, m FV anv v4i iiuii ^ ^ ^M^% -f P3 : ^g^>^ffftWm^>C3fc.-:t Sir s-3^fe i^ 4J tfUJBP' LETTERS FROM HELL TRANSLATED BY A. C. KOLLMYER, WITH A PREFACE BY GEORGE MACDONALD, LL.D, , OHCGOii. NEW YORK: HUNTER, ROBINSON & CO. 3 EAST I4TH STREET. 1889. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1889, by HUNTER, ROBINSON and trembling. Gradually the abyss, as it were, eats up its own darkness, the fair light reappearing and growing, till we see it as a tender radiance, clear as the twilight of a summer morn. And at times, as though a curtain of mist and cloud were suddenly rent asunder, a cataract of light bursts forth victoriously, overflowing from the heart of glory. Hell stands dazzled, struck to the core as it were For in beauty and bliss eternal a vision of Paradise is given to the damned ones no, not the dam- ned ones, for though cast into hell we are not yet judged ; it is given to those who, like the rich man, lift up their eyes in torment. And it is not only Paradise we see, but the blessed ones who dwell there. All this I have learned, as yet I have not seen it. LETTERS FROM HELL. 23 But now, since dawn is increasing, we seem to be near- ing that hour, shall I say that happy hour ? ah no most dread ! most dread! I cannot tell how long the light goes on increasing or decreasing ; there is no judg- ing of the length of dawn, as there is no judging of the duration of night itself. According to human ideas, it would seem to be a space of several years. The vision of Paradise, I feel sure, fills but a moment, but some call it long, fearfully long. Shall I rejoice to see that moment, or must I dread it ? Again, hell has a river, the waters of which are heavy, dark, and muddy. You will be thinking of the waters of Lethe, Ah no, my friend, there is no Lethe here whence souls might draw forgetfulness : that is a happy myth ; but the river I speak of is real, terribly real. It is fed by the falsehood and injustice of the world; every lie, every wrong, helps to swell it. That is why its waters are so turbid, so fearfully foul, looking like clotted blood at times. And sometimes, when the world is more wicked than usual, the river rises and floods its banks, leaving stench and pestilence behind it. It is scarcely to be endured. But we, hardened spectres of hell, we endure. Sometimes, I am told, it rains here and snows, but not so often as one would think. It happens when folly and vanity upon earth overflow their measure. The world can stand a good deal, we know, but there are times when even the world has too much of it. The surplus then will drop into hell, and we say, by way of former fashion of speech : Look it rains ; or, Behold it snows! There is in hell not only a certain natural succession of time, but also something of social and political order. Families herd together, and souls of one and the same century like to congregate. And there is a kind of pro- gressive development. The most recent arrivals, as a rule, take the lowest place, advancing to make room for fresh troops appearing. Those who in the world were of one way of thinking, or alike in manner of acting, soon meet here, though of different nationality or separate centuries. Thus there is here a town of injustice, called also the town of politicians ; there is a town of the Holy Inquisition ; a gigantic city of Jews, of Mormons ; a town of Antediluvians, and many others. I begin to understand the moving springs of hell. It 24 LETTERS FROM HELL. is insatiate desire on the one hand, and remorse on the other I had almost said sorrow ; but that is too sweet a grace, admitting of sorrow for sin, for opportunity wasted, and that is unknown here ; it is a dull flinty grief, a mere wailing for pain. The punishment of hell is two-fold, but after all it is the self-same retribution. Some are driven continuously to brood over the same evil passions they indulged in on earth, satisfaction alone being ab- sent ; or with horror and loathing are obliged again and again to commit in the spirit the self-same crimes that polluted their days in the flesh. The miser forever is dreaming of riches, the voluptuary of uncleanness, the glutton of feasting, the murderer of his bloody deed. Others, on the contrary, are pursuing the very things they neglected on earth ; they know it is hopeless, but pursue them they must. Thus men of unjust dealing are anxiously trying to right the wrong, the unmerciful to do deeds of charity, the unnatural parent to live for her children, the suicide to prolong his days. But whatever we suffer, our torment is not to be viewed in the light of final punishment that is coming we await the day of doom ; no, it is merely the natural con- sequence of our life on earth. Oh, men and women, yet walking on earth, consider this ! that all sin, great or small, has its own irretrievable consequence, which ay, think of it extends far beyond the limits of life, even into hell. And if mere consequence may be so terrible, what must be the punishment to come ? This then is the law of hell : we are not tormented we torment ourselves ! Yet remember that in dying everything depends on whether we lived in the faith of the Son of God, who gave His life that men might be saved. Our sins have that dread importance in as far as they testify that we did not believe. Do you marvel that I speak of God ? Ah me, He is still our God ! And we know that there is a Son of God who came into the world to save sinners, who loved them unto death, even the death of the Cross. But we know nothing of the way of salvation : everything is forgotten the very name of the Saviour. We consume ourselves in terrible efforts to remember, were it but the faintest remnant of saving knowledge, but alas it is vain not even His name ! Could we remember that name, call it back to our hearts, LETTERS FROM ~ HELL. 25 I doubt not I doubt not even we might be saved. But it is gone it is too late ! too late ! It is incredible how much I have forgotten ; indeed, I might say I have forgotten everything except myself. Yes, that is it. I have not forgotten self ; on the con- trary, whatever of the past concerns my person and my life has followed me hither with a minuteness of detail as strange as it is painful. But the clothes of self, as it were, the things I once possessed by knowledge, by in- tellectual acquirement, they have vanished together with the gifts of mammon and the vanities of the flesh. You will not be surprised then that the feeling of naked- ness is so terribly present with me. I have brought nothing hither but myself. And what comprises this self but a burning remorse which can never be stilled ; a greed of desire which can never be satisfied ; an unquenchable longing for things left be- hind ; innumerable recollections of sins great and small, causing insufferable anguish, all being equally bitter, equally fraught with vainest regret ! This is the picture of myself, O God, of myself in hell. LETTER IV. THE circumstances in which I grew up in the world could not be called happy. My parents were so unlike in character and so little suited to each other that people were fully justified in wondering how they could have married at all. My father was a plain homely man, somewhat retiring and unassuming ; he was the head of a well-to-do house of business of considerable mercantile importance. But he was not at first sight credited with personal weight or influence ; people would easily slight him. And yet there was that in the quiet expression of his face, in the calm clearness of his eye, which convinced those who took the trouble of knowing him that he was not a man of the ordinary type. My mother, whom I always considered the chief person in the house, was a woman of rare perfections, very handsome, very gracious, and highly esteemed. Age even flattered her, dealing kindly by her beauty ; but 26 LETTERS FROM HELL. that, perhaps, was due to the fact that her life never flowed in the channels of violent passion. Some believed her cold and wanting in feeling ; but it would be a great mistake to imagine her without the warmth of energy. She was a clever woman, and although she never asserted herself so as to give offense, she always managed to have her way. Who, indeed, could have dreamt to turn her will aside, since I, her idol and her darling, never once succeeded in going against it? She was a remarkably clever woman. The world admired her ; whether she was loved I cannot say. Maybe she loved no one excepting myself. Did I love her ? Well, if I must answer the question honestly, I am bound to say I also rather admired than loved her. And, indeed, she was worthy of all admira- tion. Never anywhere did I meet a woman who was so thoroughly what the world calls a lady mind you, I mean a lady in the world's own acceptation. She was just perfect perfect in beauty, in manner, in bearing, in dress, in all the ways of life prescribed by society ; per- fect too in the fulfillment of what she considered her duty, irreproachable in conduct, a very pattern of piety, appearing clothed in spotlessness as with a garment ; never saying or doing or permitting anything that might breathe suspicion on her perfection. In short, she was a lady to the least movement of her finger, to the minutest folds of her dress. And she preserved her reputation, even adding to it daily. Looking back now, I understand her as indeed I understand the whole of the sad past with a new insight. I see plainJy now that to her the world was everything : it was her guide, its approval being the aim of her every ambition. I do not mean to say by this that she cared not for things good and beautiful in any other light, and she really cultivated religion. No one could appear more assiduously obedient to the behests of piety than my mother, with her veneration for the -clergy, her regular attendance at church ; and no one ever quitted her presence without feeling edified. Not undeservedly might duty and propriety be termed the guardian saints that watched her every step. The stately mansion we inhabited was divided in two, figuratively speaking, my mother presiding in one way LETTERS FROM HELL. 27 my father, though quietly, in another ; I, their child, seemed to belong altogether to my mother's dominion.' I shrank from my father, feeling afraid of his quiet eye. Apparently he was satisfied with this state of affairs, but I feel sure now that in his heart he loved me. My mother's rule' was marked by gaiety ; she loved to live in style. My father, excused by business, but rarely took part in her doings ; and if he made his appearance at times, I, foolish child, felt almost ashamed of his presence, he looked so little like the master of the house in the simplicity of his habits and unpretending ways. There was another inmate of our house, my father's sister, strangely contrasting with my mother. The world had begun to call her an old maid ; and she certainly was peculiar, a mixture of unfashionableness and singu- larity. People called her eccentric, whimsical ; and indeed one never knew what she might not be doing next. She was no " lady," like my mother, and nowise perfect, though she could look remarkably ladylike whenever she thought it worth her while. She was extremely natural, her heart always bubbling over with its inmost thoughts ; there was something utterly naive in her straightforward openness and the unstudied ways of her conversation. My mother, I believe, thought her queer ; but in truth she was the only person who ever knew how to call up a smile in my father's face. And this she looked upon as her own special vocation, ever mindful of it. No ; Aunt Betty could nowise be held up as a pattern ; and as for perfections, she had but one a heart brimful of kindness, ever ready to sacrifice itself, making it her one delight to see others happy. In fact she never thought o'f herself. And that heart of hers was filled with a faith as deep and fervent and single-minded as any child's. No doubt her Christian life knew its times of dearth as of plenty it could not be otherwise with a nature like hers but her heart, nevertheless, was firmly grounded. She had God in her heart. And though she might get entangled with her duties, and even blunder about God's commandments, the one commandment, fulfilling the law, ever shone as a beacon to her soul that, loving God, we should love one another. 28 LETTERS FROM HELL. She had hardly ever been separated from my father, and now she seemed indispensable in his house that great two-parted house. If I were to call her our Cin- derella, it would most certainly be an ill-chosen com- parison, and yet a true one. She was queen of the household ; but in that position she managed to be the servant of all. Every trouble, every care, she took upon her shoulders, wearing herself out for each and all of us. She liked it. Any attempt to oppose her in this respect roused her self-assertion, meek and mild though she was in aught beside. My mother, being the lady, never touched domestic concerns with a finger ; everything was given up to Aunt Betty, even the care for myself and my father. But household worries were the least of her vicarious burden ; she felt called to take upon herself whatever was disagreeable to any one else, making her- self a shield and warder-off in every possible direction, and being the willing scapegoat even, if thereby she could comfort blundering servant or careless child. She appeared to consider this her life's calling, she who, despite her simplicity, was by far the wisest of us, and indefatigable were her attempts to cover the want of har- mony between my parents. She might in truth be called the bond of union between them. It was evidently my father for whom she thus sacrificed herself, loving him with a sisterly devotion as beautiful as rare. How well she understood how to brighten his home, to turn aside the edge of disappointment, and flood the place with her own abundant warmth. Was he sad, how she would cheer him, and with a show of gaiety, hiding per- haps her own aching heart, strive to heal the breach that separated him from his wife, and, alas ! from his child as well. And how lovingly she did her very best for me, the sweetest, kindest of aunts ! My mother indulged me fondly ; I ought not to say that she spoiled me, her cleverness stood in the way of that ; but I owe it to my aunt that, in spite of all indulgence, I was a good and even pious child. It was she who taught me to read my Bible, sowing the good seed in my heart, and nothing in after life ever did more for me than her loving and God- fearing example. The recollection of that early time is unspeakably sweet to me even now in the bitterness of LETTERS FROM HELL. 29 hell. With what power of love she drew me is plainly evident from the fact that whenever 1 could I stole away from the queenly presence of my mother though there was never a plaything I wished for but she gave it me to seek Aunt Betty, trotting behind her to kitchen and storeroom, or spending hours in the one little chamber she called her own. That was the happiest time of my life. Thanks to Aunt Betty, then, I was brought up in the fear of God ; but though the seed was sown, and the flower even blossomed, it never yielded fruit. As I grew up, the power of the sensual was upon me, and I early conformed to the ways of the world. Aunt Betty died ; she had positively worn herself to death. At such cost the service of love at times is given. Her loss moved me deeply, but the impression did not last. I had begun to attend at my father's counting-house. My mother had destined me for the army, or, if possible, to some diplo- matic career. I was gifted with my mother's beauty, was heir to my father's fortune, and not wanting in ability. She took pride in me, and naturally wished I should be a credit to her in the eyes of the world. But although apart from Aunt Betty I had always been left to my mother's guidance, my father strenuously opposed her wishes in this respect ; I should follow in his foot- steps and carry on the time-honored firm. Life, he said, would yield its own battles apart from the army. He was right, but a sorry soldier I proved. I was gifted with the pleasant but dangerous talent of making friends wherever I went a pernicious talent even, with a disposition like mine. Not only did the world open her arms to receive me, but to clasp me, as the fair nymphs of the well clasped Hylas, the beautiful youth, dragging him helplessly to the deep. Even before my lips wore the first downy sign of manhood, I was already corrupted. Of misleading companions there was no lack, those of my own sex not being the worst. Such things, however, avenge themselves : being misled at first, I began to mislead. But being brought under my father's immediate influence, he did his utmost to lift me from the slough, sparing neither admonition, nor rebuke, nor even restraint. It availed not ; I evaded his guidance, and even 30 LETTERS FROM HELL. deceived him. More successful were my mother's attempts ; for while, on the one hand, she managed to let me see that she could condone, if not actually excuse, she yet so powerfully pleaded the claims of prudence and position that I promised to mend my ways. And I did mend them. I carefully considered the extreme of dissipation, avoiding discovery and scandal. Self-restraint was not without effort, for my nature thirsted after pleasure. But though passion-ruled, I had a strong will to act as a curb where I chose, and the worldly wisdom of my mother taught me the advisability of exerting that will. I was about one-and-twenty when my father died ; never since we lost Aunt Betty, can I remember having seen a smile on his face there was no one to call it up when she had gone. And now he left us. My mother retired on her jointure satisfied, as she said, to have done her duty in the world. And I, at an early age, was admitted to a partnership in the firm, of which my father's brother now was head. Soon after I fell seriously ill. This brings me to one of the darkest episodes of my life. It is but an episode, a draught of passing enjoy- ment, but fraught with the origin of my deepest woe. Could I be washed of all my sin, this one dark recollec- tion would never leave me. The illness happily had been got over, leaving me prostrate. It was early in the spring. My medical at- tendant advised me to leave town as soon as possible for the country or the seaside. But I was a prey to ill- humor and fretfulness. I liked the advice, and did not like it. I did not care for our own place in the country; it was not quiet enough, I said, and I hated the sea. As it chanced a sudden whim came to the rescue. We had been to the lakes the previous autumn ; memory carried me back to a keeper's lodge, delightfully situated in a leafy solitude, a very bower of clematis and roses. Peace herself could not dream of a more congenial retreat. If I was to go for change of air that was the place I should fancy. Difficulties were got over, and I went. An honest old keeper lived there with his daughter Annie, she being on the verge of womanhood. Annie ! how little did I LETTERS FROM HELL. 31 think that this name one day would sound so terrible to my ears. I recovered quickly and strength returned. But lovely as the spot was, life without incident did not amuse me. From sheer ennui I began to make love to Annie. She was an inexperienced country-girl ; but the. very naivete of her ignorance was enchanting. She was as free and natural as the birds of the dell, a very out- come of her surroundings, fresh as the dewy morn and fragrant as the woodland air. Wild and untaught, yet sweetly delicate, that child of nature soon cast a spell over my fancy. We were left alone fearlessly. Her father saw but a child in her she was barely seventeen and she was engaged to wait on me. But Annie, at first, was proof to flattery ; light-footed and light-hearted, she turned its edge unconsciously, and I made no way with her. Always merry and always happy, full of kindliness and grace, she flitted about me, helpful as an angel, but coy and unapproachable. Not that she saw danger she did not even suspect it ; -it was merely the instinctive dread holding all children of nature aloof from snares. The bird on the sunny bough will look at you, even sing to you, but you shall not touch it. Brimming with life's enjoyment she was easily delighted, and sprightly as a squirrel in the wood. She knew affection, but what we call love had at that time not entered her consciousness. Never had I seen a happier mind, a fresher and more charming disposition ; the sky of her soul was as clear as the blue vault above, her singing as blithe as the lark's on the wing, and she cared not whether the sun shone or not. But in my selfish soul I said, " Thou coy little bird, see if I don't catch thee ! " Not that I loved her the difference of rank was too great ; but I was for plucking the flower, though I should throw ic away after a while. And I did succeed, working a pitiful change in the child ; she was like a faded blossom or a bird with broken wing. Her singing and laughter were silenced, the fearlessness of innocence was gone. Sadly and si- lently she moved about, scarcely lifting her tearful eye. But from that moment she clung to me with tender res- signation, as touching as it was true, to me who had 32 LETTERS FROM HELL. ruined her in idle sport. She felt, and felt rightly, that henceforth her life was mine ; and in her own way loved me, wronged as she was. It was I who had murdered her soul. Even then repentance with poignant sting had seized upon my heart there was some good left in me as yet ; I felt deeply touched, moreover, by the child's entire love and humble surrender. Was she bewitching before, she was not less so now ; not to be known again, but lovely still in sorrow. Free and fearless she had been in the pride of her beauty ; now with chaplet deflowered and robbed of her glory, ruefully kissing the hand which brought her so low. I began to love her, or to believe I loved her, and thought of a possible marriage. But it fell out differently. My mother had been informed, and set herself to bring me to reason. How cleverly she did it ! not rousing opposition, but none the less effectively showing me the utter foolishness of my intention. There was not a shade of derision in her manner, yet I felt ridiculed. She never called it a silly freak, but she brought me to view it as such. Had I really loved Annie, no doubt my mother could not so easily have influenced me. As it was, I suddenly seemed to come to my senses ; it was not love only pity for the girl. My mother spoke about it freely ; and presently she succeeded in directing my attention elsewhere. She had adopted an orphan child, of American parentage, dis- tantly related to her own family. Lily might be about nine or ten years old now, and so far I had scarcely bestowed any notice upon her. My mother would hint now and then at the rare flower of beauty slumbering in the buds of promise. And presently, in so many words, she pointed out to me that in some seven or eight years Lily might not only have ripened to matchless charms, but as an heiress of no ordinary kind could not fail to draw the eyes of men. If, then, I would give up Annie, and think of Lily instead, she would try to keep her for me. When Lily should have reached maturity, it would be just about the right time for me to settle in life, and I might hunt the world over, and not find her equal any- where, That was true enough, and imagination had LETTERS FROM HELL. 33 been set to work. Since that time I loved to think of the promising little Creole. Lily was undeniably a lovely creature, as harmless as a dove, but with me anticipating fancy reveled in posses- sion. It was easy for my mother therefore to win me to her plan. There was something indescribably charming in this new relationship. To look upon Lily as my own property, though she knew it not ; to watch her unfold- ing charm upon charm in sweetest innocence ; to call her mine mine in the very care that guarded her ; to gather up treasure, as it were, for my own delightful harvest, call it unnatural if you like, but to a nature like mine it was irresistibly tempting. I allowed my mother full liberty to bring the affair with Annie to a satisfactory end, as she termed it, hav- ing given her my word not to see the girl again. A real sacrifice, was it not ? Hell shows it now in its own true light. LETTER V. I BEGIN to feel at home here. At home ? How full of sweetest echoes is this word. Its very sound would warm one's heart on earth ; it is bitter here doubly bitter for memories gone. It does not lessen hell to get used to it; we are even forced to make ourselves at home here, just as we are obliged to be what once we were. That irresistible impulse to be continuously doing the works of our earthly life, to pursue with a burning greed a vain and shadowy existence, may well be termed hell's daily bread. The evil desire alone is real : the sense that might lend it expression is dead. You have heard of Tantalus and Sisyphus it may help you to conceive our state. All is illusion here, the very fire I told you of, raging in imagination merely within us that is and yet what an awful reality ! You understand, then, that I have resumed old habits, not willingly, but under compulsion, following the old bent with a helpless disgust. However, I cannot but add that I have been tolerably fortunate, falling on my 34 LETTERS FROM HELL. feet in society, as it were, and a very nice set I have joiaed. I have been lucky in renewing many an old ac- quaintance, and have made friends with people whom one would have been glad to know on earth. You would be indeed surprised if I were indiscreet enough to mention names ! But I shall content myself with gener- alizing. It is strange how many of the so-called respect- able people one meets here; in fact, they form the nucleus of society in hell as they do on earth. I might even say good people, meaning those worthy folk whose one desire it is to go through life comfortably, quite willing no one else should hunger, provided they themselves have all they need ; satisfied with their lot in the world, not perhaps a grand one, and caring for nothing beyond it never dreaming that the less fortunate might be their brothers and sisters after all. Just look about you wherever you please the world is full of such. They are good to themselves and good to their children, thank- ing God for the means of being so. They spend their years as if this life's business were all that needs to be thought of, living for their families, their home concerns, whether in drudgery or in ease, both men and women. You little think that daily life, with its legitimate cares, ay, even what you call your duty by house and home, may be the snare to bring your soul to hell ! There are men who rush through life in the whirl of amuse- ment ; others sleep through it; others again wear them- selves out for its paltry amenities, calling that to live for- sooth ! And before they are aware of it, their race is run they close their eyes to open them again, surprised perhaps, in the pangs of hell. Oh could I live over again but a single year of my earthly span I do not mean for my own sake merely ! I might perhaps be able to warn some few of those ex- cellent men whose ideas of life are wrapped up in the counting-house on the one hand, and in the prosperity of their family on the other of those devoted wives and mothers who spend themselves for the comforts of home. I say some few of them, well knowing that not many would believe me. Nay, even as regards so-called philanthropists I have made the unexpected discovery that some of them I say some who have really one way or another benefited LETTERS FROM HELU 35 thousands, have lived to their own ruin. Has the world been loud in their praises ? learn wisdom, my friend, and overrate not the world's approval. It is, indeed, a strange fancy, prevalent among men, that only the wicked go to hell. You poor deluded ones, listen to my words : it is incredible, I assure you, how little is needed to take a man to hell that is to say, if he dies without having found his Saviour. For without him the soul is unable to bear the smallest weight of wrong ; while with Him yes, with Him she will wing herself to heaven in the face of mountains of sin. Do you know that Saviour ? I ask you as one who can never know Him know ! There are many here, I assure you, who have never committed any particular crime. The world, with its notions of right and wrong, would cry out for justice if it were but known ! And why are they here ? They never felt the sting of conscience, leading respectable lives, laying the unction of goodness to their souls, but they died and went to hell. No demon of evil ruled their lives, and yet they are here oh heaven, where is tiy justice ? in a like damnation with ourselves ! The - orment of hell for such people consists in having noth- ng to do here, no counting-house to attend, no families to provide for. Not ruled by passion, they are slaves to ^ife's habit, and the latter may be as terrible a taskmaster as the former. Thus much is certain, if having nothing to live for could kill people, and if one could die in hell, many here would die of sheer hankering after their earthly drudgery. My own existence, once I was properly introduced, was speedily rilled witn amusement. Are you surprised that I should say " introduced " ? But we are no Goths here, and society with us also attends to its rules. If it needs little to bring one to hell, it is not so easy to make one's way into the fashionable circles of this place of woe. It is with us just as with you, with this difference only : the world asks who a man is, the question here being who he was. Now I, in the world, was allowed to be handsome and refined, a man who could pride himself on his gentle- manly qualities, not to mention a considerable fortune. Here I no longer am this man, but I affect his semblance 36 LETTERS FROM HELL. Yet I must warn you against imagining that there is any pretence ; no, it is nature, downright nature. At first I was positively overwhelmed with calls and invitations. Here also novelty is much sought after. If I had brought nothing with me but the news of some foolish fashion lately adopted in the world, I should have been considered an acquisition. But, without flattering myself, I may say I brought more a fashionable finish of the most faultless description having ever been the very essence of my aims. Shall I tell you of a merry club-dinner to which I was asked lately ? The party as- sembled was of doubtful reputation high living, drink, and gluttony seemed their watchword ; nor was it com- plimentary to my antecedents to be invited, for with me the beautiful maxim, "moderation in all things," had ever covered a multitude of sins, and I had always been careful to avoid vulgarity. However, there I was ; the fare was exquisite, the wine splendid. A jovial company they appeared, to judge from the loose jokes and ribald anecdotes passing between the pleasures of the table. And what shall I say of the temptations born of surfeit, coursing through the heated veins ? Ah, they were not wanting, but satisfaction was an illusion. I refrain there was nothing real in all that banquet save its incite- ment to sin ; we preyed on our miserable selves, eating and drinking leaving a nauseating feelirg of emptiness, the very jokes being unbearably stale. Men of all kinds are found here, but vainly you look for one capable of producing anything to refresh the mind by genuine mirth or novelty. However, eat and drink we must, and laugh and joke we must ; we were obliged, I mean, whether we liked it or not. Now you understand per- haps, though faintly, what it means to join in festivity in hell. At that club-dinner, where nothing was wanting that gluttony could dream of, the thought of some poor man on earth eating his crust in the sweat of his brow again and again presented itself to my mind. The dry bread that satisfies his hunger, the beer or tea that quenches his thirst, what a royal feast is his as compared with our- selves. For he does eat, and is satisfied, but we oh vainest deception ! Was it not that excellent hero, Achilles, who in Hades LETTERS FR6?vT JU 37 exclaimed mournfully, he would rather be the most miserable man on earth than king of the realm below ? This is but wisdom of the Greeks, but how true ! how true ! I too would far rather spend my days upon earth amid the most overwhelming difficulties, battling with care, want, or suffering, than occupy any favored posi- tion here, be it of king or epicure. Of all the fools of the world's training he, surely, is greatest who takes away his own life, thinking that he could never be worse off than he is. In sooth, whatever a man's earthly lot may be, be sure it may be a paradise to what he goes to meet. He may find himself yearning for the misery he quitted ; indeed, if you could give him back that misery tenfold, he would seize it eagerly and bless you for the gift. Still the number ot actual suicides, comparatively speaking, is small ; a far larger class of men content themselves with shortening their days by continuous grumblings and a dismal unsatisfied frame of mind. If shortening their days were but all, and if thereby they did at least better themselves for the time being ! But the fact is, they all but kill life with discontent. They are dissatisfied with themselves, with their fellows, with all the world, with the very air which they breathe and the day which is given them. Poor fools, the day is short and night is at hand? And why are they dis- satisfied ? Because health is not all it should be, or the world at times crosses them ; because their position in life but imperfectly suits their nature and liking, and they would desire a better lot ; because perhaps their battle is harder than other people's, or, at worst, their whole life a failure falling short of dearest hope ? I do not mean to underrate these things on the contrary, I do own that life to most men is fraught with sorrow ; but I say this : Could you but view matters from the vantage-ground of hell, you who lessen life by discontent, you would gain that much of wisdom, that our days on earth, whatever of trouble, of care and vexa- tion, be bound up with them, are yet capable of yielding very real happiness. So much depends on how we take things. If, instead of fixing upon trouble as something foreign to yourselves or hostile to your being, looking upon yourselves as miserable in consequence, you could 38 LETTERS FROM HELL. but open your soul to that trouble and, rising from inert- ness, accept it as a very part of your existence, how dif- ferent things would appear ! Many a trouble, moreover, is but imaginary, and if dealt with sensibly would dwindle away ; while many a real trouble, on the other hand, by your striving to take it aright, might become an impulse of new endeavor, changing the very face of your life and leading you to a better happiness than before you i! lined at. Ah, indeed, if you could but view matters from hell you would come to see that man is able to bear a load of trouble, and that, confronting want and misery, he may yet attain a state of happiness worth the having ! You would find that every day of that life which now you make a burden to yourselves and to others is precious beyond words, a gracious gift of God for which you can- not be grateful enough. You would understand that I, hungering and longing, would wish to be in your place ay, and count myself blessed to bear the burden which you consider so grievous. But what boots it that / see it all so plainly now ; it is too late for me, too late. That fashionable people in hell have their so-called grand evening parties will hardly surprise you ; we have dances, "at homes," and all those things set store by in the world. But if this sort of stylish living even on earth is unutterably hollow, what must it be here where the very air we breathe is vanity and nothingness ? Looking back I can scarcely credit now how I could wrong my better self for the sake of that vile habit of attending parties. What is a party in the very society which calls itself polite ? Is it not as if some vicious goblin had a hand in it, bringing together twenty, fifty, even a hundred people, each of whom has his own cosy fireside men and women who for the most part have little or nothing in common, but needs must meet beneath staring chandeiiers, the spirit of falsehood among them? Vanity rules, and when the goblin has thoroughly fooled them and lights turn pale, they each go home fagged and tattered. Host and hostess say, "What a mercy it's over ! " Each visitor says, " I am thankful to go to bed " are you, poor fools of fashion ? But if it seems a marvel now how I also, in days gone by, could sacrifice myself to the so-called claims of society, I need not marvel that I do so here. It was by choice LETTERS FROM HELL. 39 then, it is under compulsion now ; it is as if ten thou- sand goblins fooled us we know it but cannot with- stand. The object of parties with us is just the same as with you: to be seen, to be admired, to make oneself agreeable not so much in order to please your neighbor as to be thought pleasant yourself and to hide it amiably if you think people a bore. There is one marked difference, however, placing us often in a position both painful and ridiculous. What should you say if at any of your great social gatherings you could look through people's clothes those fine clothes put on so carefully through them, I say, to the very piece of humanity they hide, and not only through them, but, deeper still, to the core of the heart beneath ? It is so here ! Supposing, then, you walk up to some old crone, saying, with your most engaging smile " Delighted to see you ! " thinking to yourself at the same time " I wish she were at Jericho ! " I leave you to imagine the figure you cut. I give this as an example only as a clue, rather ; think it out further and see where it leaves you ! But even to this one gets used in hell, fortifying oneself with a kind of frivolous impudence, without which intercourse would be simply unbearable. The incident I quoted of course leaves the advantage with the old crone ; but the moment she opens her lips her interlocutor has the best of it, for he can see through her clothes as she saw through his. They are quits then, However, as I said, it is not merely ludicrous but painful offering, moreover, an unsurmountable obstacle to all courtship. It is utterly impossible here to fool a woman, be she ever so frail. All the fine words of hell cannot delude her, for she sees through them. From this point of view we form a most virtuous company. Indeed, flattery and compliments with us are exceedingly difficult to pass, the heart betraying the man in quite another sense than with you. You can hardly picture to yourself how much of the truly surprising, if not interesting, may be experienced here in a single day. The world, as seen from hell, is the land of dreams and imaginings, appearing beautiful and pleasant none the less. And, absurdly paradoxical as it may sound, here only, where all reality has vanished, 40 LETTERS FROM HELL. reality in uncompromising nakedness is upon us. Are they friends or foes that meet, they soon speak the truth to one another. Such mutual confessions, on the whole, are little edifying, and, since there are no secrets here, at once flit from circle to circle for general merriment. Do you care to have examples? Here are some recent tit-bits. A. had been killed in a duel which he fought to avenge an insult offered to his handsome young wife. Quite recently he somewhat unexpectedly met his late oppo- nent, who, having gone the way of all flesh, had come to hell. Wrathfully he taxed him with former wrong, but the latter made answer quite coolly : " Silly man, do you mean to fight me again for nothing whatever ? Let bygones be bygones ; we had better be friends." " For nothing whatever ! " reiterated A., hotly. " Do you call it nothing that you insulted my wife, and killed me, moreover, when I tried to vindicate her ? " " I suppose I must tell you the plain fact," replied his opponent. " I see you still labor under a delusion. The matter was simply this : I had been the lover of your wife, but broke with her. That was the insult. That is why she got you to challenge me. However, these are bygones ; we'll be friends now." Whether they were friends after that I cannot tell. I rather think that A. felt ready to hide him- self. Two friends in fact they were cousins sat together in pleasant intercourse. Said the one : " To tell the truth, I was born to be a poet. I did write novels, and my first publications made quite a sensation." " Don't I know that," says the cousin, " since it was I who wrote half the reviews about them ? It was I, sweet coz, who brought you into fashion. That is easily managed, if one has a few connections and sufficient wit to let the review be racy ; people are easily caught." " What you ? Surely you are but joking ! Why, I owe you everlasting thanks." , " Thanks no," replied the cousin, " Did we not love one another as very brothers ? " LETTERS FROM HKLL. 4! The would-be poet grew thoughtful, continuing after a while : " But it was short-lived fame. I had jumped into fashion with one leap, as it were, and a great future seemed to await me, when, as by magic, there was a change which I never understood. Reviews from pane- gyrics turned to spite, cutting me up so mercilessly that no publisher presently had courage to launch my works, and I was constrained to turn my back upon the literary career." " Well, I can solve that mystery also. It was I who cut you up so mercilessly as you say, not leaving you the faintest pretence to talent. I had set myself to persecute you into silence ; as soon as you opened your mouth, down came the lash. What could you do but turn your back upon literature ? " "You you did that?" " To be sure, but don't excite yourself : it was to your own advantage. Your mother, to whom I never could say nay, had implored me to leave no stone un- turned in trying to save you from what she considered your utter ruin. You had no talent for poetry, she said, but a very marked calling for the blacking manufactory, on which your family had thriven conspicuously. Now / knew of course I did that your literary fame was all humbug ; and humbug could not really hold you in the saddle, I saw that. A reviewer could fill your balloon, but he could not keep it sailing, and with every line you wrote the gas escaped wofully ; you were as near a col- lapse as possible. So I generously resolved to antici- pate it, and by main force bring you from poetry to blacking. I discharged broadsides of wit and volleys of sarcasm whenever you dared to show yourself in print, success crowning my efforts ; for you died rich with the spoils of blacking a man of worth, too, in the eyes of respectable citizens." " And went to hell ! " cried the blacking and poesy- monger. " Should I find myself here if my Pegasus had not been hamstrung so vilely ? " " That is more than I know," returned the reviewing cousin mildly. " But I scarcely think that literature by itself would have carried you to Paradise, any more than I believe that blacking alone had power to drag you to 42 LETTERS FROM HELL. hell. But these are bygones. I loved you dearly, and was your best friend, after all." The poetical blacking-dealer turned away dis- gusted. The information was more than he could stand. A couple of monks were holding low but earnest con- verse. "But tell me, brother," said the one, " how you came to take the cowl ? " " Through my own stupidity ; it was nothing else. I fell in love with Lisella Neri ; you knew her, I think. She was considered a beauty, and she was an heiress. However, I was refused, and, sick of life, I entered the monastery, a piece of folly I rued every day till I died. A simple story, is it not ? But what brought you to the cloister ? " "The very opposite, strange to say. I also loved Lisella, and presently was her accepted suitor, but it ended in my being the most miserable husband under the sun. Lisella was both capricious and bad ; and she did not care for me. I never knew a moment's peace. There seemed but one way out of misery : leaving her mistress of her fortune, I fled to the monastery, and truly I never repented of it. If ever a moment's discontent assailed me I had but to think of Lisella and happi- ness was restored." The first monk sat buried in silence. Presently he said : 4 Our experience shows that no one can escape his destmy^ From what you tell me I gather that Lisella, one-way or another, must have brought me to the cowl. Still you, brother, were the most fortunate after all ; not because for a time you owned that hand- some troubler of peace, but because, knowing her as I did not, your disappointment ended in content." But enough of this. What is the use of telling these things ? Martin, poor Martin, what may have become of you ? He was wronged after all. Badly brought up, badly used, he was my work. She was very beautiful that young girl, about his own age. She was cleaning the house-steps one day when I first saw her. But lowly as her occupation was, she LETTERS FROM"fi~ELL. 43 charmed the eye. The demon was moved. It was easy for me to offer to educate her. She appeared not born to her humble sphere. I placed her with a family I knew. Simple as she was, she appeared to understand I had some object. But the flower should unfold before I plucked it. I had learned to wait. By what chance he and she met I know not, but their first meeting seems to have been sufficient. As in a flash of lightning love struck their hearts simultaneously, and quickly they knew that they were each other's. Martin came to me with an open confession. But not only did I refuse consent, I cruelly taunted him, defrauded as I felt. He quitted me in anger to seek his own way. As self-willed as myself, he hesitated not a moment as to his line of action, carrying off the girl before my very eyes so to speak. She was nowhere to be found. But he did not hide, facing me boldly. It was then that I thrust him from rny house ; from my heart also I believed but in this I was mistaken. What could he have been wanting to tell me that would heal every breach between us, as he said in that letter ? Did it concern him or her ? A Higher Power has spoken, he said. I am left to maddening doubt. Doubt ? nay, it is a burning question, consuming my soul with the fire of hell sufficient almost to draw me back to earth as a wandering ghost. But should I find an answer to the question and where ? LETTER VI. LET me speak to you of Lily. But I fear memory will scarcely separate the child Lily from the woman into which she blossomed. Remember that I see her with the knowledge of a later period. I neither saw nor knew her aright, there being nothing so blind as the carnal gaze. She was a Creole. Delicate and lovely were her features, though not perhaps molded after any received type of beauty ; her hair black and glossy ; her eyes like stars, of so deep a blue that the cursory beholder believed 44 LETTERS FROM HELL. them black, and veiled with lashes behind which her soul at times would appear to withdraw from your gaze as a pure nymph descending into her own limpid depth. Her figure was slight and airy, perfectly harmonious, not wanting in fullness, but tenderly shaped ; not tall, with hands and feet of the smallest, and rarely beautiful. Such was Lily But those eyes of hers were her greatest charm. Who does not know the soft enchantment of Creole eyes ? Lily's even now have a power that pene- trates my soul. Never in all eternity shall I forget that tender brightness sparkling with tearful laughter, that gaze half sad and yet so full of promise, that at anytime it bound my heart. The southern temperament is generally accredited with caprice and passionate self-will. But nothing was more unlike Lily than this. No doubt there was warmth in her nature, but its glow was gentle and deep, never kindling to passion, but always yielding its own bene- ficent radiance. Capriciousness was utterly foreign to her, but she knew her own mind concerning anything she considered to be right anything her conscience had recognized as due to truth or charity. In such things her will was unbendable, though in aught else she was submissiveness itself. Self-love she knew not, her soul's deepest need being surrender. Poor child, you could not have been placed more terribly, all but given over to one who was an egotist to the core of his being. She was all heart. Later on some physician discovered what he called an organic defect Lily's heart was too large, he said. Nothing more likely than this ! I never knew a disposition so prone to feeling, so easily touched as hers. She was brimming with affection, love being the only reward she claimed. As a child, a loving word a look even could so move her that she would fling herself on your neck whispering her gratitude as she nestled in your embrace. Her sympathy at all times was easily roused. The trials and strivings of others their joys and sorrows, their happiness or misfortune \vere all that interested her most. She seemed to move in iove and pity. At times I could not but tell myself how ill-fitted she was for a self-seeking world. Her tender nature was often hurt in intercourse with others, and, feeli'ng LETTERS FROM HELL. 45 repulsed, she would shrink back within herself. That is why after all she was a lonely child, satisfied to com- mune with herself and with me wretch as I was. Added to this, hers was a wonderful simplicity of nature simplicity of spirit I ought to say. I doubt not that, had she lived to extreme old age, she would never have departed from the heart of a child. Nothing was more easy than to talk her over to anything, provided only it did not clash with her sense of right. She never dreamt that anybody could be deceiving her. Once or twice I frivolously put her simple-mindedness to the test, but felt so humbled by her utter trust that I never did it again. Incarnate shamelessness would have bowed to her holy innocence. She was one of those beautiful beings one meets with but rarely in life, who, walking on earth, keep their skirts pure, no matter what defile- ment be about them. I verily believe you might have dragged her through slums of sin and vice, and she would have come forth with innocence unharmed. Her soul somehow was above offence, she never thought that anybody could be wanting to do wrong. Her eyes never opened to the appalling fact that it is a wicked world in which men live. She knew what sin was, her pious mind having its own childlike ideas concerning it ; but she never knew vice as, with fleeting footstep, she followed her transient