"Enter, mortals of this sinful world, enter into the mists and shadows of eternity. Select your biers, to the right, to the left; fit yourselves comfortably to them, and repose in the solemnity and tranquillity of death; and may God have mercy on your souls!" A number of persons who had preceded us had already pre-empted their coffins, and were sitting beside them awaiting developments and enjoying their consommations, using the coffins for their real purpose,--tables for holding drinking-glasses. Alongside the glasses were slender tapers by which the visitors might see one another. [Illustration: 0273] There seemed to be no mechanical imperfection in the illusion of a charnel-house; we imagined that even chemistry had contributed its resources, for there seemed distinctly to be the odor appropriate to such a place. We found a vacant coffin in the vault, seated ourselves at it on rush- bottomed stools, and awaited further developments. [Illustration: 8274] Another croque-mort--a garçon he was--came up through the gloom to take our orders. He was dressed completely in the professional garb of a hearse-follower, including claw-hammer coat, full-dress front, glazed tile, and oval silver badge. He droned,--"_Bon soir, Macchabées! * Buvez les crachats d'asthmatiques, voilà des sueurs froides d'agonisants. Prenez donc des certificats de décès, seulement vingt sous. C'est pas cher et c'est artistique!_" * This word (also Maccabe, argot Macabit) is given in Paris by sailors to cadavers found floating in the river. Bishop said that he would be pleased with a lowly bock. Mr. Thompkins chose cherries à l'eau-de-vie, and I, une menthe. "One microbe of Asiatic cholera from the last corpse, one leg of a lively cancer, and one sample of our consumption germ!" moaned the creature toward a black hole at the farther end of the room. Some women among the visitors tittered, others shuddered, and Mr. Thompkins broke out in a cold sweat on his brow, while a curious accompaniment of anger shone in his eyes. Our sleepy pallbearer soon loomed through the darkness with our deadly microbes, and waked the echoes in the hollow casket upon which he set the glasses with a thump. "Drink, Macchabées!" he wailed: "drink these noxious potions, which contain the vilest and deadliest poisons!" "The villain!" gasped Mr. Thompkins; "it is horrible, disgusting, filthy!" The tapers flickered feebly on the coffins, and the white skulls grinned at him mockingly from their sable background. Bishop exhausted all his tactics in trying to induce Mr. Thompkins to taste his bran-died cherries, but that gentleman positively refused,--he seemed unable to banish the idea that they were laden with disease germs.