Blue trousers and brown socks completed his attire, if we can talk so of the dead.

He had a horrid look of a waxwork.

In the tossing of the lights he seemed to make faces and mouths at us, to frown, and to be at times upon the point of speech.

The cart, with this shabby and tragic freight, and surrounded by its silent escort and bright torches, continued for some distance to creak along the high-road, and I to follow it in amazement, which was soon exchanged for horror.

At the corner of a lane the procession stopped, and, as the torches ranged themselves along the hedgerow-side, I became aware of a grave dug in the midst of the thoroughfare, and a provision of quicklime piled in the ditch.