course of life. I should wrong myself if I said that I never saw this till now. I felt it even then, corrupt as I was. How little there was in common between us she all spirit, I all flesh. Again I say, poor little Lily ! She did not acquire much knowledge in life, her learn- ing being restricted to the fewest of objects. That his- tory was her favorite pursuit would seem natural, since history treats of men, of their deeds and conflicts, their happiness and grief, moving her heart to sympathy ; and she cared for a book only inasmuch as it spoke of her fellows, otherwise she saw but dead letters which wearied her. In mechanical attainments, therefore, she was ever backward ; it was next to impossible to teach her the use of a foreign tongue. Living a life of feeling, she could not but become contemplative and somewhat dreamy, reason inclining to sit apart in her. We seriously endeavored to shake her up, as the phrase goes, but it is 46 LETTERS FROM HELL. a thankless task to attempt anything against nature. Wanting in communicativeness she was by no means, to me at least she was ready to confide her every thought. The stories of the Bible had ever been those she \oved above all others. They had been the first food of her waking soul, and never anything impressed her more deeply than the death on the Cross of the Son of God, who loved sinful men and gave His life for them. That love and that suffering formed her earliest impressions, and the most lasting. Again and again she would read the holy record, and surely an angel has counted the tears she shed while so engaged. Unlike in aught else as she was to Mary Magdalene, she was like her in burn- ing love for her crucified Lord. Later on the history of the Crusades moved her. The Crucified One was her first love, and stories of the crusaders first stirred her enthusiasm, the idea seizing on her so powerfully that the course of a few weeks seemed to add years to her growth. The enthusiasm cooled, but the thought remained, and thenceforth the Holy Land, where the Son of God had lived and died, was the object of her dearest longing. She would at first lend expression to her feelings, but she suffered for it. Her little girl-friends nicknamed her the Lady Crusader. And even if they held their peace they could not refrain from teasing her by signs, holding up their fingers crosswise on meeting her ; she, poor little thing, of course under- stood their amiable meaning. The Saviour's Cross thus early had become her cross. The mockery hurt her deeply, and she was not again heard to speak of the Holy Land. But where the lips must be silent, the heart per- haps clings to its longing all the more ardently. Would it not seem that she was little fitted for this world ? not for my world, at any rate. Had I not been such a hopelessly miserable fellow, I must have known it, her very look must have told me beautiful and pure as an angel ! Beauty and its enjoyment had ever appeared to me as the very prizes of life ; but never have I known anything more simply beautiful than the entire devotion of this child-soul in purity and truth, and unspotted by self-love. Some years passed away when my mother again LETTERS FROM HELL. 47 thought fit to interfere. " That won't do," she said ; " you anticipate future happiness, and thereby will lose it. You must separate. You had better travel for a couple of years. I will watch over Lily meanwhile, and do what I can towards bringing her up for your delight. Yes, leave us, my son ; the time will come when you will see the wisdom of my counsel." I could not but own that my mother was right, and declared myself ready to make the effort in the interest of future happiness, or, more correctly, of promised enjoyment. It had become desirable, just about that time, that one of the partners of the firm should go to South America ; it would be a lengthened absence. My old uncle could not undertake it ; my cousin, junior partner like myself, did not care for the journey ; I, therefore, yielding to my mother's private representations, offered to go. Lily dissolved in tears on taking leave ; my mother's severest influence scarcely could bring her to reason. I ttxy was moved, but took comfort in selfish thought. ^Wait, little woman ; we shall meet again, and future delight will be greater that present loss^J I stayed away longer even than was expected. I often had news from home letters, too, from Lily wonderful letters ! An angel might have written them, those deli- cately tender productions ; and nothing could be more foreign to my own nature than the lovely thoughts expressed in those shall I say ethereal letters ? But they did not sink into my heart : they only touched my senses. . Surely it was an evil delight which said : " This tender blossom, so pure and innocent, is yours ; you will teach her one day that she too is flesh and blood, and a child of earth." I returned at last and saw her again. I was charmed no, that is not the word, I was enchanted ! Grace- ful and slender unutterably lovely, with maiden blushes, and veiling her eyes just quitting childhood : she was not quite fifteen. But as I pronounced her name she raised those won- drous eyes and looked at me. Joy trembled in tears, and echoed through my soul. It was but a look, but I was satisfied. I clasped her to my heart. Shall I call them happy, the days which now had 48 LKl'TFRS FROM HELL. dawned ? They were happy, but not without a sting Seeing Lily was as though reading her letters. Again and again I felt she was the child of another sphere How should she satisfy me ? Even while I clasped her in rapture 1 knew her aims and mine were far, far apart. As childlike as ever, hers was the same yielding tender- ness ; but her very affection filled me with regret. The love in which she moved was unknown to me ; she and I were different as day and night, as heaven and hell. Some time passed away. Again my mother stepped between us, reminding me of the calls of good sense and propriety. The child must be left free to develop ; our constant intercourse would end in her treating me as a brother always, and that was not what I wanted. It was desirable that I should take bachelor's rooms, and the less I showed myself at home the better. For the rest I could make myself as agreeable to Lily as I pleased, and as might be compatible with the solemn promise not to speak to her of love till she should have completed her seventeenth year. My mother always had her way ; I promised and took rooms. I saw she was right. Lily had not unfolded in my presence as she might have done. There was a change on my leaving, and a new relationship promised to grow out of the old one. She ceased being the mere child, her natural surrender clothing itself with maidenly reserve. I was obliged to be careful, and that was well. It was a time of trial, and continued so in spite of its own share of anticipating bliss. . . . I remembered Annie and made inquiries. Her father had died ; what had become of her no one could tell. My mother could have told I doubted not, but I dared not ask her. I tried to stifle recollection, and with Lily's unconscious assistance I succeeded. There was sorrow on the horizon. Lily drooped. She had always been delicate, and waking womanhood found her more delicate still. Our utmost care gathered round her, and we resolved to winter in the south. Lily had grown thoughtful ; the child was trying to understand herself, dreamily musing within her soul. She seemed more lovely than ever, beset with the riddles of her deepest being. But delight in her yielded to anxiety. LETTERS FROM HELL. 49 Thus we three my mother, Lily, and. myself moved southward. It was a time of blessing ; this period of my life appearing steeped in light, and showing of dark- ness only what seemed needful to enhance the light. Lily's state of health grew less alarming ; a year passed rapidly, I will not say without spot or blemish as far as it concerned myself, yet without leaving any real scar on the tablets of memory. It was all but Paradise but now, now it is hell. How happy we were, we three together ! My mother amiability itself I anxious to be amiable and Lily lift- ing her fair white cup to receive heaven's dew. She was happy, and she showed it. How gracefully she raised her drooping head ! how radiant were her looks, drink- ing in the riches of beauty about her ! Not only bodily, but mentally, she unfolded charm upon charm in the genial atmosphere, half a year working a marvel of change. Womanhood had risen in the blushes of dawn, sweet and fragrant as a rose just opening her chalice to the dewy kisses of morning. In her relation to me also childhood receded ; as tender and submissive as ever, there was an unconscious dignity about her. She was no longer the petted darling, living only in the affection that surrounded her ; but she had found riches of life, fathomless and beautiful, within her own being. And before long she, whose natural gifts of mind and heart far surpassed my own, had gained an ascendancy over me as complete as indescribable. Gladly I yielded myself to this influence : it was a new delight noble and purer than any I had tasted before. Lily raised me above myself I hardly knew it at the time ; but new sensations, new interests, new hopes, filled my heart, teaching me gradually that there were better things in life than gratifying self and pleasing the senses. Day by day intercourse with her refined and ennobled my nature. I was in a fair way of becoming good, of becom- ing human, let me say ! Her own eyes had opened to the beauty of the world other beauty than I had ever known, and by degrees I learned to see things with her eyes. But her look and longing continually soared beyond this world, which could not satisfy her deepest desire. And can you believe it. she drew me after her. What power, what 50 LETTERS FROM HELL. influence in so tender, so fragile a creature ! It cost her no effort. I followed, followed, as though her soul were a beacon in darkness I listened to her voice as to the guidance of a prophetess, directing my sight to a rapture of bliss. A new world, a world of the spirit, opened to my wondering gaze, a vision of life eternal dawning slowly beyond. I do remember them, those blissful hours lifting my soul from the dust. Ah, God in heaven, what hours, what recollections, and now what despair ! But under that gentle influence I began to look back- ward also, and to feel ashamed ashamed of the love I had felt for Lily. It was love yes, such as I could give, disgracing that sacred name, a love which would have frightened her to death had she known it. Sh * was spared the horror of that discovery. Another spring was at hand, we were thinking of mov ing homewards. Lily had suffered lately from some' what alarming symptoms spasms of the heart, the doctor said. But we would not disquiet ourselves, hop- ing nothing serious would supervene. Lily within these eighteen months had blossomed to such fullness of life, her measure overflowing, as it were, with youth and beauty, and adding to our happiness daily. It had rendered us fearless. But a strange anxiety took hold of Lily, showing itself whenever we spoke of returning home. I tried to discover what moved her, and to my utter astonishment, it appeared that an unsatisfied long- ing filled her heart. That old desire of her childhood to see the Holy Land had suddenly possessed her afresh ; or perhaps the thought, as a hidden spark, had lived within her all these years. She entreated me not to take her home before she had set foot on the sacred soil, be it for ever so short a time. She could never rest, she thought, till she had been there, and if I would but take her thither, she would bless me for it even in heaven. I viewed her desire merely in the light of a childish fancy, even a foolish whim ; yet in my secret heart I admired the faithful persistence with which evidently she had clung to that early love ; it touched me, and I resolved, as far as lay with me, that her wish should be gratified. Indeed, she might have asked for a far more foolish thing, and I could not have found it in me to LETTERS FROM HELL. 51 deny her. When she begged for anything with that sub- missive angel look of hers, who could have resisted ! I consulted my mother ; she demurred but eventually agreed. We had spent those early spring days cruising about the Ionian Isles, and before long our faces were set to the east. Lily thanked me with a look, a sweet loving look, which remained deathless in my heart yea, and it will burn there with a pain unquenchable through- out the ages of hell. But from that hour a heavenly peace had settled on her. Silence had fallen upon her, but she was perfectly happy. A few words more and my story will be ended. Why should I add to my grief by speaking about it ? But retrospect is not the least of hell's torments. We touched at the coast of Palestine and disembarked. As a queen I led her to the land of her desire, myself being the first of her servants. But her thoughts were not of queenship ; to her own mind she was but a humble pilgrim. Slowly we proceeded from one sacred spot to another. Lily's illness was more serious than we guessed, but she would not hear of rest. She was suffer- ing from heart-disease which had rapidly ' developed. The end was as sudden as unlocked for. At Bethle- hem, in a convent which received us for charity's sake, she breathed her last, a few days before she had com- pleted her seventeenth year. She died with the satisfied smile of a saint on her face, for her desire had been given her. Death with her had lost its terror. As one glorified she lay pale, but in heavenly beauty ; her hands folded on her virgin bosom where the world had not entered. Perhaps you will scarcely believe my words, that even in those last hours, and though I sickened with the sense of certain loss, she had power to lift me high above per- ishable grief. A fearless trust had come to me that, no matter what affliction remained on earth, the place was prepared where I might be united with her, where there is no more sorrow and no more pain, where death has passed away. Terrible delusion ! Her last words fell upon my heart as a blessing from the upper world : 5 2 LETTERS FROM HELL. " Thanks, Philip ! I am happy God be with you! " I was stricken with grief. But my inmost soul was buoyed with the hope that soon I, too, might rise beyond the reach of sorrow. In a holy kiss her last breath had mingled with mine. But scarcely was she gone when the old self-willed nature within me rose. Goaded to despair I was wild with the knowledge of bereavement what a treasure I had lost, both of beauty and affection, what riches of promise, of joys untasted. And how near I had been to dreams realized but a few days and she would have been mine ! As a wild beast I raged, defrauded of its prey. She she had escaped rne ! This then was the reward of years of patience and self-denial. In her I had saved up treasures pleasures untold, to lose it all by a single blow ! . . . And yet was it not meet it should be so ? Should I not rejoice that she was spared the sad future that awaited her, the unholy touch of my passion ? I could not rejoice then, Lily, but I think I could now if I were not in hell ! My mother too was grieved, but she did not lose her composure ; she sorrowed more for me, I think, than for the loss of her we had loved. We buried Lily in the Holy Land. She sleeps beneath a sycamore, not far from the spot where the Saviour of men was born. We turned homeward. On our journey back I found Martin. Thus I became the man I was. I gave myself up to the world, and lived only for its pleasures. I loved no one but myself, excepting, perhaps, my mother and the boy I had adopted. I say perhaps, for that I really loved them I cannot now be sure. I conformed to outward Christianity, but my heart was far from it. True, I joined not the sinners who openly sit in the seat of the scornful, laughing at all things sacred ; but after Lily's death there was in reality nothing left I counted sacred, unless it be an occasional recollection of my own child- hood left far, far behind. For at times I did remember those early days at Aunt Betty's knee, but I closed my < heart, driving these thoughts away from it. Life dealt gently with my mother. She preserved her charms, and continued the perfect lady, admired by all. LETTERS FROM HELL. 53 She had always been pious, but she took to being saintly now, trying hard to show me the way of life. However, she could not bring me further than that, for her sake, I paid proper attention to Christian observances, and, for my own sake, to common decency in the pursuit of pleasure. Let me stop here and rest from the pain of confession. Do not imagine that confessing with us is followed by relief. I am in hell, where there is no more repentance, no more sorrow for sin. LETTER VII. LIGHT increases slowly, but we never reach further than a kind of luminous twilight the reflection of Para- dise. Time passes amid suffering, torture, and regret. Do not imagine that because I can write what perchance interests you, it follows that it interests me, or that I can fill up my time. That, too, is but imaginary ; time seems to pass, but alleviation there is none. Upon earth the worst misery yields to the consolation that, sooner or later, it must come to an end. But here awful fact time itself is endless ! Memories ! memories ! Facts long since forgotten, here they are, as though they had happened but yester- day. I try to escape them, and once more recollections of Aunt Betty are something of an anodyne. In think- ing of her, and her invariable kindness to me throughout the years of my childhood, I long for tears of gratitude. But the eye is dry as a parched desert. How good she was to me, but kindest of all to my father ! And how loving to all whom she could serve. The humblest was not beneath her, if she could lend him a helping hand. How often would she sit up for my mother, sending the tired maid to bed. How often would she spend an even- ing with the servant girls, showing them how to make their own clothes, and teaching them the art of laying by something out of their wages. She would read to them, and amuse them to keep them steady, and was actually going to teach the coachman his letters. But there my 54 LETTERS FROM HELL. father interfered, introducing him to a. night-school instead. Her health was anything but strong, yet she never considered herself when the burdens of others could be lightened. If ever anything made her angry, it was the request to take care of herself, "//"she would say, as if the most monstrous demand had been proffered, "/.? what do you mean!" She had put self so far away that the idea of caring for it appeared to her almost ludicrous. Love gave her a wondrous power of self- command. When my mother had hurt her feelings no rare occurrence I fear and she had brushed away the tears, she never failed doing a special turn of sisterly service with a face of angelic devotion ; anxious to appear all the more light-hearted in my father's presence, if per- chance he had noticed it, and looked distressed. Of course her own loving and hopeful disposition assisted her in ever making the best of things ; but more than this, it was the divine spirit moving in her. Love had become second nature to her. And love always helped her in doing the right thing, however strangely she might set about it. Her education had been neglected even as regards religious knowledge. If you had asked her the simplest questions about faith and hope and charity she would probably have startled you with ignorant answers ; but she had these things, and they made her a child of heaven. The room she had chosen for herself was simple, but her own neatness pervaded it. Yet one could not say there was any order in her room. Every available space was littered with objects great and small in wonderful variety, offering to the observant mind a key to my aunt's inmost nature ; for amid valuables of every descrip- tion there were articles only fit for the dust-bin apparently. But my aunt knew why she valued them. They were a sort of landmarks, in her estimation, by which her life's history could be traced. Even at an early age I had a vague notion of the sanctity of these relics, and must own I handled them reverently. They would set my fancy going, and I would invent stories where auntie's authentic knowledge appeared loth to lift the veil. Aunt Betty, as a rule, dressed more than simply, LETTERS FROM HELL. 55 despising all pretence at fashion in her daily life. Not that she " could not an' she would," as she used to say. And she valued a handsome present now and then, not for the sake of the object itself, but as a mark of people's regard for her. She liked to be thus honored by those, for whom she spent herself in service ! Both my father and my mother lost no opportunity of presenting her with costly gifts, articles of dress especially, if my mother was the giver. Aunt Betty would accept these things with almost childish satisfaction, shutting them up forthwith in her spacious wardrobe. And thus it came about that she owned quite an array of millinery, shawls, mantles, bonnets, laces, furs, and what not, without ever wearing them. That they grew old-fashioned did not trouble her in the least ; but that the moth should not eat them was her conscientious care. For this reason she would hold regular exhibitions, when bed, table, and chairs were loaded with her treasures by way of giving them an airing ; she walking about with a quiet expression of ownership, her gentle hands smoothing out or dusting her finery. But her eyes seemed far away. Or, if a gay mood supervened, she would even place a feathered bonnet on her dear old head, looking at herself in the glass with a peculiar smile, as though she were comparing the once maiden Betty, whose youth and beauty brought homage to her feet, with the aging spinster whom the world scarcely knew now, whose life had run in the narrow channel of sacrifice. " I am an old goose," she would say, putting up her gear with her lavender bags. But auntie, besides these things, owned a small library of choice works, beautifully bound. She would dust them as lovingly as those unused garments. But she never read them, having neither time nor quiet, she said. " Some day when I am old, and no longer needed, I will read them all," she would add. Among her many peculiarities her habit of reading aloud deserves notice. Understanding, in her case, presupposed hearing, which proves that the art of reading with her never reached beyond the rudimentary stage. Poor Aunt Betty, keep- ing your books for a time when you are no longer needed ! But that time found you singing psalms with the angels. In the dusk of the evening I would often seek her room. I would find her sitting in silence and lost in 56 LETTERS FROM HELL. thought. But she was never annoyed at my disturbing her she loved me too much for that. And then she would begin telling me stories, quite a special gift with her. I doubt not but that she mostly made up her stories as she told them. What if they were no great literary productions, they breathed a poetry of their own a warmth and loving kindness that fascinated my childish heart. It was Aunt Betty who first instructed me in religion. If her teaching was not exactly dog- matic, it was most truly practical. The impressions it left so deep, so sweet, so tender how could they ever fade away ! One evening we were sitting by her window. The sky was clear and the stars were shining with unusual brightness. The wondrous sight impressed my childish mind. No doubt I had noticed them before ; but look- ing back to that hour, it seems as though on that evening I first beheld the sparkling lights of heaven. I wanted to know what the stars were, and what was behind them. Then Aunt Betty spoke to me of the dwelling-place of our Heavenly Father and its many mansions of inde- scribable beauty. I would go there some day on leaving earth, if I were a good and holy child. The prospect pleased me, but curiosity was not satis- fied. I wanted to know more I wanted a direct answer to my question. Now, many an instructor of youth might have been puzzled, but Aunt Betsy's imagination was far too fertile to be so easily at fault. She continued therefore : " Behind the stars, my child there is a grand beautiful hall of glory such as eye has not seen, and there God sits upon His throne with the only-begotten Son at His right hand. Right in the middle of the hall there is a Christmas tree, higher than the highest moun- tain on earth, full of lights and most beautiful presents. And who do you think are gathered beneath that tree ? why, all the good children who, having lived holy lives, have come to be children of God and blessed angels. There they are, always happy, always good. They rejoice at the tree which is prepared for them, and praise God with new songs, their voices ringing sweetly through the spaces of heaven. The presents on the tree are all theirs I mean they are always being given to them yet the tree is never empty." LETTERS FROM HELL. 57 I thought this delightful. " But what are the stars ? " I said, reverting to my question. " The stars, child ? well, I will tell you," said auntie. " Right round that hall there are innumerable little peep- holes through which the light of the Christmas tree shines upon earth. We call them stars. Whenever the little angel-children have done singing, they go and look through these peep-holes, anxious to know whether boys and girls on earth are trying to be good, and likely to join them some day ; for they consider them their little brothers and sisters, and wish them to become as happy as they are. Whenever you see the stars therefore, you must remember that through each one of them the eye of some angel looks down upon you. That is why the stars twinkle, just as these big eyes of yours twinkle as you look at me. Now you see that you must always try to be good and obedient else some angel's eyes would fill with tears ; and you would not like them to be sad while watching you." This account so moved me that tears rose to my own eyes, and I lay sobbing in Aunt Betty's lap. It was the desire of knowing more which first tended to quiet me : "But, auntie," I said, "tell me what happens to all the bad children ?" This question very nearly puzzled her. She was too tender-hearted to speak to me of hell and its terrors, so she said : " The bad children well, I think they are put into some dark corner far, far away from God and His dear Son." Again I was not satisfied ; there must be more. "Well," she continued, "listen. The bad children are shut up in an ugly room, where the fire has gone out, and where it is so cold and miserable that they chatter with their teeth. It is dark too, for the light has been taken away, and they tremble with fear. They cry and knock at the door as hard as they can, but no one pays any attention." I thought that dreadful. " I am frightened, auntie," I whispered, pressing quite close to her. " Look up at the stars, my child," she said ; " then you won't be frightened." And she stroked my hair lovingly. Fear left me. The stars did twinkle as though they 58 LETTERS FROM H1.LL. said, " Be good, little child ; " and I felt quite ready to be good. " I should like to hear them sing," I went on presently. "Do you know, auntie, how angels sing?" " I will try and show you," she responded, falling in at once with my desire. And with her sweet voice she sang to me one of her favorite hymns. How beautiful it sounded in the evening twilight. There was nothing grand about her voice, but something so childlike in its gentle tones that the song sank into my heart as I kept watching the stars ; and they seemed to look down upon me as kind as auntie herself, twinkling again and again, " Be good ! " Another moment, and my hearing was charmed, following my gaze. Earth was not, but only heaven, and auntie's hymn was the new song of angels. I listened with a rapt devotion that swelled my childish soul, folding my hands unconsciously as Aunt Betty had taught me ; and I triedto twinkle back at the stars with my own eyes to let them see that with my ears, with my heart, I was listening to their angels. When the singing ceased and silence had carried me back to the present, I felt quite poor and forsaken. But all that night in dreams I saw the heavenly tree, and heard the songs of glory. Many an evening we spent like that, Aunt Betty sing- ing, and I watching the stars. And before long I had learned her hymns and we sang them together. I believe it was with auntie as with myself : singing our hymns to the praise of God, we felt both carried away from earth, both longing for that which is behind the stars. One evening Aunt Betty told me the story of the rich man and poor Lazarus. It greatly affected me. I was very glad for the poor beggar to have been carried right into Abraham's bosom, where he was so happy ; but the rich man longing in the torment of hell for a little drop of water moved my deepest pity. I grieved for him, shedding an agony of tears. Poor rich man, how hard it was to punish him so dreadfully ! Auntie was quite unhappy at my distress. No doubt she meant to impress me, but not in this way, and she tried her utmost to calm my feelings. " Don't take it to heart so much, child," she said. "1 do not think you need. And it was very unkind of LETTERS FROM HELL. $9 Father Abraham to deny him a poor drop of water. God, I dare say, did not like that at all ; indeed, if I know Him aright, I should not be surprised if Father Abraham had a scolding for it. For if a drop of water could comfort the rich man in his torment, I don't believe God would have refused it. And He who freely gave his precious blood would not be so unkind about mere water. And, moreover, didn't you hear that the rich man even in hell remembered his brethren ? That, I am quite certain, pleased God very much indeed. Love to the brethren cannot but move the heart of God, even if it comes right from the midst of hell." Thus she comforted me. She would not have hesitated to say a great deal more than this to still my grief. Poor Aunt Betty ! I said she could not dogmatize : the one creed she was sure of was God's wonderful love ; and judging that love by her own loving heart, she believed it fully capable of flooding all creation with its own indwelling goodness. But why do I call her poor ? It is I who am poor all the poorer for memories : I will not call them painful memories, though I ache with them. Do you understand me ? Even in hell something precious is bound up with such memories, though on the other hand it cannot but add to grief just as a certain sweetness in some viands brings out the fact that they are sour. I speak of childhood's memories : those of later years, save those connected with Lily, are all sorrow all despair ; I would gladly forget them, but it is part of my punishment that I cannot. Thus I distinctly remember the religious instruction which was to prepare me for confirmation. I was deeply moved, and hardly know how such impressions should pass so quickly, so entirely, as though they had not been. The clergyman in question was as godly as venerable ; the animal nature was strong in me even then, but he knew how to keep it under. It needed but a look of his eye, and I felt a prisoner to the divine, listening anxiously to his teaching. He had a rare gift of touching the heart and drawing it out. He spoke to us on the words: " Be ye reconciled to God ! " How could I ever forget those words ? Alas, I did forget them, but now they pierce the soul ; they keep ringing in the brain : " Be reconciled be reconciled to God ! " And when once 60 LETTERS FROM KELT,. their memory is upon me, nothing will drive it out, till some other recollection, some other pain, takes their place. I remember all he said on that occasion, I remember it now from beginning to end, but I could not repeat it, there being a great gulf between now and the time of those words. Nor can the recollection of them do me any good; they are barren of comfort, of instruction bar- ren entirely of peace. It is only my mind which takes them in now ; the heart is closed. It is as though the words were hollow; or perhaps I am hollow and empty, and there is nothing left that can fill me. I do remember that he spoke to us of God's own word, whereby salva- tion was offered to men, but all that is outside of me only. I am like the rich man thirsting for a drop of water, but there is no one to give it. 1 make painful efforts to drink in, as it were, any of the words I think of ; they are there; I once knew them by heart, but I cannot lay- hold of them. They seem quite close at times, but when I would take them to myself, they are gone. This terribly hopeless effort is perhaps the worst of hell's torments. You may understand from this how it is possible with me to speak of things pertaining to the kingdom of God naming the Saviour, the Crucified One, speaking of repentance and faith without the faintest share in their blessing ; nay, mentioning them with my lips merely, despair filling the heart. Everything is vain and empty in hell : those words are but soulless sounds to me ; I know them outwardly, I can speak of them, but their meaning is nothing to me. I know that there is a Saviour, and that He is the Son of God, but Him I know not ; it is empty knowledge ; His very name even is gone. I hate myself, and say I have deserved it all ; but it is fruitless repentance repentance without cleans- ing tears. And as for faith, of course I believe must believe ; but that too is empty not faith which clings to that which it believes. Do not the devils believe they must and tremble ? " Be reconciled to God ! " What power these words had to move me ! I felt in that hour as though it must be man's one and only object on earth to seek reconciliation with God, and, having found it, to go to Him through the portal of death. I remembered the LETTERS FROM HELL. 6 1 stars and their loving message, " Be good ! " and I felt ready to turn my ba k upon the world once for all. My first communion was as an earnest that I had set my feet upon the path to heaven, but I quickly turned aside ; at the very church door the world lay waiting with its pleasant road to hell. "Be reconciled to God!" the words keep sounding about me, not as an echo from heaven, but rather as a curse of hell. " Be reconciled reconciled to God ! " Why must I hear it when there is no more reconciliation when the door of mercy is closed. O terrible retribu- tion ! If at times I know not what to do with myself, I show myself in the Row, for of course that too is here Hyde Park, Champs Elysees, Prater, Unter den Linden, Corso, Prado, all in one. And upon my word I do not think there is much difference between these fashionable resorts upon earth and their semblance here I mean so far as what the world pleases to call style is concerned ; we could scarcely outdo the world in that respect, but we have far more variety. For with you but one fashion can prevail at a time, whereas here all fashions flourish, all the nonsense of centuries combined. Just think of that all the inventions of la mode brought together, say of a thousand years ! Could there be a more absurd picture, taking the fashion of dress for instance ? What- ever gloom or wretchedness be upon me, I assure you I laugh right out at the sight folly convicted out of its own mouth as it were. Just stop for a moment and imagine the effect women covered to the neck with flounces and furbelows on the one hand, or half naked on the other ; puffed out to deformity here, tight as pump-handles there. Bonnets like coal-scuttles here, bonnets like cheese-plates there ! But who could name all their nonsense of farthingales and stomachers, ruffles and laces, crinolines and high-art-styles, fancy costumes and divided skirts ? not to mention chignons like very towers of Babel, and simpleton fringes, and what not. Imagine them, I say, the fools of ten years only brought together, and try to think of the fools of ten centuries ! And then to believe any one fashion beauti ul, any one of them dictated by the "good taste" to which they all pre-. 62 LETTERS FROM HELL. tend. In the world somehow they pass for beautiful, per- haps because only one at a time can rule ; but since every fashion which has had its day straightway goes to hell, and since there is no past here but a continuous present, they all flourish together, and a nice medley it is ! One feels ashamed of humanity at the absurd sight. And what is more, fashionable people here are thoroughly ashamed of themselves, though they try hard to appear very proud of their clothes. It is a show of vanity, and we are horribly conscious of it I say we, since I am sure I am no better than the rest. We know what sorry fools we are, but nevertheless we are very anxious to dress ourselves, choosing the fashion we followed in the world. And the worst is, our clothes do not even clothe us, as I told you already ; we all see through each other's attire, no matter how stylish it is. True, that painful sense of nakedness is common to all here ; still to be naked is one thing, and to go about naked, pretending at the same time to be fashionably dressed, is another ; and it is very hard to be laughed at, knowing all the while how heartily one deserves it. Would all the votaries of fashion, men and women on earth, could view were it for a moment only its true appearance as seen in hell, and they would never desire to be fashionable again ! It is strange no, not strange, but sadly true that most people believe vanity and the love of dress no great sin, but, at worst, only one of those amiable foibles to which one may plead guilty quite innocently. Love of dress in itself perhaps need not become a sin I'say perhaps ; but look at it as you please, there is that connected with it which cannot but tend to the soul's ruin. Its aims and the aims of the spirit lie widely apart ; it takes the place of better things, and vanity, clinging to you as a cloud, will hide the true objects of life. Men or women ruled by vanity fritter away their time, and when they die not only good works do not follow them, but opportunities wasted stand round their bier. Who has the face now to say that vanity, that love of dress, is harmless ? I look upon my own life. How plainly I see it all now, how gladly would I improve opportunities, could they but return ! LETTERS FROM HELL. 63 I am inclined to conclude this letter with a little story I once heard somewhere in Italy, feeling loth at the same time to do so, for there are things about which one should not speak jestingly, least of all in hell. However, the thing is not without its lesson, which may be useful to you. Nor is it fear that would prevent me, but rather an instinctive dread, a kind of repugnance, to appear making light of a solemn verity. It is a sort of burlesque myth, but containing that which should not be laughed at. Here it is : God from all eternity had purposed in His counsel to make man. And the devil from the beginning knew the rnind of God. God carried out His eternal purpose. He made man, and it was easy for Him to make him good : He simply created him in His own image. But the devil made desperate efforts to discover how he might mar this image of God. " I have got it ! " said Lucifer to his grandmother, who sat knitting in a dark corner of hell. She was always knitting toils and looping snares to catch the unwary, though, being a person of property, she had no need to work so hard. " I have got it ! " repeated Lucifer. " I will put evil desire into man's heart, so that he shall love the for- bidden, and delight in disobedience. I will make a wrongdoer of him." "All right, my boy all right," said the grandam ; "but that won't do it. Evil desire may be conquered, and the Lord God is the One to do it." " The deuce ! " cried Lucifer. " You may be right though; I'll think of something else." And down he went to the nethermost hell, where he had his private study. And there he spent a thousand years in deepest meditation, staring into the future with burning eyes. " I have got it ! " he cried again, rushing up in a whirlwind. " I shall fill the heart of man with self-love and self-will. I shall infatuate him so entirely that he will ever think of himself first. I shall make a vain- glorious wretch of him, more or less, as the case may be." "All right, my boy, all " But here she dropped a stitch. " Catch up a firebrand that'll do, I see ! Yes, my boy, all right; but that won't do it. Self-love and 64 LETTERS FROM HELL. self-will may be rooted out, and the Lord God is the One to do it." " Confound it," roared Lucifer, " that these silly creatures should be so hard to ruin. They are scarcely worth the trouble. But I shall get them, -pazienza y I mean to get them ! " And away he went to consider the matter once more in his study. A thousand years again had passed he knew it not; and returning from his cogitation, the grandam still sat knitting on the spot where he had left her. She was so old that a thousand years did not add so much as a wrinkle to her ugly skin. She seemed more intent than ever upon her work. " Now I have got it ! " cried Satan exultingly. " I myself will take up my abode in man's heart and will utterly pervert him. He shall take falsehood for truth, vice for virtue, shame for honor. I'll make a fool of him a fool of perversity." " My boy," said the grandmother, gloating over her meshes, " that won't do it, my boy. What has been per- verted can be converted, and the Lord God is the One to do it." " I shall give it up," growled the devil despondingly; "it quite spoils my digestion; however, I will make one more effort." Another thousand years rolled on without record or almanac and no one could tell what had become of them. Once more Lucifer returned to his aged relative ; he really did look worn and in need of atonic. The devil's grandmother, strange to say, had done knitting, nets and snares in untold quantity being ready for ages to come. She sat twiddling her thumbs and longing for her hope- ful progeny lovable or hateful, he was her only one. " Sure, I've got it now ! " exclaimed Lucifer, entering her presence. " Vanity shall be man's second nature, vanity and love of dress. I will make an ape of him, and as an ape he shall delight in himself, and become a laughing-stock to his neighbor." " That's it," cried the grandam, delighted, her ugly cat's eyes turning greener and greener. " Your former plans were all very useful in their way, but they lacked one thing they were not nearly simple-seeming enough really to beguile him. For, however evil of desire, how- LETTERS FROM HELL. 65 ever self-willed and perverse man might become, he would always have a feeling left that something was wrong ; there is such a thing as conscience, remember, putting most men on their guard as regards great wicked- ness. Nor is there any saying what the Lord God in His infinite love for human souls may not devise towards keeping them straight. "Vanity, however, is quite another thing, and love of dress how harmless ! A most precious invention of yours my boy. Vanity, I declare, will become great upon earth; it looks so innocent, no one will suspect it. Poor things, why should they not amuse themselves with their look- ing-glasses and their faddles? What more excusable than to spend the time in adorning oneself in trying to look pretty and appear amiable in society ? Yes, men will all yield to vanity, for they will not suspect it. Vanity shall be the door through which all other wicked- ness, evil desire, self-love and perversity, will find a ready entrance ; vanity, I say, seemingly harmless, will take them to hell. True, the Lord God still is able to do what He pleases; we must not forget that. But I am not an old woman for nothing, and have known a few things in my time. I cannot see for the life of me how God should care to stop any fool who, with the happiest con- science imaginable, and delighting in his well-dressed appearance, goes trotting complacently to hell." The old she-fiend had become quite excited ; she shook herself, and her skin, wrinkled and loose with age, hung about her as the skin of a snake. " I am proud of you, my boy, and I will help you," she continued. " It's about the time that I should cast my skin, and it is just the thing you want. I will make it appear very lovely, as, after all, is but natural, since it is part of my very own nature ; it shall be varied and many colored, and every fool shall delight in it. It will remain with you to make them accept it, but that will be easy, with their ajDish predilection for anything new and startling you'll see the consequences, diavolino. They'll worship a new goddess, fashion by name ; 'they'll believe her the most harmless of idols, and they'll never suspect -ha ! ha ! that it is nothing more or less than my cast-off skin ! Fashion will be the prop of vanity, and men will fritter away their life in hollow pursuit. 