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Of the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all

things on their last roadside, with an impassive stare; others,

with a lingering interest in the ways of life and men. Some,

seated with drooping heads, are sunk in silent despair; again,

there are some so heedful of their looks that they cast upon the

multitude such glances as they have seen in theatres, and in

pictures. Several close their eyes, and think, or try to get

their straying thoughts together. Only one, and he a miserable

creature, of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by

horror, that he sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole

number appeals by look or gesture, to the pity of the people.