On arriving there they all looked on in silence, appalled by its great size, and altogether deterred from so formidable an attempt.
It would be death to try it, they exclaimed; no living man could do it; an opinion which was universally acceded to, with one single exception.
A thin man, rather above the middle size, dressed in a long, black coat, black breeches, and black stockings, constituted that exception.

There was something peculiar, and even strikingly mysterious, in his whole appearance.

His complexion was pale as that of a corpse, his eyes dead and glassy, and the muscles of his face seemed as if they were paralyzed and could not move.

His right hand was thrust in his bosom, and! over his left arm he bore some dark garment of a very funereal cast, almost reminding one of a mortcloth.
"There is one," said he, in a hollow and sepulchral voice, "that could do it." Father Magauran, who was present, looked at him with surprise; as indeed did every one who had got an opportunity of seeing him.
"I know there is," he replied, "a sartin individual who could do it; ay, in troth, and maybe if he fell into the flames, too, he'd only find himself in his own element; and if it went to that could dance a hornpipe in the middle of it." This repartee of the priest's elicited loud laughter from the by-standers, who, on turning round to see how the other bore it, found that he had disappeared.

This occasioned considerable amazement, not unmixed with a still more extraordinary feeling.