66 LETTERS FROM ftELL. The ape in man will have the upper hand, and the novelty of fashion will be endless. But now give me a hand, and I will forthwith cast my skin. I am quite stiff for want of exercise." Lucifer was delighted. "Per baccho" he cried, " it's a bright idea ! " And, catching up the old grandmother, he danced about with her wildly, to the wonderment of hell. And the devil's grandam was beside herself with laughter, bursting almost with merriment. " They'll worship my skin, diavolino" she cried ; " they'll worship my skin ! " LETTER VIII. IT may surprise you to hear me speak of books in hell, but you will soon perceive the fitness of things, it being neither more nor less than this: whatever is bad must come to hell, so of printed matter whatever is morally evil or arrogantly stupid tends hitherwards the books arriving first, the authors following, and their pub- lishers along with them. You will understand then that we are well off for literature, of a certain description, that is to say. Polite literature for instance has provided us with countless novels, very popular, if trashy and sometimes immodest. There is no civilized nation or country that has not produced its share, varying in quantity or quality. They seem represented by two species chiefly one can hardly call them schools the purely sensational and the sensationally impure; the former being content to hint where the latter touch boldly, the former often supremely worthless, where the latter are wickedly ingenious. Many authors, and especially some authoresses, appear to find their life's duty in pandering to depraved taste, or worse, in fostering it. I might mention names, but I refrain. Only let me assure these experts of the pen, ladies and gentlemen, that they are well known here. No doubt it will create quite a flutter in their bosoms, adding not a little to their sense of fame, to learn that their talent is so extensively appreciated, and that their LETTERS FROM HELL. 67 books are fashionable, not only in polite 'society on earth, but even in hell ! There is this drawback, to be sure, to damp their spirits, that for the present they must be sat- isfied with mere honor pay being withheld tjll they themselves join their circle of readers here. Then their reward shall be given them in this matter also. This branch of the so-called belles-lettres, trashy novels, is greatly in vogue upon earth; it is not the good books which chiefly enrich the publishers, or authors either. There are people whose intellectual food consists in nothing but the former; but the soul lives not that could testify to mental or spiritual growth by their aid. If the use of such books is null on earth, what must it be here, where not even the miserable object remains of whiling away the time ? But to proceed: there is no lack here even of theo- logical writings especially of modern commentaries, but also of the dogmatic and homiletical kind. To speak plainly, how many a book of fine sermons or of religious comfort arrives here, preceding the hireling shepherds ! With casuistry too we are thoroughly pro- vided. The Middle Ages are represented chiefly by a vast amount of priestly falsehood, systematized into all sorts of fanatical quibbles and sacerdotal inventions con- cerning the deep questions of religion. The more modern school may be said to have reached a climax in the days of Voltaire and the encyclopedists, taking a fresh start with Kant and his followers. You observe I speak broadly, in a European sense, refraining from par- ticularizing or quoting nearer home. You may judge for yourself, and be sure that no literary means are wanting here to advance the interests of atheism. For, mind you, even in hell those who " believe and tremble " may be brought to a worse state. For the rest, since I never troubled myself about theology, either as a science or otherwise, I am not likely to study it here. Besides this so-called true theology, there are found with us the writings of those puffed-up, half-crazy fanatics, the false prophets of every degree, who make a sort of trade of religion. Their literary effusions are generally laughed at, even here; but in most cases the author himself arrives before long, and laughter for him turns to weeping. These curious divines have a special 68 LETTERS FROM HELL. corner assigned to them in this place, differing greatly from the paradise they believed themselves heirs of in virtue of their singular calling. Philosophy too is well represented. Philosophers on the whole are a harmless tribe. Some of them may be groping for wisdom which includes goodness and piety, and others are merely the victims of some peculiar mania which hurts no one. We get the writings of those only whom conceit of intellect drives to the front. I might quote some curious instances, showing how, within a professor's den, some ten feet square, the universe may be grasped, the mystery of life solved, eternity gauged; in fact, how the ocean of the infinite may be got into the nutshell of a finite brain. In passing merely I mention the literature of the law. If I ignored it altogether it might be taken for disrespect, and I am sure I would rather not offend the gentlemen of the robe. Let me state the plain fact : I reverence justice, but I feel doubtful about lawyers. Did not some sharp-witted urchin make the discovery that the devil was a " lawyer " from the beginning ? I would rather wash my hands of them, not understanding them in the least. Last, but not least, I turn to the literary geniuses of the reviewing department, at the risk even of most dread- fully offending them. No reviewer, I presume, would flatter himself with the conceit that his dissertations could have any but the most ephemeral value ; I feel loth to disabuse their laudable modesty, but I am bound to let them know that some do live live in hell ! I have made the startling discovery that of reviews not a few appear to be written in ignorance, or inspired by envy and even downright malice. Reviewers form a species apart, not nurtured in babyhood, it would seem, with the milk of human kindness. I was assured once that in order to review a book properly, one had need to be something of a misanthrope something of a cynic at any rate, since barking and biting seems to be the great delight. Be this as it may, I have always maintained that reviewers, as a natural curiosity, may be divided into two classes those who are capable of passing judg- ment, and those who are not. The former, strange to say, cautiously, and indeed rarely, advance their criticism, and nothing of theirs is ever seen here. LETTERS FROM :. :,L. 69 The latter may be subdivided into professionals and amateurs. The first of these who trade, as it were, in the reviewing line, will have to plead guilty in most cases that they started originally with an aspiration of book- writing, but did not succeed. They have never got over their disappointment. The second subdivision con- sists chiefly would you believe it ? of a set of preco- cious youths, as clever as they are conceited, requiring an outlet for their exuberance. I have known them of the age of twenty, and even less, feeling grown-up all of a sudden by means of their first review : if their criticism was somewhat green, there was audacity to cover it. They don't mean any special harm, but they do feel themselves seated on a throne, duly hidden of course, and snubbing authors their grandfathers in age and experience. By dint of numerous reviews, then, we are kept au courant with the events of the book-market. Whenever a specially mordant piece of criticism arrives here we know that it has been called forth by a publication which is probably good and certainly harmless. It is the caricature only which reaches us ; but it is so, alas, with most things ! As for newspapers ? it stands to reason that much of the daily food provided in these quarters cannot fare any better, since ambition of gain, private or public, unblushingly presides at the board. How many a jour- nal has but the one object in view the making of money ? How many others have actually sold themselves to further the paltry interests of this or that party, not caring in the least,' in their hardened consciences, how far astray they lead the public mind? And what shall I say of the appalling amount of despatches, notes, and official memoranda interchanged between the various Cabinets for no other reason, it would seem, but that of misleading? specimens of ambiguous phraseology, ever appealing to truth and justice, but heeding neither truth nor justice wherever a chance of gain or even the interests of vulgar passion come to the front. This sort of political documents are rarely got hold of by newspapers even ; on earth they are of the things that walk in secret, but they fail not to furnish us down here with many a curious explanation of yo LETTERS FROM HELL. historic events. I have come to suspect that nothing is more outrageously false, and cruel, and opposed to every will of God, than what goes by the name of higher politics. You see from this sketch that we are not at a loss for reading, but you will also perceive that the vile produc- tions reaching us can nowise tend to edify or even really instruct us. If they enable us to follow events in the world, it is by a kind of inverted effect, suggesting in fact the very opposite of what they assert. There is here no pleasure in reading ; on the contrary, the more one peruses, the more one sipkens; but nauseated though we feel, we are unable to get out of the intellectual slough, the mire of a lying literature. I never imagined while living on earth that I had need to render thanks for anything; that health, riches, happy days, were gifts to be grateful for, but rather accepted them as the natural appurtenances of my existence; and if I thought about them at all, it was only to wish for more, for I was never satisfied with life as I found it, nor with the world I lived in. Now I view things differ- ently ; I see now that the gifts of life are blessings unspeakable, and all the greater for being entirely unde- served. On looking back and I am ever looking back now, there being nothing before me save one thing, awful and horrible, the judgment to come on looking back, I say, I am bound to confess that the blessings of a single day of life on earth are innumerable as the stars. How rich is life ! There may be misery and trouble on earth and I believed I had my full share of both but it has all dwindled to nothing since I have come to know the wretchedness of hell. Let me assure you out of my own dire experience that the most suffering creature on earth has much to be thankful for. Man's life, whatever it be, should bring him to his knees daily. And if you have nothing left of earth's blessing but air and light, and a piece of bread to satisfy your hunger, you have need to give thanks. I see it now, but for me it is too late. In hell there is nothing absolutely nothing to be thankful for; you, however, whose sun has not yet set, may still learn to yield your hearts in gratitude. Ah, hear me, I beseech you; there is no help for me, but help may come to you ! LETTERS FROM HELL. 71 I have told you, my friend, how continuously I am the prey of memories, but how much so to what extent, I mean you little guess. That deeds of iniquity and particular sins should assail me, tormenting the soul as with fire, is natural. But this is not all. There are other things, counted for little in the world, which cling to conscience with a terrible vividness. Every little falsehood and unjust dealing, every word of deceit and breach of fealty, every evil example and want of kind- ness, they are all, all present now, piercing the heart as with daggers of regret. I thought so little of these things in life, that I scarcely stopped to consider them; they seemed buried on the spot, every year adding its own share to the moldering heap. They have risen now and stand about me, I see them and I tremble. I was just thinking of an example, out of hundreds which press round me. I take one at random. I have felt haunted lately by the sorrowful eyes of a poor little street boy. Wherever I turn I see him, or rather not so much him as his tearful troubled gaze, rising in judg- ment against me. It has all come back to my mind how one evening I sauntered about in the park, a poor little beggar running alongside, pressing me to buy a half- penny worth of matches. I did not want them, and told him so, but he persisted in crying, " Only a ha'penny, sir only a ha'penny." He annoyed me, and, taking him by the arm, I rudely pushed him away. I did not mean to hurt him, although, to tell the truth, there was not a particle of kindness in me at the time. Nor lay the wrong in not buying his matches; I was quite at liberty to refuse, had I denied him kindly. But he annoyed me and I was angry. The child, flung aside roughly, fell in the road; I heard a cry; perhaps he had hurt himself perhaps it was only grief for his matches lying about in the mud. I turned and met a look from his eyes, fulA of trouble and silent accusation. It would have been so easy for me to make good my thoughtless- ness, so little would have comforted the child, but I walked away heedless of his grief. Now few people would call that downright wicked- ness few people in the world I mean; but here, unfortu- nately, we are forced to judge differently. Years and years have passed since, for I was a young man at the 72 LETTERS FROM HELL. time, but the memory of that child has returned upon me, his look of sorrowful reproof adding to the pangs of hell. It is but an example, as I said, and there are many many ! But not mere deeds every word of evil carelessly spoken in the days of earthly life comes back to me with similar force. As poisoned arrows such words once quitted my lips : as poisoned arrows they come back to me, piercing the heart. Oh consider it while living voice is yours, and speak not lightly ! There is no saying what harvest of sin may spring from a single word. And if pity for others will not restrain you, be advised by pity for your own selves, since requital will come to yourselves only in the end. And not merely deeds and words, but every harmful thought recurs to me, to gnaw away at my heart. There is a saying with certain philosophers in the world that nothing ever is lost. If this be true in the material world, how much more so is it in spiritual things ah, terrible truth ! And further, apart from the evil done, it is the good left undone, the opportunities wasted, which stand around me with pitiless scourge, and their name is legion ! Thus everything, you see, both what I have done and left undone, comes to life here in this place of woe, takes shape, I ought to say, rising in accusation against me. I try to escape, but they are about me everywhere, those shapes of terror, enough to people a world with despair ; they persecute me, they torture me, and I am their helpless prey. Memories of the good left undone alas, they are far more bitter than those of the evil done ! For temptation to do wrong often was great, and in my own strength I failed to conquer ; but to do good for the most part would have cost little, if any, effort. I see it now with the new insight into life which hell gives. The man lives not wh^> is excused from leaving good undone ; however poor and humbly situated he may be, opportunity is ever at his door. It is for him only to open his heart and take in the oppor- tunity ; for his own heart is a well of power and of blessing to boot. He who is the fountain of love and purity, from whom every good and perfect gift cometh, has wondrously arranged it, that in this respect there is LETTERS FROM HELL. 73 but little difference between the rich and the poor, the gentle and the simple. Let me conjure you then, brothers and sisters, listen to the voice of your heart while yet it is day ! Listen, I say, and obey, lest the bitterness of repentance overtake you with the night, when no man can work ! Ah, let no opportunity for the doing of good escape you, for it will rise against you when nothing is left but to wail in anguish. I do not address these words to those who have grown pitiless as flint none but God could touch them ; but there are well-disposed hearts, which a ray of light may help to expand. I was not hard-hearted while I lived in the world ; on the contrary, I could for the most part easily be moved to charity, if some one took the trouble to remind me. What ruined me was that boundless love of self which prevented my seeing the wants of others ; or if I did see them, I did not stop to consider them. I receive now the reward of my deeds. Would that this fearful experience of mine could work a change in you ; that might somewhat assuage my deepest sufferings ! But even in that much of mercy I cannot believe ; the soul in torment can doubt only doubt eternally. I cannot but give you another example. I remember a poor family living in a miserable cottage not far from the lordly dwelling I inhabited. As often as I passed that way I looked through the lowly window, for a bald head moving to and fro in measured intervals attracted my notice. It was long, however, before I saw the face. The father of a numerous family would sit there in ill- health, gaining a humble livelihood. It appeared to be not necessity alone, but delight in his work also, which kept him up He was a wood-carver of no mean capacity, and worked for a wholesale house of children's playthings in the city. Strange to say, he was particu- larly clever in producing all sorts of ravenous beasts he, who looked a personification of meekest mildness. Lions, wolves, *nd tigers graced his window-sill, he bear- ing trouble as a patient lamb. I said he was sickly, and the family was large. The wife took in washing ; and they helped one another each trying to ease the other's load. But misfortune overtook them ; the wholesale business failed ; the poor man lost his livelihood. The bald head 74 LETTERS FROM HELL. no longer appeared by the window the cottage looked a grave. What had become of him ? I once asked myself the question and stopped there, for you know self scarcely left me time to trouble myself with other people's affairs. Still, opportunity thrust itself in my way. I saw him again not merely his bald head, but himself. The poor man, bowed down with ill-health, and unused to hard labor, stood working in a brickfield with trembling knees. I could not but pity him. I knew he was working himself to death, trying to gain food for his little ones. Indeed, he was in as imminent danger of life as if all the lions, wolves, and tigers whose images he had carved had gathered round to destroy him. I witnessed a touch- ing scene one day. Passing about noon I saw the wife there, who had come with her husband's dinner a dinner I would not have looked at. I saw how tenderly she wiped the weary forehead, how the children for they all had come clung to the father, the youngest climbing his knees, and how grateful he was for their affection, which roused him to new endeavors to gain a miserable pittance. The sight really moved me ; and I walked away, thinking I ought to do something for the struggling family. It was easy for me to find some post for the man which, while requiring no hard work at his hands, would keep them all in comfort. I certainly would see to it, but was called away on business; other things occupied my mind, and I forgot all about it. I did remember it again after a while, but then it was too late. The man had succumbed the family was ruined. But there are worse furies than these persecuting souls in torment. I cannot tell whether it is by imagination only, assisting what, for want of a better word, I must call the jugglery of hell, or whether this place of damna- tion has its own actual second sight, but it is a fact that sometimes I can see the entire growth of evil, spreading over years perhaps, and involving soul after soul, origin- ating in some careless word of mine which proved to be the seed. I turn away; but I am driven to look again and again at the terrible consequences, and words can- not express what I feel. It is appalling to think of the endless chain of sin and LETTERS FROM HELL. 75 misery to which a single act, ay, a word even, may give rise. A chain, I say, for it is a frightful truth that the evil effect does not always spring from the seed as a single stupendous birth, to live and die for itself ; but there is a demon power inherent in it of begetting and conceiving, wrong bringing forth wrong in endless suc- cession. It is by its consequences, its capability of engulfing others, that the worst potency of sin becomes apparent. It is of direct evil example, too, I would speak ; how fearful is its power how far-reaching its influence ! Whatever wickedness a man may commit in the world, what is it as compared with the wrong he may be guilty of by his example ? Then sin is as a mountain torrent, bursting its banks and carrying the unwary headlong to destruction. You may be dead yourself, yet your sin may live, yielding a terrible harvest. It was in this respect that the demon ruling my life did its worst ; I went my sinful course, flinging evil seed about me, and stopped not to consider how many I might bring to ruin. Do you understand ? Perhaps not fully. Let me return to memories. I happened once to spend an evening with some dozen youths gathered for social intercourse. I was much older, and it was quite by accident that I found myself among them ; but, enjoying the reputation of a boon companion, they entreated me to remain. It flattered me and I stayed. They evidently looked to me for informa- tion, which made me all the more willing to show off my superior experience. Being a witty talker, I added not a little to the evening's enjoyment. We made little speeches, sang, and drank to each other. Now I knew that these young people would take as gospel truth almost anything I might tell them, believing any worldly wisdom I might point to as the road to success. The concluding word was given to me. I rose, ready to give them the benefit of my knowledge. " Dare to be happy! " was the motto I chose. I reminded them of the position I enjoyed in the world, averring that my life was brimful of satisfaction ; that I had always had whatever man could wish for, and that I had had it because I had dared. It was true in all things that faint heart never won fair 76 LETTERS FROM HELL. lady ; there was a treasure of wisdom in these words beyond the treasures of Solomon. They were just enter- ing upon life. I could give them no better advice to go by no better aim to follow than was expressed by these words : " Dare it dare be happy ! " They thanked me with cheers of enthusiasm. They were flushed .with wine, but another spirit than that of wine lay hidden in my words ; its subtle influence was even then upon them, intoxicating their souls. With some of them its fumes, no doubt, passed away with the fumes of the liquor ; but with others three or four of them the false maxim had caught ; they went out into opening life armed with a rule which consisted of false- hood mostly, and a particle of truth. It took them to the broad way, and not only them, but others through them. That lying principle, which sounded so grand and true, spread in widening circles, ruining soul after soul ; it is still spreading, alas ! and I see no end to the pernicious influence. There is another recollection burning as molten lead upon my soul. I had been visiting friends in the country, and was on the point of leaving to return to town. The carriage was at the door, and I down-stairs already, when I remembered having forgotten something in my room. I bounced up the stairs and came upon a little house- maid tidying the apartment. She was young and beauti- ful as Hebe ; barely eighteen she looked. What shall I say ? Temptation was strong ; I took her into my arms and kissed her. She tore herself away, the flushes of shame in her face, crying : " I am a poor girl, sir, but I am honest ! " " Poor, my child ? " I said. " With a face and figure like yours one is never poor ; you might buy the heart of a millionaire ! Beauty is a wealth of capital if well laid out," They were the words of the moment one of those silly speeches which fast men abound in. The girl was silent, blushing still; but I continued: "And now, my fair one, you shall give me another kiss, of your own free will, to reward me for the useful lesson I have taught you. I dare say we shall never meet again." She still resisted. But I was young and handsome, and thoroughly versed in the arts of persuasion. 1 LETTERS FROM HELL. 77 presently held her in my arms again, and she did kiss me. The girl was quite in my power. I knew it, but opportunity was not mine ; I heard the horses pawing, and there was the train to be caught. So I loosened my hold, and as though beauty were indeed the capital I had spoken of, bringing riches to the owner, I put a sovereign into her hand. I saw no particular harm in what I had done. Thousands in my place, no doubt, would have said and done as I did. But in truth I was guilty of an awful thing ! I had poisoned the very life-blood of the girl. Her innocence was gone; corruption had taken root in her soul. My spirit somehow has a knowledge of her future career. She had been engaged to an honest working man; but her beauty, if she married him, would not bear the interest she now coveted, so she broke with him. He had loved her, and hardly, if ever, got over the blow. She went her way putting out her capital, laying traps to the right and to the left; but cleverly as she laid them, she after all was caught herself, falling a victim where she had hoped to conquer, and was flung aside again. She was ruined, but the horrible lesson I had left with her was nowise rendered harmless; on the contrary, she improved it all the more. As a courtesan she continued her career, and soon there was none more knowing, none more dangerous, than she. One fool after another went the way to her house to his soul's ruin, and her capital laid out bore interest vastly, being the fruit of that first sovereign I had given her ! But rich she grew not; the money went as it came, squandered recklessly. And before she dreamt of it, the capital itself was gone ; she struggled awhile, sinking deeper and deeper, and died in utter misery. But even that is not all. The lesson I had taught her proved not only a poison to herself, but with it she poisoned others, teach- ing scores of girls the pernicious lie: Beauty is a capital; lay it out ! lay it out ! Thus it went with her with whom in life I had but a moment's intercourse, whose name even I never knew ! What shall I say then of many others; what of Annie, against whom I sinned far more grievously ? Strange that the spirit knowledge, which tells me so much, is entirely at fault whenever I think of her. But it is a 78 LETTERS FROM HELL. blessing ! What if she too were to rise before me cry- ing : Thou didst it ! thou didst it ! The force of example I repeat it is terrible, terrible ! and the responsibility of all, therefore, is great with whom influence rests in a special way, as it does with those, for instance, to whom the young are taught to look. That is why there are so many here who had charge of children parents, guardians, teachers, nurses innumerable. They go to hell first, of course they do; but they are followed by many of those whom they should have taught the way of life. And not only are they followed by them, but by their children after them, generation rising against generation in awful accusation. I am one of the worst of those who dare not lift their head, so I may well speak in warning ! I know what awaits me. I am thinking of Martin. Poor boy, it was I who brought him up, feeding him upon evil example. I have made him what he is. But what has become of him, and what will become of his children ? I had no family in life alas, I may have one in hell, larger than I care to see the children of my iniquity ! But there is hope for Martin; he is yet in life. May the Lord have mercy on him on him and his ! How I loved him in spite of his waywardness ! Per- haps it was self-love after all ; perhaps I loved him only inasmuch as he seemed to reflect myself. Yet there was power in that love, in spite of supervening jealousy. He grew more handsome, more taking than even I had been, ousting me by degrees out of my every pride ; but jealous though I felt, I yet loved him. And the time came when he was master. I remember well how one day I was humbled by the sudden consciousness of it. I had been specially careful of his bodily development, seeing to it myself ; his mental training I left to others. I taught him gymnastics and all sorts of manly exer- cises, in which I excelled fencing, wrestling, and the like. He was tall and powerful, and exquisitely proportioned. Barely twenty, he resembled some athlete of antiquity. We practiced daily, and I found that he gained as steadily as I lost ; there was a time at last when with difficulty I could hold my own. And then it came I could never speak of it calmly that he floored me, standing over me, a very Hercules of strength. From LETTERS FROM HELL. 79 that day I knew that he had the ascendancy over me. It was natural, for I had passed the zenith he was approaching it ; but it was mortifying, and I could not forgive it. And yet, with strange inconsistency, I was proud of him, loving him all the more fondly. My grudge against him, however, took a more real turn when I found that he outdid me in the favor of woman as well. That was more than even my fondest love could stand. Will he join me here ? The beating of my heart seems to say yes ; for he belongs to me, and I am here. Then I shall find an answer to that burning question which filled my soul as I quitted life, and which burns with a fire of its own here amid many fires. But ought I to wish for an answer ? I have a frightful foreboding at times that the answer my soul is craving will over- whelm me with horror. But, nevertheless, and though it should be all horrors combined in one, I am hungering and thirsting for it, nor can I rest till I find it. What is it he had to tell me ? LETTER IX. How frightful is the deep stillness reigning in hell among these myriads of souls ! I thought at first I should get used to it ; but there is no getting used to it. It is stifling and oppressive. What a contrast with the multi- farious hubbub of earth ! Life may be ever so excited here, ever so restless, it is dead to the ear. I do' not mean to say that words passing to and fro are devoid of sound, but it is unearthly, unclothed of its body, falling dead on the spot ; I suspect that, like most things here, it is imaginary, unreal. Probably the meaning of any- thing that is said passes to the hearer without the medium of sound ; he seems to hear with outward ears, but that is illusion. Hell is filled with unruly souls. It is the hurly-burly of existence they need, but with all their effort they can never create sound. If never before they longed for a dull repose they do so now, yet are keenly alive to its utter hopelessness. They will hunt for tumult to all eternity, 8o LETTERS FROM HELL. never hearing the sound they crave : they also have their reward. As light increases, so does the uneasy expectation of my heart. I tremble for the hour when the glory from the other side will flash across the gulf and strike my blinded eyes. I shall have to see it ! And Paradise, as seen from hell, must be a sight most dread most ter- rible piercing the heart. Yet I long for it I groan for it though the glimpse of bliss be fraught with exquisite torment; I hunger for it "Let me have it," I cry, "though it should kill my soul." Was not there something in the vanished time that was called the Lord's Prayer, beginning, "Our Father," a well of blessing to those who opened their hearts to it ? Surely I seem to remember, but vainly I try to call back the words ; they seem hovering about me as though I need but say, " Our Father," and all the rest must follow. I try and say so, but never get beyond ; I have sometimes repeated these two words ten, twenty times, but it is quite hopeless they are empty and meaning- less ; I have lost the prayer it is all nothing to me. I just remember that there is a father; but He is not my Father, and I am not His child. Yet I cannot refrain from racking my spirit for the once blessed words; surely they are somewhere somewhere ! My soul is thirsting, and there is not a drop of water to cool my tongue. I return to the horror of existence. It is a mercy that after all one can choose one's society here ; I should die if I were obliged to know all the vulgar rabble of common ruffians, thieves, murderers, card-sharpers, and the like. I have always been a gentleman. Of course I am aware now that I am not one whit better than those that I call the rabble, the only difference consisting in a little outward finish, what we used to call culture on earth and to be sure how proud we were of it ! Our wickedness may be as great, if not greater than theirs ; but it is not so coarse, there is a certain refinement about it, which flatters our notions of superiority. I consider myself a gentleman, therefore, as I always did, and am very careful with whom I associate. The rabble consists of the vulgar criminals and their belong- ings ; but hell's upper ten thousand have never soiled their hands with low wickedness. We ruined girls, but LETTERS FROM HELL. 8 1 kept it a secret ; we grew rich upon the spoils of others, and called it business ; we were proud, hard-hearted, and spoke of the claims of rank ; we may have been liars and cheats, but always wore kid-gloves and were careful as to our tailor we were gentlefolk, you see. The proverb " birds of a feather " is written up everywhere in hell we follow it out naturally ; people here have an exquisitely developed instinct that helps them to judge in a moment of those they meet, aided I should add by the transparency of clothes. It is of course not quite easy here to carry out such principles, still society manages very generally to keep itself to itself. We eschew vulgarity and turn our back upon anything likely to shock our notions of good-breeding. I met a charming young woman the other day who was received in the best circles here. Her history was known, but it did not seem to shut her out from us. She had forsaken her widowed mother, nearly blind though she was, eloping with a handsome actor. She died suddenly, carried off in the height of passion, and very naturally found herself in hell. A prey to the cold which we all experience, she was afire with a ceaseless longing for her mother on the one hand, whom she never will meet again, and for her lover on the other hand, whom she awaited with ardent desire. She ought not to have wished for a reunion, since that meant dragging him to hell ; but her love being what it was, she lived and breathed in that cruel hope. She selfishly longed for him, saying they had sworn to live and die together. But he could not have been equally anxious ; at any rate he kept her waiting years upon years. And during all this time her infatuated soul beheld him as she had known him last, handsome, in the prime of life, and the darling of the people. At length he arrives a decrepit man on crutches, blear-eyed, and a face that told his life. What a meeting ! she starts back as from an apparition. Can that be the lover of her youth, for whom she sinned, for whom she suffered ! She loathes him, but she is driven to pursue him. Society here is well-bred, and shrinks from what ruffles its feelings. She was a charm- ing creature, but we could no longer tolerate her. One after another we disowned her, and she disappeared with her former lover. 82 LETTERS FROM HELL. Let me add that one of the greatest evils in the world is a superabundance of love. Who would believe that love unrestrained sends more souls to hell than almost anything I could name ? It is not the love which is pure and health-giving, for it is not fed by the Love Divine and Eternal. So much depends on what one loves and how one loves ! A woman arrived here some time ago, no longer young, but still beautiful, blue-eyed, fair-haired, and we all thought her charming. She was amiability itself ; we could not think what brought her to hell ; indeed there was no reason for it, but her unchastened love for her husband. It was quite touching to hear how she had given up her life to him, loving him a great deal more than he really deserved. She idolized him, for- getting everything for him, even her God. That was just it ; she had given to her husband the heart's adora- tion which belongs to God alone. How could she have been happy in heaven ? But her love, touching as at first sight it would appear, was after all nothing but a peculiar development of selfishness, and that is why it dragged her to hell. ' And in hell she continues sick of love for her husband; it was the one longing of her life, so it needs must be the all-absorbing torment of hell. And she had her desjre, she saw him again ; he arrived one day with a heart full of another passion. He had never been faithful to her. Even hell pities the reward that is given her. You have long ceased to doubt, I hope, that hell offers anything but horror. But there are moments, at rare intervals only, when all the thousand horrors within us seemed congealed into one frightful sensation of stupor. Do not imagine it is a painless moment; feeling is swallowed up in indescribable anguish, a peculiar horror, not known at other times. And then it is always sud- den hell stands aghast, trembling with dread. All pur- suit ceases ; every soul is left to itself, shuddering. Something is upon us a spirit-deadening influence. It is not seen, but we are, each and all, aware of it with indescribable terror. We know what it is ; we stand tongue-tied and trernbLng. Satan has come to survey the souls in hell. Final power is not yet given him ; for they are not yet judged. But he has learned to wait LETTERS FROM HELL. 83 satisfied, meanwhile, that they are added to daily. They are his, he knows, though the time of carrying them off is delayed. He knows the doom is coming when the wicked, for ever separated from the good, are assigned their place on the left of the Son of Man, and that they will be his then forever and forever. How often in the young days of life I seemed full of promise to become good, but never reached the true aim of Christianity. Tht, memories I have brought away of these half-strivings are fraught with bitterest regret, and yet they would move my tenderest tears, if tears were left. It was Lily especially who in those days was the instrument of grace divine. From the first it was given her, that wondrous power over me. Ah ! say not it was all sinful that brought me to her feet ! No ; there was something higher, giving her an influence over my soul a holy influence. All children I believe have some- thing of it; but Lily was filled with that heavenly grace. In winter-time after dinner, we would rest awhile in the dusk, the firelight casting. slumbrous shadows about the room. My mother would doze away ; Lily and I sat dreaming. But how different were the spheres to which our thoughts would roam ! I could have spent hours watching Lily as I did ; she sitting on a low fender-stool, the light falling on her. I was in the dark, unnoticed by her, which added to my sense of enjoyment. She would fold her hands on her knees, as she loved to do in thoughtful moments. How beautiful she was, in that half-light especially a little pale, but spiritualized. The red glow was reflected in her wonderful eyes, which shone marvelously. Her features seemed transfigured ; she would sigh at times or heave a deep breath ; I knew then that she was occupied in her mind. I watched her, greedily delighting in her perfect beauty. If there is truth in what people say of magnetism and sympathetic attraction, she must have felt my gaze. Who can tell ? She sometimes really appeared uneasy ; I saw from my corner how she would try to shake off some unconscious influence. I could scarcely refrain then from snatching her up and pressing her to my heart. But I conauered the desire it would have broken the charm. 4 LETTERS FROM HELL. But sometimes Lily would sit down by me, and then we passed the twilight in pleasant talk; she never denied me her confidence. One evening I asked her what she was thinking of in those quiet moments on the fender- stool. "What I am thinking of?" she repeated, with her gentle voice. " Ah, Philip, thoughts will come to me full of longing, sometimes happy, sometimes sad. I fancy myself carried away at times right over the seas to another land ; even to other worlds my thoughts will rise up, up beyond the stars. I seem carried away to Louisiana, that beautiful country, where everything is so different from here richer, grander by far, and where winter is not known. By the great river I see a house with a shady veranda and a pillared hall ; trees of the South grow about it luxuriantly. Here I was born ; my earliest recollections twine around it. Memory carries me now through the lofty rooms. I flit from one chamber to another ; my poor parents are nowhere. I roam through the garden, so rich in delight, through the cool groves by the river ; but I am a stranger everywhere, no one remembers the little girl. I see black men and stop to speak to them, but they only shake their head mournfully. r " Sadly I quit my beautiful home home no longer to me, and the spirit carries me back over the lonely sea. Restless I seem to wander, passing many lands, seeing many things, meeting with kind people everywhere but one thing I find not. And then I rise, beyond the clouds, beyond moon and stars. I seem to lose myself thoughts vanish. I am at rest in a beautiful garden. " I had believed nothing could be more beautiful than Louisiana, my own lovely home, but that garden is better still ; for it is the garden of God it is Paradise. And here I find them at last my own dear parents ; I knew I should find them again. And here there is rest for my soul nothing left to long for. I have my father again, my mother again, they tell me how happy they are, and how they love me." Lily's eyes were shining as with the light of the Paradise she was speaking of ; she sighed, and then con- tinued slowly : " I am happy, too, for a moment ; but then the servant LETTERS FROM HELL. 85 comes in with the lamp, and with a sudden pain at the heart, I seem to be thrust down from heaven. I look about me bewildered, scarcely knowing where I am I feel lonely and sad. Can you understand it, Philip ?" Of course I understood her ; they were foolish dreams, and would make her ill. These twilight roamings ought not to be indulged in. But I did not say so. One evening she asked me suddenly : " Philip, what makes people happy ? " Her question startled me, but I was not at a loss for an answer. " I suppose their own heart," I said ; " good health, too, and a pleasant home, where nothing is wanting to make one comfortable ; a few kind people also to love one, I should say.' " Well, I think I have all that. Am I happy ? " " Are you not, sweetest Lily ? " I returned. " I don't know," she said slowly. u Something seems wanting. I cannot quite express it. ... No one seems to need me in the world to make them happy I am of no use to any one." " You should not talk so, Lily ! Are you not mother's delight, and my own ? I am sure we need you. And you are of great use too ! But why should a little girl like you be grieving about not being useful ? You have nothing to do as yet but be happy yourself, learn your lessons like a good child, and grow up as fast as you can into a nice little woman that will be a blessing to those who love' her. But stirely, Lily, you do not doubt that even now you make mother happy, and me too ? " " But you could do without me. And there are so many who " No, Lily ; I do not think we should like to do with- out you. One is always glad of having some one to love." Lily shook her head. " I am nothing to you and her, Philip. She is your own mother, and you are her son. But what am I ? I do not even belong to you. You found me and were kind to me." " What you are, Lily ? Why, if you are nothing else, you are my dear little friend, whom I would not lose for all the world." 86 LETTERS FROM HELL. " A friend ? Is that something ? " she said dreamily. " Yes, a great deal," I said. " A friend like you is a loving little girl who is ready to give not only her whole heart, but just her own self to him who loves her ; she will smooth away his grief if he has any, and return his smiles. The little friend I want you to be is the greatest treasure to be found in life." She looked at me wonderingly. " I do not understand you," she said. " Well, you need not understand now. The time will come when it will be all plain to you. But you might promise me one thing, even now will you be my little friend ? " She hesitated a moment ; them, lifting her wondrous eyes straight to mine, she jaiu candidly : " Yes, dear, I will. It Is nice to be something ! " " You are my all, Lily, if only you knew/' But from that moment a pleasant consciousness hovered between us. Often when I met her, or took leave to go to town, I whispered : " Sweet little Lily, friend." And she smiled her own angel smile, saying : " Yes, dear, it is nice to be somebody's friend." Ah, I love the memory of those twilight hours when she sat by me, and I could stroke her silky hair, or hold her soft little hand in mine ! But even close to me she would sink away into her dreams of home and Paradise, and I felt something like jealousy at having no part in these dreams. One evening how strange is the power of memory ! I remember every word, every look even we had been talking awhile, and I asked her : " But tell me, do you care for me, really ? " " How should I not, Philip ? I have neither father nor mother ; no one cares for me but aunt and yourself. Of course I must love you for it." " I know, Lily. But I mean, could you love me even more ? " " I think so," she said, meditatively. She was then about twelve. At that age words fall from the lips easily. And Lily had a childlike and won- derfully spontaneous manner of uttering her thoughts ; yet in conversation with her elders there was a marked difference between her and other children. Her words LETTERS FROM HELL. 87 showed that she thought deeply, and the confidence with which she spoke could not but impress one's heart. " I think so," she repeated, and sat thoughtful. " What could I do to make you love me even more ? " " There is one thing you could do, Philip. I am an orphan child, having neither father nor mother. But I have learned from the Word of God that of brothers and sisters I have many many. I know it, but I do not know them ; I cannot go in search of them. I am only a little girl who is a stranger to the world, and it is not much I can do. But you, Philip, you are a man ; you are clever and rich, and you go about among the people. Will you promise me one thing ? Whenever you meet any of my poor brothers and sisters who are in want, will you be good to them, pitying them for God's sake and for my sake ? Or if you will be really kind, will you try and find them out and take me with you, that together we may comfort them and help them ? Will you promise me ? Say yes, and you shall be the very dearest friend I have." I felt the tears rise to my eyes ; I could not answer at once, but after awhile I said : " If I do as you wish me, Lily, will you be sure to love me always always ? " " Oh yes, dear ; I cannot tell you how much ! " " Well, then, I promise you faithfully that I will do it. But cheer up now, my good, kind-hearted little sister ; you must not be always thinking of things that make you sad. There, look at me, and let me see how brightly you can smile." And she did look at me, and smiled as no doubt angels smile whose measure of happiness runneth over. Do you not see that Lily had power over me that I was almost becoming good, guided by that little hand of hers ? If it was but miserable selfishness at first which brought me under her spell, it could not lessen the fact that I felt and even yielded to the breath of the Spirit moving in that holy child-soul. The influence for good that may proceed even from a little child on earth is very marvelous. 1 did begin to look about for Lily's suffering brothers and sisters. It did not cost me any great effort to do deeds of charity, for I was disposed to be good-natured ; 88 LETTERS FROM HELL. and for Lily's sake I took even a pleasure now in doing kind things. Again, meeting in the dusk of the evening, I would tell her how I had succeeded here and there in making some poor creature happy. I described to her the misery in which I found this.or that family, the way in which I assisted them ; I told her of their joy and gratitude. And she listened with radiant face. Sometimes I took her with me, and it was my delight on such occasions to let her have all the planning and giving. It was strange how her sympathy would always hit upon the right thing ! But alas that I must say it! in reality I was far from being a new creature. Lily had power to touch my heart ; but the flesh was strong, and the world held me fast. My goodness, at most, was a mere playing at being good. When we separated, I going to South America, I con- tinued for her sake to help the poor and suffering I fell in with. But my deeds of charity were no more than a kind of idol worship of the memories I loved, of the hopes I reveled in to possess her more fully some day who was mine already. Besides, if I had not carried out her wishes, I could not have written her the letters 1 knew she looked for ; knowing, moreover, that she loved me afresh for every deed of kindness I could tell her of. It was deceiving her, deceiving myself, perhaps, but there was no deceiving the righteous Judge. I found Lily in tears one day. She sat in silence with folded hands, one big tear after another trickling down on a book before her. It was her Bible. " What is it, my child ? " I cried. " Why are you troubled ? " She looked at me with her dovelike eyes, the tears trembling in them. " I am not troubled, dear," she said. " But you are crying." " For joy yes, for joy. Look what I found ! " Her finger pointed to her Bible, and bending over her, I read : " When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up." I did not know at once what to say. It touched me, but at the same time I rather grudged her needing her LETTERS FROM HELL. 89 Bible for comfort, and missing her parents so much. She had mother and me, and I wanted her to be happy. But I could not tell her, so I said after a while : "Yes, that is beautiful, Lily, just as though it were specially written for you. But brighten up now ; I can- not have you cry, not even for joy, as you say. I'll be back in a quarter of an hour, and then we will have a walk." When I returned an expression of quiet peace had settled on her face, not unusual with her ; but from that day the words, " The Lord will take me up " seemed continuously present in her heart. She did not hide it. I could not shake off those words all at once, but did so after a while. LETTER X. AMUSEMENT ! That is one of the common needs nowadays ; the world requires to be amused rich and poor alike. I do not say that, in itself, this is altogether blameworthy ; it would be foolish to let the river of delight flow past, and never stoop to drink. But to make amusement the one question paramount when life is so serious, when neighbors are in trouble and the poor in want that surely is wrong. And yet that seems just what the world has come to. " How shall we amuse ourselves ? " appears to be the great question nowadays, the solving of which, for thousands of men and woman, seems to be the very object of living. They do not con- sider it necessary to be praying for daily bread, or return thanks when they have got it ; but they never for- get to cry out for amusement. And even the poor, with whom daily bread is a question, whose young may be hungry, and their aged be buried by the parish, must needs be amused ! It was not so always. Fifty years ago the mass of the people were satisfied with doing their work and looking upon pleasure as a relaxation merely ; but now amuse- ment with many has come to be the thing to be worked and lived for. And acknowledging this to be a fact, history holds up an appalling precedent. When ancient 9 o LETTERS FROM HELL. Rome made pleasure the aim of life, the nation was approaching its doom. How shall it be with the world ? I do not know when its end may be, but I know this that those of her children who run recklessly after pleasure are on the broad way that leads to hell ; and the excess which is their sin on earth will be their punish- ment here. Is the world rich in places of amusement ? be sure so is hell. We too have our gardens, our Tivoli call it Vauxhall, or Crystal Palace, or Champs Elysees, it matters not, the thing is here. And whatever is being invented on pleasure-hunting earth, we have it to perfection. Does the world flock by thousands to its amusements ? hell does so by millions. All pleasures, all passions, run loose here in awful confusion, and help- lessly you are whirled along. Yet no matter what excess there be of wanton gaiety, there broods over all that deathlike stillness hell's frightful atmosphere which I have tried to describe before. Perhaps you remember the effect of sounds deadened by a muffling fog ; that may give you a faint idea of what I cannot otherwise bring home to you. If one succeeds at times in break- ing away from this horrible pretense of pleasure, it leaves one panting and spirit-broken, sick of existence and long- ing for rest ; but despite the loathing one is immediately after it again, forcing the senses to what never yields them a shadow of delight. Amusement here, let me tell you, is a very lash of correction, driving all thoughts of pleasure far, far away. Ah, how they long for work, those lost souls, to whom labor on earth was so hateful, or, at best, but a means towards enjoyment. How gladly they would slave on a galley here, deeming the meanest work a blessing. But the night has come when no man can work. There is a memory in this kingdom of death of how the Son of God once descended to hell to preach to the spirits in prison, filling the space between the great deep and Paradise with the cry of His love, and proclaiming liberty to the captives. Then hell for a time was light as day ; but most of those present hardened their hearts, and fell back into darkness. I felt a burning desire to meet some one who had heard the voice of the Son of God, but I own it was a LETTERS FROM 'HELL. 91 foolish wish, since it could do me no good all here being vanity and nothingness still, in spite of that knowledge, one is trying and longing for something even here. There are naturally many souls in hell who heard that wondrous preaching, but they are all lost ; and no lost soul can help another to a ray of light. Had they but remembered a single word of the Saviour's laid it up in their hearts, I mean they would not now be here. Some certainly pretend to recollect this or that, but what they said in answer to my inquiry was cant and blas- phemy ; it gave me no comfort, and, despairingly, I turned from my desire. I once ventured upon a journey through some outlying districts ; do not be surprised at my saying I ventured, for I assure you it needs courage here to get to know more than you absolutely must. Discovery is full of horror, even to him who has nothing to lose. Indeed, you must not ask me to describe to you all I saw and heard ; It would take me too far, and it could not possibly interest you to hear all I might say concern- ing hell's inhabitants; those crowds of thieves, murderers, deceivers, liars, misers, spendthrifts, perjurers, forgers, hypocrites, seducers, and slanderers. But stop ! there are some I must tell you about. Look at that tribe of strutting peacocks in human guise ! They are the self- conceited, a very refuse of hell ; they thought well of themselves once, but are a laughing-stock now. And these miserable women flapping their arms wildly, and going about cluck-clucking like so many hens dis- tressed for their brood, spreading wings of pity, but vainly seeking for aught to be gathered in ! they are the wicked mothers, groaning for the children they neglected in sloth or selfishness. And these queer creatures fawning