sir, as was not on the spot, to see it; I'm
sure I wouldn't."