ow-window of the Phoenix, there pealed forth--faint in
the distance and rain--a solemn royal ditty, piped by the tuneful
Aldermen of Skinner's Alley, and neither unmusical nor somehow
uncongenial with the darkness, and the melancholy object of the doctor's
walk, the chant being rather monastic, wild, and dirge-like. It was a
quarter past ten, and no other sound of life or human neighbourhood was
stirring. If secrecy were an object, it was well secured by the sable
sky, and the steady torrent which rolled down with electric weight and
perpendicularity, making all nature resound with one long
hush--sh--sh--sh--sh--deluging the broad street, and turning the
channels and gutters into mimic mill-streams which snorted and hurtled
headlong through their uneven beds, and round the corners towards the
turbid Liffey, which, battered all over with rain, muddy, and sullen,
reeled its way towards the sea, rolling up to the heavens an aspect
black as their own.

As they passed by the Phoenix (a little rivulet, by-the-bye, was
spouting down from the corner of the sign; and indeed the night was such
as might well have caused that suicidal fowl to abandon all thoughts of
self-incremation, and submit to an unprecedented death by drowning),
there was no idle officer, or lounging waiter upon the threshold.
Military and civilians were all snug in their quarters that night; and
the inn, except for the 'Aldermen' in the back parlour, was doing no
business. The door was nearly closed, and only let out a tall, narrow
slice of candle-light upon the lake of mud, over every inch of which the
rain was drumming.

The doctor's lantern glided by--and then across the street--and so
leisurely along the foot-way, by the range of lightless hall doors
towards the Salmon House, also dark; and so, sharp round the corner, and
up to the church-yard gate, which stood a little open, as also the
church door beyond, as was evidenced by the feeble glow of a lantern
from within.

I dare say old Bob Martin, the sexton, and grave Mr. Irons, the clerk,
were reassured when they heard the cheery voice of the rector hailing
them by name. There were now three candles in church; but the edifice
looked unpleasantly dim, and went off at the far end into total
darkness. Zekiel Irons was a lean, reserved fellow, with a black wig and
blue chin, and something shy and sinister in his phiz. I don't think he
had entertained honest Bob with much conversation from those thin lips