about so meanly, slobbering all whom they meet with sympathy, offering assistance right and left ! they are the merciless ones. Their hearts were too hard formerly : they are too soft now, and no one here requires their mercy. A few other figures I may single out. I have told you of the great black river here which is not Lethe. I was sitting one day near its bank, thinking of the sad past and sadder future ; the black waves rolled heavily by. 92 LETTERS FROM HELL. Groans broke upon the silence about me. I started and perceived a strange figure, strangely occupied. It was a man of commanding aspect, even handsome, but in a terrible plight. He sat by the river washing his hands, which dripped with blood. But for all his wash- ing the bright crimson would not leave his fingers ; as soon as he lifted them above the water, the red blood trickled down afresh. It was a pitiful sight. He seemed to be aware of my presence, for he turned upon me suddenly, saying, " What is truth ? " I did not reply at once, feeling it to be a question that should not be answered lightly; so raising his voice, he repeated impatiently, " What is truth ? " "Well," I said, " it is a truth, and a sad one, that it is too late now for us to be seeking the truth." This answer did not appear to satisfy him. He shook his head, turning away. And again he set to washing his hands. I endeavored to draw him into conversation. I seemed suddenly to know that he was one of those doubly miserable souls who had seen the Son of Man face to face and heard Him speak, and I was most anxious to hear what he might have to tell me; but there was no turning him from his awful occupation. I left him after a while. Who he was I knew without the testimony of his purple-bordered toga and the rin^ on his finger Pontius Pilate ! He shuns the city of the Jews, and spends his time by the river washing his hands. But of every passer-by he asks the question, What is truth ? Whatever answer he receives he shakes his head: it is not general truths he wants to know about, but the Truth and that is not known here. And perceive the cutting contrast ! Pilate inquiring about truth, yet washing his hands in the river of falsehood ! I went my way through desert places uncultivated tracts, that is, but nowise unpeopled; no spot in hell is uninhabited, however dismal and waste it may be. There are souls whom an inward necessity drives into the howling wilderness ; those, for instance, who in life worked out dark plots ending in great crimes. These places are congenial to them. There is one terrible figure one meets at times in the LETTERS FROM HELL. 93 dreariest wastes a man tall and powerful, half-naked, the skin of some animal being all his clothing. The hair hangs wildly about his temples; there is a furtive look in his eye, and his brow is gloomy. There is a mark upon his forehead, and he carries a club ; not that he seems to require it, for he is a fugitive always, in con- stant fear of being slain. Every one who meets him trembles, but he is afraid of the weakest and most help- less of creatures, fleeing them all for (ear of his wretched life. Always alone, he seems nowhere and everywhere. A cursed fugitive he was on earth a cursed fugitive he is in hell, for the Lord has set His mark upon him, that every one should know Cain and not slay him. I hurried away, anxious to get rid of the terrible sight. Here, then, I had found a soul that was more wretched than myself. But the thought was poor comfort ; I could not shake off the impression of the lying flattery with which they buried me. But I forget I have not told you my first experience by that vile river. As I neared it I .was met would you believe it by an account of my own obsequies. It was sickening ! A miserable versifier, lately come hither it seems, was hawking about his latest production. I do not know that he really knew me, but he insisted on flourishing a paper in my face, and I could not help reading with my own eyes the flaring title, to this effect : " New and mournful ditty, to the memory of Philip H., Esq., whose heirs could pay for the grandest funeral and the most flattering parson to escort him to heaven, but could not keep him out of hell. Leading sentiment his Reverence's own ' We shall meet again ! ' ' A funeral ditty in honor of me . . . staring me in the face by the river of lies ! ... I bit my lips, for I needs must read it. It began with a panegyric on my many virtues, few of which I ever possessed ; it then broke out into a doleful lamentation about the loss society had sustained by my untimely death, and ended with a description of the blesse'd life I had entered upon to receive the reward of my deeds, joy and, glory unspeakable, which henceforth were my blessed inheritance ! Terrible irony ! . I felt as though a hundred daggers had entered my soul, Sick at heart I crumpled up the wretched produc- 94 LETTERS FROM HELL. tion and fled from the place. It was some time before I could get over the deep bitterness of this experience, and when in a measure I had conquered it, that parson's " leading sentiment " remained as a drop of rankling poison. Thou fool ! or hypocrite which is it ? As though a man had but to die to go straightway to bliss ! I will not enlarge upon the hopeful statement you little dreamt of its possible meaning when you said, " We shall meet again ! " It was about this time that I first came across a king in this place. Pitiful sight ! It is scarcely possible to conceive a greater contrast between the once and the now kingship on earth and kingship in hell ! Of all the abjects one meets with here, I do believe emperors, kings, and princes of every description are the poorest. There are no empires and kingdoms here, save indeed Satan's, and nothing deserving the appella- tion of government. What rules us is a kind of social instinct and the habits of life we brought with us from the world. So, you see, kings and princes are nowise needed. Their rank of course entitles them to respect, and as on earth so here, one bows involuntarily to their exalted position ; but in truth they are too miserable to look for respect. It is with them as with the image of some castaway saint, the gilding of which has worn off, and which ends its days in the lumber-room, ignomin- iously forgotten. Their former greatness was merely conventional ; it was gilding, in fact, and no real gold. It has worn off, and there is nothing left to bespeak their majesty. The poor kings have no kingdom here to display their greatness, no armies that will fight and die at their bidding, no millions to be squandered ; they have nothing left but the sad pretence of former gran- deur. Their courtly state is represented by a few wretched sycophants who stick to them, not for love but for gain illusive of course, and following former habit merely. I said they are miserable, weighed down would be a more descriptive word, and literally true, for they nearly sink beneath the burden of their crowns. Do you wish to know the possible weight of a crown ? I will meet you with another question : can you tell me how great a king's responsibility may be on earth ? They LETTERS FROM HELL. 95 weigh tons these crowns, believe me. The poor kings, propped up as they are by ministers and satellites, can scarcely more than crawl, so heavy is their burden. Worse off than any are those potentates whose names on e?.rth boasted of the addition " the Great ; " alas, those great ones are peculiarly small here, and those five letters add an enormous weight to their crowns ! Of truly great sovereigns, of course none arrive here, and those others whom the world called Great received that appellation merely because they were either great destroyers of human life, slaughtering the people by thousands for their own miserable renown, or perhaps because they outdid all other men and princes in that peculiar knavery which goes by the name of state-craft. Some few also may have come by their distinction quite by chance ; perhaps they had clever ministers working for their glory. But these sometimes are the most con- ceited of all crown-bearers ; nothing is left for them but to go to hell when they have done. What a gain it would have been for those poor poten- tates if, instead of striving for the appellation " the Great," they had been content to be called " the Good " or " the Beloved ! " Charity then, with them also, might have covered a multitude of sins. Now nothing is left but the wailing and gnashing of teeth. You never hear them speak ; sighing and groaning seems to be their one means of intercourse. But no one cares to listen ; indeed they are scarcely fit for society. The knowledge of this makes them shy and retiring ; one hardly ever meets them ; and if they do venture abroad, they are at once set upon as a hawk by innumer- able sparrows persecuted by all who suffered through them in life, as many as half a nation sometimes. How enviable might have been their days on earth ! Blessed beyond their fellows, all was theirs to make themselves and others happy ; but ambition prevented them from seeing that their crown might ay, should be a well of blessing for the people. They were always speaking of their right divine, calling themselves kings by the grace of God ; they forgot that it would have been far better to own themselves poor sinners through the grace of God than kings by right divine, and by that right be cast into hell. 96 LETTERS FROM HELL. I spoke of destroyers of human life, but one need not be a king or emperor for that ; some of the most ruthless slaughterers of humanity the world has known were only generals, admirals, marshals, and the like. These also continue their career in hell. There are plenty here to flock to their standards all those, namely, who on earth were forgetful of the peace and goodwill which the God of love proclaimed to mankind. They meet here, hundreds of thousands of them, and, like so many grinning skeletons, at once prepare for battle. Vainest show ! Their artillery produces mere smoke. The spectre phalanx charges: one expects a great onslaught, but it is nothing ; they merely change sides, as it were, and begin the battle afresh. They are unable to shed blood now, but they are forever spending their soul's energy in miserable bloodthirstiness. I thought of the warriors of Walhalla foolish com- parison ! for there is nothing in common between the heroes there and the would-be heroes here. The warriors of Walhalla are said to be resplendent with strength and glory, living not only a real but a perfect life ; whereas their wretched semblances here are only fit to move laughter and pity. You know that we are always suffering thirst an awful quenchless thirst ever longing for a drop of water to cool the tongue. One would imagine no one would willingly come to try and slake his thirst with the stagnant water of the horrible river ; nevertheless there are some who do try it, quite secretly though, as if that could be kept a secret ! For their whole body swells and is puffed out with the slimy falsehood, which, break- ing through their every pore, turns them into positive lepers of lying. Having drunk once they always drink again, but their thirst is never quenched. As I am thinking of ending this letter, the shadow of a saying crosses my memory, that of good things there are always three. I forget which of earth's tongues has moulded this into a proverb, but something more than a proverb often troubles me now : I remember that I used to be taught to believe in the Trinity in Unity, but I never get beyond the two now I know something of a Father, and something of a Saviour ; but was not there a LETTERS FROM HELL. 97 third to help one to say " our Father " and " my Saviour" ? Alas the idea is a blank now, leaving a shadow to haunt me ! There are other three I am vainly trying to recall to my heart faith, hope, and charity. I know nothing of faith now, and nothing of hope. I might have known charity, and I once believed I knew love : but now, alas, I know only what it might, what it should have been. Oh that I could warn you who still walk in hope ! Love is no light thing, but the deepest outcome of the soul. Had I known it truly, faith and hope now would stand by my side. Be warned my brothers, my sisters ! My heart yearns for you ; it yearns for thee, my friend, who never with a word even hast answered any of these letters ; for thee, mother, who never understoodst my deepest need ; for thee, Martin, who in just retribution art as the lash now adding torment to torment. I love thee still, what is it thou wouldst have told me ? My heart is yearning, my brothers, my sisters ; but vain, vain, is the longing ; it leaves me in hell ! LETTER XI. WOULD you believe it not only my sins, but even the " good deeds " of my life come back to me in torment ! I can but add, it is very natural ! For even our best actions are full of blemish. Every one of them leaves a sting behind, and if it did not prick conscience then, it has power to enter the soul now, wounding it deeply. There was a clerk in our counting-house, a young man, in whom I took great interest. I trusted him entirely ; he filled a responsible position, acting as cashier. Various little things coming under my notice first caused me to doubt his honesty. I watched him, and discovered that he had contracted a habit of gambling. Chance offered me an opportunity of taking him in the act. He frequented a low gambling house ; I had been directed to the place. The adventure was not without risk to myself, but that was nothing to me. It was a 98 LETTERS FROM HELL. wintry evening, cold and blustering, when, wrapped in an ordinary overcoat, I approached the apparently unin- habited house. In answer to a peculiar knock, however p the door was opened, and having passed a low dark passage, I entered a well-lit room. I found a company of gamblers assembled, as numerous as varied, evidently enjoying themselves though the place reeked with the fumes of tobacco and gin. Several tables were going, one of them was kept by my young scapegrace, who apparently enjoyed his dignity of banker. Acting on a sudden impulse, I faced him and staked a small sum. The sudden sight of me had a terrible effect on him. His face grew ashy, and the cards fell from his hand. Having regained some self-command, he seemed about to rise, either to rush from the place or sink down at my feet. But a look from me was sufficient to rivet him to his seat. One of those present, perceiving his confusion, handed him a glass of port ; he seized it eagerly and drained it. His pallor yielded to a flush ;' he looked me in the face. But coldly I disowned him standing before him as a stranger who desired the continuation of the game. So did the rest of the company. None of them suspected the peculiar relation between myself and the unfortunate croupier. I was determined he should suffer ; I compelled him to play. With trembling hands, scarcely knowing what he did, he dealt the cards, gave and received cash. The game went on, and as chance would have it, the youngster had all the luck. But I could abide a turn of the tide ; I knew it would come, and presently I began to force the game. I could afford to play higher than any of them probably had ever done before. The excitement grew to intensity ; with the croupier it appeared simply maddening ; his eyes started from his head. Another stake, and I had broken the bank. With a yell of despair the unhappy youth sprang to his feet, and crying, "All is lost ! " was about to rush past me and break from the place. " Not all ! " I said under my breath, seizing hold of his arm; "more still might be lost. Stop a minute ; we leave this house together ! " He took his hat and coat and followed me. The com- pany stared of course, but all was done so quietly that none felt justified in demanding an explanation. LETTERS FROM HELL. 99 I took him with me, walking by my side and trembling visibly. Not a word was spoken till we entered the library of my house. There I confronted him, and did not spare him. He who had been trusted beyond his age trusted entirely a gambler and a thief ! He stood before me crushed and overwhelmed. He ceased praying for mercy for himself, but entreated me to spare his widowed mother, whose only stay he was. I did not relent so easily, although, considering that he had had a lesson, I determined to pardon him; but I was also determined that he should remember that night as long as he lived. In agony he lay at my feet when I promised mercy at last, saying I would keep the matter to myself, and allow him the opportunity of making up for his wrong; he might do so, and thank me for not ruining his prospects. He prepared to take his leave, and staggered to the door, scarcely able to stand on his feet. It had been too much for him. I saw I could not let him go, or his miserable secret would at once become known to his mother. I rang for my valet, and ordered him to give the young man a bed in my house. The following morning found him in delirium; brain fever supervened. I thought of the poor widow, and how anxious he had been she should not know. I resolved to keep his secret; the servant, I knew, could be trusted. So I wrote to his mother that I had been obliged to send him away on business suddenly; it would be a several weeks' absence meanwhile she might be at rest about him. Thus his fate, next to God, was left with me entirely. He was seriously ill ; I had him nursed conscientiously, dividing nearly all my time between him and his mother. I really acted as a brother by him, as a son by her. When recovery had set in and he knew me again, I sur- rounded him with kindness, doing my utmost to bring him back to health and self-respect. Some six weeks elapsed before he could go back to his mother. She was told he had been ill on his journey. On a journey indeed he had been, returning from the very gates of death. His mother never learned the true cause of his absence. I placed him in another branch IOO LETTERS FROM HELL. of the business; he rose by degrees, and I ever found him a faithful servant. Now to the point. You think perhaps that I had every reason for being thoroughly satisfied with myself for once. 1 should have thought so at the time ! But here, where the scales fall from one's eyes, where everything appears in uncompromising nakedness, one learns to judge differently. There was no wrong in catching the bird by the wing as I did, and holding him tight till he dropped, thoroughly frightened. I had saved him from his sin. But looking back now I see that pride and self-consciousness guided my hand. Vanity was flattered by the moral ascendancy I had over the youth ; a look of mine had sufficed to force him to continue awhile in his wicked course, and then I could have staked my soul that he would not again touch a card to his dying day. I knew it, I mean, even at the moment, and felt elated by the know- ledge. My subsequent kindness to him, I fear, sprang from a feeling that I had been hard on him. I had taken delight in his humiliation. What was left then, I ask, to make the deed a good one ? Judge for yourself, my friend! Humiliation is forme now I feel it deeply when- ever I think of his contrition and suffering. That night, in fact, left her traces on his life. The brightness was wiped out of it. He had been a light- hearted youth ; he was a sad-browed man. A shy, almost timorous look, witnessed to the memory of that occurrence, although it remained a secret between him and me. You see, then, that even our so-called good deeds may weigh on our souls : is it not terrible ? But how little do they deserve to be called good, since few of them, I fear me, if thoroughly examined, will stand the test I Not that I would deny there being such things as good works ; though, if viewed aright, what are they but the mere doing of our duty ? How indeed could they be more, if we have the means and power of doing them ! Was not there something we used to call the articles of belief ? I have a faint recollection. Did they not refer LETTERS FROM HELL. IOI to the mystery of the Trinity, and were they not, like the Lord's Prayer, a support to Christian souls ? I have tried to remember them, driving the brain to the verge of madness ; but I have given it up now. What would be the use if I could rememember, if I could repeat those articles, and the whole of the catechism besides ? It would be words words only, as empty and hollow as everything about me. It is faith only which could give them their true meaning. Faith ? what is faith ? I know about it. I know that its object is the Son of God. The very devils know as much as that. I know that he is the Saviour. But how he saves, and how a lost soul can come to have part in Him, woe is me I cannot tell. I feel about faith as I do about repentance. I think if I could repent but for one short moment repent truly salvation would be mine. But vain is the trying, I can- not cannot repent. At times I feel as if I were very near that blessed experience, as if my being would dis- solve in tears, ah vainest deception ! " Oh for a tear a single tear ! " I keep sighing, " Father of Mercy," but what boots the prayer of anguish if barren of faith ? " Father of mercy, oh grant me a tear ! " Time passes. Nay, this is nonsense, since there is no time here. Something, however appears to pass ; I infer that from the increasing glimmer of light. The blissful moment seems to be approaching when the glory of Para- dise will swallow up the night of hell. But I speak of what I have not seen. It may be an awful moment sub- lime rather than blessed, and it may be in the distance of unmeasured ages. . . . Broad is the way which leads to destruction; but how broad is not known till you see it from hell. Men find it a pleasant road; they go along dancing and singing, as it were, enjoying the moment, and never asking whether they give it to God or to the devil. They think of the future only as far as it may concern some pleasure they are anticipating, some ball or play perhaps, or even the new clothes they are going to wear. They call the hour of waiting an eternity, and know not the awful import of the word. " We love to live," they say; but death holds them in his embrace. Holbein's well-known " Dance of Death " is more than a picture, 102 LETTERS FROM HELL. I assure you. They dance, they make love, they chatter, they eat and sleep through life. A sudden wrench and lo, they wake in hell. There are others who grovel along that road. One would imagine them to find it irksome, but by no means. The mole in the ground is as satisfied in his way as the bird in the air. There are human moles. " \V"e lead steady lives," they say, and grovel in the dust. " We have eyes to see," of course they have; it is but a myth which asserts that moles are blind. They have an eye, I assure you, for the smallest advantage they can pick up in their earthly course. Not that they look for the small gains merely; it is the great ones they like, and burrow for them assiduously. That is what they use their eyes for to peer about in the dust; they never direct them heavenward. They do not seem aware even of the starry sky above the clods of earth. They spend their lives in trying to break those clods for something that may be within; and, groveling along, they sooner or later come upon a hole in the ground. They did not look for it, and tumble in unawares. Death has swallowed them up; and, recovering from the fall, they find themselves in hell. It is truly to be marveled at ! All men know that their portion is to die, but few of them ever think of death, and fewer still prepare themselves for dying. Death comes to most men as an unexpected visitor who will take no denial, though one never made ready for him. What is there left for them but a terrible waking in hell. It is so with most; and more marvelous still, as I have said already, one finds people here one would never have dared to look for. They had gained the veneration and love of the world, even of good people in the world; the tearful prayers of their friends went to heaven, mourn- ing their death. But they had not gone to heaven; they are in hell ; for God judges not with the eyes of men. They may have been excellent people and possessed of many a virtue, but they lacked one thing which alone avails in the end; they had not the heart of faith which yields itself to God entirely. They may have gained the whole world, but they lost their own soul. And again, there are others one most certainly ex- LETTERS FROM HELL. 103 pected here who have never arrived. Their evil reputa- tion, their works went before them, announcing them, as it were; but they are looked for in vain. There is only one way of accounting for this. Great sinners though they were, iniquitous and full of pollution, they must yet have come to that godly sorrow which worketh repentance to salvation. Perhaps at the very last the Saviour stood up between them and hell, where their place seemed prepared for a certainty. You who have loved your dead and grieve for them tenderly with trembling hearts and tearful voice I hear you ask : " May we not go on loving them, helping them perhaps with our true heart's, prayers ? " I know not. Yet pray pray with all your soul and without ceasing. One thing I am certain of, that the prayer of love is never vain ; the tears of love can never be lost ! For God is love, and His Son is the fulfil- ment of that love to all eternity. Looking backward and looking forward to me is fraught with equal pain. I see nothing before me but an endless existence which knows not of hope, while all behind me is wrapt in the wild regret of a life that is lost. Hell yields a terrible knowledge how blessedly fruitful life might have been ! Happy ye are whose life is still in your hands. While there is life there is hope never was there a truer word. Do not, I beseech you, yield to the pernicious delusion that you have lost your opportunity that it is too late ! That lie has ruined more souls than all earth's wickedness combined. It is not too late ! And if death awaits you to-morrow, it is not too late ! Your life, though even now it be running out its last grains of sand, may yet bring forth fruit the blessed fruit of peace, of joy unspeakable ; the crown of life may yet be yours. If you would but repent ! Ah ! turn, turn from your ways, and seek for peace where it is to be found ! Could I but let you see things as I see them, you would not despair ! Wretched, undone, and lost though you feel yourselves, you need not be hopeless. Despair has no right on earth its true realm, alas, is here ! And here only it is ever too late. Do you not know that your life on earth is but a part, an infinitesimally small part of 104 LETTERS FROM HELL. the existence given to you, and that little is lost even if all earthly hopes have failed ? I need not have said all ; for no man is left so entirely desolate. Waste and ruined though life may appear to you, there is many a spot left where the waters of content may spring where joy even for you may be found to be growing, if you could but trust ! And the world is not all. Behold the stars, they are more than you could number. If the world indeed were lost and earthly life a failure, what is it ? There are other worlds awaiting you, a better life is at hand. Look up, I say, and despair not ! It is a lie if any one tells you it is too late. It is not too late. You may yet be fully satisfied. This is a truth as unshakable as the existence of God Himself. Repent thee, O man ! O woman ! and turn from thy ways ; turn to Him who can save thee, who will save thee ! However late it be, there is yet time for thee to begin a new life. But delay not ah delay not to enter upon the happy road that may lead thee from star to star, even into realms of joy eternal. Delay not, I say ; for if death surprise thee on the road of despair with sins unforgiven, heaven and all its stars will fade away in the night that evermore must enwrap thy soul. Again I say, it is not too late. Whatever be lost, one thing is yet to be saved thy hungering soul, her peace, and the life to come. Have you lost money and riches? Your soul is immeasurably more precious. Is your past a failure, undoing even your future ? Behold eternity, and work for that. Were you deceived in love ? Love will save you at the last. Is your life degraded ? Look upon Life exalted on the Cross. Has the world not satisfied you ? There is a heaven hereafter. Have earth's joys proved worthless ? There is an eternity to come ! How little then'is lost, even if it be your all, and there is still much to be gained ? Take heart, I say, for verily it is not too late ! There is yet time to begin a new, a holy, happy, and even joyful life ! LETTERS FROM HELL. 105 I have met her ! It was as though passing again throughout the valley of death. Shaken to the soul, I fell to the ground, stricken with remorse. I saw her her against whom I have sinned so terribly that my own heart and conscience ever stand up to accuse me. I have never had courage to mention it to you, my once truest friend ; but I have always had a frightful foreboding that, sooner or later, I should meet Annie in hell. She whom I murdered, body and soul. She is here, and I have seen her ! I was strolling about with an old. acquaintance. " Do you know Undine ? " he said. " No," I replied. " There she is," he continued, pointing towards a pond at some little distance. And I saw a youthful figure, dressed in the airiest of garments, and with disheveled hair. Her light robe seemed to cling to her figure and to be dripping with water. She was trying, now to wring her wet clothes, now the heavy masses of her hair. She looked up. I stood trembling. It was Annie ! Annie indeed ! The same lovely features, the same enchanting figure, and yet how changed how terribly changed ! The same features, but the light was gone. Womanhood had fled, the merely animal had triumphed. Passion, vice and despair vied for the mastery. She looked much older, though the space between her ruin and her death comprised, I should say, a few years only. I seemed to have a knowledge that despair had driven her to a watery grave. I stood rooted to the ground with horror, as a murderer at the sudden sight of the gallows. She was my work, degraded and lost, yet lovely once and pure ! There she sat, wringing her garments and the tresses of her hair and wringing her hands in hopeless agony ; sigh upon sigh breaking as from a heart overwhelmed with shame. I thought of escaping, feeling as though a possible word from her must be a dagger to kill me. But I know not what power drove me towards her. Was I going to throw myself at her feet ? Now only she perceived me. Darting up, she gave me one look of loathing, and hurried away. I could not I06 T.KTTERS FROM HELL. reach her. The power of abhorrence alone was sufficient to make her keep me at a distance. And presently she escaped from my sight altogether, lost in a troop of bewildered spirits just arriving from the shores of death. I turned and fled, followed by the Furies. LETTER XII. I HAVE been to the post-office. That institution also is represented here, as I found out quite recently. Truly nothing is wanting in this place except all that one needs in order to live and to hope. I had gone to inquire for letters. There is something very curious about this post-office of ours. You have heard of what befell Uriah. There have always been people who, betraying their neighbor, have done so by writing. But the invention is older even than that notor- ious letter, originating, no doubt, with the father of lies in the first place. It was he who inspired that piece of treachery, just as he inspired Judas' kiss. Treason by writing is known all over the world now. There are those who delight in the cleverness of such a letter, quite priding themselves on the art of taking in their fellows. Be it known, then, that every such letter goes to hell at the expense of the writer, to be called for sooner or later not by the person to whom it is addressed, but by the sender ; some few cases excepted King David's to begin with where true repentance cancels the writing. That is the meaning of our post-office, and I assure you it is most humiliating to be seen there ; for even here one perceives the meanness of such correspondence, the writer's punishment consisting in having to read it over and over again to his lasting confusion. I somehow could not rest till I had been to, inquire for letters ; to my great relief there were none for me ! Bad as I was, I had after all never been a Judas, and I felt ready to give thanks for that assurance. I had no real satisfaction in the feeling ; still, for a moment, it seemed I had. But such letters are not all : there are spurious docu- LETTEKi FROM HELL. 107 ments and false signatures here more than can be counted. Let men beware how they put pen to paper ; writing has a terrible power of clinging to the soul. None but God Himself can blot it out. I never knew more than two people capable of teach- ing me patience my mother and Lily Lily's influence over me being the stronger by far. My mother's props were propriety and duty ; but Lily moved me by that wonderful goodness of hers, that sunny warmth that emanated from her loving heart. In the exuberance of strength I often inclined to be violent and overbearing, brooking no opposition and delighting in conquering obstacles, yielding to the absolutely impossible only with clenched fists : submissiveness did not grace my naturer That indomitable spirit of mine would break out at times upon our memorable journey to the south ; but on that journey, also, Lily's power over me was fully apparent. I was learning from her daily without know- ing it, nor did she know it, unconscious as she was of her soul's beauty : patience was one of the many good things to which she led me. . We had reached Lucerne, intending to go over the St. Gothard to Italy. I wanted Lily to have the full enjoy- ment of crossing the Alps, there being to my mind noth- ing more beautiful than the sudden transition from the austere north to the genial life-expanding south ; and passing by the Gothard, or the Spliigen, or the Simplon, one can gather the fullness of all Italy into one day as it were. The weather at Lucerne was most unfavorable, and kept us waiting full eight days. I chafed. Morning after morning Lily and I went to the great bridge to have a look at the sky ; but little sky we saw ; every- thing was mist and spray, hiding all prospect of lake and mountain-top. My vexation was great ; day after day the same miserable lookout ! I thought them wretched, those excursions after breakfast, but their memory is sweet. Lily was leading me up and down that queer old bridge a wild animal in chains. It needed but the pressure of her little hand and my grumblings were silenced. How clever she was how ingenious even in amusing Io8 LETTERS FROM HELL. me. Traveled folk will remember that old-fashioned structure spanning the Reuss ; it is covered, and the spaces between the woodwork that supports the roof are filled with antique paintings both naively conceived and grotesquely executed. She would suddenly stop now in front of this picture, now in front of that, her delightful remarks again and again restoring my good humor. The weather cleared at last, to our great satisfaction. We had gone to the bridge earlier than usual, when suddenly the mists parted, revealing the dazzling mirror from shore to shore ; and, rolling upward, the curtain dis- closed the mountain scenery, so lovely, so grand. We stood, spellbound, watching the transforma- tion : the splendid expanse of water, from which the country rises, height upon height, mountain upon moun- tain, the great Alps behind them lifting their virgin whiteness in the radiant air. The following morning, then, we started at sunrise, crossing the lake and thinking hopefully of the Gothard. The boatmen doubted the weather, but we hoped for good fortune, enjoying the present, which had steeped all nature in floods of light. How beautiful it is, how surpassingly beautiful, that Alpine scenery, lifting you into high regions, still and pure ! The first Alpine-rose nearly cost me my life it was for Lily. We drove and walked alternately. It was a day the memory of which sank into the soul. As the sun went down we passed through the wild dark glens that lead to the valley of Ursern, the restful beauty of which, so simple yet sublime, opens out before you as though earth glorified were a fact already. We passed the night in the little town of Andermatt. The following morning what a change ! The boat-people had been right: snow covered the ground; a storm swept the valley. My impatience was by this fresh delay stung to frenzy. One day passed another a third; we continued weather-bound. To take it quietly was impossible to me. I set out upon several expeditions by myself to explore the neighborhood, fraught with danger to life and limb though they were. Lily, fearful lest anything should befall me, entreated me to abstain, and to please her I yielded. How sweetly she set herself to reward me ! What none could have done, she did, making the LETTERS FROM HELL. IOQ time pass pleasantly, and teaching me patience. She took me about the little town visiting the people. The houses and cottages seemed all open to her, and the simple folk received her like an old friend. Now it had an interest of its own, to become ac- quainted with the home-life of this Alpine retreat, but, after all, Lily was the centre of all I saw and heard. And how should it have been otherwise, when she was as a sunbeam gliding from house to house, unutterably lovely in her unconscious sympathy, calling up smiles wherever she went, and leaving a blessing behind her ! I am sure the people thought so, feeling the better for having seen her. Poverty brightened on beholding her, and suffering lessened; she seemed welcome everywhere; it was marvelous. An ordinary observer would have said, " Yes, such is the power of youth and beauty." But a deeper fascination went out from her, since hers were higher graces, known to God. The involuntary sojourn against all expectation yielded its own gain, enriching life as with an idyl brought home to our minds in that Alpine solitude. Not that I ceased fretting at the delay. One evening I asked Lily: " How can you make yourself so content- edly glad in this wretched place, when we might be spending days of delight beyond?" " Oh," she said, " it is not difficult Even though we are kept here against our will, and the place seems dull and desolate with the gray mists about us, yet I know that there is beauty awaiting us on the other side of the mountain; a few days only, a few hours even, and we may be there." She was growing thoughtful. " Philip," she continued presently, "does it not remind you of life itself? The world often seems cold and dreary, not yielding the sunny warmth one craves. But then we do know that Paradise is beyond the true home prepared for us in the house of our heavenly Father. As yet there is a mountain between us and the place beyond, the mount of crucifixion, of denying ourselves ; it is for us to pass it, and then we do reach home, where earth's troubles are all left behind." . . . And before long we did find ourselves on the other side, resting from the journey in a charming villa on the HO LETTERS FROM HELL, bank of Lago Maggiore. Lily and I were sitting in a pillared hall, listening to the soft cadence of the waters, and enjoying an indescribably enchanting view of the island-dotted lake. Mountains framed the picture beyond, rising higher" and higher, earth vanishing into sky the most distant heights scarcely to be distinguished from the white clouds on the sunny horizon. From seeming mid-winter we had reached the perfec- tion of a genial clime. Lily's hands twined white roses and myrtles which she had gathered about the place. She played with the flowers, now wreathing them, now unwreathing them. There was a bridal purity about those children of the south, and Lily was herself the sweetest of blossoms. My heart burned ; I longed to seize the hands that held the flowers, and cover them with kisses, but a holy power forbade me. Ever and again I felt as though some angel were standing between Lily and myself. "What are you thinking of?" I asked, my voice betraying my emotion. " I ? " she said gently, lifting her soft gaze, and my heart was stilled. " 1 am thinking of that poor dark mountain valley we left behind. The memory of it seems to enhance the beauty we now enjoy, deepening its riches and our sense of them. And, feeling thus, I cannot but bless the time spent on the other side of the dividing mountain, though it seemed gloomy-and cold, and the longing was great. " Don't you think, Philip, that one day when we have reached heaven, we shall be looking back with similar feelings upon the troubled times we may have spent on earth ? I think we shall, and that we shall be able to bless them, if we now accept them in patience and in hope, looking to God and His dear Son. Their memory will even add to the bliss prepared for us." A strange sensation crept through me at these words of Lily's a holy tremor I might call it, fraught with pain. Should I be looking back some day from the fields of glory, back upon life on earth ? Ah, what a life ! I would mend my ways indeed I would ! But I never succeeded in climbing that mountain of which Lily had spoken the mountain of crucifixion. LETTERS FROM HELL. Ill Its weight, on the contrary, is now upon me, crushing me to all eternity. A journey through Italy for a man of my description may well be called a trial of patience. Custom-house- officers, luggage-porters, guides, hotel-keepers, and the whole tribe of beggars swarm about you like persecuting wasps. The miserable greed of that class of Italians, with their constant attempts at cheating you, was more than I could brook. I often felt ready to thrash every man of them that came in my way. But here also Lily was my saving angel. Having frightened her to tears once by an outbreak of passion, I felt so sorry at having grieved her that I was ready to submit all traveling affairs to her decision, satisfied she should guide me another Una leading the lion ! She needed only to place her hand on my arm, looking at me with her beseeching eyes, and I was conquered, no matter what had been the provocation. She understood, none better than she, how to deal with the meanness that roused me. Blessings followed her where I met but imprecation. Blessings indeed seemed to grow up about her path wherever she went, and the blessing included me. I was growing better I felt it. But it must have been a delusive feeling after all, for my heart was never changed. LETTER XIII. THERE are very aged people in hell, naturally. To be two or three thousand years old, according to human computation, is nothing unusual here. There are men in this place who lived in the time of Sardanapalus, of Cyrus, of Alexander the Great ; who knew Socrates perhaps, or Cicero, Horace, Seneca, and the like. Indeed, who can tell, but some of these historic person- ages themselves are here ! There are people here who remember the fall of Nineveh, the sacking of Troy, the destruction of Jerusalem ; who consulted the stars with the Chaldees, who tended their flocks in the days of Abraham, who helped to build the pyramids of Egypt ; others are here to whom Noah preached the deluge. Hell, then, would seem to be a fine place for the pursuit 112 LETTERS FROM HELL. of history; but somehow no one cares for that study here, things being dead in this place and void of interest. I myself do not care in the least to become acquainted with historic characters the only longing I am conscious of in this respect, being to meet with a contemporary of the Saviour of men one who saw and heard Him, I mean. But it is a fruitless desire. 