"Please, Master Sleep, where do these doors open upon?" asked I. "Upon
the land of Oblivion," was the answer, "an extensive domain {44a} under
the sceptre of my brother Death, and this great rampart is the boundary
of vast Eternity." By this I could see that there was a little death-imp
at every door, each one bearing arms, and a name different from that of
his fellows; though it was evident that they, one and all, were the
ministers of the same king. Nevertheless they were continually
quarrelling about the sick; one would snatch the patient to take him as a
gift through his own door, while another strove to take him through his.
On our approach, I observed that over each door the name of the Death who
kept it was written, and also that at each door were an hundred various
things left all of a heap, showing plainly that those who went through
were in haste. Over one door I saw "Hunger," and yet on the floor close
by were full purses, and bags, and brass-nailed trunks. "This is the
Porch of Misers," said Sleep. "Whom do those rags belong to?" "To the
misers, mostly," he replied, "but there are some which belong to idlers,
gossipmongers and others, who, poor in everything except in spirit,
preferred to die of hunger rather than ask for help.
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