"Ah! I dare say he will," replied the lady pettishly, "on our victuals, and our drink. I see no saving in parish children, not I; for they always cost more to keep, than they're worth: however, men always think they know best. There, get down stairs, little bag o' bones." With this, the undertaker's wife opened a side door, and pushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs into a stone cell, damp and dark, forming the ante-room to the coal-cellar, and denominated "the kitchen," wherein sat a slatternly girl in shoes down at heel, and blue worsted stockings very much out of repair. "Here, Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry, who had followed Oliver down, "give this boy some of the cold bits that were put by for Trip: he hasn't come home since the morning, so he may go without 'em. I dare say he isn't too dainty to eat 'em,--are you, boy?" Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, and who was trembling with eagerness to devour it, replied in the negative; and a plateful of coarse broken victuals was set before him. I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to gall within him, whose blood is ice, and whose heart is iron, could have seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had neglected, and witnessed the horrible avidity with which he tore the bits asunder with all the ferocity of famine:--there is only one thing I should like better; and that would be to see him making the same sort of meal himself with the same relish. "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.