that he was descending, and could not help wondering at the length of the
journey. He began to entertain the most unpleasant suspicions as to the
character of his conductor;--but what could he do? Flight was out of the
question, and to think of resistance was absurd. "Needs must, they say,"
thought he to himself, "when the devil drives. I see it's much the same
when a saint, leads."

At last the dolorous march had an end; and not a little to Larry's
amazement, he found that his guide had brought him to the gate of a lofty
hall, before which a silver lamp, filled with naphtha, "yielded light as
from a sky."--From within loud sounds of merriment were ringing; and it
was evident, from the jocular harmony and the tinkling of glasses, that
some subterraneous catch-club were not idly employed over the bottle.
"Who's there?" said a porter, roughly responding to the knock of Saint
Colman. "Be so good," said the Saint, mildly, "my very good fellow, as to
open the door without further questions, or I'll break your head. I'm
bringing a gentleman here on a visit, whose business is pressing." "May
be so," thought Larry, "but what that business may be, is more than I can
tell." The porter sulkily complied with the order, after having
apparently communicated the intelligence that a stranger was at hand; for
a deep silence immediately followed the tipsy clamour; and Larry,
sticking close to his guide, whom he now looked upon almost as a friend,
when compared with these underground revellers to whom he was about to
be introduced, followed him through a spacious vestibule, which gradually
sloped into a low-arched room, where the company was assembled. And a
strange-looking company it was. Seated round a long table were
three-and-twenty grave and venerable personages, bearded, mitred, stoled,
and croziered,--all living statues of stone, like the Saint who had
walked out of his niche. On the drapery before them were figured the
images of the sun, moon, and stars--the inexplicable bear--the mystic