a churchyard vault,
half-moaned, half-groaned, "It's grace you're saying, you imperint young
blaggard!"

"It is," says I, trimbling all over. "That is, if it's not displasing
to your honour's lordship."

"That depinds," says he, "upon what you are going to give me to ate
after it."

"Ate!" says I. "Why, thin, be good to us! can you ate?"

"Thry me," says he, "and you'll see whether I can or not; and make
haste, for my time's short! I must go down agin almost immadiately, and
it isn't the bit or sup I've had for near onto five days; and by rason
of that, although I was a strong man once, it's nearly gone I am!"

"Gone where?" I asked.

"To my grave," says he.

"Bad cess to them, whoever they were, that ought to have done it, and
didn't! Haven't they buried you yet?" I inquired.

"What would they bury me for?" says he.

"It's customary with corpses where I come from," I answered.

"I come from the same place," says he. "They are bad enough there, in
all conscience--more particularly, by the same token, the middlemen,
tithe-proctors, and excisemen; but they didn't bury live min in my
time," says he.

"But they did dead ones," says I.

"Of coorse," he assented. "And it's you that will have to bury me
mighty soon, unless--"

"Unless what?" I demanded, in a bigger fright than ever at the thought
of having to turn sexton to a sperrit.

"Well, unless you give me something to ate and drink," says he.

"Take all there is in that locker," says I, "and welcome--and be off out
of this."

"Don't say it agin," says he; and he opened the locker, and walked into
the cook's store like a shark that had been kaping a six weeks' fast.

It was wonderful to see how the tears stood in the poor ghost's eyes,
how his jaws worked, and his throat swelled, as he swallowed mouthful
after mouthful, the bigness of a big man's fist. In a few minutes he
turned to me, and said, "Take my blessing for this, Phil!"

I was startled to hear the ghost call me by my own name; but as I didn't
want to encourage him to kape on visiting terms, I thought it wouldn't
do to let him become too familiar, so I said, mighty stiff like, "Fill
yourself, honest spirit, as much as you plase, but don't be Phil-ing
me--I don't like such freedom on a short acquaintance--and you are no
friend of mine," says I.

"I was onct," he replied.

"When?" asked I.

"When we were in the ould counthry," says he. "When you tuck the purse
from me for Ma