They opened the door, as if waiting for some one—­I endeavoured to embrace this opportunity to escape, or to call out, but my strength had totally deserted me; every limb felt paralyzed.  And now a whole legion of similar fiends swarmed around my conductors, and one after another, sprang in upon me, apparently no more remarking my presence than if I had formed part of the cushion.  The first that fell upon me was a cold, heavy carcass that might have been buried, at farthest, about three days.  I thought horror and disgust would have destroyed me.  Then came a countless myriad of the skeletons of the defunct, all crowding into the sedan, as if it had been the ark of Noah.  At length, to all appearance, the whole of the inhabitants of the churchyard were safely seated upon and beside me, and the tombstones which had pertinaciously adhered to many a greasy soul, added not a little to the load which lay rattling and groaning upon me.  A monstrous skeleton which lay at my side—­with its eternal grin—­made the most horrible inroads into my right side with its bony elbow, and such a smell—­even now I wonder that every sense did not leave me.  The patience of my bearers seemed however now to be exhausted.  They still battled at the door with hundreds of this amiable fraternity; at length they dashed the door to with a force that made the windows quiver, and made off with me and my noble troop.  And now it was that the rattling, and groaning, and the elbow manoeuvre were first fully brought into action, and in their endeavours to seat themselves more conveniently, my accursed freight jolted from one side to the other till I thought my knees would have broken down under their burthen.  One would imagine that in such numerous society I should have been warmly seated, yet no icehouse ever was colder.  At every step that our bearers took, the icy mass of putridity before me, shook together—­my flesh creeps even now at the recollection.  The company, growing merry, began to sing—­and with organs similar to those I had already remarked in our guides; but what airs! what tunes!  The corpse before me seemed to be a leading singer; his soul-moving, heart-rending treble, sounded something like scraping slate pencil upon glass; the stave was of the following joyous import:—­

  See, how glows the deadly wine,
    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