These sad times will make his fortune." As he spoke, he rapped with his cane at the door, which, after a little delay, was opened by a young man in a carpenter's dress, with a hammer in his hand.

On seeing who it was, this person exhibited great confusion, and would have retired; but the doctor, pushing him aside, asked for his master.
"You cannot see him just now, sir," replied the other, evidently considerably embarrassed.

"He is just come home greatly fatigued, and is about to retire to rest." "No matter," returned the doctor, entering a room, in which three or four other men were at work, hastily finishing coffins; "I _must_ see him." No further opposition being offered, Hodges, followed by the apprentice, marched towards an inner room.

Just as he reached the door, a burst of loud laughter, evidently proceeding from a numerous party, arose from within, and a harsh voice was heard chanting the following strains: SONG OF THE PLAGUE.
To others the Plague a foe may be, To me 'tis a friend--not an enemy; My coffins and coffers alike it fills, And the richer I grow the more it kills.
_Drink the Plague! Drink the Plague!_ For months, for years, may it spend its rage On lusty manhood and trembling age; Though half mankind of the scourge should die, My coffins will sell--so what care I?
_Drink the Plague! Drink the Plague!_ Loud acclamations followed the song, and the doctor, who was filled with disgust and astonishment, opened the door.

He absolutely recoiled at the scene presented to his gaze.