1 here are many here of course who lived in His day, and even listened to His teaching ; but,, although they say they remember, they are quite incapable of imparting anything ; or they speak of a false Messiah, of a deceiver of the people. '1 here is not a particle of truth in all their talk, and it is truth 1 am thirsting for so grievously. Is it not terrible ? But I am wandering from my subject : I was going to say that old people here assure you that the atmosphere of this place is fast turning into vapor a pleasant pros- pect this if it goes on ! Now, I remember noticing that empty talk is on the increase in the world. Thoughtful men to whom I mentioned the observation believed cheap literature and the so-called education of the masses to be the probable cause. A strange explanation of the afore named phenomenon, is it not ? Vanity of speech on the increase a pleasant prospect truly if it continues ! To be sure the world could never do without its talk, but the superabundance is alarming ; a new deluge threatens, the spirit is lost in hollow words. The world used to be more simple, I am sure, in olden times ; straightforward statements, at any rate, used to be current much more than they are now. Invention in all spheres is on the increase, the invention of pretences remarkably so. One feels inclined at times to call out despairingly : " Words, words, words ! " as Hamlet did. I am sure words are the dominant power nowadays in so-called intellectual pursuits ; it is not the informing spirit, but the phrase, which is puffed and offered for sale. It has transpired however, that the genius of talk is prepared to patronize the genius of mind, promising to save it from utter neglect, but the spirit will have none of it, crying : " Let me die rather than be the slave of words ! " Another striking observation has been made here of late the number of women in hell is on the increase. LETTERS FROM HELL. 113 Now the emptiness of talk is scarcely a sufficient explana- tion of this fact, but a fact it is. Only half a century ago men used to preponderate by far ; at the present moment equality has very nearly been attained ; before long, I doubt not, the fairer sex will outnumber the stronger. There is a reason for everything, and the cause of the effect in question will appear patent to any one looking about him open-eyed. Education is at fault that watch- word of modern times ! We hear much nowadays of woman's right to be educated. Not a doubt of it, and some few I believe manage their own creditable share of culture. It is not of those I would speak, but of the training of girls in a general way. How, indeed, do we educate them ? and is their mind, their heart, the better for the teaching they get ? Do we bring them to view in nature for instance, or in history, the external purpose of beauty and of truth ? Are we anxious that they should learn to distinguish between the pure and the impure, the mean and the noble, the paltry and the truly great ? that they should seek the ideal in life ay, their own ideal, the crown of their womanhood ? Is it truth, is it love, we teach them ? and above all, do we lead them to Him who is truth and love eternal, their God, their Saviour ? Do we, I ask ? but no, this is not the so-called first- class education our girls get for all their governesses and finishing-masters ! Our girls, coming forth from the schoolroom, will jabber their two or three foreign tongues, will rattle away on the piano, or sing a song, and happy are the ears that need not hear it ! Our girls, moreover, are found to have a smattering of things in general, enabling them to venture on all sorts of topics concerning which they are profoundly ignorant ; our girls are supposed to have acquired style and deportment to boot ; the art of dress being neither last nor least. Every fold of their garments assumes a vital importance ; but concerning the bent of their hearts, who takes the trouble to inquire ? It is vanity, and their education a farce. Poor girls ! poor women ! You are worse off, I say, in these days of culture than you were in the darkest of ages when no one dreamt you needed teaching. In those days you 114 LETTERS FROM HELL. were looked upon as though you had no souls; time righted you, and it was allowed you were not mere puppets. Now you are being varnished over by way of education, till your soul lies encrusted beneath. The good old times, after all, were best. Our grand- mothers were brought up for home duties chiefly, and books were few beyond their Bibles and their catechism. Women knew their calling; they accepted it at the hands of God, and were happy in doing their duty. But now how of it ? the clearest notion which girls and, I fear, many women, have of duty nowadays is, that it is a bore. And what is life, as they take it ? Is it not to amuse themselves as long as possible, to play lawn tennis all day and every day, to catch a husband and have sweet little babies little dears, images of their mother, of course to be fashionable, shining in society, till old age overtakes them; is not that it? But there remains one thing which is never mentioned they may die any day and wake up in hell ! Earth, truly, presents a variety of schools preparatory for hell ; those which men frequent are bad enough, but those for women let angels weep ! I went for a walk lately, passing by the gates of hell. Understand me aright; I am not speaking of those awful gates of hell set up in defiance of the Lord of heaven Himself, though they cannot prevail. They are in the abyss I have spoken of, which is a far more dreadful place than this abode of death. I only mean that I passed near the entrance of Hades. An entrance truly it is, for of your own free will you never get out, wide open though you find it. I cannot tell whether I contemplated anything like an escape; I only know that on approaching a certain boundary line an awful " Stop ! " resounded, and I slunk back terrified. No one, then, passes out, save under dread compul- sion; but there is a flocking in continuously. I forget what they say of the death-rate in the world, is it every minute or every second that a human soul goes to eternity ? Be it as it may, it is a terrible fact that the greater part of those who die present themselves at these gates of hopelessness. There is not a more appalling sight in all hell than watching this entrance ! The space LETTERS FROM HE*LL. 11$ beyond is wrapt in a shadowy mist, out of which lost souls are constantly emerging, singly or in troops, dawn- ing upon your vision. They are all equally naked, dif- fering but in sex and in age. The beggar and the king are not to be known from one another, both arriving in like miserable nakedness. That abject misery is the common mark of unredeemed humanity, set upon all the children of Adam coming hither, no matter what station was theirs in life. They have all come by the same road, broad and pleasant at first, but terrible at its latter end. As they approach the gates they are seized with fear and trembling, and pass them in an agony and despair. The love of pleasure nowadays scarcely stops short of the harassing; men love to feast upon anything that excites their unhealthy fancy. But I assure you I have not sunk to that state of callousness which could look upon the dreadful scene unmoved. " All these are com- ing to share my misery ! " I cried. Say not it was com- placency clothed in pity; there was something not altogether mean in my sympathy. I could have wept for them, as I long to weep for myself. Yet, after all, I felt fascinated by the sight, and tore myself away with difficulty; the picture, I knew, would pursue me into whatever solitude I might plunge. How rich is life, how full of enjoyment ! I see it now where nothing is left to comfort the soul. My life, I too cannot but own, was overflowing with blessings; how many moments I can call to mind that seemed welling over with content ! The sound of a certain bell comes back to my inward ear. I hear it ringing, ringing, and its peals vibrate through my inmost soul. It is the bell of even-song, to which I loved to listen in days gone by. And as I hear it, the sounds call up a scene of beauty rich with the hues of memory. I see waving cornfields, like sheets of gold between the sombre woodlands and the winding stream; I see towering mountains lifting their rocky heights into the burnished colors of the west; I see the sun sinking on the horizon, vanishing in a wealth of roseate sheen. And twilight spreads her wings, a deep holy calm enwrapping nature. I say a holy calm, for the sounds of the ringing bell are burdened with a mes- Il6 LETTERS FROM HELL. sage of peace. The smoke ascends from the cottages about, and the incense of prayer rises from many a heart. Those whom love unites gather in unity. The children nestle by their mother's knee awaiting the father return- ing from work. And when he has come, they close the door upon the outside world, upon the troubles and hardships too that daily life may bring. Or if some cause of care will not be banished, there is love at hand to deal with it; yea, it helps to nurture that love whose deepest roots are sunk in sorrow. Would I were that poor laborer returning from the field he tills in the sweat of his brow; or that barefooted youth keeping the cattle on the lea ! The evening bell continues ringing, ringing, to my ear; but the message it carries now is: " Too late ! too late ! " Ah, little bell, my longing is turned to despair ! LETTER XIV. I THINK of my childhood. It is the eve of Aunt Betty's birthday. My present had been waiting for ever so long ; I gloated over it in secret with distracted feel- ings ; I would not for worlds have betrayed it premature- ly, yet I longed to let her guess at the surprise in store for her. Thus divided in my childish mind I sought her little room in the twilight. She was not there, and I grew impatient. I must needs look for something to amuse me. But there was nothing that owned the charm of novelty. I gazed about, yawning, when a large moth on the window caught my eye. That called me to action, and, forgetful of all Aunt Betty's pious injunctions to leave God's creatures unmolested, I forthwith began the chase. Nor was it long before I had caught the hapless insect ; it fluttered anxiously, but I held it fast, bent upon examining it, when suddenly Aunt Betty entered. Overtaken in my boyish cruelty, I closed my hand upon the little prisoner, and stood trembling. Aunt Betty however, did not seem to notice that I was ill at ease, and turned to me with her usual kindness. I LETTERS FROM HELL. 117 felt very miserable, and conversation would not flow, so she told me a story, her usual device when she thought I needed rousing. Now, whatever her stories might have been worth, and they were not by any means always inventions of genius, they were sure to culminate in some sort of moral which never failed to impress me. Aunt Betty's story on this occasion led up to the state- ment God seeth thee ! The words fell on me like judgment ; involuntarily I hid my hand behind my back, my heart beating, ready to burst. "You must know, dearest," Aunt Betty went on un- consciously, '-that God sits upon His throne, an angel on His right hand, and another on His left, each having a book before him. And the angel to the right marks down all the good, however little, which man strives to do while he lives on earth ; that angel is always smiling a heavenly smile. But the angel on the left is full of weep- ing, as he notes down the evil deeds of men. And at the last day, when the great reckoning has come, a voice is heard from the throne ' Give up the books ! ' And then our deeds are examined ; if there is more evil than good, and we have not repented of it humbly, and received forgiveness of sin, it will go ill with us ! We shall be for ever wailing in the evil place." This ending of auntie's story troubled me greatly. I pressed my hand together closer and closer, feeling at the same time as though a live coal were burning my palm. It was conscience which burned. The poor moth must have been dead long before, yet I felt as though it were still fluttering within my grasp, trying to free itself from the unkind hold. " God seeth all things," said auntie ; " and we must answer to Him for all our deeds at the last day ! " Self-control was at an end ; a flood of tears came to the rescue ; and, unable to say a single word, I held out my palm to Aunt Betty, the crushed moth witnessing against me. She understood at once, and drawing me to her heart she first pointed to the wrong of cruelty; but added her own sweet words of consolation, that God would forgive me if my tears could tell Him I was sorry. But I was not able at once to grasp this assurance, sobbing piteously. Never was there anything more tender, or Il8 LETTERS FROM HELL. more full of love, than Aunt Betty's ways when com- fort was needed. And presently she made me kneel down and ask God to forgive me. It was she who prayed, I repeating the words after her. But they came from my heart, and never was there more sincere repentance. And then she told me another story, and that story, too, had its moral. Pressing me close to her heart she exhorted me to look to God in all my doings, and turn to Him in prayer my life long. Whenever I had done anything amiss I should tell Him so with a penitent heart, begging Him to forgive me, and promising Him sincerely that I .would try not to do so again. Then the Lord God would pity me in His mercy, and I need not fear the dreadful book. As for the poor moth, we buried it sorrowfully in one of auntie's flower-pots. We gave it a coffin of rose leaves, so that the mangled corpse need not be touched by the covering earth. My heart was light again when I left the little room. But all that night I was troubled in dreams. Again and again I heard the dreadful words, " Give up the books ! " And, waking, I sat up in bed to find myself in the dark. I had never known before what it was to be afraid of the dark ; now I knew. The following morning, as soon as I was dressed, I ran to Aunt Betty's door, finding it locked contrary to habit. " It is me, auntie ! " I cried, and was admitted directly. But I stood still, amazed ; the tears ran down Aunt Betty's face. On the table before her there was the most marvelous array of queer old things, which I did not remember ever having seen. Indeed, such was my amazement and, I must add, my grief, that I forgot all about the precious present I had come to deliver. Mr first clear idea was that Aunt Betty too perchance might have crushed a moth ; but a brighter thought supervened. "Auntie," I whispered, pressing close to her, "didn't you say last night that God seeth all things ? Does He see you are crying ? " Aunt Betty started, a flood of light illumining her features : "Yes, darling," she said, " thank you ! He does know all things and He knows my tears ; it is very wrong of LETTERS FROM HELL. 1 19 me to forget it. He does not only know them, but He counts them ! " And quickly she dried them, showing me her own old smiling face. " Can you not see, my child, how the Lord has wiped them away ? He needs but look upon poor human eyes and they cease crying." " But why did you cry, auntie ? " " That is more than you could understand, dearie. I am forty years old this day, but why need I cry ? why should I, even if I were an old maid of sixty or eighty ? ay, and if He will have me live till I am a hundred, I will not murmur. Come and sit down by me, that I may talk to you." And she began : " Years ago, my child, there was a young girl as pretty as she was foolish. She believed the world to be indescribably beautiful, and that all its glories were wait- ing to be showered into her lap. There was no harm in this illusion in itself ; but it was hurtful because altogether untrue. The world is not meant to be so delightful to any of us. The girl herself was really pretty, and when people told her so, she would cast down her eyes, feeling as though she must sink into the ground for shyness. " There was one especially who told her so times with- out number. And he was beautiful without a doubt strong, manly, and winning. He was a sailor. It was a time of war, and he commanded a privateer. " She loved him dearly, with all her heart. There was a ball one day do you know what a ball is? It is a queer thing a mixture of angelic delight and devilish invention. One is carried along, floating, as it were, in the airy spaces between heaven and earth and hell at least / think so. ... Well, when the ball was over he entreated her for one of her gloves. There was nothing she could have refused him at that moment, I believe. He had it and here you see its fellow ! " And she showed me number one of her relics an ancient kid glove. " But the young girl's parents said he was an adven- turer and not fit to marry into a respectable family. That was her first grief. Still he had her heart ; she said she would never love another, and they were 120 LETTERS FROM HELL. permitted at last to be engaged to one another. This is the ring he gave her ! " Now she swam in happiness. One voice only in all the universe had power over her heart, and that voice was his. It might have been true that he was not without many and grave faults, but she loved him just as he was. He might have sunk lower and lower, I believe she would have loved him still. For, once the heart has been given away truly but that is more than you can under- stand. Well, he went to sea, and returned. It was a splendid vessel which he commanded, the " Viking," they called it. One capture after another he made, and grew rich upon the prizes taken. But people said money never remained with him ; he was careless, and prone to gambling. This is the ship ! " She showed me a little picture representing a schooner skimming over the bluest of seas. " His absence sometimes was long. But they exchanged letters whenever opportunity offered such letters ! All her soul was in hers. And as for his well, here they are ! " She pointed to a packet of faded letters, carefully tied together with a once rose-colored ribbon. " And then there came a time when news ceased. What she felt and suffered in those sad days I cannot tell you. At last she heard again. He was ill the letter said very ill in a foreign seaport. Winter was approaching, but she would not be deterred. Taking her trusted maid with her, she set out upon the journey, and found him in misery. He had been wounded in a duel what that is you need not know, but here is the bullet ! " She nursed him and he recovered ; she freed him from his liabilities, paid all his debts. Full of contrition, and with a new heart apparently, he returned with her ; his promises satisfied her and her family. He would give up privateering, and take the command of a merchantman instead. She should go with him as his wife. " Once more they were to separate and then be united for life. He went to visit his relations and settle his affairs. " The weeks passed, the wedding-day approached. LETTERS FRO&T HELL. 121 Happy hour that should crown her hopes, heal her griefs, and reward her for all past suffering ! The wedding- dress was ready. This is the wreath do you know the bridal blossoms ? Poor wreath, it is faded now and shriveled, but it will last, I think, while two eyes are left to look upon it fondly, for the sake of the love that came and went. " There was another letter. He had set out to join her, but turned half-way, never to see her again. Here is that saddest of letters ; what tears it cost her what pangs to answer it ! " Was he wicked ? I do not think so, but very reck- less. He had surrounded himself with difficulties, and there was only one way out of them : some heart must be broken. His uncle, who adopted him, had a daughter God bless her ! He had engaged himself twice over ; men, I fear, can do such things. He could redeem his pledge to only one. He did his duty by her, who perhaps had suffered most for him, and who but let that pass. They say that he reformed and made a good husband. I trust the Lord has forgiven him the sins of his youth. " But for that other one, who gladly would have sacrificed her all for his sake, happiness was dead and gone, her beauty fading with her hopes. She grew old, and people began to find her plain. She had nothing left to live for in herself I mean so she lived for others. The world is bad, but men need sympathy ; they are not all bad, but many are unhappy, suffering, and poor. The old maid has found comfort in God, her Lord and Saviour." She stopped, and set herself carefully to pack up her treasures. That accomplished, she turned to me smiling : " I have done for a year ! " she said ; " let us think of breakfast now." I, of course, had not taken in the meaning of her story, nor was there any need. She had felt a longing to unburden herself to human ears ; she had done so, yet her secret was hers. Now I remember her words, understanding them as I did not then ; I am able to enter into her feelings now those feelings of her fortieth birthday, when 122 LETTERS FROM HELL. she, the so-called old maid, poured out her heart to the child. At dinner Aunt Betty appeared unusually gay, making the funniest little speeches, and keeping us in the best of humor all that day. But those words of hers " God seeth thee," would return to me often, even in later years. They had been words of comfort to my pious old aunt ; to me they sounded as the trumpets of judgment, so different was I from her ! And then the time came when I learnt to disregard those words entirely when it was nothing to me to crush many a creature of God's making, that because of my touch never would lift wing again. To pass the time seems to be one of the chief objects in life, and how to pass it a question on which the most ingenious inventions have been brought to bear. Whether the wickedness or the folly of the endeavor is the more deplorable is difficult to say. There are few phrases showing the perversity of the world more fully than this current expression, to pass the time ! Time arid life are inseparable ; men want to live ; they consequently try to pass away the time, and yet it is time which yields the fullness of existence, be it in sorrow or in joy. To pass the time is considered to live ; but at the end of time stands Death, with hour-glass and sickle, waiting for the last grains to run out. Passing the time, then, may be tantamount to slow self-murder. Men are anxious to pass it away as though it were a frightful monster an enemy to life and its enjoyment never thinking that the real enemy may be coming when time has vanished. If people would but understand that time is their most precious gift a grace of heavenly fullness and that all the treasures of the East can never make up for a day wasted, for an hour lost ! And if a single hour may be so rich in blessing, what then must time itself be worth, lying before us as a shoreless ocean ? But the entire blessedness of the gift will come to the believing heart only in the kingdom to come, where Love rules which made the time. In hell, where everything is seen in its own true light, the passing of time, or rather time passed, assumes an awful significance ; for truth and reality are upon us. LETTERS FROM HELL. . 123 It was time which, for us also, included the largess of life the manifold blessings shed abroad by the hand of God. Time is past now, and hope has fled. Ay, we ourselves are thrust out of it, never to enter again ; time for us has vanished, leaving existence behind. One of the great sources of amusement on earth for the beguiling of dull time is the theatre. Well, we too have a theatre, though time with us needs no more whiling away. Old habit only is its raison d'etre. Women need something to incite their fancy, men some- thing to meet their craving not to mention the question of food for fashionable conversation. There is no weather here to be talked of, so we must fall back upon the theatre. Acting with us is carried out in a magnificent if peculiar style, the like of which is not possible in the world, not even in Paris, that city of theatres. True, we are poor in dramatic works, for not many plays of poet's invention are so glaringly immoral that they are fit for hell ; the greater number being vapid rather than wicked, no one cares for them here. But we have resources out- doing anything dreamt of by stage managers upon earth; for we nearly always act life real occurrences that is the actors being the very perpetrators of the thing set in scene. That is to say, they commit over again on hell's stage the deeds of their earthly life. The theatre-going public with us then do not feed upon imagination, but on reality, the child of illusion. Of stage managers there is no lack, but theirs is no enviable task. It needs their utmost exertion to outdo one another in producing things horrible or piquant; for people here also desire to be tickled, M/ though they be. So the harassed manager rushes about seeking for some spicy occurrence, some sensational wickedness ; and having got it, he must look for the men and women who did it, though they be roaming in the farthermost places of hell. Find them he must, and having found them, there is no help for them; they must play their part. Let me give an example. There is a piece which made a great hit here lately, called the "Jewel Robbery," a most Satanic mixture of seduction, murder and theft. A handsome woman, good-natured, but silly, is inten- 124 LETTERS FROM HELL. tionally led astray, as a means only; the object being a famous robbery, necessitating two frightful murders besides. A piece full of the most unwholesome effect, you see, and not invented by exaggerating playwright's fancy; but a reproduction, in all minutest details even, of horrible facts. The daily papers were full of it at the time. They are all here who were mixed up in it, con- tinuing to play the part that brought them hither. You will understand from this that we could not act virtuous pieces even if the audience desired them; the needful actors not being here. Our theatre, nevertheless, plainly has the advantage, since murderers, villains, and profligates are here to take their parts, and all the pieces given are scenes of actual life; our dramatis persotice, then, though forced to play, do so with singular vivacity and truthfulness. If good people are required, by way of dupes and victims, we fall back upon hypocrites who delight in the opportunity of showing forth their special talents, and indeed they manage their assumed character very cleverly. Moral laws naturally are quite out of the question; there is no eventual victory of goodness, nor need the triumph of wickedness be sustained. Play-acting in hell is quite independent of rules, either moral or dramatic, pieces simply being carried to the point they reached in life. The scenery is unrivaled, illusion of course, but the illusion is perfect. It is quite within our power to imagine the surroundings of the original plot, mere jugglery, but appearing most real. These scenes some- times are wonderfully impressive, and many a spectator, at the unexpected sight of well-known places, falls a prey to hopeless longing. So, effective, as these representations are, they are a torment alike to actor and audience. In this also we are driven to own the one awful law that makes inclination here a terrible compulsion not leaving so much as a desire even that it might be otherwise. LETTERS FROM HELL. 125 LETTER XV. SHOULD the idea present itself to you to publish these letters, you have my full permission for doing so not that I write them with this view primarily. People very likely will doubt their genuineness. " Even supposing souls in hell were permitted to write letters," they will say, "how should their epistles reach the upper world?" People are strangely inconsistent. No man lives who has not heard of spirits and ghosts, while a great many actually believe in supernatural appearances. Now sup- posing there are ghosts, why should not ghost letters be conceivable ? And what more natural than to imagine that some restless spirit, permitted to revisit former scenes, should somehow mediate such communication ? Such is indeed the fact in the present case. Count the letters you have had from me, and be sure that so many ghosts have been to your dwelling. Do not be horrified ! I do not entrust my confessions to any wan- dering sou!, but only to respectable spirits. Indeed, if the natural shrinking of mortal man were not in your way, you might find some of them worth the knowing. In any case I pledge them to polite behavior, that they shall nowi=e harass you, but do their errand unseen. Not all ghosts have a character for worrying mortals; some, on the contrary, are exceedingly trustworthy, and could be sent anywhere. Know, then, that whenever you fiud yourself possessed of fresh news from me, some ghost has been to your house that night. Did you not find a letter beneath your desk lately on the floor I mean ? This is how it was. On leaving off writing the evening before, you left your pen and pencil crosswise on the table quite by accident, I dare say; but my messenger, on perceiving the holy sign, was seized with such a fit of trembling that he dropped the letter and sped away. And while I am about it, I would ask you to get rid of the supernumerary cocks in your farmyard; the piercing call of the bird of dawn may be all very well in your ears, but to us it bears a terrible warning, reminding us of a day to come, the day of resurrection and doom, which we know must come, however distant it be. I 26 LETTERS FROM HELL. My handwriting I dare say is not very legible; I trust you will excuse it. There is not a pen to be had here but what has been worn out in the service of falsehood or injustice. The paper too is wretched. I could find nothing but some old documents to serve the purpose, and upon examining them more closely I do believe they are nothing less than the false decretals of 853 nice material to write on ! As for ink, alas, my friend, what should you say if it were my very heart-blood I write with ? It is black enough truly. I need not tell you that my letters will not bear keeping. They fade away in daylight. You can only preserve their contents by copying them on the spot. This present letter I intend forwarding to you by the hand of a remarkable personage one of the many inter- esting acquaintances I have made here who is about to revisit the earth. He is one of the famous knights of Charles the Bold, who met their death by the brave lances of the Swiss at the battle of Murten. Proud and noble is his bearing, and he goes fully armed, from the spur on his heel to the plume on his helmet ; but the spurs do not clink, and the plume will not wave. He carefully keeps his visor closed, so that I have no knowl- edge of his face, although I seem to know him intimately from his conversation. I believe he feels ashamed. He cannot forget that he, the famous champion, renowned for many a victorious encounter, met his death by the hand of an ordinary peasant. It is the consciousness of his high dignity which prevents him from mixing freely with people. He lives like a hermit almost, immured in his own pride. It was mere accident that gained me his notice. I was delivering a panegyric in some public locality concerning the merits of the wine of Beaune, stating that I had drunk it on the spot. When the company had dispersed I found myself alone with him of the armor. " You have been to Burgundy ? " he queried, hollow- voiced. "I have, sir." " And to Beaune near Dijon ? " " I have, sir knight." " Cote d'or thou glorious, never-to-be-forgotten LETTERS FROM HELL. 127 country ! " he murmured, beneath the visor. And turn- ing upon his heel he left me to my cogitations. That was the beginning of our acquaintance ; I met him again, and he appeared to take to me. He gave me many a glowing description of the splendor surrounding Charles the Bold, of his glorious army, of the great future then apparently in store for Burgundy, of the battles and tournaments that had enriched him with trophies. But he never mentioned either Granson or Murten. On the other hand, he was anxious to learn from me the present condition of the once famous Burgundy, the power and exploits of France, the modern perfections of the art of war, and the tactics of battles. He could listen to me for hours. But what interested him most, and gained me his con- fidence fully, was my telling him about my sojourn in the Cevennes, and the days I spent in exploring the charming hill-range deserving so fully its appellation of Cote d'or. Never enough of detail could I give him concerning my knowledge of those scenes of beauty. He would guide me, putting question upon question ; but it was as if one question kept hovering on his lips which he dared not ask. My recollections brought me at last to Castle Roux. He started visibly as I named it, and grew silent, waiting breathlessly for what I might volunteer. Much might be said concerning that castle. It is a mountain fastness of ancient date, modern times having restored it in fanciful style ; its owner being proud of it as of a relic of antiquity, and inhabiting it for several months in the year. The family is old, but the original title of Roux has yielded to another name well known in the annals of France. The old castle, interesting in itself, is rich in curiosities besides. I gave an account of all that might be seen within the venerable walls, describing the labyrinthine passages, the queer, old, winding-stairs leading to all sorts of secret places, the lofty battlements commanding a view of the fertile tracts round about ; I spoke of the dismal keeps hewn into the rock, where hapless prisoners for years might dream of the vanished daylight ; I men- tioned the armory and the great hall filled with the cognizances of knighthood. In short I took my visored 128 LETTERS FROM HELL. friend right through the castle, one door only remaining closed to my roaming description, that of the so-called red chamber which I myself had not entered. I had been told that never mortal foot should cross its thresh- old again. Centuries ago something terrible had hap- pened in that room what ? I could not learn. The old steward, who acted as my guide on the occasion of my visit, communicative as he was in a general way, was most reserved concerning the past history of the family, but some account had been given me in the little village inn where I spent a couple of nights, and it clung to memory. Concerning the secret chamber no one seemed to know anything, but I learned a wonderful story of the so-called "Cold Hand." Whenever the head of the family for the time being so the tale ran is about to commit some act detrimental to the honor or welfare of the house, he is warned at the decisive moment by the touch of a cold hand. At the very moment he stretches forth his own hand, be it in friendship or in enmity, an icy hand, invisible, is laid not always upon his hand some- times on his cheek, on his neck, or upon the crown of his head. Through centuries and up to the present time the " cold hand " in this manner has swayed the fortunes of the family. The influence was experienced last when the late owner, who died but recently, was about to tie the nuptial knot. The festive company was gathered in the great hall ; he had just taken hold of the pen to sign the marriage-contract, when the icy touch of a cold hand closed upon his fingers. He staggered, turned white as a corpse, and dropped the pen. Neither prayer nor menace could prevail with him to make him fulfill his engagement ; the wedding never took place. I concluded by saying that it remained, of course, with the hearer to credit the story ; some believed such family traditions some did not ; one could but form one's own opinion. The visored knight, however, did not appear to think there were two ideas about it. His head shook slowly, and the hollow voice made answer : " It is true, man, every word of ii. I am the last Count of Roux ! ... I am the Cold Hand ! " I shrunk back terrified and stood trembling, for so powerful are the instincts of mortal life fhat they cleave LETTERS FROM HELL. 129 to us still : why should one shrink from a fellow-ghost in hell, where all hands are cold ? The Count stood groaning. " Hear me," he said ; " I will tell you my story." I could not but listen, and he began : " I have never yet discovered what cause brought me to this place of punishment, unless it be the fact that over much piety governed me in life. I was ruled by the priests, body and soul, and jobeyed their behests blindly. " Some centuries ago a colony from Provence had settled in the valleys of the Cevennes ; they were quiet people, and patrons of diligence, the neighborhood indeed had only gained by their presence. Peaceful and harmless, they seemed glad of the retreat they had found. But then they were heretics, forming a religious community, a remnant of the Albigenses. At first they kept their creed to themselves ; but by degrees, feeling settled in their new home, they confessed their heresies openly, attempting even to gain others to their views. They claimed the right for every Christian to read the Bible for himself ; and repudiated anything that was not in keeping with the Scriptures and the teaching of the Apostles. This was dangerous doctrine, and could not fail to call forth the resistance of the clergy. The struggle reached its height about the time I entered upon manhood. As an obedient son of the Church I closed my eyes to harm to myself, and drove them from my dominion. It was a small crusade v a repetition of Albigensian persecution. A third part of my county was laid waste ; devastation reigned where thrift and wealth had flourished, and I myself had done it. Nothing but the assurance that so great a sacrifice would gain me a high place in heaven could uphold me through the pangs of loss, and the priests did their best to strengthen my belief. " And yet I lived to rue it. The Church for which I had done so much would do nothing for me, at least not what I wanted. I wished to marry the lovely Lady Cyrille de Breville, but was refused dispensation because she was a distant cousin. Endless were the difficulties, and humiliations I underwent. Entreaty, menace, prom- ise of money availed not. My gracious Liege inter- 130 LETTERS FROM HELL. fered ; it was vain. I myself went on a pilgrimage to Rome. Two years had been spent in mortifying endeavor when at last I gained my end. " Indeed, had it been in my power to recall the Albi- genses, I would have done it, so wroth was I. " Cyrille then became my wife, doubly dear for the battle that had won her, and for the faithful endurance with which she clave to me. For I had had a dangerous rival in the Count of Tournailles. There stood nothing m the way of a marriage with him ; but she had pre- ferred to wait till I could lead her to the altar. For some five or six years I was in a heaven of bliss. Our union had been blessed with two children, a boy and a girl. What so few can say, we could : our happiness was complete. Then the time came when Duke Charles called his vassals to arms. Knighthood loved to obey, but it was a wrench to affection. I went. " You know the history of that unfortunate war ; how, having conquered Lorraine, we faced the Swiss. Gran- son, Murten terrible names ! It is a mystery to me to this day how it came about ; I doubt not that unearthly powers interfered. I fell at Murten, and lifting my eyes found myself here. "I, who had been assured of having a place in heaven, to be thrust into hell by the hand of a low-born churl ! I shall never get over the disgrace. And my loving wife, my darling children stronger than the feeling of shame was the longing for them. It drove me back to earth, a restless, wandering soul. " Never shall I forget that first spirit journey in mist and darkness. I drew near my own old home, a stranger, an outcast, 'sick and lonely at heart : feeling as those must feel who in the dead of night follow the ways of sin. Every noise made me tremble ; I shuddered at the fall- ing leaf. It was agony. Why did I not turn on my path and go back to hell ? You well may ask but I was driven onward, a terrible power was upon me. Slowly I went from place to place, every well-known spot add- ing its individual pain ; I drank the dregs of memory. At last I reached the castle, on which the fitful moon- light cast a spectral glimmer. " What a change ? Surely I was the same I had always been, but there was something that made me feel LETTERS FROM HELL. 131 a stranger to myself ! Oh for tears to weep ! I spurned them in the days of life, but now, what would I not have given for a healing tear ? Vainest longing ! I stood and trembled, horror-struck as at the sight of a ghost ; yet I myself was the ghost let others fear ! Was ever such a reception ! The wind moaned in tree-tops, doors creaked, shadows glided through passages I stood listening ; the dogs whined, the cattle were restless, my favorite charger moved uneasily in his stall. Like a thief I entered my own castle, stole up the staircase, and passed noiselessly from room to room. But the place felt forsaken, empty, and cold. My chidren, I must see them first. I found them in the sweet sleep, of innocence, cradled in health and beauty. Never till that moment had I known the despair of love. My eyes beheld them, life of my life, yet mine no more. I longed to embrace them, to press them to my heart, but dared not simply dared not. I could but groan and hie me away. " On I went, the well-known way, to my own old chamber with the nuptial couch. That room is locked now and never entered by mortal foot the room of the mystery. Overpowered with feelings unutterable, I lingered on the threshold, so near to seeing her again, her ! " And I saw her asleep in the arms of another, the arms of my former rival, the Count of Tournailles. I stood for a moment, rooted to the ground. How beauti- ful she was beautiful as ever. But oh, the depth of torment ! I, to whom her love had been pledged for ever and aye, forgotten, betrayed \ ' Hapless woman ! ' I groaned, 'is it thus thou,keepest thy vow? is it thus thou art loyal to my memory ? ' '' I stood clenching my fists in helpless rage, and gnashing my teeth. What could I do ? Let me wake her at least ; she shall see me ! And stretching forth my hand across the well-known bed, I laid it upon her uncovered shoulder. She started at the icy touch ; she saw me ; I must have offered an awful sight, for she gave a scream rousing echoes of horror, and lay fainting on the pillow. I vanished. " But my wrath was boundless. From that hour I persecuted her ruthlessly; when she expected it least 132 LETTERS FROM HELL. the touch of my hand was upon her. She never saw me again, but I think that made my presence all the more horrible to her. At night especially I would be near her, watching that never again she might rest in his arms. My cold hand, forbidding, was between them. They went about like ghosts themselves, worn and harassed; the grave seemed yawning to receive them. The time came when they could not bear it any longer, and re- solved to separate. She entered a cloister, and there my hand was powerless. In that peaceful retreat her child was born, and from him are descended the present owners of Castle Roux. "My own children drooped and died. That was the last great sorrow touching me in the upper world. I stood by their bier. That turned my heart; I felt some- thing like regret; perhaps after all I had been too hard upon her. A dead husband is no husband, and has nothing to claim; whereas she was in the fullness of life, young and fitted for joy, owing duty to nature and to the world. In voluntary penance I resolved henceforth to watch over Cyrille's son, and his children's children after him. It was a sacred vow, and I have kept it since. This, then, is the 'cold hand of Roux.' An unmistak- able presentiment, akin to revelation, informs me of any hurtful step a member of the family may be about to take; and then I rest not in hell, but go back to the world to interfere at the decisive moment. With few exceptions, every scion of the family, man or woman, has felt my hand; and it will be so till the last of them has been gathered to his fathers. "At the present moment the call is again upon me, urging me to revisit the land of the living. What it is that requires my presence I cannot tell; but I know my time, and the cold hand will never fail of its mission." Thus spoke the Count; and having finished, he fell a prey to silence, leaving me to myself. I expect to meet him again, and doubt not that he will take charge of this letter. But thou, my friend, hast nothing to fear from the cold hand of Roux. You cannot ask me, but the question would seem natural : " Will you not return to earth yourself i if others are coming, why not you ? " I hardly know what to say. It is not an impossible thought that I too might LETTERS FROM HELL. 133 be driven some day to revisit the upper world. I say driven, for no one goes unless urged by an inward necessity unmistakable and irresistible. Should the compelling need at any time lay hold of me, I should have no choice but to go. I trust it may never be, for it would be adding new pangs to my misery. I expect that the author of that need is none but Satan himself ; for surely the Lord in heaven has nothing to do with it. The bare thought of such a possibility brings back all the horrors of death, an-1 hope cries out, Let me never quit hell ! Stop and consider the awful poverty of hope that has nothing left but this ! LETTER XVI. IN Italy the glories of nature reach their perfection at eve. My mother not being much of a walker, Lily and I would stroll about by ourselves. Venice, Florence, Naples, enchanting memories ! Not now, I mean, but in the days of life. Those Italian evenings were an indescribable mixture of beauty and delight ; nature a very cradle of peace and peace speaking to my soul. For I had Lily with me ; and no matter what scenes of humanity might surround us, she and I seemed alone at such moments. The most perfect delights I tasted at Florence. We visited the Piazza del Gran Duca, the centre of life in that city. Surrounded by magnificent buildings, the place radiant with light, you feel as though you had entered some lordly hall, gigantic in size, and of royal splendor, roofed over by the starry sky. Here you see that ancient palace, with its grand medi- seval tower, which has looked down upon many a stormy gathering in the days of the republic, upon Dante too, Michael Angelo, Savonarola. In front of it are two colossal - statues David and Hercules. Not far distant on the very spot, tradition says, where Savonarola suf- fered death on the pyre, a fountain sends up its spark- ling jets, guarded by Tritons and Fauns, and surmounted by a figure of Neptune, the ruler of seas. Again, a 134 LETTERS FROM HELL. little farther, stands the equestrian statue of Cosmo di Medici, cast in bronze, a master-work by Giambologna. On the opposite side a flight of steps, presided over by a pair of antique lions, leads you into the glorious Loggia dei Lanzi. Here, by the light of lamps, you behold some of Italy's noblest treasures of art Perseus, the Deliverer, by Benvenuto Cellini ; Judith and Holofernes ; Hercules and the Centaur ; the famous marble group by Giambo- logna, representing the Rape of the Sabines ; and Ajax, with the dying Patroclus in his arms. In the back- ground you see a number of Vestals of more than human size. These statues, seemingly alive and breathing in the magic light, cast over you a wondrous spell, holding you transfixed. The fact that a collection of such price- less works of art can be open to the public freely entrusted to that instinctive reverence for things beau- tiful to which the lowest even. . . . But fool that I am, going off into aesthetics ! Am I not in hell ! Nay, laugh not, but pity me, for I could not join in your merriment. Great is the power of memory ; it is upon me, drag- ging me back to scenes long dead and gone. Memories ? what are they but my life my all ! But they are bare of enjoyment ; they are as a cup of poison that will not kill, but which fills you with horror and unutterable despair. It was with a deep inward joy, lifting us as it were to that height where reality and enchantment meet, that Lily and I moved slowly through that hall of art. We hardly spoke. And when satisfaction for the moment had her fill, we escaped to the dimly-lit arcades of the Palazzo degli Uffizi. There words would come; the charm was broken, though its spell remained. How much we had to say to one another; how sweet, how tender was Lily's trustful voice ! As her arm rested on mine I seemed to hear the very beat of her heart. And what delight to me to open her mind to the treasures she had seen, to rouse new feelings of beauty in that waking soul, so responsive and so pure ! When the shadows of night had deepened, we would return home, passing the stately cathedral. Stillness had settled, spreading wings of peace. Maria del Fiore they call this church, and truly it is a fitting name. Florence LETTERS FROM HELL. 135 means the flowering city, and this sacred pile is a very blossom of beauty in her midst. It needed one hundred and sixty years for the cathedral's stately growth. Her cupola overlooks not only the whole of the town, but the whole of the radiant valley; the splendid belfry, rich in sculpture, lifting its graceful front to a height of three hundred feet. Not far from it stands that ancient bap- tistry, with its wondrous gate of bronze, which, as Michael Angelo said, was worthy of being the gate of Paradise. In front of it there is a rough-hewn stone bench. There Lily would often rest when tired by our wanderings. There Dante had sat, dreaming of Paradise and hell, and thinking of Beatrice. One evening I asked Lily which part of the city pleased her best. "The Piazza, is very beautiful," she said; "but after all it is a far-off sort of beauty, carrying one back to heathen times; here I feel at home, the very stones breathing Christianity. The difference is very strange; at this place the living faith takes hold of me that, roam where you will in the world, you must return to the Lord for content. The world with all its glory cannot satisfy us as He can." " Ah, Lily, would that I believed like you ! " I cried involuntarily, pressing her hand till it must have pained her I scarcely knew it. Suppressing an exclamation she looked at me with earnest surprise, saying uneasily: " Oh, Philip, don't ! as compared to you I am but an ignorant child." " Yes, Lily, but your childlike heart is the treasure I envy. Is it not an old blessed truth that to children is given what is hidden from the wise ? Perhaps you can answer me a question, Lily; it may be all plain to you, though many of the great and learned make it a bewil- dering riddle. What is being a Christian ! " " Dear Philip, what should it be but having Christ in your heart." These words of hers cut me to the soul. How often had I felt that it was Satan, or at least an evil spirit that dwelt in me. "Yes," said Lily, as if to herself in quiet rapture, "that is it so simple, and yet so great, Him alone I 136 LETTERS FROM HELL. desire, and, having Him, I have father and mother and all the world. He makes His abode with me that in Him I may live and move, and have my being. He alone is my Saviour, my Lord, my all." And softly she added after a while : " Lord Christ, let me be true to thee, till thou take me home ! " A deep silence followed. The memories of childhood pressed around me, as if wrestling for my heart. I was moved unutterably moved. I felt as though the tears were rising to my eyes, and, hushing all other feelings, the one thought took shape : She is the angel that is to lead thee back to God. "But, dear Philip," said Lily, after a long pause, "that question could not have come from your heart ; I do not understand you." I made some reply, scarcely knowing what I said. I felt her arm trembling within mine ; she stopped short ; we were standing in front of one of those little madonnas, illumined by a lamp. " Let me look you in the face," she said. " I felt as if some stranger were speaking to me. . . . No, I am sure ; it is your own self you could never change ! " And she laughed at her own foolish fancy, as she called it. Lily's laughter, at any time as brightest music to my ears, broke the evil spell. I felt light-hearted again, the shadows had vanished before the health-giving sun. " Never to you ! " I cried, drawing her close, " and you are my own little friend, so good, so true, intended to be a blessing to me in life and in death ! " I have met her again, I have met Annie ! She sat apart, strangely occupied. Her long hair fell about her ; she was taking little shells and bits of reeds out of the dripping tresses. Her slight garment had slipped from her shoulder. Oh, horror ! I saw the brand of shame disfiguring the snowy skin. It was a mark red as blood, and the conscience of blood-guiltiness raised its voice in my soul. As an open page her heart lay revealed to my sight. Shame and despair dwelt therein. But her life's history was not written there. Her face, once so lovely, now so degraded, bore the traces of it : and with the brand upon LETTERS FROM HELL. 137 her shoulder ended the terrible account. Her fault, at first, was but this, that she loved me too fondly, trusted me too foolishly. It was I who had wronged her, ruined her in return for that love. She had perished in the tor- rent of sin, carried from shame to shame, from despair to despair, sinking at last in a watery grave. The knowl- edge of it was as a fire consuming my heart. I stood gazing, unable to turn away my eyes, though the sight should kill me. But suddenly I felt as if my soul were rent asunder ; light, as a bursting flame, flashed through me, leaving me trembling, a chill chasing the glow. A horrible thought had possessed me. Those features of whom did they remind me ? Fearful convic- tion, Martin resembled Annie was as like her as a son may be like his mother ! Had not Martin's mother, moreover, been a strolling actress, who had drowned her- self? And Martin's secret, that secret which should make all plain between us reconcile us, was this it ? Yes, yes, I could not doubt ! Then Martin was her child and mine ! And I had ruined not only her, but him, my child, my son ! This, then, was the reason why the boy had fascinated me so strangely. I had seen myself in him. That is why I had loved him to pission almost in spite of his wild and wayward temper ! This wild ay, evil nature was my own. It was thus that God punished me in him. Is it not written that He visits the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation ? It is terrible. And the worst is this not the mother only, but my own child ! The night of madness is not known in hell, else that hour must have plunged me into it. But the doubt remained. I must have it solved at any cost. I hastened towards her. But she, at my first movement, lifted her eyes, saw me, and fled, horror winging her feet. She was gone. ' O for mountains to cover me and hide me ! " I wailed in anguish ; but there is no hiding in hell, not a corner where in unseen solitude a man may wrestle with his grief. I have never yet succeeded in writing a letter at one sitting. I take pen and paper as the longing seizes me, 138 LEtTERS FROM HELL. and jot down what specially occupies my mind the thoughts that assail it ; then turn away, to continue some other time at longer or shorter interval. I never write unless some inward necessity prompts me ; yet if I did not somehow court that necessity, I do not think I ever should write. This will partly explain why these letters are no continuous account, but broken pictures only a true mirror of myself, who am but a wreck now, shat- tered and undone. I remember that of all days I disliked Sunday most ; on that day I used to dine at my mother's, and, what I thought worse, was expected to accompany her to church. I say worse, not because I disliked hearing sermons, but because I was never sure that some word might not rouse unpleasant sensations within me, followed by thoughts which I preferred keeping in memory's tomb, rather than let them run riot with fear and regret. In the hubbub of daily life it was easy to keep down serious thoughts ; but on Sundays and at church they would be heard, making me feel that I had missed my true destiny, that I was not what I should have been. What was the use of such thoughts, since no man can undo his past ? But worst of all were Communion Sundays, for my mother would have me attend. She was so very careful of proprieties, and I did not like to grieve her ; so I went, feeling all the time as though I were being dragged to the pillory. Bad as I was, I was no scoffer ; I felt there was something holy, and that I had no part in it. I would far rather not have partaken. The service was positively painful to me. I tried to go through it uncon- cerned ; but this was a case of the spirit being stronger than the flesh. I knew what I was about ! It took me several days to get over the uneasiness created in my mind ; I would shake off impressions find myself again, as I called it in a whirl of amusement. The memory of one of these Sundays is present with me ; and why ? I see a slender girl in the bloom of youth, her beauty transfigured to something of unearthly lustre, uplifted to the spiritual. I see her ; the fair head drooping, the silky wealth of her hair falling about her like a veil. Hers is a higher loveliness than mere LETTERS FROM HELL. 139 regularity of features, and there is that in her eye which keeps you a