Upon the bony lip,
And arranged in spectral line,
Our joyous numbers trip.
See--attentive at her side,
The ghastly lover woos his bride;
Whilst sepulchral music flowing,
Scares the dawning day from growing.

To the latest hour of my existence, I shall retain a vivid recollection
of this auricular martyrdom. After a ride of about half an hour, during
which, my situation was more horrible than I can depict, our conductors
stopped at another churchyard; the door was now opened, and as each
passed forward to escape, a terrific squabble ensued between the cargo
and my two attendants, probably about the fare. A third time I strained
every nerve to call out, but it was absolutely impossible; at length,
however, their quarrel seemed to have been adjusted; the chairman shut
the door, still grumbling, and I was again, thank God, alone--could once
more breathe freely--and by degrees became warmer. My conductors took
their way through the gate back again, and I became more easy in the
reflection that, in consonance with old habits of good order, they would
probably replace the chair in its original situation; but, to my
astonishment and terror, I now first became aware that the size of my
conductors was rapidly enlarging. Instantly their statures became more
exalted, their forms more aerial, and their strides more gigantic; and I
could see distinctly into the first floor of the houses of the street
through which we were passing. In the square where stands the monument
of our late lamented monarch, their forms became really terrific, and as
the foremost strode past, he swept the statue from its pedestal with his
coat, with as much apparent ease as if it had been a wax doll. In the
next street, I could, without difficulty, look into the third floor of