Above us, on the hill-side, was a considerable bog, where crowds of country people were collecting to their daily toil.

A merry laugh or boisterous joke occasionally rang clear in the morning air.

The mirth went heavily to our hearts.

The snatch of song, the unrestrained laugh, the merry glee, broke upon the ear of the wayfarers like the mocking of demons.

The consciousness that they then sped, without a beacon or a guide, over the flinty path of flight, to end perhaps at the gibbet, imparted to the voice of mirth the sound of ingratitude.