prisoner to something above, beyond. That serene gaze of hers is all worship, all adoration: it is her- self, her soul. But there is more ; that smile of hers is as a ray of light ; you cannot tell whether it hovers on her lips merely or shines from her eyes ; it is there, as a beam from heaven lighting up her face. That was Lily in her sixteenth year ; she too is about to take the sacrament. She does not do so lightly I judge from the blushes on her face, from the heaving of her tender form. Yes ; she too is uneasy, approaching tremblingly ; but how different from me ! It was her first communion. I had risen early against my wont ; the disquietude of my mind would not let me rest ; somehow my heart would beat. I set about dressing what evil-doer was that looking at me from the glass ! I was quite unhinged, and hastened downstairs. I met Lily in the breakfast- room ; she was alone and rather pale. " What is it, my child ? " I said ; " are you not well ? " She smiled. Ah ! that smile, it used to be my heaven. But woe is me that I thought not of a higher heaven, for now I am left desolate of either. " Yes, quite well," she said gently. And she went to fetch my mother. I stood lost in thought. The evident emotion in which I had surprised her was a riddle to be solved. It was always a delight to me to try and understand Lily's deepest being ; and the attempt at the present moment was doubly welcome. I preferred reading her heart to looking into mine. My eye presently fell upon a little book lying open on the table. I glanced at it, and lo ! it explained the mystery ! This is what I read : " In the sacrament of the Lord's Table the Saviour gives Himself to the believing soul. It is a holy com- munion, blessed beyond utterance. The love of earthly bride and bridegroom is a poor human type. Christ is the heavenly Bridegroom, and the believer's heart the bride. The love that unites them is unspeakable, filling the soul with a foretaste of heaven's perfect bliss." Now I understood, or at least guessed, what was pass- ing in Lily. Her soul was moved as the soul of a bride 140 LETTERS FROM HELL. at the nearness of the bridegroom to whom she is willing to belong. She had always loved her Saviour, but a new love was upon her ; never had she been so happy, and never so full of disquietude. She longs for Him, but is afraid ; she stands trembling, yet knows she is safe with the lover of her soul, and to Him alone will she give her- self. You have heard of the gardens of Jericho at any rate you have read of the lilies of the field, which toil not and do not spin, and yet are more beautiful than Solomon in his glory. Lily and I used to watch these lilies growing in the valley of Jericho Lily, the fairest of her sisters. She told me a story one evening as we walked amid the flowers. I never knew whence she had her stories. I often felt as though a Higher Being spoke through her, even God Himself, and I would listen with a kind of devotion, never questioning her words, as though they were a revelation. Even now her musical accents trem- ble in my ear, as I recall the story she then told me : " A man lay dying. The world vanished from his sight, and he was left alone with the question, ' Whither art thou going ? ' that question filling him with fear and trembling. " He lay writhing on his bed of agony, when suddenly he beheld ten shapes closing him in, cold and pitiless God's holy commandments. One after another they lifted up their voices. The first saying, ' Unhappy man, how many gods hast thou allowed to enter into thy heart ? ' The second, ' How many idols hast thou set up in His stead ? ' The third, ' How often hast thou taken the name of the Lord thy God in vain ? ' The fourth, ' How hast thou kept the Sabbath day, and caused others to keep it ? ' The fifth, ' How hast thou honored thy father and mother, and those that were set in authority over thee ? ' The sixth, ' How hast thou acted by thy brother, doing unto him as thou wouldst he should do unto thee ? ' And on they went, the ten of them, each with the voice of judgment, confounding his soul. " And the dying man, anguished and hopeless, had not a. word to say. He felt convicted, and knew he was lost. LETTERS FROM HELL. 141 At last he cried despairingly, ' I know I have sinned, but can you not leave me to die in peace ? ' " And they made answer, We cannot leave thee unless One will take our place, to whom you shall yield yourself body and soul to all eternity, abiding by His judgment. Will you do that?' " The sick man considered ; he was afraid of the One even, and his heart, beating feebly, shook with fear. Yet at last he said, ' I would rather have the One judge me, since I cannot answer ten.' " And behold at his word the dread accusers vanished, and there appeared in their stead One, holy and compas- sionate, just and forgiving. And the dying sinner looked to Him. Death had a hold of him already, but he felt the breath of life. He remembered all at once what in far-off days he had heard of One dying for many, recall- ing the holy lessons of his childhood at his mother's knee, when she told him of the Lord that is mighty to save. He had forgotten it, in his life of folly and of sin ; but it was coming back to him even now. And looking again, behold he knew Him that stood by his side. " And faith gathered strength, a smile of blessed trust lighting up his face ; and with dying lips he cried : " ' Let me be thine, Lord, thine only now and for ever ! Have mercy on me, O Christ, and redeem my spirit ! ' " He sank in death, but peace had been given him." LETTER XVII. I REMEMBER times of true contrition in my life ; not only when I felt cast down, but when I experienced also anguish of soul. The burden on my heart at such moments would almost crush me. I did see the nothing- ness and wretchedness of my pursuits ; I felt I was on the road that would lead me to perdition. I seemed to hear voices crying : " Return return, while yet it is time ! " And my soul made answer : " I will return before it is too late." It was not too late while such promptings urged me. The deep unrest within was tending toward peace. I might have come forth a new 142 LETTERS FROM HELL. creature from the conflict had I but taken up the struggle with sincerity but I did not ; weak endeavors at best were all. And sometimes when I could not but consider my sins moodily, even sorrowfully, thoughts of levity Would dart through me, pushing aside the tender stirrings of life eternal ; and with renewed carelessness I plunged deeper than before into the whirl of amusement. Indeed, from my own experience, and from what I have seen in Others, I can testify to the awful truth that an evil spirit has power over human souls. How often some one has formed the best of resolutions ; he has turned from sin, and is anxious to seek the way of life ; but the tempter enters his heart, and he falls deeper than before. And then to say there is no devil ! Devil ? Yes ; it is no use mincing an awful fact it is he who drags men to hell. There is a devil, and the number of demons is legion. But, say you, how is it that God the strong, right- eous, pitiful God allows the evil one such terrible power over human souls ? Can He be the all-loving, all-merciful Father, if He does not snatch them from the destroyer even at the moment of their weakness ? Do you doubt God, my friend ? Was it not He who sent His good angels to watch the door of your heart ; who put all that trouble and anguish into you ; who made you feel, and tremble at, the burden of your sin ? Ay, it is His Spirit who is at work in us when we feel we have done wrong ; when we long to rise to a better life. It is He who shows us that we can rise, if only we will ! But our will is at fault our sincerity. That is it ! What God does for us even at such decisive moments is immeasurably more than what the devil can do. But to God we listen not, great as His love is ; we care not for the riches of grace with which He tries to save us ; whereas the devil need but pipe, and we straightway are ready to do his bidding. Is it to be marveled at that there is nothing left for us but to go to hell ? I have more to say ; but how shall I say it ? Will words not end in a wail of despair ? In those happy days when I had Lily by my side, I often gave myself up to the enchanting thought that she was the good angel of my life, sent by God's infinite LETTERS FROM HELL. 143 mercy, and that through her His love would lead me to heaven. That view of our relation was very sweet, and often filled me with the best of intentions. But if my heart was touched, it was but surface emotion ; I was willing enough to be led by Lily ; but I cared not to be led to God. So Lily's mission failed of its object, and there was no help for me. Since I have come to this dreadful place my eyes have been opened to see that if I had yielded to the strivings of grace, and had given my heart to God, Lily would not have died in the flower of life ; that, on the contrary, God's gift of happiness was coming to me through her. Even in those latter days, when the shadow of death was upon her ay, and on me too, it would not have been too late. A voice now says : Had I repented of my evil course had I turned to God even as a prodigal grace was at hand, and my Lily would not have left me. Death would have been stayed, having done its work of rousing the sinner. God Himself would have given me Lily and the blessing of her love, and a new happy life might have followed. But no. God's means of grace could not break down the wall I had built about my heart. I would not turn from sin. What could she do but die ? There was no other way of saving her from a life with me a life that would have wronged her lovely soul. Her pure-robed spirit must needs wing its flight to heaven. Lily could but die, and it was well that she died. Well for her ! I say so with the honesty of despair. How I hate myself ! ready to dash myself to pieces, were it but possible. All is fraught with regret wherever I turn ; but this one thought that Lily was meant to be mine for a life of happiness is enough to turn all future existence into a hell of hells. God meant to bless me had He but found me worthy. Earth might have been heaven, andBL\better heaven to come ! Do you understand now ^j- hell is, and the awful misery of its retribution ? I have lately been to a ball. You know that I have always been more or less of a ladies' man ; but I did not frequent ball-rooms over long. I soon got tired of that t44 LETTERS FROM HF.LL. sort of pleasure ; perhaps I was too heavy too much of an athlete, to be famous for dancing. In early youth, however, I loved it passionately forgetting everything, earth and heaven, in the whirl of an intoxicating waltz. But in my riper years I raised objections to dancing. I always looked at the aesthetic side of things. I began to urge the unbecomingness of going on dancing for ten, fifteen years, or more. Let people dance for two or three years and be satisfied. The pleasure might be compared then to the fluttering of the butterfly amid the roses of spring; there is fitness in that on first quitting the chrys- alis of childhood. Let young people dance becoming dances that is ! For them it is a natural and even beau- tiful pastime an overflowing of the exuberance of life, and an innocent pleasure to their untaught perception. However it was a grand ball which I visited lately, and most fashionably attended. The society, to be sure, was mixed, but that also gave a zest. The illumination was perfect, considering our state of light. For even with a thousand chandeliers we cannot rise above a crepuscule ; the tapers emit a false light only, making no impression whatever upon the reigning gloom. A good band was in attendance, but all their efforts produced no sound. Everything being illusive here, music naturally is left to imagination. One thinks one hears, and falls to dancing. The ladies were gorgeously attired in fashions repre- senting several centuries ; it almost looked like a mas- querade ; but these fair ones were only true, each to her time. And on the other hand, an attempt at masking would have been poor deception, since all their pomp and vanity was transparent ! Whatever their finery, you saw the unclothed woman beneath some bewitchingly beautiful, others more like mummies than anything else. We marched round and round the spacious saloon, exchanging ladies at given times, so that one had the pleasure of touching hands with all the fair ones present, and forming their acquaintance* Jfe What a surprise ! In my dinrr^room at home I had a fine picture by a well-known artist. It represented a Roman beggar girl in life-size, three-quarter length. She is to be found in endless pictures, bearing dates from 1835-1842 ; for that she was in high favor as a model need scarcely be said. She was of true Roman blood, LETTERS FROM HELL. 145 born at Trastevere a fine type of Roman beauty her face and figure, her grace and bearing, being equally admirable. And her rags, which she understood how to arrange in a manner truly picturesque, were scarcely less charming. Fashionable ladies, with all their getting up, looked poor and insipid by the side of that beggar girl ! And somehow she appeared proud of her rags, and would not have exchanged them for the most elegant attire ; for she knew that to them she owed half her attraction, her independence and liberty besides. Paolina she was called ; but among the strangers at Rome she went by the name of la reina del mendicandi, the beggar queen, or simply La -Reina. Behold now the original of my picture La Reina in person ! One evening, as I was walking through one of the more quiet streets of Rome, a young woman, hastening up behind me, caught my arm tremblingly, imploring me to protect her. It was La Reina. Of course I did protect her, seeing her home ; arm in arm we went through the ill-lit streets, and friendliness seemed natural. I was ungenerous enough to pay court to her. But I did not know La Reina. Firmly, though gently, she refused me. And then, with a candor found in Italy only, she explained to me her position. She was happy now, she said very happy. Most people treated her kindly, no one dared think ill of her, and she was free as the bird in the air. But if she yielded, all that would be lost, and she would sink to the level of the common street-girl. So long as she could wear her rags with honor, she would not exchange them for the velvet and gold of a princess. More than this even she told me, though without mentioning names ; she had had the most enticing offers, but sia benito Iddio she had refused them all. Arrived at her humble dwelling, she kissed me with a frank trustfulness, as a child might, and we parted. I subsequently had her painted. After some years La Reina suddenly vanished. She had risen, as she said, above many a temptation the proud beggar girl ; but of one thing she had not thought, the possibility of love ! Heaven seemed open ; she loved, she yielded and happiness was gone. In her rags she had been a queen in silks and jewels she was but a slave. And worse was at hand. She was betrayed, 146 LETTERS FROM HELL. and cruelly disillusioned. Then all the natural gentle- ness of her disposition forsook her ; a demon awoke instead, not shrinking even from vulgar crime. She thirsted' for revenge. She was still a marvel of beauty, no longer gracious, but majestic. With an icy heart, yet burning in vindictiveness, she gathered her skirts about her, succeeding presently in making a fool of an old rake of a prince. For a moment only she stood at the height of splendor, meteorlike, but long enough to obtain the satisfaction she craved. With a crash it ended, and she never rose again. Now she was once more beside me, resting her arm in mine ; but what a difference between the present moment and that far-off evening when I escorted her through the dusky streets of Rome. I had recognized her on the spot, and yet how she was changed ! Involuntarily my feelings shaped themselves to a sigh. There is no happi- ness but that of innocence after all ! But when I bent to her, whispering, "Z# Reina ! Sta sempre in ricor- danza ! " she answered with trembling haste, as though overcome with the recollection, " O state zitto, zitto ! Nell' inferno tutf e finite! La gioja, V incur anza I' amor 'e la speranza f" As I was about to quit the ball, I was stopped by a man, to all appearance a roue of the first order, address- ing me somewhat flippantly : " I see you are at home in this sort of thing ; but have you assisted at the ball ? That is quite another affair, rendering all this stupid and tame ; it will come round again presently ! " I did not understand his hint, nor did I care to ask for an explanation. But I was to find out before long. For as the time draws near when utter darkness sinks upon hell, a madness of dissipation possesses the fashion- able a straining of all efforts to make the most of the respite, as it were. This rage of amusement is vanity, like everything, and fruitful of pain only. But, never- theless, the greed of pleasure abounds plays, orgies, and immodest pastimes succeeding one another in a per- fect whirl ; all is forgotten, save one thing, intoxicating and stunning the senses. Nothing so wild, so frantic, so shameless, but it is had recourse to at this period ; and he who most successfully throws off restraint is the hero of the day. That well-bred society with difficulty pre- LETTERS FROM HM.L. 147 serves Its reputation, you may imagine ; for none so well- bred but they yield to the contagion of the ball. They only try to preserve appearances, that is all ! There is something remarkably like it upon earth I mean the revelry before Lent. The season of dead dark- ness is our Lent, but alas it leads to no Easter beyond ! The devil surely has raised up that porch by which men enter upon a solemn time the carnival of fools ; here then we have it to perfection, winding up with the ball. And what is it like, this ball ? beginning in propriety of course, the ladies all smiles, the men pictures of ease. The dancing at first is most orderly, following a gently- swelling rhythm, but as a rising sea is its excitement. Look at their eyes at the panting mouth half-open ! More tightly they clutch one another. . . . Dead darkness is at hand ; they heed it not in mad- dened whirl. Voluptuousness is all but one with torment; they dance as though a taskmaster drove them on to it the taskmaster of sin. The greed is theirs satisfaction alone is withheld. See the fair ones bereft of beauty, the gracious gar- ments draggled and soiled ! Is there a more awful sight than unwomanly woman, hollow-eyed, corpse-complex- ioned, with disheveled hair and tattered clothes ? As for men the wild beast nature is upon them. It is a mercy that darkness in the end envelopes it all falling suddenly and covering, like the deluge of yore, what is only fit to be covered. See the end of pleasure unsanctified ! The night of death engulfs them, and what then ? what then ? LETTER XVIII. You are aware no doubt, and have experienced it yourself, that the perfume of a flower will wake mem- ories sweet happy feelings especially ; but slumbering passions also obey the call. If on earth this may mean a kind of agonizing delight, here it is hell ! Do not imagine that there are flowers in this place ; there are none here none whatever no growth of any kind. Kven faded flowers are of the earth. O foolish 148 LETTERS FROM HELL. men ! yours is a flower-yielding world, and you will not see that, with all its trouble and sorrow, it is a blessed abode ! It is the exceeding love of your Father in heaven, overflowing continually, which creates the flow- ers. Those millions of perfumed blossoms are the vouchers of love eternal the sparkling pearls of the cup which runneth over, given by God to man. Flowers below and stars above happy are ye who yet walk in life. But you follow your path, heedless of flow- ers and heedless of stars, engrossed with your paltry self and its too often worthless concerns. O foolish men ! No, there is no blossoming here ; but it is part of our torment to be haunted occasionally by the far-off perfume of some flower. Imagination of course, but all the more potent is the effect. The sweet incense has power to call up, not feelings merely, but visions on which we love to dwell the spell of vanished enjoyment. Can you con- ceive it : the fullness of past delight returning upon you as by magic, yourself being a prey to death and bound- less misery ? It may be a rich carnation. The fragrance even now will speak to me of her who wore it, and of her glowing eyes. I succeeded at last in being alone with her. She was divided between love and anger, I kneeling at her feet. Or a jasmine of intoxicating richness. In a summer- house, overhung with the sweet-scented shrub, I found the fair-haired beauty. My heart was full, and I longed to clasp her, to be drowned in the depth of her sea-blue eyes. I was spellbound, the dreamy influence of the flowers stealing through the noontide sun. Or again, a luscious heliotrope. We were alone in the garden on a summer eve, a balmy twilight about us. I was to leave her the following morning ; she being tied by ungenial wedlock. Her beauty was rich as the southern clime ; her dark eyes mournful, but with a wondrous charm ; her smile the saddest I ever knew. She plucked one of the flowers that steeped the night with fragrance and gave it me calling me her truest friend. But I, enraptured, would fain have bound her by another name ! Such is the language of flowers to me, coming on the waves of their perfume ; and the sweeter such memories, LETTERS FROM HELL. 149 the more cruelly they torture the mind, raising passion to madness, although we are unclothed of all bodily sense, and there is no healing for the suffering soul. It is only the strong-scented flowers that move me so powerfully ; their gentler sisters, the violet and hearts- ease, touch me not. Yet one I may except and only one ; it also brings pain, but I bless it. I have often been followed of late by tender wafts as from a rose. It is a particular rose, and I see it even now. A most delicate blush suffuses its petals ; what color there is might be called an ethereal glow at its heart ; to the cursory glance it is white, but I know better. Lily once gave me that rose ; that is, I asked her for it ; I do not suppose she would have thought of giving it to me of her own accord. It was at Venice one day ; we were at St. Mark's, standing in front of that altar sacred to the Madonna, with its famous Byzantine paintings. We were alone ; a crippled beggar had just limped away, having called down " Our Lady's " blessing upon us. A holy feeling stole over me holy perhaps because the cripple had called Lily la sua sposa. She had not heard it, or had not understood it. There she stood with the rose in her hand the blushing flower being a sweet image of herself. " Give me that rose, Lily ! " I said ; and she handed it at once, innocently. " Kiss it first," I said. She did so, and handed it back again with the most charming of smiles. I took it, kissing it in my turn. Lily blushed slightly, but not comprehending in her simplicity what that little ceremony might be meant for. The perfume of this very rose has been coming to me of late. It seems strange. Is it possible, after all, that there is a kind of spiritual bond between blessed souls and the lost ones here, immaterial as the breath of a flower ? O happy thought, let me hold it fast . . . alas it has vanished . . . tran- sient as the wafted odor itself ! That sublime moment when the glory of Paradise will break through the night cannot be far now ; it is coming, coming ! I shall behold her again, and though it be a pang of ten thousand sorrows I care not I shall see her in heavenly beauty ; . . . but oh, the darkness that will 150 LETTERS FROM HELL. follow ! Yet come what may, her picture will not quit me. ... I see it shall always see it radiant in bliss, though I be in the depth of hell. Can it be utter dam- nation if God leaves me that much of communion with one of His blessed saints ? I know, I feel, that she is thinking of me as I think of her loving me, though it be with the love of a sister. What shall I say dare I say it ? Could God be a Father if the sister is in heaven, and the brother for ever lost in hell ? . . . I went to church the other day, not for the first time ; but I have refrained from speaking about it hitherto for very shame's sake. Indeed, I would rather have kept away altogether, but one is forced to do a great deal here one would prefer to leave alone. Know then, that hell is not without a church estab- lishment. We have everything, you see, yet nothing nothing ! You will understand, I cannot be speaking of the Church, in the true meaning of the word, that is why I add establishment disestablishment would be as good a term and of course there is no such thing as a wor- shiping congregation here, or anything like divine ser- vice. I can only say we go to church. Good heavens, what a farce ! There are about as many churches here as there are reverend gentlemen, and that is saying a good deal ! All false and faithless ecclesiastics all who, for the sake of a good living or other worldly advantage, have sinned against the gospel all hirelings wronging the I^ord's sheep are gathered here. Now they are eaten up with a burn- ing zeal for the gospel which once they slighted, but that gospel is far from them ; they are devoured now with love for the sheep, but there are no sheep to be tended. They build churches upon churches, preaching morning, noon, and night ; but never a word of God's passes their lips. If the word of grace were yet within their reach, they and their listeners might be saved. But their stewardship is over and the mysteries are taken from them. Yet are they driven driven to preach, for ever seeking the one pearl they so grievously neglected. And so are the people seeking I mean but not find- ing. Hell is full of professing Christians. This may sound strange, but it is true nevertheless, since all the LETTERS FROM HELL. 15! thousands are here to whom Christianity in life was but an outward thing a habit, or even a mask, hiding an unconverted heart ; all those who, having heard the message of salvation, listened to it complacently, but never strove to make sure of it for themselves merely playing with God's truth, as it were, falling away in the time of temptation. They are hungering and thirsting now for the word once despised, but it is passed away for ever. They know it, for some of them have been at their hopeless endeavor for years and centuries now ; but they cannot resist flocking to the would-be churches, listening anxiously to ministers who cannot minister. The churches consequently are full to overflowing, but you always find room ; for a spirit, a shade, can squeeze in anywhere. There is no need, therefore, to take a pew, or pay for it either, as you do upon earth, where the rich command the best places, be it at the theatre or at the church. That is one advantage we have over you. At an evening party the other day I met a certain Rev. Mr. T . I had nearly given his name, but that is against my principles. Who should he be but an old acquaintance of former years ! I remember him well, a fashionable parson of the kind the world approves of gentlemanly and easy-going in word and deed. Shaking hands on leaving, he said lightly : " I shall be glad to preach to you if you'll come. I have built a church in Sensuality Square queer name, ain't it ? any- body can show you the way just at the top of Infirmity Street. I've concocted a grand sermon for next Sunday ; you'd better come." What could I do but go. I might as well listen to my old acquaintance as to any other pretender of the cloth. I found the church in the Square indicated. I was late, coming in upon the singing ; but, ye angels, what singing ! Instead of saintly hymns, the most horrible songs I ever heard the natural utterance of the people's own thoughts. The congregation was exceedingly fash- ionable, of irreproachable attitude. But old men, appar- ently crowned with honor young women, wearing inno- cence as a garment joined in that shameless perform- ance. Parents encouraged their children, husbands their wives, unabashed. Alas ! and no sooner had I 152 LETTERS FROM HELL. entered, than I was no better than the rest ; having come to sing praises, my evil thoughts bubbled over, and I desecrated good intention with ribald song. It ceased. The parson appeared in his pulpit with an assumption of sanctity quite edifying but for a moment only, then his beautiful expression gave way to a deplor- able grin. It was with difficulty apparently that he reined in his feelings, and looked serious and sanctimon- ious again as he began : " My worshiping friends . . . " a proper beginning, no doubt, and I am sure he meant his very best pro- ceeding vigorously for quite half an hour, I should say, opening and shutting his mouth with the most frightful grimaces, though never a word came forth. He seemed to be aware of it and made desperate efforts at elo- quence ; presently he began again : " My worshiping friends ..." and now he appeared to be in high water, dashing and splashing and flounder- ing along, drenching the congregation with his fluency ; but never a thought he gave them, and the most shallow of his listeners resented it presently. He was just wind- ing up his rhetoric when there was an outburst of laugh- ter ; he stopped short, open mouthed, and, like a poodle that had had a ducking, shamefacedly slunk down his pulpit stair. I could tell more, but let me cast a veil over it. I left the place heavy-hearted. w Is there anything worse than to pretend to be living, being dead dead ! LETTER XIX. THE sweeter memories are in themselves, the greater their bitterness in hell, is it not strange ? Nay, it is dread- ful. I am a prey to despair, not that despair which finds an outlet in raving madness there is life in that but a kind of apathy which is the sister of death. Despair is one's daily bread here ; it is in us, it is about us. Absorbed at times closing my eyes I had almost said, but it is no use doing that here withdrawing LETTERS FROM HELL. 753 within myself, however, I have the strangest fancies and imaginings. The other day I believed myself carried away into a wood. It was one of those wondrous May-days when spring bursts to life not only in nature, but in the heart as well. But the delights of spring are never so pure, the human soul is never so uplifted, as in some genial forest-glade. The joyful carols of the feathered songsters found an echo in my heart ; I felt ready to join in their thanks- giving. The rich fragrance of the wood was about me, sinking into my soul, when suddenly I heard Lily's voice somewhere between the trees. I started shaken out of my dreamful delight. O cruelty where am I ? There are no birds here, no woodland enchantment, no love that might call ! We had taken a house one summer amid the scenery of the lake country. There were splendid woods about us. My mother had provided herself with companion- ship, so that I could follow my own bent whenever I chose. Often in the early morning I would take Lily for a row, landing now here, now there, to spend the day, gipsy fashion, amid the woody glens. I delighted at such times in having escaped from the world and its pleasures; what sort of renunciation that was you will readily under- stand. I was nowise prepared to give up the world in order to gain heaven. I merely felt nauseated with the excess, young as I was, and glad to turn my back upon it for a time ; but not longing for anything better or higher. Lily too delighted in burying herself in nature, as she called it. And aimlessly we would wander about the livelong day, stopping where the fancy took us, and proceeding again to look for other spots of enchantment. Now and then we would come upon a hut where frugal fare was obtainable ; or we took with us what might satisfy simple need. Let us live like children of the wood, we said, and did so. Lily might be about twelve years at the time. My mother rather objected to our uncivilized roamings; but meeting my opposition, she contented herself with the 154 LETTERS FROM HELL. final injunction, "See that Lily does not get too wild." Wild, sweet dove ! how should she ? Lily's company was as refreshing to me as the dewy fragrance of the landscape. In those genial days the graciousness of her being unfolded, and I felt a child with her. How she could laugh, and chatter, delight in a nothing, and call up the echoes ! How easy and free and charming was her every movement ! She must look into everything, peeping now here, now there, finding surprises everywhere. Hers was a marvelous gift of understanding the little mysteries of nature. The least and most hidden escaped not her notice. Where others passed heedless, she perceived wonders. It seemed as if nature delighted in opening her secret beauty to the pure- eyed child. The nimble deer came forth from the cover and looked at her with trustful gaze turning and looking again, as though inviting her to follow. The sly fox would quit his lair, seeking mice and beetles for his supper, untroubled by her presence, but giving her a furtive squint now and then, as if to keep her in sight. The birds chirped at her merrily, or, half hiding in the leafy bowers, warbled down upon her their most gleeful song others running along the lichened boles, showing off their special art. The little squirrels, hopping from bough to bough, would follow her about the wood. Rare plants and flowers seemed to grow beneath her footstep ; they were there at least whenever she looked for them. Everything enchanting her added to her charms ; as the fairy, of the place she appeared in her sylphlike loveliness with those eyes that welled over with a light touched by sadness, and that smile that spoke of sunbeams sparkling through rain. We would camp beneath some tree at times, gathering sticks and fir-cones for a fire, by way of preparing for a meal. This done, I would leave Lily to her own devices, and how proud she was of her assumed dignity ! We quite feasted on such occasions ; never did I enjoy grandest dinner more. I would call her my little wife, as I watched her busy contrivances, and truly all those nameless graces were hers with which tenderest woman will flit round the object of her care. Having enjoyed our gipsy meal, she would read to me, and sometimes I yielded to sleep ; then she would LETTERS FROM HELL. 155 Watch by me, keeping the flies from disturbing my slum- bers ; and on waking, the first thing I grew conscious of were those radiant stars her faithful eyes. At other times I would read by myself, or pretend to read, listening to that mysterious rustle in the tree-tops which is as of distant water, and to the many sounds that break upon the stillness of* the wood, making it more solemn by contrast. Lily then would roam about by herself, never unoccupied. Innumerable were the wreaths she made and the nosegays she gathered ; or she would return rich with spoils, bringing leaves full of berries, red and ripe. But she never was out of the reach of my voice. Life seemed a perfect idyl. One day we were just saying that we ought to know the woods by heart now having gone rather farther than usual, we came upon a little house I had cause to remember, though I had chosen to forget it, covered with clematis and roses, the charming lodge where I had met Annie. I started, horror-struck, trembling, and no doubt white as death frightening poor little Lily dreadfully. She anxiously inquired what ailed me ; but not till some minutes had elapsed had I recovered sufficiently to pretend to answer her questions, dragging her away with me hastily. What explanation I gave her I know not ; I only remember that all that day I could not look her in the eyes again. How she pained me with her tender inquiries, her loving sympathy little guessing, poor child, what a frightful memory she kept hovering about in her innocence little thinking that the self-same demon that betrayed Annie was, in a measure, threaten- ing her, and that I, her friend, her only companion, was both master and slave of that demon ! We continued our roamings, extending them farther still for I could not rest but delight there was none. Poor little Lily, she had set out full of hopes of pleasure, and found nothing but dullness and dispiritedness ; she was ready to sink with fatigue, but I saw it not. Toward evening a storm broke, and as we neared. the lake we found it one seething mass of boiling waters. I dared not risk the child in the boat, so nothing remained but to follow the path by the shore, the dis- tance to the house, fortunately, not being beyond possi- bilities. But Lily was tired out. The storm spirit 156 l.KTTF.RS PROM HELL. flapped his angry wings about us. I wrapped her in a cloak, saying I would carry her home. She assured me she was- able to walk ; but no, I would carry her. And how light was the burden ! how doubly dear ! I felt as if I could walk on thus to the ends of the world. Holding her close I went on steadily, having a couple of miles before me. The stormy clouds were driving over- head, the rain kept beating about me ; but I cared not, meeting force with force. How touching was Lily's anxiety lest she should prove troublesome ; and, finding that I was fully bent on carrying her home, how sweetly she would set herself to repay me, whispering words of loving gratitude, as if thereby to lessen the burden ! I almost forgot Annie in present enchantment. But even at that time I could not shut out profaning fancy ; my thoughts before long reverted to the carrying off of the Sabines in the Loggia dei Lanzi at Florence. I was ashamed of the comparison, and tried to turn from it by an effort of will ; so, partly to punish myself for the unworthy image, partly also to amuse Lily, I called up another picture, which, I hoped, was more in harmony with the occasion the story of Christophorus carrying the Holy Child. I told Lily the legend of the powerful heathen who, conscious of his strength, would serve none but the greatest, and who, from kings and emperors, was directed at last to Christ crucified. Seeking for Him vainly the world over, he dwelt at last by the side of a tempestuous torrent, satisfied to carry pilgrims across. Years had passed, when one night he heard the calling of a child, and lifted it upon his mighty shoulder, the burden growing and growing till he nearly broke down in the river. Yet, reaching the other shore, the wonderful child said to the hoary giant : " Thou shalt be called Christophorus, for thou hast borne thy Lord ! " And the heathen knew Him and suffered himself to be baptized. My story had rocked Lily to sleep. Her arm was about my neck, her warm cheek resting against mine. In silence I walked along. But the legend had left an impression on rny own heart. The figure of the Saviour had risen before me ; I seemed conscious of His holy presence. I had not thought of him for many a day. But buried out of sight though the faith of childhood' was, it had not yet died ; LETTERS FROM HELL. 157 it was welling up even now from the dark depth of my heart, followed by recollections, some bitter, some sweet . the bitter ones abounding, hiding their head in shame. What a weight of sin I had heaped upon me in the few years of life I called mine. And the deepest guilt of all was that against Annie. The sleeping child grew heavier and heavier ; but I seemed bearing a burden of sin. With uncertain footstep I staggered on through the dark night. The storm increased, lashing the waves and hurling them in masses of curdled foam against the rocky shore. More than once I felt water about my feet, as though the maddened lake had risen to drag me down. But on I went, heaving and panting, the cold dews breaking from every pore. It was not so much the physical powers, as the strength of soul giving way. I experienced a weight of wretchedness never known before. Tortured by regret and fear by an utter con- tempt, moreover, of self I had reached for once a frame of mind that might enable me to turn upon the miserable I, and become a new creature perchance. Who knows but that I was near the blessed victory, when lo ! there was the light from my mother's window appearing through the darkness and dispelling my thoughts. It was all gone grief and regret and emotion. Would that the house had been a little farther, and the time gained might have defrauded hell of its prey ! Cold and shivering I entered the well-lit room, leaving outside the chastened feelings that had come to me in the troubled night. And finding myself once more in the cosy chamber, I breathed with a great sense of relief. And now Lily was waking from her sleep. " What a beautiful dream! " she whispered, with half opening eyes, as I dropped a kiss on her forehead by way of bidding her good-night. They were carrying her off to bed. The following morning she told me her dream : "I thought I was standing by the side of a river. And presently I saw St. Christophorus coming towards me with the Christ-Child upon his shoulder. He stopped, and the Child sat down by me ; we played with grasses and flowers, singing songs, and I felt very happy. But the big Christophorus looked down upon us, leaning on his staff. 158 LETTERS FROM HELL. " We twined the flowers into wreaths, but the Child could do more than I. It made a cross, and then a crown of thorns, putting that upon His temples. There were tiny red flowers between the stalks, hanging loosely over the forehead, and reminding one of drops of blood. And presently the Christ-Child said : ' We will think of something else; look me in the face what is it you see ? ' I looked and seemed to behold, firstly, the Sower that went forth to sow; then the good Samaritan, and it was as though I heard Him speak. And next I saw the Good Shepherd carrying the lamb in His bosom. I dare say I might have seen more had not a question come to me. ' Is it true ? ' I asked, ' that men could be so wicked as to hang Thee upon the Cross, piercing Thy side with a spear ? ' " 'Yes,' said the Christ, 'see here My hands, and see My side! ' The marks were red as blood, and I cried bitterly. 'Weep not, little Lily,' said He; 'I do not feel it now; the love of my Father in heaven, and the love of my brothers and sisters upon earth, have healed it long ago.' "We had been silent awhile, when the Christ-Child resumed: 'Would you not like to be carried a little by this kind Christophorus ? he does it so gently. Where would you like him to take you ? ' " ' Well,' I said, scarcely considering, ' I always had a longing for the Holy Land. But that is a long way off, and I should have to leave Thee here." " ' No, Lily, it is not nearly so far as you think,' replied the Christ, 'and you and I will never part. You will find me there if you like to go.' " I rose, and Christophorus took me upon his shoulder, carrying me far, far away. By day he followed a bright red cloud, by night a shining star. It was the star of Bethlehem. Through many lands we went, hearing tongues I understood not, passing mountains and rivers and lakes, and going over the great sea at last. There was no land to be seen now, and the waves rose high as mountains. I grew afraid lest we should never get through. But good Christophorus said: ' Fear not, little child: I have borne my dear Lord Christ; I shall not fail to carry thee.' " And after many days we reached the other shore it LETTERS FROM HELL. 159 was the Holy Land. On he walked, with his staff in his hand and me upon his shoulder, past Jerusalem, the white walls of which lay sparkling in the sunshine the royal city looking as beautiful as ever she could have been in the days of yore. Farther still not far and he stopped in a little town nestling amid her hills. Here the star stood still. It was Bethlehem. " Christophorus put me down before a humble inn. " The door opened, and, lo, the Holy Child was there, taking me by the hand and leading me in. ' There is only a manger here, little Lily, to make thee welcome. But one day, when thou art weary of life, I will take thee to a mansion above.' " " And the Christ-Child drew me close oh so lovingly close, quite close, and kissed me. . . . " I awoke ; we had just reached home. Ah, Philip, I would have liked to go on dreaming forever ! " "Well, little sister," I said gaily, " I think you might be satisfied. Haven't you been to Bethlehem and back, and seen no end of wonders in one short hour ? What more could you expect ? " " Yes," she said thoughtfully, " you are right. I ought to be satisfied till Christ bids me welcome in His mansion above." LETTER XX. I HAD been seeking for Annie too long already, not to have all but given up hope of ever meeting her again. She seemed utterly vanished. But hell is large, and its inhabitants are not to be numbered. Inquiry for her quite unsettled my mode of life. I was but a vagabond, traveling hither and thither, driven onward by a gnawing need. There was a fire within me, and I thirsted ; living man no, not the parched wanderer in the desert ever knew such agony thirsted for Annie, though I knew she was but as a broken cistern that can hold no water, and unable, therefore, to soothe my pain. She had lost that privilege of womanhood in life even how much more so in hell. No ; Annie could not quench my thirst. In vain she keeps wringing l6o LETTERS FROM HELL. her garments, her once glorious hair ; it is wet and dripping, though never a drop of water she wrings out of it. But she carries that about with her which would solve a terrible mystery. That is why I am driven to seek her thinking and dreaming of her as I once did in life, when the red glow coursed through my veins, and I saw in her but a flower in the vast realm of nature, unfolding her beauty for my selfish delight. But how different now ! It was not love that drew me but the dread longing to read in her face concerning that awful likeness, which had flashed through my conscience on meeting her before. It was more than a presentiment then it seemed an assurance ; still I wanted proof to determine between doubt and certainty. She she alone could be the witness that sealed my guilt. Her features had spoken ; but by her mouth alone could I finally be convicted. Yet, even though I found her, could I hope to hear her voice ? My heart misgave me but endeavor to find her I must. At last, after many days, the desire seemed realized. I came upon her sitting by the river, motionless, and gazing into the turbid flow, as though about to seek death in its embrace. Hell, after all, at times offers what is akin to satisfaction : for a moment I forgot self and everything beside me, anxious only to approach her. As a gliding shadow I moved forward, scarcely to be dis- tinguished from the crawling mists that haunt those banks of darkness. I was able to watch her leisurely, though in anguish and with trembling soul, examining her countenance and questioning her every feature. It was all pain and suffer- ing to me ; but I forced myself to the task, and the result was utterly startling, an effort of the will only keeping me from jumping to my feet. How could I have believed Martin to be her very image ! There was a likeness certainly, but not more than might be merely casual. It was the first time that I experienced anything like relief in hell strange that it came to me by the side of that ominous river ! A feeling of comfort all but super- seded the pain of inquiry. My eyes devouring her greedily, yielded conviction. No hers was no likeness to Martin that need trouble me. But there was a likeness to whom ? l.MTTKKS FROM HKLL. x6l My satisfaction was shortlived, alas ! A new horror laid hold of me, clutching my. every fibre. What could it be ? Doubt pursued by certainty darting through me I saw it Yes ! Yes ! Annie was not like Martin ; she was like that girl loved by Martin, who had been the last object of my earthly desires, whom I had lifted from poverty, but who had preferred poverty with Martin to a palace with me ! It must be so the more I gazed the more certain I seemed. This then was Martin's secret that should have made all straight between us that girl my daughter, and he, Martin, my son ! I shook with horror ; again the words kept ringing in my brain that the sins of the father shall be visited upon the children. That girl my child ! So near had I been to commit a crime at which vice itself shrinks back appalled. My own daughter ! Oh heavens of mercy, where indeed shall the consequences of sin find their limit? Unutterable anguish laid hold o me. There she sat, pale, gloomy a very image of pitiless fate. A few words of hers would have sufficed to dispel the misery of sus- pecting doubt. But not a word she had for me ; her soul and mine were utterly apart. The time was when she followed me, though I took her to the road of hell. Now she turned from me, and had I been able to show her the way to Paradise, I believe she would have spurned me with loathing. My life seems one mass of darkness, but I see innumer- able lights some heavenly, some earthly illumining the gloom. It is more especially the countless proofs of God's fatherly goodness I call to mind ; like stars I see them shining through the night of my sinful folly. I see now how often God was near me, how often His hand was upon me to stop me in the downward course ; to warn me, move me, draw me to Him in unutterable mercy. How tender, how faithful, how long-suffering was He in His dealings with me, following me in pity all the days of my life as, indeed, He follows all men. Oh, think of it my brothers, my sisters, ye, whose eyes are not yet closed in death. He is following you, loving you l62 LETTERS FROM HELL. daily, always ! But I spurned the touch of that hand, not caring for His love, and I am lost now, having my portion with the ungodly in the place of wailing and gnashing of teeth. I could not but be moved sometimes. The hand reaching down from heaven was too plainly to be felt; the blessings it spread about my path were too great for even me to disregard them. There were times when I felt I ought to kiss that hand of mercy, pouring out tears of repentant gratitude. My heart would be softened and stirred to the depth. If sorrow for sin was weak, yet resolutions to mend my ways seemed strong, and I believed I should never again forget how good the Lord had been. But forget I did, losing sight of everything love, gratitude, benefit, and resolve ay, of God Himself ! Nor, was it mere forgetting no, I cared not to remem- ber; turning away so fully, that when trouble once more overtook me, I never even thought of Him who had helped me and pitied me before. Yes, let me confess it loudly, it is not the fault of God that I did not come forth from earth's besetting dangers a redeemed and blessed soul ! The parable of the Good Shepherd giving His life for the sheep, how simple it is, and how it speaks to the heart ? And that love is not only for the flock as a whole, but for each individual sheep ever leaving the ninety and nine to go after that which is gone astray. And how tenderly will He seek for it, and, if so be that He find it, carry it home rejoicing ! Yes, I feel it now, if I did not feel it then, that all through my sinful life there was One seeking me in sorrow and in hope, ay and finding me again and again! But I would not stay in the fold, preferring my own dark ways to His watchful guidance. I would not, and lo, I am lost ! I never was visited by serious illness after that first trouble at the outset of manhood till the days of my final agony; but I once suffered from inflammation of the eyes, which necessitated my abiding for several weeks in a darkened room. That was a time of misery not merely a trial to patience, but simply awful. T gained a pretty clear idea of the signal punishment inflicted by the solitary confinement system in prisons. To a heart burdened with evil recollections there can be no greater misery than solitude. Days and nights were crawling past alike in gloom; and it seemed to me not only that darkness itself increased, but that I was engulfed by it more and more. And yet that darkness was but a feeble foretaste of the night enclosing me here; I thought it fearful then; it would be mercy now. I had plenty of so-called friends, but somehow not many cared to visit me ; it was not pleasant, I suppose, to share my confinement and listen to my dismal grum- blings. So I was left alone for the most part. Alone ? nay, I had company. My better self had a chance now of being heard. I had forgotten it, neglected it, banished it for years. But it had found me out, seizing upon my loneliness to confront me, darkness not being an obstacle. I disliked it exceedingly, yet what could I do but listen. It had come to upbraid me, contending with me, and left me no peace. There are two selves in every man, never at unity with one another, although theirs is a brotherhood closer than that of Castor and Pollux ; struggling continuously, not because love is wanting, but because contention is their very nature. That duality in man is the outcome of sin. If he could be saved from it, sin with all its consequen- ces would cease to enthral him. And there is a release, as I found out in those darkened days. We wrestled without a hope of conciliation. There is not a more stiff-necked or inflexible being than what is called the better self. Not one iota would it yield ; but I was to give up everything, should strip myself entirely to the death even of self. But I would not; perhaps I could not. Yes I could, if I would ! For presently I perceived that we were not two but three ; two warring, and a third one trying to mediate in earnest love. I could oppose the better self, but Him I dared not contradict. I felt it too plainly that He was right, and that through Him only I could be at peace with myself and begin a new life. I knew who he was, the Meditator, not only between me and that other self, but between me and the righteous God the only-begotten Son, once born in the flesh. 