"When a fellow comes out of the grave, ma'am--that's sherry in that bottle; be kind enough to fill this glass--he's chilly, and he wants blood, Mrs. Rumble. A gallon, or so, transfused into my veins wouldn't hurt me. You can't _make_ blood fast enough for the wear and tear of life, especially in a place like merry England, as the poets call it--and merry England is as damp all over as one of your charnel vaults under your dirty churches. Egad! it's enough to make a poor ghost like me turn vampire, and drain those rosy little brats of yours--ha, ha, ha!--_your_ children, are they, Mrs. Rumble--eh?" "No, sir, please--my brother's children." "Your _brother's_--ho! He doesn't live _here_, I hope?" "He's dead, sir." "Dead--is he?" "Five years last May, sir." "Oh! that's good. And their mother?--some more sherry, please." "Dead about four years, poor thing! They're orphans, sir, please." "'Gad! I _do_ please; it's a capital arrangement, ma'am, as they _are_ here, and you mustn't let 'em go among the children that swarm about places like this. Egad! ma'am, I've no fancy for scarlatina or small-pox, or any sort or description of your nursery maladies." "They're very 'ealthy, sir, I thank you," said grave Sarah Rumble, a little mistaking Mr. Dingwell's drift. "Very glad to hear it, ma'am." "Very kind o' you, sir," she said, with a courtesy. "Kind, of course, yes, very kind," he echoed. "Very 'ealthy, indeed, sir, I'm thankful to say." "Well, yes, they do look well--for town brats, you know--plump and rosy--hang 'em, little skins of sweet red wine; egad! enough to make a fellow turn vampire, as I said. Give me a little more sherry--thank you, ma'am. Any place near here where they sell ice?" "Yes, sir, there's Mr. Candy's hice-store, in Love Lane, sir." "You must arrange to get me a pound, or so, every day at twelve o'clock, broken up in lumps, like sugar, and keep it in a cold cellar; do you mind, ma'am?" "Yes, sir, please." "How old are _you_, ma'am? Well, _no_, you need not mind--hardly a fair question; a steady woman--a lady who has seen the world--_some_thing of it, hey?" said he; "so have _I_--I'm a steady old fellow, egad!--you must give me a latch-key, ma'am." "Yes, sir." "Some ten or twelve years will see us out; curious thing life, ma'am, eh? ha, ha, ha!--Sparkling cup, ma'am, while it lasts--_some_times; pity the flask has so few glasses, and is flat so soon; isn't it so, ma'am?" "I never drank wine, sir, but once." "No! where was that?" "At Mr. Snelly's wedding, twenty years since." "'Gad! you'd make a good Turk, ma'am--don't mistake me--it's only they drink no wine. You've found life an up-hill business, then, hey?" Mrs. Rumble sighed profoundly, shook her head, and said,-- "I've 'ad my trials, sir." "Ha, ha, ha! to be sure, why not? then you're a bit _tired_, I dare say; what do you think of death?" "I wish I was ready, sir." "An ugly fellow, hey? I don't like the smell of him, ma'am." "We has our hopes, sir."