they proceed were expressing a sense of sympathy or horror. We have now
advanced up this rugged path about half a mile from the highway we
have mentioned, and discovered a light which will guide us to our
destination. As we approach the house the people are increasing in point
of numbers; but still their conversation is marked by the same strange
and peculiar character. Perhaps the solemn depth of their voices gains
something by the ominous aspect of the sky; but, be this as it may, the
feeling which it occasions fills one with a different and distinct sense
of discomfort.

We ourselves feel it, and it is not surprising; for, along this wild and
rugged path of darkness, we are conducting the reader to the wake of a
murderer. We have now arrived within fifty yards of the house, which,
however, we cannot see, for nothing but a solitary light is visible.
But, lo! a flash of lightning! and there for a moment is the whole
rugged and savage scenery revealed. The huge, pointed mountains, the
dreary wastes, the wild, still glens, the naked hills of granite, and
the tremendous piles of rocks, ready, one would think, to crash down
from the positions where they seem to hang, if only assailed by a strong
gale of wind--these objects, we say, were fearful and startling in
themselves; but the sensations which they produced were nothing in
comparison with the sight of an unpainted deal coffin which stood
near the door, against the side wall of the house. The appearance of a
coffin, but especially at night, is one that casts a deep shadow over
the spirits, because it is associated with death, of which it is the
melancholy and depressing exponent; but to look upon it by such an awful
though transient light as that which proceeds from the angry fires of
heaven, and to reflect upon the terrible associations of blood and
crime which mingle themselves with that of a murderer, is a dreadful but
wholesome homily to the heart. We now enter the house of death, where