164 LETTERS FROM HELL. In those days I was His prisoner. There was no escaping in the dark corner in which he faced me the Good Shepherd had found the wandering sheep, His arms were about me, and He was ready to take me home. But the willingness was only on His side ; I cared not, suffering him with a negative endurance merely, and not wanting to be kept fast. There was something within me waiting but for opportunity to break away from the Shepherd's hold. Nor was opportunity wanting ; it is ever at hand when looked for by perversity. The evil one had nowise yielded his part in me, and required but little effort to assert it. He invented an amusement that needed no light. One of my friends was his messenger, and I received him open-armed as a very liberator. Delightful pastime that game of hazard that could be played in the dark ! We played, my friend and I no, the enemy and myself ; for my companion was no other than the prince of darkness ; the stakes I knew it not then, but I know it now being nothing less than my soul's salvation. With such an expert I could not of course compete ; he won I lost. I remember a glorious evening on the Mediterranean. The day had been sultry, but towards sunset a gentle wind had risen, and the cool air from the north-west, fanned the deck. The waves ro?e and sank in even cadence, their silvery crests sparkling far and wide. A playful troop of dolphins gamboied round the vessel. The sun had just dipped his radiant front in the cool- ing waters ; dashes of gold, amid a deeper glow of purple and red, burned in the western horizon, beyond the Ionian sea, enhancing an aspect of unutterable loveli- ness. To our left was the splendid island of Cythera, and, rising beyond it, with clear outlines and deepening shadows, the majestic hills of Maina, where Sparta once was. To our right the beauteous Candia, with the heaven-kissing Ida, the snowy summit of which was even now blushing in a rapture of parting light. Lily sat silent and almost motionless, leaning against the bulwark, her hands pressed to her bosom, gazing absently toward the coast of Morea. The wind played LETTERS FROM HELL. 165 caressingly with a curl of her silky hair. I knew not what to admire most, the glorious panorama, or the girlish figure that formed so lovely a centre. My eyes rested on her, drinking in her beauty ha ! what was that ? Uneasily she breathed, her chest heaving, her face turned to me with an expression of anguished distress. I saw that flush and pallor strove for the mastery in her face, and that her spirit battled against some unknown foe. "What is it, Lily ?" I cried, repressing emotion. " I know not," she said, with a troubled sigh. " I felt a horrible weight on my soul. But be not anxious, my friend, it is gone already." And indeed she looked herself again. I took her hand, and we sat side by side, not talking. The night descended slowly a night of paradise. The land dis- appeared in folds of gray, the summit of Ida only preserving a faint flush, and the darkening dome above shone forth in myriads of sparkling lights. " What are you thinking of, Lily ? " I asked, presently closing my hand on hers. " Shall I tell you, Philip ? " she responded softly, look- ing me full in the face. " I just remembered a little story ; would you like to hear it ? " And she began : " There was a poor man whose pious parents left him no fortune save an honest name and a good, God-loving heart ; and although in this he had riches without measure, yet the world accounted him poor. " It went well with him at first, but by degrees he tasted trouble. He lost the small fortune he had suc- ceeded in saving by dint of work. And the people pointed to him saying : ' Poor wretch ! ' " ' No, not poor,' he said ; ' God is my portion ! ' " But misfortune pursued him. Most of his so-called friends turned their back on him, and those even whom he had trusted most, proved faithless. He was deceived, calumniated, misjudged. " And people shook their heads saying : ' How wretched and miserable you are, to be sure ! ' "'No,' he said, though his voice trembled, 'not wretched, for God is my portion ! ' " But the greatest trouble of all now laid him low ; he lost his loving wife, and his only child. The suffering man stood alone in a heartless world, 1 66 LETTERS FROM HELL. " Again the people said, shrugging their shoulders : ' Surely now you will own yourself miserable and wretched, a very butt of trouble ! ' " ' No,' he cried, repressing the welling tears, ' God is yet my portion ! ' " And the people turned from him, saying he was singular and strange, and nicknaming him John Comfort in virtue of his peculiarity. " But he, truly, was not wretched, nor indeed forsaken. The last words he was heard to speak on earth were : ' (Jod in heaven is my portion ! ' " And he entered into the joy of his Lord." Did Lily love me ? Again and again I ask myself this question. You will think it ought to be of little conse- quence to me now. But not so. Since all is vanity and nothingness, here, the past only remains to be looked to ; and even the sure knowledge that her love was mine would be unspeakable comfort. But hell is void of com- fort. Shall I ever find an answer to that question ? Again and again I have gone over the whole of my in- tercourse with her, trying to understand her part of the relation between us. Sometimes I have seemed to arrive at a 'yes,' and then a bitter 'no' wipes out the happy conviction. She knew me from childhood, seeing a brother in me, no doubt an elder brother even, for the discrepancy of years must have been against me. And she, whose heart from her tenderest youth had been directed to heaven, how should she, how could she, have fastened her affections on such a clod of earth as I was ? And she died so young, in the happiest age of ideals. But still, if I call back to mind the tenderness with which she ever surrounded me, the entire devotion that yielded to me with such loving surrender, and made her look to me as to her guide and guardian ; and consider- ing that I was the only one of my sex she was brought into close contact with, I say to myself surely she loved me, she cannot but have loved me! Not with a feeling like mine, but with her own sweet affection, that love divine, passionless and pure, which so often spoke to my soul in intercourse with her, but which never found root in my heart. And I cannot forget that in dying something seemed LETTERS FROM HELL. 167 present with her, resembling the perfect love of holiest woman. It made efforts to flow into words, it hovered on her lips, shining in her eyes, but it found not expression. It had not reached the ripeness which speaks, and it died with her, as an unborn babe with the mother that would have given it life. Is it possible that it was love to me which, even in her last moments, glorified her beauty ? Did she love me yes or no ? Alas, I keep asking, and who shall give me an answer ? She never had any secret from me. If indeed she loved me, that was the one secret, hidden surely to herself even, and she took it with her to the other life. . . . As a dream I remember the days we spent at Bethle- hem a dream, though I hardly closed my eyes. It was with difficulty that we obtained admittance to a small cottage bordering upon the great cloister gardens. There she lay, pale as a lily, beautiful to the last, even in death. And the paler she grew the deeper glowed the brightness of her wondrous eyes. It was as if the very star of Bethlehem she loved to think of had found a dwelling in her gaze. Nor was she white with that livid pallor which death casts on features in which his linger- ing touch has wrought havoc; it was rather a transparent whiteness glorifying mortality and testifying against its victory far more loudly than health's rosiest bloom. Night followed day, and day night, the time for us flowing unmeasured; I know not how it passed. The cloister bells kept ringing almost continuously, excruciat- ing to my grief ; for it seemed to me as though, with heartless voice, they were tolling out the life of my beloved. No one heeded us, but the prior one day sent some consecrated palm branches, which appeared to delight Lily. I fastened them above her couch. As life ebbed away her unrest increased. She asked to be moved. She was too weak herself, and I lifted her in my arms, my mother smoothing the couch. Alas, it was the first time since she had quitted childhood that I dared take her into my arms. And, unconsciously, she clasped my neck to steady my hold. Oh, the touch of love ! but how late it came, late because dying ! I could not keep back my tears, and they fell on her upturned face. " My friend," she said, amid heavenly smiles my 1 68 LETTERS FROM HELL. heart yet trembles at the memory " tears, my friend, and I so happy ? I do not suffer in the least, and soon, soon, it will all be over. There is but one thing grieving me. I long for the Paradise of God, my soul's home, where peace and joy await me. I shall soon be there without you, Philip ! But not for long. We shall be united again where there is no more parting." Her voice was nearly inaudible, and her breathing troubled. As a spirit-whisper those words touched my ear : " My friend," she resumed after awhile, " how sweet it was to call you thus ! Yes, Philip, I may tell you now, I loved that name for the best part of my life. . . . Yet there was a depth of meaning in it which I seemed not to fathom entirely, however much I endeavored to be true and loving to you. ... I often felt you deserved a greater and fuller affection than I was able to give you . . . and yet those were happy moments when I tried to understand the high meaning of that sweet name. . . . But there seemed something hidden in it, something I could not reach, which, if I had it, would make happiness perfect. I have not found it. ... I go to God now, and there, Philip, all will be given ... we shall be calling each other friend in His presence to all eternity . . . the measure of happiness will be full ! " Her physical unease reached such a pitch that lying down became impossible. I took her into my arms, sitting down on the edge of her couch, her head leaning against my heart, and by degrees quietude returned. I sat holding her, hour merging into hour ; God alone knew what I suffered. She moved not her eyes were closed ; the slow faint breathing only, and the scarcely perceptible throbbing of her heart, showed that life had not yet fled. I held her hand in mine cold, alas, already and anxiously I watched the sinking pulse. I lived in its beating only, but oh, what hopeless living ! The hand grew icy, the pulse becoming slower and slower; it could not last much longer. Suddenly she raised her eyes, suffused with a light of unearthly kindling, and whispered gently, " My friend ! " As a fleeting breath the words escaped her lips, but I understood them, with a holy kiss bending to her brow. I.ETTKRS FROM HELL. ' 169 Again she moved her lips, but no further sound fell on my ear. She had told me once that she loved the habit of the ancient Church that joined a blessing to the Cross, and involuntarily I made the holy sign to her dying eyes. She understood it, a smile glorifying her features as with a reflection of heaven's peace. Vision faded, the lids closing slowly. A gentle sigh, and she was gone. Lily's dead body rested against my heart. Submission I knew not. The frail maiden had upheld me; she gone, strength and self-possession vanished. For days and weeks I was as one without reason, a prey, to devouring grief. But of that I write nothing. LETTER XXI. IT is long since I wrote to you. Often I have taken up the pen, but only to drop it again in despair. It seemed impossible to describe what I have seen. But it weighs upon the heart, urging me to tell you, however feebly. Having confided so much to you, I ought not to keep this crowning experience to myself. Listen, then, to what I have to impart to you in sorrow. The great moment was fast drawing near. Darkness seemed being engulfed by the abyss more and more rapidly light with us reaching its fullness in a transpar- ent dawn; but far, far away, beyond the gulf, a great daybreak was bursting the confines- of night. I knew the fair land of the blessed was about to be revealed. It was a wondrous radiance, increasing quickly, and trans- fusing the distant shore with hues of unknown and inde- scribable loveliness. In dreams only, or wnen yielding to the magic of music, a faint foretaste of such glory may come to the human soul. Hell seemed captivated, the whole of its existence culminating in an all-pervading sense of dread; millions of hungry-eyed souls drawn toward a self-same goal. Some like pillars of salt stood motionless, gazing into the brightening glow; others had sunk to their knees; others again, falling to the ground, sought to hide their faces; while some in hopeless defiance refused to look. iyo J.KTTKRS FROM HELL. But I stood in fear and trembling, forgetful of all but the vision at hand. And suddenly it seemed as if a great veil were rent asunder, torrents of light overflowing their banks, and the wide heavens steeped in flame. A sigh bursting from untold millions of lost ones ended in a wail of sorrow that went quivering through the spaces of hell. I heard and saw no more. As one struck by lightning I had fallen on my face. How long I lay thus confounded I know not ; but when again I lifted my dazzled eyes, there was a clear, steady glow, a beneficent radiance that admitted of my looking into it, not blinding vision. Still I had to accustom my sight to it ; it seemed a vast ocean of light that by degrees only assumed color and shape ; dawning forth to the raptured gaze as a world of beauty and love- liness, such as eye has not seen and the mind is unable to grasp. But never for a moment did I doubt the real- ity. I knew it was the land of bliss, even Paradise, unfolding to my view. At first it seemed as though islands and distant shores grew visible in that sea of light, gentle harmonies of color floating about them. But gradually the scattered parts united, forming a perfect whole, a world of bliss immeasurably vast. Yet, infinite as it appeared, it formed but a single country a garden abounding in blessing, in beauty, in delight. The love- liest spots on earth are as desert places in comparison. I have no other words to describe it. To do so fully and justly I had need to be an angel, and you know what I am one who might have been an angel, but lost now and forever undone. Trembling with awe and enchantment I gazed into Paradise, deeper and deeper, encompassing, no doubt, thousands of miles. For, strange as the aspect was, the power of vision given was stranger still ; my spirit seemed roaming through vast realms of glory, all their beauties laid bare to my tranced sense. I felt the balmy breezes, I heard the rustle of trees, the gentle cadence of waters. It was allowed me to see every perfect fruit, every lovely flower, every drop of dew reflecting the light. I saw, heard, felt, drank in the fill of beauty. There was music everywhere, speaking the language of nature glorified. Not a dewdrop sparkling, not a tree-top rustling, not a LETTERS FROM HELL. 171 flower opening, but it swelled the heavenly psaim ; all sounds floating together in harmony, wondrous and pure. As yet I saw no living soul ; but songs of joy, of exultant praise, resounded everywhere, nature and spirit uniting in one perfect hymn. What shall I say, but that infinite bliss, unspeakable happiness, and heavenly peace, flashed delight into my soul with a thousand daggers of longing ! This then was Eden, I seemed all but in it, and yet how far how far ! Of all that glory not a ray of light for me, not a flower even, or a drop of dew ! Ah gracious heavens, not a drop of water not a single tear ! But where were they, the souls whom no man hath counted, the saved ones, redeemed from the world ? Not one of them I had seen as yet. The garden seemed as untrodden of human foot as on the day when Adam and Eve had been driven forth by him with the flaming sword. "Where are ye, my loved ones, if not in the heaven I see ? " My heart cried out for them, longing, thirsting Aunt Betty somehow rising first to my mind. Why she, I cannot tell, since there is another nearer and dearer to my soul. But while I thought of her, behold herself ! Yes, there she was, I opening my arms to clasp her ; but, ah me, there is a great gulf fixed, and no passing across it ! Yet I saw her, dear Aunt Betty saw her as plainly as though I need but stretch forth my hand to draw her to my embrace. It was she, and yet how changed ! glori- fied to youth and beauty everlasting, the same to recognizing vision, but perfected, and spotless as the white raiment she wore. Some happy thought seemed moving in her as she walked the paths of content, crowned with a halo of peace. I saw she was happy ; I saw it in the light of her eyes, in the smile hovering about her mouth ; she had conquered, and sorrow and grief had vanished with the world. I was deeply moved, to the pouring forth of my soul even in weeping ; but what boots emotion if the eyes are a dried-up well ! I thought of the love and self-for- getting kindness she had ever shown to me in the days of her life. Now only I knew how much she had been to me now only I understood her. For marvelous yet true I not only saw her : I was permitted even to read her heart. All she had suffered her every bat- 172 LETTERS FROM HELL. tling and victory lay open to my view as a finished tale. Yes, I understood her as I had never done before. Long ago when she was young, my father had been a true brother to her in a time of bitter sorrow, offering her the shelter of his love when she found the world empty and cold. She had never forgotten that her grateful heart vowing to him the remainder of her life in the service of sisterly devotion. She had kept that vow fully, fondly. That was the key to her life. And her beautiful sacrifice of love enriched not only my father, but all she could help and cherish, souls without number, of whom I was chief. My father Lily ! my heart was reverting to both simultaneously. And oh, rapture ! I beheld them even now emerging from a shady grove. Aunt Betty seemed to be meeting them. The sight of Lily was more than I could bear, a film overspreading my senses. It seemed at first as though both had appeared but to vanish ; but no in perfect clearness and heavenly calm these beloved ones moved in my vision. Nothing of outward beauty, nor yet of the heart's secret history, being hid from me. Truly I had never known them, never seen them aright before. O Lily ! beautiful even on earth and of sweetest womanhood, but surpassingly beautiful in the fullness of Paradise. Mortal eye has not seen such loveliness glori- fied to transcendent charm. Nay, human imagination is too poor to reach even to the hem of her garment. " Holy and sanctified ! " seemed to be written in her every feature, surrounding her with a halo of praise. It spoke from her crown of glory, from the palm of victory she carried, from her robe of righteousness whiter than snow. And as she lifted her shining eyes, it was as though their gaze enfolded me ; I trembled and glowed, as a flickering flame touched by a kindling breath. And that angel smile of perfect bliss accompanying the look seemed meant for me even me. But that was illusion. None of them can see us here thank God ! I saw her ; she was near me in spirit vision, but in truth she was far, far away ; and the blessed ones in Paradise are saved from the thought of hell and its every horror. Yet the separating gulf does not separate me from her inmost thought. Woe is me ! shall I weep, or dare I rejoice ? LETTERS FROM HELL. 173 I can read in her pious heart as in an open book ! Ah me, what do I read ? I see it see it as in clearest writ- ing that she loved me with all her soul truly, if uncon- sciously, with the deepest purest giving of virgin bride. Ay more, she loves me still ! she is thinking of me, long- ing for me with a longing as painless as pure. For it is in hell only that pain and grief are known. What more can I say ? Despair, my daily portion, is as a blazing fire feeding on my soul, sometimes sinking in ashes, but never dying. At that moment of sweetest bitterest conviction, the flame seemed fostered by denial, the very essence of hell. Bliss and delight veering round to despair, my whole miserable existence flared up in an all-consuming agony. " See what might have been yours, but you have lost it lost ! " was the ever-recurring cry of my tortured soul. Can you wonder that I hardly heeded my good pious father who walked beside her, sharing her felicity ? that I cannot remember a single word passing between them nay, heard not for very anguish ? Had I been quiet to listen, no doubt I would have heard mention of my name, might have heard them speak of me in heavenly tenderness. But, having seen Lily, and read in her very heart the assurance that she loved me, I heard and saw no more. " See what might have been yours, but you threw it away, threw it away" ! I writhed in despair. Vain was my effort to lift eyes to her once more I could not could not ! And with a cry of horror I fell back upon myself. LETTER XXII. SINCE you heard from me last and there seems to have been a longer pause than usual I have roamed about in aimless adventure. There are no accurate means of estimating either dis- tance in hell, or the speed of our travels; I expect that both are astounding. Time and space here can only be spoken of in an abstract sort of way, as existing in thought merely. Consequently there are hardly two 174 LETTERS PROM HELL. souls amongst us that would agree concerning the measure of either. But that holds true of anything. Since everything, then, is imaginary, unanimity is merely accidental, and what is called haimony on earth not to be found here. That a number of souls by social instinct, and under force of habit, should unite at a given place for a given object by no means is proof of con- cord. For concord presupposes liberty, whereas such souls are under downright compulsion, and, apart from the instinct which drives them in a common direction, in nowise at unity among themselves. My roamings, then are no free-will undertaking. Whenever I feel especially miserable and desponding, there is a sense of relief in dashing about blindly with no other object but that of moving. Blindly, I say meaning heedless of obstacles; pushing through walls, mountains, houses, trees through living creatures even if they are in my way. The latter, of course, is not altogether pleasant; fancy rushing through man or beast in your aimless hurry. But one gets used to everything here. " Oh, distracted soul ! " your neighbor cries, and is satisfied you should pass. We are always suiting our- .selves to circumstances, you see. Are you surprised that I should yield to such madness of motion? True, every one here has his or her congenial abode; so have I, lead- ing, as you know, a sickening life. But I am helpless once the frenzy seizes me, unhinging my very existence, and away I hie me, as driven by despair. Yes, that it is despair and nothing else, engendering a need, amounting to passion almost, of trying to escape from oneself, or at least to stupefy oneself. Neither the one nor the other is possible; in the world one succeeds at times, never in hell. But that knowledge does not restrain me; again and again I perceive the utter uselessness of endeavor, pulling up suddenly, per- haps, to find myself in the strangest of places. And more horribly strange, more dismal than any, is the place from which I lately returned. As a maddened fool I felt driven thither; as a maddened fool I hurried back, utterly confounded. I suppose every soul here is forced to perform that journey once at least ; and in so far it might not unaptly be called a pilgrimage, but to a frightful shrine, LETTERS FROM HELL. 175 Whether it is on account of a certain inexplicable mania possessing us all sooner or later, or merely by dint of a dread attraction exercised by that awful place, I know not ; but no one escapes the fate of going thither once, if not oftener. You know what a crowd is drawn by a public execution, and that people will assist at so dire a spectacle unless positively prohibited. It is strange ! But what should you say if any one by morbid attraction had a longing to watch his own execution ? Something very like this takes place here. You are aware by this time, and must be so, apart from my inadequate account, that between this evil place and Paradise a great gulf is fixed. Great, I say, and would add frightful, but that words invented for earth's need are altogether unfit to describe that gulf. It is the home of Satan. Do you understand that ? In the depth of that abyss the quenchless fire is burning, forever tended by the devil and his host. How far away is it ? I cannot tell ; I think it is in the outmost limit of hell. How near one may approach it ? Even at a distance of hundreds of miles one feels seized with giddiness and all the horrors of death ; but one is drawn nevertheless. That one should ever escape it again seems marvelous. How wide the gulf is ? When lit up by the radiance of Paradise, the eye at a leap seems to carry you across, but I doubt not it may be likened to a shoreless ocean. Light now is fast decreasing, swallowed up by the darkness rising afresh from the abyss. Do you expect me to describe to you that abode of terror ? But I can no more depict it than I was able to give a true repre- sentation of Paradise. It is beyond human possibilities, and I am but human, even in hell. Yet one thing I may tell you ; believe me, that more than one rich man is to be found by the awful pit, looking across to where they see the blessed poor in Abraham's bosom, stretching forth their arms too, and entreating for a drop of water to cool their tongue. But that first rich man of the gospel does not appear to be among them ; there is a rumor that perchance he was saved. Alas ! I was among those begging rich, supplicating with all my soul, but no one no one heard me. Despair urged me to fling myself into the awful gulf, that per- chance I might lose myself amid the howling fiends of the 176 LETTERS FROM HELU bottomless pit. What power prevented me, and event- ually brought me back from the place, 1 know not. Is it possible that God in His mercy is yet keeping me ? I have returned then, dreading I shall be carried thither a second time. I must tell you more, though it be a subject of horror both to you and to me ; but then all these revelations are fraught with horror, and these letters had better remain unread by those whose self- complacent tranquillity of mind dislikes being harassed. As I returned shivering in every fibre, and conscious of the thought only of Satan and his angels, I all but fell into the arms of one coming towards me on his way to the gulf. But was it a human being, this creature with mangled body and frightfully disfigured countenance ? A man indeed, his very appearance bespeaking his name Judas Iscariot. A piece of rope was round his neck, and in his hand *ie carried thirty pieces of silver. The rope all but suffocates him, and the money burns his fingers; he keeps throwing it away, but it always returns to his grasp. I have heard that it may be absent awhile swelling some usurer's gains; but Judas before long finds it in his closed hand again, bearing the marks of blood. And then he is heard to groan, " What is that to us ? see thou to that ! " a fruit- less repentance, which is not repentance, eating away at his soul, and he spends himself in vain efforts to get behind some one and seize him by the neck. What he intends by this is not quite clear; but people think he is anxious to find a charitable soul who will give him back the kiss he once gave to his Lord and Master, and thereby free him from those horrible pieces of silver. But the soul lives not in hell who would care to save him at the cost even of a kiss ; he is an object of repugnance to everyone. I too burst away from him horrified. I came across a scrap of newspaper the other day, and my eye was caught by an advertisement offering " bridal bouquets and funeral wreaths in great variety." And just beneath it a stationer expressed his willingness to sell hand-painted cards for the menu of wedding break- fasts and " In Memoriam " of the dead. Such is life, I said; side by side grow the flowers for the adorning of LETTERS FROM HELL. 177 brides and the crowning of corpses. Better sometimes the latter than the former ; better to be clasped in the ' embrace of death than find love dying before its time. Memorial cards ! how touching and how cheap ! How we love to speak of the virtues of our departed ones, mourning them ostentatiously, and assuring the world we shall miss them forever. Forever ? Look into your own heart, my friend, and expect not to be remem- bered too long when you are gone. Love's wreaths will fade on your grave, and the night winds alone will keep up their moaning around it. What is this buzzing about me like troublesome flies memories ? I once had taken a youth into my service. He was a kind of legacy of Aunt Betty's, and for her sake I intended to be kind to him. But somehow I was always finding fault with him. There are people who rouse our evil nature, for no reason one can see. Poor fellow ! perhaps he was not over bright, though he tried his best. But patience was not one of my virtues. I scolded him almost continuously, taking a kind of satisfaction I believe in thus revenging myself on what I considered his stupidity. I well remember the many hard words I flung at him, provoked from bad to worse by his meek sorrowful countenance. At last I said I could not bear his fool's face any longer, and gave him warning. I did help him to another place, where I fancy he was more kindly used than with me. But it was a disheartening beginning for one who had to make his way in service ; and he had deserved better at my hands. When he had left me I discovered all sorts of little proofs of his touch- ing fidelity and grateful disposition. How badly I had rewarded the poor fellow for such golden qualities ! It could not be called a great matter, but it left a sting. My town residence had the rare amenity of a little garden ; it was shut in at the farther end by a blind wall forming the back of a humble dwelling in the rear. But the wall was not quite blind ; it had one little window not far from the ground to my notion, the one eye of the house which kept looking into my privacy. I had no need to think so, for behind that window sat a poor 178 LETTERS FROM HELL. seamstress who had something more to do than watch my movements. True, she would now and then look up from her needle, as if she delighted in my garden ; and she even dared sometimes to put her head out of window to enjoy the fragrance of my flowers. There could be no harm in that, but I disliked it. And availing myself of the letter of the law, ran up a paling a few feet from the wall. The right of doing so was mine, but it was very wrong. The poor creature had delighted in my garden, the proximity of which had helped her through many a joy- less day. She loved flowers, and the sight of green things was grateful to her hard-worked eyes. There were a few thrushes in the garden, and she was cheered by their song. My fence was simply cruel, depriving her not only of these enjoyments, but of fresh air as well, and of the light she sorely needed I had shut her out from her share of the sky. I had acted heedlessly, and I came to see it before long ; good-nature even was sthred, and I actually resolved to make amends. I went round to the back street, but was too late ; the poor girl had been obliged to leave her little room, over which the struggles of ten lonely years had thrown a halo of home. Neither was this a great matter ; but little things make up the sum of good or evil in life. I feel sore at heart. I had gone out riding one day ; it was in the country, and I intended to look up a farmer in a small village, but did not know his house from the surround- ing homesteads. The place seemed asleep in the noon- day sun, not a youth within hail to whom I might have thrown the bridle. Looking about, I saw an open cottage door and the figure of a young girl appearing on the threshold ; I called her and she promised to mind the animal, seeming half shy, half ready to please me. I went on my business, and, returning, came upon an interesting spectacle. The mare had become unman- ageable ; the young girl could hardly hold her, feeling evidently distressed by the creature's pranks. Her efforts to subdue its gambols served as an admirable foil to her figure ; her every movement was charming, and her pretty face reflected so delightfully both fear and LETTERS FROM HELL. 179 vexation, that instead of hastening to her assistance, I stood still behind a shrub watching complacently what 1 considered an exquisite scene. There was no danger involved. The mare was not vicious only frolicsome ; but the rustic beauty did not undertand that, and was evidently frightened, holding fast by the bridle, jumping now right, now left, her lithe figure following the capering animal. It was merely to ingratiate herself with the damsel that the mare tossed its head, plunging again as if to snap at her kerchief, which now slipped from her shoulders revealing the whitest of necks. And behold, the masses of golden hair escaped their confinement falling in a shower of ringlets as though to veil her charms. Her distress increased visibly, a deep glow mantling her features, her bosom heaving. Now on tiptoe, now curving her out- stretched arms, bending this way, bending that, she delighted me with her graceful movements. But there was a sudden end to my enjoyment. She caught sight of me, and I was, obliged to approach. Had she let go the mare, it would have been no more than I deserved ; but she held on faithfully till I was near enough to take hold of the bridle myself. There she stood burning with shame and anger, her eyes brimming with tears. Before I mounted I endeavored to slip half-a-crown into her hand ; but she turned from me proudly, the coin rolling at my feet. Surely no great matter, I had wronged the girl, by being unkind to her, while reveling in the sight of her beauty ; but she came to no harm. On the contrary, I have a sort of conviction that the little adventure proved a useful lesson, teaching her to beware of admiring fops. Nevertheless, memories will not be silenced. Justice is the law of life, be it in the world, or in heaven, or in hell ; arid every act of man, though it contain but a shadow of wrong, calls for atonement, unless God Him- self in His mercy will blot it out. I know it now I know it who shall free me from even such guilt ? Do you see that tree ? Often and often I sink down beneath it with groans of regret, for on its branches are gathered the opportunities of a wasted life. They keep I So LETTERS FROM HELL. falling down on me, ready to crush me. I am often driven thither by the lashes of the awful Inevitable. How happy I might have been, how much I might have done in the days of golden possibility. But I would not ! As a blind man I walked in life, careless of light. It is dark now, but I can see I do see the failure of my days. LETTER XXIII. IF memory takes me to the Holy Land now, I seem to roam through its length and breadth as a broken- hearted pilgrim questioning every spot for the Saviour of men, but unable to find Him, with whom there is for- giveness of sin. In the blessed days I spent there actually, peace was offered me daily, hourly ; but I was too much engrossed with my own vain thoughts to be anxious for the unspeakable gift. An angel of God walked beside me, whose influence over me was marvel- ous. Lily's faith and piety were as sunbeams to my heart ; I felt the vivifying touches, and more than once was near yielding up my sinful being, my life and all, for so precious a Saviour her Saviour who was ready to be mine ; but at the decisive moment self-love, writhing in agony, shot up within me as a flame of hell, blinding the eyes. I saw not Him, but only a fair girl by my side the aim of my earthly hopes and all but mine already, who, alas, should soon cost me the hardest of all conflicts, even a wrestling with death. O Galilee, thou land of beauty ! How fine is the con- trast between Judaea, dark, wild, and waste, and thine own fair, genial tracts. And of all places none more sublime than Mount Tabor. In glorious solitude it rises from the broad expanse, lifting a. precipitous front north, south, east, and west. Clothed to the top with woods and shrubberies, its evergreen oaks and pines seem to vie in beauty. And the place is rich in aromatic plants. Never anywhere have I met such freshness such exu- berance of nature. From the south only the mount is accessible, a path winding to the very summit, revealing fresh charms of landscape at every turn ; and rising LETTERS FROM HELL. l8l from the sunburnt plain, you enter regions of air more pure and balmy than you ever dreamt of. The way is longer than you expected, but repays you amply ; and as you reach the summit behold a tableland of some three miles in circumference, an expanse of richest greensward and splendid groups of trees. You enter this retreat of beauty by a ruined gate in the west. Remains of enclosures and turrets, of grottoes and cisterns, meet the eye at every turn memorials of a mysterious past which tell of an encampment or even a city that may have stood here. But now peace has her dwelling there, if anywhere in the world, with a sense of security and calm. No wonder that Peter exclaimed : " Lord, it is good for us to be here : if Thou wilt, let us make three tabernacles ; one for Thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias." We had begun the ascent towards evening, and though it was but March the day had been oppressively hot ; it was like a deep draught of refreshment, therefore, to reach the cool balmy height. We felt as though admitted into Paradise. Just before sunset we gained the top ; and finding ourselves unexpectedly upon that glorious tableland, commanding so boundless a view, a deep silence fell upon us the whole of Galilee, nay, the greater part of the Holy Land, at our feet ! I looked towards Lily, for it was through her that the best of impressions at all times reached me. The set- ting sun was weaving a halo about her, casting a roseate glow on her beauty, which more than ever looked as though it were not of earth. I had often felt this, but never so fully before. And the glory of earth and sky about us seemed as nothing, compared to the uplifting radiance that spoke to me from Lily's face. She stood wrapt in worshiping delight. Bear with me, my friend, if I seem lengthy, carrying thee back again and again to scenes dead and gone. It may seem foolish in a poor lost one like me, but even that is not of my choice ! I am forever driven back upon my own past, and what was happiness then is mis- ery now ay, hopeless despair. Towards the north we looked away over the hills of Galilee to the snowy peaks of Lebanon and the regions of Damascus. Nestling at our feet were the little towns 182 LETTERS FROM HELL. of Galilee, Cana, Nazareth, and Nain, with their holy memories. Westward lay the plain of Esdraelon, steeped in charm, with Carmel beyond, and the sea suf- fused with the light of the setting sun. Brook Kison, winding through the valley like a ribbon of sheen, guides the eye to the headland overhanging the Mediterranean. Turning to the east your gaze is captured by the beauty of Lake Gennesareth, with the small town of Tiberias, now in ruins. Not far off is Capernaum, and beyond the lake the desert where Christ fed the multitude. To the south are Mount Hermon and the hills of Samaria. Farther still, beyond Jericho, the lonely height where the Son of God fasted and was tempted by Satan. Your eye wanders away over Jordan to Bethabara, where John baptized ; over the Red Sea to Mount Nebo, in the land of the Moabites, where Moses died ; and in the distant haze you descry the boundless desert of Arabia. The sun was sinking nay, it fell into the sea, glow- ing like a ball of flame, and sudden darkness overspread the land. But our people had been busy, a tent \vas ready to receive my mother and Lily, for we intended to spend the night on Tabor. Our mules enjoyed their liberty and the succulent grass. A fire had been lit with odoriferous branches of cedar, and a simple supper was being prepared. Every hand was busy, excepting the Turks, our escort, who looked on, lazily contemplative, enjoying their evening hookah. Those sunset scenes making ready for the night, how soothing they had always been to my restless soul ! But that evening on the Mount in Galilee was one of the last restful evenings I knew on earth. When darkness had set in we lit more fires and placed the necessary outposts, for nowhere in the Holy Land is one safe from an attack of Bedouins. But it was easy to secure our position here ; the place was a fortress in itself. Having retired within the tent, we passed an hour by the subdued glow of a lamp, Lily presently taking her Bible and reading to us the story of the Transfiguration. Her voice to me was ever as " a cool hand laid on an aching brow," sufficient in itself to attune my soul to worship. I listened, anxious to listen. Yet it was but as a transient breath of even in a sultry atmosphere ; my LETTERS FROM HELL. 183 spirit soon would flag, fluttering helplessly, and unable to rise. " Do you feel comfortable, Lily ? " said I, on wishing her good-night. " O yes," she replied, with one of her happy smiles ; " I should like to live and die here." I knew from her manner, and her eyes told me, that she had more to say. I bent my ear, and she whispered : " Do not forget to say your prayers, Philip, on lying down to-night ! Remember that our Lord prayed here for you also ! " A breath of life to touch me my soul raised her wings. I went out deeply moved. My couch was prepared just outside the tent. I laid myself down wrapped in a burnous ; but not to dispose myself to sleep at once. I must say my prayers. A prayer from the heart I think I had not known since the days of my childhood. Of late I had been trying, but always felt that something was wanting alas, not merely something, but the thing that constitutes prayer uplift- ing the heart toward God. I really endeavored to collect my thoughts, but hither and thither they roamed against my will. It seemed vain for me to fold my hands, to move my lips the spirit of prayer was absent. And yet I could not think of sleeping without first having prayed ! Stillness seemed to have settled within the tent ; but I, outside, could not rest rne and be still. I looked up, wakeful, toward the starry sky. It seemed so near ; but there was no peace in that feeling. It oppressed me the enclosing firmament was like a prison. The voices of night began to work on my fancy, and restlessness fevered my blood. There were sounds all about me wild boars breaking through the brushwood, and jackals howling in the plain ; the call of a night-bird in the trees mingled with the strange gruntings of the sleeping Turks, who in dreamful unease added their share to the concert of discord that filled my ear. It was midnight. My repeater announced it as clearly as a church bell,*I thought. I tossed impatiently, gazing into the dying embers. There was something quieting in the sinking glow it held me still. And presently I thought I heard Lily's voice, reading how the Saviour was transfigured on the Mount. Yea, and I saw Him 184 LKTTERS FROM Hill. standing between Moses and Elias in heavenly glory. Upon that vision I closed my eyes. And behold my soul had been praying ! The spirit, freed for a moment from the trammels of the flesh, had risen to him. I could sleep now, and slept quietly till dawn. The glow was deepening on the heights of Ashtaroth, beyond the sea of Galilee, as I approached the northern slope. I was standing by a choked-up cistern, awaiting the yet veiled glory with eyes riveted on the eastern sky when a light figure came up behind me. It was Lily, quietly putting her arm within mine. We spoke not, but together we gazed toward the far shore of morning that' overflowed with light. How sacred was its calm ! But now the sun appeared, a wellspring of splendor, flashing from height to height, nd setting a halo on Carmel : for the west lay steeped in wonder, and the sea caught every sparkling beam. "Oh, Philip, surely this is the beauty of holiness," whispered Lily ; " let us praise the Lord ! " I had no words, but wrapped my burnous about her, for a cold wind swept the Mount. The valleys lay yet hidden in mist and darkness, but there seemed a fluttering movement in the cloudy cov- erlet a sudden rent, and through it appeared a shining cupola and the white glittering walls of a little town, like a revelation from another world. " Nazareth ! " cried Lily, in happy surprise. " O Philip, look ! we have it all here ; sweet gracious Nazareth and holy Tabor. He humbled Himself, yet was the beloved Son, in whom the Father was well pleased." She only said He as the thought of Him moved in her heart, filling her soul. I had no need to ask her meaning. How wide were her sympathies, how keen her perception of beauty, but her deepest life owned Him Lord, and Him alone. The sun having fully risen, we walked back to the tent. " It is here He was transfigured," said Lily, presently, stopping short and looking about her with reverential awe; "but not yet had He accomplished what He had come to do the will of His Father, to the death, even on the Cross. Not yet had He drunk the bitter cup Gethsemane, Gabbatha, Golgotha ! But here for a LETTERS FROM HELL. 185 moment He was uplifted into the glory that awaited Him at the right hand of God ; and thus strengthened He went forth to the humiliation and suffering that lay before Him. Philip," she added, "is not this a holy example for all God's children? We, too, have a path of sorrow to tread, many a trial to go through ; but we, too, may have a foretaste of the joy to come, the perfect liberty promised, and it may help us to reach the end. Without this grace divine many a burdened soul might fail on the road, for life seems hard at times. We have been strengthened by a vision on this mount ; . . . my heart is very full. My spirit rejoices ; ... let me join in the new song to the glory of the Lamb ! " Was that Lily ? Yet it was not for the first time she had spoken out the fullness that moved her. Every day of late had made her more fit for heaven ; even I saw it. But I trembled at the inward beauty she unfolded, which seemed one with her ardent desire to go behind the veil. " I cannot help telling you, dear," she continued, clinging to me for support. " I feel as if I could not breathe again down there in the everyday world. It is a happy feeling, yet fraught with pain. I do not say I would give the rest of my life, but I would give much for a few quiet days up here ! " " Would it really make you happy, Lily ? " said I, sadly. " Oh yes, Philip, and well too ! I seem to breathe easier, and my heart is free." " Well, then, ask mother about it. I am satisfied with whatever pleases you, sweetest Lily.' The mountain seemed astir now, and the encampment full of life. Our people were wide awake, Turks and all; some making coffee, others baking cakes of wheat or maize on heated stones; others