bridal guest was drawn by the lapidary glance of the Ancient Mariner; or, as Larry himself afterwards expressed it, “as a jaw tooth is wrinched out of an ould woman with a pair of pinchers.”  The Saint strode before him in silence, not in the least incommoded by the stones and rubbish, which at every step sadly contributed to the discomfiture of Larry’s shins, who followed his marble conductor into a low vault, situated at the west end of the church.  The path lay through coffins piled up on each side of the way in various degrees of decomposition; and, excepting that the solid footsteps of the saintly guide, as they smote heavily on the floor of stone, broke the deadly silence, all was still.  Stumbling and staggering along, directed only by the casual glimpses of light afforded by the moon, where it broke through the dilapidated roof of the vault, and served to discover only sights of woe, Larry followed.  He soon felt 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 temple, built by the hand of Hiram—­and other symbols, of which the