again tending the animals or polishing their arms. The Turks looked on compla- cently. Having accomplished their matutinal devotions, they lighted their pipes and allowed others to do the work. But there was life too beyond the camp herds of goats browsing far and near. A cool wind played about the tree tops, and the flowers looked more gay in the light of morning. My mother raised no objection to Lily's desire ; she 1 86 LETTERS FROM HELL. had been strangely ready of late to humor her, from a feeling perhaps that we should not have her much longer. So we remained, and we all liked it. It was, to tell the truth, a charming mode of spending a few days camping gipsy fashion on so lovely a spot, high above the work-a-day world, with a view over all the land the Holy Land in the purest of atmospheres, amid scenes of nature, rich, balmy, and fragrant as Eden itself, and in absolute calm. It was a time of blessing, truly. And Lily revived; there was no troubled beating of the heart, no sudden throbbing of the pulse I knew, for often would I hold the dear little hand quietly nestling within mine no tell-tale flushes dying away in pallor. Her face wore a delicate bloom. I almost believed in the wonder-working power of the sacred Mount. I was myself again, casting fears to the wind, and adding my share to the happiness of the moment. In the course of the forenoon pilgrims of every hue and nation arrived, with cripples and sufferers in the rear. Fortunately, our encampment was at some dis- tance from the actual sanctuary, which saved us from being overrun. It was a sad and almost sickening sight ; but Lily did not think so. On the contrary, she was all sympathy, yearning to help where she could. To the poor she offered money, to the sick medicine, the com- fort of a helpful word to all. Love trembled in her eyes, gathering sweetly at her lashes. How beautiful she was, her dress half eastern and altogether charming ; how lovely she looked, gliding about from one miserable pilgrim to another ; and they all understood her, know- ing never a word of her language ! Towards evening I received a visit from the chief who had undertaken to be responsible for our safety from Nazareth to Samaria. He had been hunting on the Mount, and was now coming with a splendid retinue to pay his respects to me, and present me with a wild boar he had killed. Of course I had to return the compli- ment, and indeed his attention to me was worthy of an acknowledgment. True, he robbed me of the precious evening I had intended to spend alone with my mother and Lily, instead of which I now was obliged to play the amiable host, presiding at an extemporized feast. I did my best in conversation too, which, helped on by a LETTERS FROM HELL. 157 dragoman, was a pattern of flowery speeches. One com- fort was left Lily watched us from the distance, and seemed intensely amused. The Emir on quitting expressed himself highly sensible of my attempts to do him honor ; and with thankworthy politeness he pitched his camp half-way down the Mount, leaving the upper domain to ourselves. But enough ! It is no healthy craving that urges me to enlarge upon this sort of thing amid the horrors of hell. You may turn for the rest of it to Chateaubriand or Lamartine if you like. Fool fool that I am, even in the realms of death ! LETTER XXIV. ADVENTURES of all kind are of daily occurrence here, but they are void of interest. Like everything else in hell they mock us with emptiness mere shadows of things left behind. Not long ago, at a lonesome spot, a young woman flung herself into my arms, not for love of me, but for horror of another. She was being pursued, and a sensation of fear, natural to her sex, startled her into a show of weak- ness. It was foolish in her ; she might have known that she could not really be harmed, and that whatever cause of fear there might be, I had no power to help her. But such things will happen here ; we live in the notions brought hither from the world, no matter how clearly we see them to be meaningless. It was quite conceivable, then, that the tender creature I held in my arms should have been sufficiently distressed to seek the protection of my manhood. I gave her time to recover herself, and then inquired into the nature of her alarm. She lifted a pair of eyes to me, tenderly trustful, like a turtle dove's, but trembling afresh, as if the very question were too much for her shy and gentle disposition. However, she found courage to reply : " He is always after me. I do not know his name he is seeking for Beatrice. He fancies I am she." J knew at once whom she meant. That man is one of 1 88 LETTERS FROM HELL. the public characters in hell, if I may say so. It is an ill-chosen expression, but descriptive terms acquired in the world are apt to be inadequate here. In hell %11 are public, yet none is so in the sense you would attach to that word. What I mean to convey is simply this, that the man she spoke of is known throughout the regions of hell, pointed at by young and old ; and that wherever he goes he is mocked with his own constant cry : " Where is Beatrice ? Can any one tell me where to find her ? " This question is for ever in his mouth. Beatrice seems his one thought, and the getting hold of her his mania. He is convinced she must be in hell ; "for," says he but let me cast a veil over the poor girl's history. Enough that he seeks her with such brutish eagerness as I have not known even in this place. But he looks for her in vain. Were it possible for him to find her, even hell would shudder at the probable deed. He is one of the most repulsive beings I have met, and that, surely, means a good deal here. He must be vice personified, all human feelings burnt out of him ; nothing remaining but the one wild inhuman passion that has possessed him. * And then the horrible wounds disfiguring his body, his life-blood forever gushing through every one of them ! He is a refuse of the vilest in hell. No wonder that the poor shame-faced creature was filled with horror at the sight of him. " Then you are not Beatrice ?" I said. " No," she replied, with the meekest of looks. " I am Emily." Our acquaintance did not proceed farther on that occasion ; but I somehow felt sure I should meet her again. Having left her for the present, I could not but occupy my mind with her. How was it possible, I thought, that such a creature as this Emily should have come to hell ? She seemed an image of fairest womanhood. True, beauty alone is no safeguard ; on the contrary, some of the most favored in this respect would seem to be here. But her utter gentleness and simple-hearted sweetness her modest bearing must be genuine, I thought. A veil of purity seemed to be cast about her, despising dissimu- lation. There was a grace not only in her face and figure, but in her every movement, that might well claim LETTERS FROM HELL. 189 to be the garment of an innocent soul. And then, so young a very child to the world, surely. She might be nineteen, but one would hardly credit even that. I saw she had been married, for she wore a ring ; but she looked hardly growi; up. Now, the true simplicity of innocence is admired by the most worldly even how justly so may be inferred from the fact that it does not exist here. It is rare on earth ; but some women seem to preserve the heart of childhood in spite of the prompt- ings of the flesh and the devil. Family, to all appearance, seemed to be one of these chosen few. As a grown child she looked whose feet could never have been soiled with the mire of the world. How, then, did she come to wake in hell ? Involuntarily I thought of the awful truth that the heart is unclean by nature, no matter what graces may twine about it, and though its lot be cast in the fairest of paths. I met her again before long, and, unnoticed by her, watched her at leisure. She sat apart, deeply engrossed and offering a sight both attractive and singular. Her attire was of cloister-like simplicity, utterly white, the ample folds enveloping her slender form, purely white from top to toe, without a shadow of coloring, and contrasting strangely with the surrounding darkness. One thing only seemed wanting to crown the indescrib- able gracefulness of her appearance with the perfection of beauty peace which, of course, she had not. Her delicately shaped hands moved busily in her lap. I discovered, after a while, that a precious necklace occupied her attention, the pearls of which she kept counting, now beginning at one end, now at the other, but always stopping at the centre, and dropping it again to wring her hands. I fancied I saw tears in her eyes ; but that of course was not so. I moved up to her presently. " Are you la dame blanche ? " I said. It was a stupid question, since there are so many ladies owning this title. But she only shook her head, saying : " No, I am Emily Fleming." " Fleming and Sparkman ? " I ejaculated, surprised, naming a highly respected firm. She nodded, heaving a deep sigh. What could she 190 LETTERS FROM HELL. mean ? Was she some member of a well-known family ? But she, meanwhile, had replaced the pearls on her neck, sitting motionless with folded hands. I hasten to add that no one ever succeeds here in folding hands aright that also is of the past. She appeared lost in sorrowful thought. " Poor child ! " I cried, "you seem very unhappy." " Yes yes, I am," she sobbed. " I have sustained a loss which I can never make good." " What is it you have lost, poor Emily ? " " A pearl a pearl," she murmured, wringing her white little hands. " A pearl ! " I echoed a slight thing, surely, to be cast into hell for. And yet there are goodly pearls ! Was not there a man who sold all he had that he might buy one pearl of great price ? " Well, perhaps you may find it again," I said, anxious to be kind ; but it was foolish. "Do you think so?" she said, brightening. "But, alas ! I have sought for it for years and years." The memory of a promise seemed hovering about me, that those who seek shall find ; but I could not shape the words, and only said vaguely : " If you have sought so long already you may be all the nearer the finding." It was the vainest of speeches, but it broke down the reserve about her heart. She seemed to trust me, and before long she told me the history of her life. It cost her a real effort to do so I saw that well enough ; but the longing to unburden oneself is irresistible with us. And, moreover, the veil of secrecy is always being lifted here from every soul. " You seem to be acquainted with the house of Flem- ing and Sparkman," she began ; " perhaps the present heads of the firm were known to you. But my history takes me back ah, let me see for seven generations. How long it seems ! " As a light-hearted girl of sixteen I became the bride of Robert Fleming, and he brought me, a happy young wife, to the old family house. On the day we were married he gave me a precious necklace, worth a man's ransom, as the saying is. And before fastening it on LETTERS FROM HELL. 19 1 my neck he spoke to me about -every pearl in particular, adding a meaning to their value, which comes back to me now with terrible force. ' The large blue pearl in the centre a gem rather,' he said l signifies your wedding troth ; the deep red one your true love ; and that white one your innocence. The lesser pearls on both sides make up the number of wifely virtues each pearl for a grace and there are many you see. And that which holds them together, making them your own precious adornment, is chastity and womanly honor.' " With his own hand he fastened the costly gift on my neck. His words had impressed me but slightly ; I was young and delighted in the splendid ornament. But, alas ! the time came when I could but remember them in tears. . . . Look at my necklace ! The pearls are all there, but the central gem is missing. And the loss of that pearl has ruined me. " Did I love my husband ? I do not know what to say honestly. Perhaps I did not love him as I might have loved another. But I must own that wedded life at first seemed happy ; he loved me, and two sweet little babies crowned our union. "All went well till a friend of my husband's entered our house a man as false as fair. I cannot tell how it was, but he cast a spell over me. Was it that I loved him? The affection I felt for my husband was quite different, and I am sure it was true ; but he somehow had never waked in me the intoxicating rapture which that other one called forth. I felt it welling up in flames of fire whenever he came near me. Was it mad- ness ? was it witchery ? I think it was a power of evil seizing upon the heated blood rather than on the mind or heart. It worked as a subtle poison ; but though a poison it was very sweet. In vain I struggled against it. Yet I can hardly say that I struggled, for although I knew those feelings to be evil, I loved to dally with them, and the will to conquer was in abeyance. " Being alone with him one day, he, carried away by passion, caught me in his arms. I offered no real resist- ance. I felt overtaken, and a sensation as of swooning seemed uppermost. Yet I must have made some invol- untary movement of escaping from his hold ; for the string of my necklace, giving way suddenly, the pearls 192 LETTERS FROM HELL. rolled hither and thither about the apartment. That brought me back to myself. He too seemed suddenly dispassioned. It was as though an invisible hand were attempting to part us. We started asunder. " Yes, we had been sobered all at once, reality staring us in the face. I drew myself up, requesting his immediate departure, and he obeyed. I was anxious to look for my pearls, and happily I found them all, one only remaining lost, the blue one of wedded troth. Alas! how earnestly I sought for it, morning, noon, and night, but it had disappeared as by magic. I succeeded in keeping the fact from my husband for some time, and I permitted no foot save mine to enter the fatal room. I sought and sought, but the precious pearl was lost. And at last there was a day when my husband saw that it was gone. It was a terrible moment! He said little, but from that hour a gloom rested on his brow, which spoke more loudly than words could have done. I under- stood it 'Thy troth is broken, thy purity lost; thou art no more for me ! ' " The false friend also seemed stirred in conscience ; he kept away. How it was with him I know not, but in me the fire had been kindled which burned with a hidden flame. My heart had conceived sin, and the wicked image would not be banished. I strove against it feebly; it was stronger than I. My inward gaze followed him spellbound; and with him was my every thought. Even in dreams I was his. That moment, when we had been so very near to actual deed of sin, had left its taint. Sin had gained an ascendancy over me, and I yielded helplessly in the secret chamber of my heart. And yet that heart had been pure before it knew him, and evil thoughts had never assailed it. Alas, how little is needed to murder innocence! The white robe of my soul was soiled. One only could have restored it to cleanness, He who would not condemn the woman that was a sin- ner. But for Him I looked not, groveling as I lay at the feet of an idol. "I fell ill, and even in illness my folly was upon me, burning within. The wild fancies of fever must have laid bare my inmost soul to my husband. My last thoughts on earth clung to that sinful moment that robbed me of my pearl. I was the prey of death life LETTERS FROM HKT.T,. tg^ vanished, and, lifting my eyes again, I found conscious- ness returning in the torment of hell. I have come to own the justice. ..." There was a pause of silence, and then Emily con- tinued : " Do you know what it is to go back as a restless spirit to the upper world ? No ? Then you are a stranger happily to a cruel law ruling some of us here. / could not rest in hell ; go back I must to seek my pearl. I have been seeking seeking these centuries past, but it is hopelessly lost. . . . " I cannot tell you what I felt on first returning, a dis- embodied soul, to my former home. I trembled as one on forbidden ground. " Not a corner of the big old house I left unhaunted ; in passages and rooms, from cellar to garret, I have been looking for my pearl, spreading terror everywhere. But the horror seems to recoil upon me, filling me with fear and trembling. Every inmate of that house, at one time or another, has seen the white lady looking for some- thing with a lamp. I am more dreaded than the near- ness of death itself. One old servant only of the present household seems able to bear the sight of me. He has seen me so often that I believe he has got used to me ; he folds his hands in silent prayer, and heeds me not. It happens sometimes that we meet and meet agaia in the long dusky passages, he following his business, I bent on mine, with that difference between us, that he walks in confidence and I in despair. But it comforts my poor trembling heart to come upon his well-known figure in the lonely halls. I have known him from his youth upward, watched him doing his duty in upright- ness of soul. His hair is white now and his figure stooping ; but the nearer death he seems, the more courageous he looks, and the greater his fearlessness in meeting me. He alone appears to feel no horror at my approach, nor need he. I have as little power to harm him as he has to stop me. I can only look for my pearl ! " I hasten to the well-known chamber. This is the spot where for one fatal moment I yielded my soul to sin and was lost in consequence. Here it was that my jewel vanished. Here, then, I seek most anxiously with inde- tp4 LETTERS FROM HELL. scribable longing. But the pearl need not be here; some one may have found it and taken it away. That is why I search the house, every chamber and every closet, peeping into my lady's jewel-case, and into the work-box of the humblest servant-maid. It is chiefly among the women of the household that I look for the gem I lost. " I flit through corridors. One of them since time immemorial has been used as a picture gallery. Here I find the lifelike image of the husband I so cruelly wronged. I dare not lift my eyes to it, yet I seem rooted to the ground there for hours. I keep thinking, might there not be an expression in his face, the shadow even of an expression, promising forgiveness and resto- ration ? But I dare not look for it ; I creep away, guilt trailing behind me. " Guilt and shame, for my own picture hangs by the side of his, filling the measure of silent reproach. I fancy that picture to be my real self in youth and inno- cence myself being but a miserable counterfeit. " The pictures of my children too, my lovely babes ! My heart yearns for them who once found their heaven at my breast. But, alas, they are strangers to me now ; they look down upon me with eyes that know me not. Them also I betrayed, robbing them of their mother's love, and they need me not! I drop my eyes in bitter shame, and hurry away. " Some seven generations I have seen come and go, the bonds*of blood uniting us ; but not only have thej learned to look upon me as an intruding stranger, but to shun me as a very vision of hell. " The venerable house has fallen into evil repute as being haunted. The family have often thought of leav- ing it or pulling it down, but somehow their fortunes seem bound up with that ancient pile, and quitting becomes impossible. They accept the trouble of my presence, and I flit about, a lifeless shade among the living. " The absence of mystery too enables them to put up with me. I am known to be their ancestress, and my sad history in all its details is a matter of gossip ; the very echoes of the house seem to whisper about the young wife who was so lovely but faithless. " The fatal necklace is an heirloom in the family. But LETTERS FROM HKI.T,. 19$ the central pearl is missing. A diamond cross has been added in its stead the symbol of faith, if I remember aright. " It is my necklace still. And whenever the owner for the time being is about to pass away, I appear by her dying bed with the solemn question, 'Where is the pearl ? ' " For several generations there was nothing but horror by way of an answer, and, dismayed at the terrible con- fusion I created, I would hurry away in despair. But an expedient has been found. The dying women now invariably place their hand on their Bible, replying boldly, ' The pearl is found ! We have this as a pledge ! ' It is not my lost pearl, you understand, but there is no gainsaying their reply. Ah me, had / found that pearl of great price which gives such assurance to dying souls, I too might have had healing comfort for my loss. But the sin remains, my pearl is gone, and I am left to wail in torment ! " She was silent, writhing in agony. But even now, though filled with despair, her face preserved an expres- sion of childlike loveliness and most engaging innocence. How bewitchingly beautiful she was ! And I thought to myself, were it not that she stands condemned out of her own mouth, and had another told me her story, it would seem impossible to believe it, to credit so fair a creature with such a measure of indwelling wrong. Behold the growth of passion ! It is but a passing thought perchance, moving the heart. Whence is it who can tell ? Whence is the sudden cloud darkening the fair heaven ? and whence the electric spark ? Your mind conceives ; and your heart, unless you guard it, will nurse the awful birth. The fiery influence shoots through your being. Your nerves tremble, your blood is aflame. And though quiet may be restored, there is that within you which at any moment may course through your veins afresh. For remember, if you had an ocean of the red stream of life, one drop of poison might vitiate it. Alas, it is more than a drop ; the tempting thought has grown to a power of evil possess- ing you a nature within your nature wild, lawless, and leading you captive. Sin has taken root in your soul, innocent though it found you. How far it may take you God alone can tell. ig6 T.KTTKRS FROM 1 1 K i I,. Watch over your thoughts, then, lest they ruin your soul ! Watch, I say, and stifle sin in its birth. It may be a small thing at first, but how awful is the growth, suffusing body and soul with poison, doubly dangerous for its seeming sweetness ! Has it seized your heart ah, fly to the Physician. Where is He ? Alas, my friend, I know not. LETTER XXV. SNATCHES of song keep running in my head ; it is not I who seize upon melody, but the melody takes hold of me. You little think what power of torment there may be bound up in music, and the sweeter its echoes, the more cruelly they fall upon the soul. I do not refer to memories that may be connected with sound ; they may be very bitter, but we are used to that and can hardly expect it to be otherwise ; it is not this I mean. But there is that in music which is. utterly discordant with this place of woe, producing a terrible jar in the soul. Harmony and hell the bare thought is enough to dis- tract you. What is music but a longing for the infinite, filling you with a foretaste of joy and beauty unspeak- able ? But for us the truth of such longing has vanished, since we are forever severed from that promised world, toward the shores of which the waves of highest melody will ever tend. Now only I understand the full power of music ; but the knowledge is clothed with terrible pain, giving you a glimpse of Paradise, and leaving you in hell ! . . . What was the name of that place among the hills of Samaria where we rested one noonday hour in the shadow of palm trees ? Was it not Shechem or Sychar ? The people there will tell you that a certain broken cistern, which still yields water, is the identical well where Jacob wept for joy on seeing Rachel with her father's sheep. Never have I known greener fields or more luxuriant vegetation than at this blessed spot, stern heights rising about you. The whole valley seemed a garden, rich in figs and mulberries, in pomegranates, LETTERS FROM IIELL. 197 vines and sycamores. The date-palm, the cactus, the aloe, grow in profusion ; olive groves at the foot of the hills, pines and evergreen oaks climbing beyond. But there was no rest for us by Jacob's well. The heat was intense, even in the deepest shade, and the plague of insects was intolerable. We were glad, there- fore, to shorten our siesta and seek the cooler upland air. On the road Lily told me a story. Let me repeat it. Two things, however, may surprise you with regard to this narrative, which treats of faith a weak wavering faith it is true, but seeking for strength. You may wonder in the first place that Lily should have told it, whose pure, steadfast, childlike faith never knew the sorrows of tempting doubt. Of course she may have read the story, but how she should give it with such vividness I cannot tell. You may be surprised, secondly, that / should repeat it who am forever lost to the blessedness of believing. For had I but tbe poorest remnant left, this very fact, I doubt not, would bring me within the reach of salvation. It is memory only which has a hold of this little story ; and though it may stir my feelings, the spirit is dead dead. Pity me my friend ; but you cannot understand the fearful mockery of speaking of things pertaining to faith the very life of the soul and having no part in them ! They seem to rise before me, beckoning me to lay hold on them; I stretch forth my hand, and lo, there is a hopeless blank. It is just like trying to call back a face you have known; you see now the eyes, now the mouth, now this expres- sion, now that ; but the living whole will not return to you. Yea, and it is a face for which I thirst and hunger even the face of Him who died on the Cross. I can speak now of this feature, now of that of His won- drous love, His humility, His grace ; but I cannot see Him the man of sorrows who alone could yearn over a soul in hell. But enough ! Whatever trouble weighed upon the spirit of him of whom Lily's story told, it must have been light and peace, compared with the fearful dark- ness enveloping me. 198 LETTERS FROM HELL. This is what I remember : " When the Apostle Peter took his last leave of the Christian people of Antioch, having set his face toward Rome to follow his Lord in death, a great number of the faithful, young and old, accompanied the beloved Father beyond the city. But they had to separate, weeping as He blessed them ; and returning to their homes, they yielded their hearts to the will of God. The apostle went his way. " But there was one, old in years, who, having shared in the parting benediction, yet followed in the distance. And Peter, perceiving him, beckoned him to approach. " ' Thou art troubled my son,' said the aged apostle, with winning love ; ' what is it that oppresses thy heart ' ? " ' Father,' replied the stranger timorously, ' is it not faith which justifies man in the sight of God, and makes him an heir of the kingdom ? ' " ' Yea surely. Canst thou not believe ? ' " ' I do believe, beloved Father, but I cannot tell whether it is saving faith. It seems so weak and waver- ing, and yet by faith alone I may reach to heaven. That is my grief ! I seem to be able to believe, fully and ardently at times, but not for long ; and again I am left troubled and doubting. Faith seems to be shattered to pieces then, robbing me of all assurance, and were it not for the blessed name of the Saviour, I had nothing left to cling to. I have known moments when I seemed to rise as on wings of trust, when the fullness of heaven seemed given me. At such times I tasted all the blessed- ness of believing that he who seeks shall find ; that he who knocks shall be received of God ; of believing fully that I, led and taught by the Holy Spirit, would never again wander away from my Father in heaven ; that I was bought with a price, even the precious blood of Christ ; and that His love would hold me safe to all eternity. I have known such faith as this, and, believe me, Father Peter, it was free from self-sufficient thoughts. And yet it cannot be saving faith ; for at the very moment, sometimes when my heart seemed nearest to the blessed communion of my Saviour, sin was at hand, and I fell grievously, losing the sense of divine accept- ance, and finding myself in the dust, bleeding and help- LETTERS FROM HELL. 199 less, and more miserable than he whom the thieves left lying on the road to Jericho ; but the Good Samaritan was far far away ! " ' Alas, Father, my sufferings at such times are great. The sneers of the unbelieving at the power of faith I could have borne ; but that the experience of my own heart should confirm such doubt distresses me greatly. " ' Yet so far I have always risen to my feet again, to renew the conflict ; shutting my doors on unbelief, and willing to be led as a little child by Him who came to save. But woe is me, I am not saved I think I am standing, and lo, I fall. " ' I am truly grieved at this my state, but repentance never yet gained me that power of the Spirit that might fit me for more real fellowship with Christ. Alas, Father Peter, my sorest weeping avails me not. When thou hadst fallen, thou didst weep I know ; but thou couldst rise from tears more firmly planted than before, never again to deny the blessed Lord. But not so I I fall, I weep ; I rise, I fall, denying the Master continually. " ' You see, holy Father, what manner of faith this is ! There is but one thing I am sure of, even the name of the Saviour which alone has never left me ; aught else is wavering and, I doubt me, no certain foundation. Had I not been troubled already, I must have been filled with fear and trembling on hearing the word lately Show thy faith by thy works ! For alas my works, if not altogether evil, are full of imperfection testifying against my faith. How, then, shall it save me, if this is all my hope of acceptance? " ' I look back on life, and lo, I see a continued struggle now in sorrow, now in despair. I will not say I have lost hope entirely ; nay, I know that in spite of defeat I must go on battling, remembering that salvation is not of man's striving, but of God's giving. But I am old now, fast approaching the time when no man can work. Dare I hope for victory? will it be given to such weakness of faith? I am full of fear, clinging to the one hope only that the Good Samaritan, whose name I have believed in, for all my backslidings, will come to me at the last to lift me in His arms of pity and carry me home. "'But will He do it ? He has bound up my wounds again and again ; will He accept me in the end ? I dare not 200 LETTERS FROM HELL. plead my faith, weak and wavering as it is, I am unworthy of His saving mercy. I have not loved Him as I ought; even less than father or mother, or son or daughter, coming continually between me and him. Ah, what shall I do to find his peace ? what shall I do to be sure of being saved?' " The apostle had listened in silence. His countenance shone with a heavenly light, his eyes seeking for things afar. What was it that moved in his soul, radiating from his brow what blessed memory of a day gone by? The Spirit had carried him back to the sea of Tiberias, and he hears the voice of the risen Saviour, ' Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?' And now, as then, his heart makes answer, 'Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee.' And his Lord repeats, 'Feed my sheep.' " ' My sheep ! ' He looked upon the aged man. Here was one of the Good Shepherd's wandering sheep. And greatly moved, the apostle said : "'My brother, if faith, being poor, cannot help thee, try love. Mark my words ; let it be thy one desire henceforth to show to the Lord that thou lovest Him. Let nothing be too great, and nothing too little, to do for His sake. Let love to Him be thy staff and thy strength, and thou shalt find peace for thy soul. Thy very endeavor to prove thy love to Him will make thee rich in the assurance of His love. It will fill thy soul, it will save thee utterly. Love for thee also will be the law's fulfillment. " ' Behold,' he added, ' how wondrous is His love ! steeping thee in blessing even while thou art sacrificing all. Whatever thou doest for Him comes back to thee. He never takes; He only gives, fulfilling His own word that it is more blessed to give than to receive. Yet it is thy love He looks for.' '"But what of faith, my Father,' asked the stranger doubtingly, 'by which alone we are said to live?' "A happy smile lit up the apostle's countenance, and he replied : " ' It will be well, my son, with faith even. Thinkest thou it could be absent where love lives and moves? Go thy way, and hold fast that which thou hast ; and grace and peace be with thee evermore.' " LETTERS FROM HELL. 2O1 Have I not spoken some time ago of a peculiar pain, a separate sorrow ? Ah, my friend, I have not told thee all. We are ever on the verge of despair ; a touch, a thought only, and we are in the midst of it ; it is incessantly welling up from the depth of our own heart, ready to engulf us. The mind at times resists with a frenzied power, but only to sink back in defeat. And the worst of it is that I am struggling as it were on both sides, offering agonized resistance, while turning tooth and nail against myself in maddest hatred. How long these fits may last I cannot tell ; it is not with us as with you, that exhausted nature herself yields the remedy. There is no nature here, but only existence. But the paroxysm ceases. There seems to be a climax of fury ; when I have beaten myself out, so to speak, there is a lull. But sometimes ah ! this is the deepest experience, would I could say the most precious ! but that is more than hell admits of, sometimes, as the waves of mad- ness sink away, there rises a vision to my soul, wondrous and holy, even the image of the Crucified One. And there is a sudden calm, despair seems drowned, and all is still. Not that suffering ceases, but an all-enfolding sense of loss has swallowed up the rest. I stand accused I hear a voice crying : ' It is thou, thou who broughtst Him to the cursed tree ? ' Did I say vision ? Nay, the very word is too much. I was a prey to longing, but I dare not delude myself ; such seeing is not for me. The hungry spirit imagined for a moment I see the Cross the thorn- crowned figure I look and it is gone ! Yet I seem to feel it present, if only I could pierce the hiding darkness. I gaze and gaze, but tenfold night enwraps the longing soul. Him who died I see not, but the Cross keeps dawning forth and receding. Beyond it I get not. I once knew the story, but it is gone, gone ; and the more I try to remember, the greater seems the blank. Tell me, ought I to despair, ought I to rejoice ? I see a Cross truly, though an empty one ! Did He not die on the 2O2 LETTERS FROM HELL. Cross ? Why should it keep rising before me ? Is it for punishment ? is it for hope ? Was not there something about taking up the Cross and following? Happy, thrice happy, O men and women, having a cross to bear ! Murmur not, but bear it willingly, lest the time come when ye long for it, and find it an empty vision the very burden gone. LETTER XXVI. WE were sitting together on a high cliff overlooking a northern sea. A few solitary trees stretched forth their branches above us, a landmark for vessels sailing by. Far below us, the murmuring waves broke in melodious cadence, leaving their mysterious message with the lonely shore. Evening was stealing across the sky with those linger- ing touches known only in the distant north, night hesi- tating, though the sun be about to set. Sleeping nature there is curtained in a balmy twilight, steeped in the tints of vanished sunbeams, and hiding with tender shadows both land and sea. In the north only summer-time reaches its fullest meaning, each sinking day leading forth the radiant morn ; darkness is not, but a dreamful dusk in its stead. Nothing more beautiful than those evening hours with their slowly settling calm ; how enchanting the stillness, how full of poetry the hushed expanse, the slumbrous sea at your feet, and the distant shore blushing with the kisses of parting day. But I was heeedless of it all, for she sat by me. Her deft little hands were busy with some needlework. I was to read to her, but the book had dropped from my hold, and I was fast losing myself in dreams. How sweet she was in her springtime of youth, just entering upon her sixteenth year. There was something unutterably attract- ive in that first unfolding of womanhood, so tenderly appealing, so holy withal. She was very white, but it was the transparent white- ness of the lily suffused with a faint reflection of the sun- set sky. The red life-stream of youth, fragrant and pure, throbbed beneath her delicate skin ; it took but LETTERS FROM HELL. 203 little to call up bewitching blushes to her lovely face. A wealth of hair crowned her ; it fell in silky masses about her shoulders, and her long lashes appeared to withhold a depth of beauty from your longing gaze. There was something infinitely childlike about her mouth and the sweet oval of her face ; but it blended with an impress of womanhood, a mystery to be wor- shiped. A peculiar stillness veiled her being a calm of life, if so I may call it ; the gentle breathing moved her bosom, and her hands flitted lightly about her work. She was busy with her own thoughts, which seemed to glide across her features like sunbeams, leaving a smile behind. But as I sat wrapt in the sight of her, the good angel watching me turned and wept. The evil spirit was fast gaining the upper hand. But even at such moments the pure soul of hers had power to subdue. Unconscious of aught else, no movement in her escaped me. I soon perceived glow chasing glow on her cheek, and mantling her brow ; her hands trembled. Signs of warning these, if I could have called back the better self. At last her eye met mine with a look of gentle reproof, steeped in dignity. The spell was broken ; a feeling of contrition swept my senses. The good angel was ready to lift me above the mire of earth-born passion. " Why do you keep looking at me so persistently ? " she said. " Why, Lily ?" what could I say " Do you dislike it ?" " I am sorry to seem^inkind, Philip," she said, " but I do dislike it. If you stare at me like that I feel strangely troubled like a bird held fast by cruel hands. I do not know why ; but you might as well look elsewhere could you not, dear ? " " Certainly," I said, smiling at the simple question. " But do you think I could harm you ? Are you afraid of me ? " " Afraid of you ! " she cried, roused to sprightliness ; "that is strange. I might as well ask whether you are afraid of me are you ? " And she put her little hand in mine. " Are you angry ? " she went on gently, after a while. 204 LETTERS FROM HELL. Yes I was, but not with her. I hated myself, but answered quietly enough : " When was I angry with you last, Lily ; let me see ? " " I don't remember it in the least," she said, brighten- ing more and more. " But come, we had better think of home now." And she took my arm, looking at me with her trustful eyes, as if to say that fear of me was altogether impos- sible. But she did not even think it : / only laid hold of the thought, and felt happy again. We went along the cliff. It was a rich balmy evening in June. On the strand below, the fishing boats offered a busy scene ; a few yachts in the distance glided before the breeze. And on the horizon an island coast lay shrouded in a mystery of transfiguring light. It was one of these rare evenings when earth's beauty seems touched with a reflection of heaven's perfect bliss. " Afraid of you ! " Lily repeated, reverting gaily to the thread we had dropped. " That was the strangest idea you ever had ! On the contrary, I feel wonderfully secure and taken care of, and the thought of your man- liness fills me with pride. I fancy sometimes that strength is given to you for me as well, that you would never allow any one to hurt me, and I say to myself, Who could resist him ? It must be a grand thing to be a man and do noble things in life ; but I think it is bet- ter still to be a woman and be cared for by a man who is noble and strong. And you know things much better than I do. They say there is much evil in the world ; it is sad, but I suppose it is true^ Now a man with your knowledge sees things, and sees through them ; he must be comparatively safe from evil, and be able to hold others safe. That is why I feel so happy by your side, as though I could follow blindly wherever you lead me. I care not to be strong and clever myself, since I have all I need in you. You are noble, I am sure, and ready, not only to defend those you love, but even to give up anything for their sake. I like to fancy myself in trouble and danger ; it is quite a pleasant sensation, so long as I have you near me. I am sure you would even risk your life for me, would you not ? You smile ; but don't think me silly. I am quite sure you are good and noble and strong." 'LETTERS FROM HELL. 205 Of course I smiled. My soul seemed lit up as with a thousand stars, dispelling everything that need shun the light. What a wondrous power that child had over me, lifting me above myself into her own atmosphere of purity ! I may well call it an influence divine. I seemed to rise from the dust and to be what she believed me, one stronger than she, good and wise, well fitted to be the guardian of her trustful life. O happy moment never to return ! The evening was fading ; we were not far from our dwelling. We had reached a place where we often rested, on the top of a towering cliff rising several hundred feet above the sea. At high-water the waves would beat about the foot of it, foaming and curling, and falling back exhausted. But the tide was low now, and the silvery ripples in the distance hardly touched the ear. On the top of the cliff a flagstaff had been erected, something in the shape of a cross ; beneath it there was a low wooden bench. We sat down, Lily and I, as we had often done before. The top of the cliff was still within reach of the parting light ; all about us land, sea, and sky seemed veiled in calm. We sat silent ; a sacred stillness, the peace of nature at rest, enfolded our hearts. " Look! " cried Lily suddenly, pointing upward. A flight of sea birds winging their way across the deep high above us, but it was so still that we heard them plainly. We followed them with our eyes till they van- ished in the dusk. " They are gone," said Lily with a deep-drawn sigh. " Were they not like blessed souls journeying to the better land, where sorrow is not, nor death nor pain, and tears are wiped away ? How they must rejoice. What long- ing what triumph ! " Strange to say, a similar idea had come to me. My soul was open to uplifting thoughts. The silence was broken. And presently we talked about the music of the sea the monotonous rhythm of which seems ever new. I compared the rising and sinking of the waters to a pendulum, measuring the ages of eternity. And we spoke of the wondrous longing in the human heart, ever reaching to that which is afar, above, beyond ; making it restless even in the lap of content, 2<-6 LETTERS FROM HELL. Again we were silent, and then Lily said : "How beautiful that the sign of the Cross should overlook the sea from this high cliff ! How the sight of it must flash comfort across the deep, cheering the sailor in time of trouble, perhaps, when he is battling against wind and wave. The white cliff will be seen afar, and the Cross must seem to stretch forth arms of blessing, sending the message far and wide : ' Fear not, for I have redeemed thee thou art mine ! ' ' "But, Lily, not everybody shares your feelings ; this Cross, as you call it, to most sailors will be a mere flag- staff." " Perhaps so," she said ; " but Christian people are alike in deepest feeling nevertheless." She paused and then continued, closing her hands on my arm unconsciously : " For my own part, I have often felt the power of the Cross, young as I am. I love to think of it as a symbol. Sometimes, when I am troubled, I need but call the thought of it to mind, and quiet is restored. It seems marvelous, but it is natural after all ; for do we not know that love for us brought Him to the Cross." " Can your heart even be troubled, Lily ? " " Yes, often. It is true I have everything to make me happy, but unrest often fills my soul. I suppose it must be so while we are in this life." She was right : the heart of man will be battling for deepest rest to the last. " But I have what is better than the Cross to help me," Lily continued, rising and leaning against it " His own dear name. Whatever trouble may come to me, I need but whisper that name, and peace straightway flows down upon me. His own peace so full of healing : surely it is blessed to call on Him in all things ! Have you tried it, Philip ? Oh, do ; it is so easy to turn to Him with all our griefs and failings. It needs but a word, a clinging to His name, and the blessing is given. I know it. I have found it so." No, I could not say I had tried ; at least never since I was wont to pray by Aunt Betty's knee. But . . . what was that moving within, stirring my deepest soul ? . . . Yes ... I would listen, I would follow and try. The Good Shepherd standing at the door it was not LETTERS FROM HELL. 207 His fault that salvation was offered in vain. I heard Him knocking even then, and His fear fell upon me. "Is it Thou, Lord?" I cried tremblingly, "alas, I am not ready ; I will let Thee in when the place is pre- pared ! " And feebly I set about sweeping and garnish- ing it, keeping Him waiting till it was too late. LETTER XXVII. MY letters are becoming few and far between. I dread the effort more and more, though I feel urged to write. I yield, but only to be seized with an indescribable reluc- tance, and I drop the pen in the midst of a sentence perhaps. This reminds me of Aunt Betty's letters luckily. That will help me to catch a thread, for I assure you the very sight of ink is sickening to me. But the memory of Aunt Betty is like a refreshing breeze. Now Aunt Betty's letters were a very image of herself bubbling over, candid, and sometimes queer, without the faintest pretence at elaboration. She had no time for thought or composition, she said ; and she wrote none but so-called confidential letters. But the fact was that her missives sometimes would produce the strangest confusion. I remember her coming flying into my mother's room one day with a letter in her hand. " She must be stark staring mad ! " she cried excitedly. " What am I to do with Jemima's paupers ? Was there ever such a misunderstanding ? " We tried to calm her, and begged for an explanation. I was a half-grown lad at the time. Auntie plunged into the subject. " There was a poor sick woman with a handful of children whom I assisted in supporting, while the husband served his term for housebreaking. Now, Jemima wrote to me the other day that the convict had returned that the wife had died, leaving him as helpless as any of his babes. Would I suggest what could be done ? " 1 did the nearest thing at hand, despatching some money and begging her to send particulars as to age, sex, 2o8 LETTERS FROM HELL. and the rest of it ; I would try and find homes for them." " The sex of the husband, auntie ? " I interposed roguishly. " Don't interrupt me with your nonsense, Philip. It is too much of a mess, and I am sure a great trouble to dispose of. Can you imagine that stupid Jemima sending me the whole lot of them bodily ? There they are in the housekeeper's room, eight blessed souls, imagining I have homes for them in my pocket. That hulking convict, above all things, smelling horribly of tobacco. What am I to do ? " " Perhaps you meant to write for particulars, and wrote for the family instead ! " I suggested. " How can you be so stupid, Philip ? I am sure my letters are as plain as ink ; no child could mistake their meaning. Jemima must have lost her head ! " The convict and his offspring, meanwhile, were solac- ing themselves in the housekeeper's room, overflowing with thanks, and nothing seemed further from their minds than the idea of ever leaving again, Aunt Betty meantime running to and fro asking distractedly " What should she do with them ? " However, she found my father coming to the rescue, and the misunderstanding proved prolific of bless- ing, inasmuch as the former housebreaker was before long started in a course of honesty, and his flock of children cared for. You have followed me so far, and I have told you that evil desires, vainly seeking to be gratified, are an ever- burning fire here ; but to what extent this is true you can scarcely conceive, not knowing how they are inflamed. It is imagination of course to which that horrible office pertains. Even on earth imagination may gain a dangerous ascendency ; but in hell it wields a terrible sway. It becomes a monster of tyranny here, the soul being its helpless prey. Nothing more easy after all than to clothe gloating fancy with a certain amount of reality ; bring the con- scious will to bear, and you have your desire after a fashion the table to glut at, the wine, the dice, the handsome woman you covet. Hell is full of such things. But all is worse than illusion. Oh, let me be silent ! It LETTERS FROM HELL. 209 is adding mockery to torture. You understand me, I think. The crime of Ixion and the fiery wheel of his agony form together a true symbol of the condition of multitudes of the lost. Can you doubt that I am referring to my own experience? Have I not told you that I was a man of sensual bent, and a slave to passion ? Do you imagine that either is mortified here ? Ah, let me refrain ! I am no better than others here, except, perhaps, that at times I am overwhelmed with shame. How is it possible for one who loved Lily who was loved by her to sink so low ! Yet there is one difference marking me out from at least some others. I have a sure means of recovering myself from the tyranny alluded to, imagination itself being the means to that end. Whenever the pure exalted image of Lily rises on my soul, all evil passions are assuaged ; the wild conflagration ceases, and once again I seem a human soul. . . . "I am so tired, Philip," she said, softly. And forth- with I stopped the mule that carried her. As a tender mother her ailing child, I lifted her from the saddle, depositing her gently on the mossy ground. We were near a bridge leading over Brook Cedron. " So tired. " Oh, the sad, sad story contained in these words ! But seventeen, and always tired ! I had closed my heart to the painful testimony ; I would not believe that so young a life might be taken. Yet I could not drivtf anxiety away entirely ; again and again I was forced to face the dread reality. " Life will probably ebb away in hemorrhage," an English physician at Jaffa had said. " Be very careful ; any exertion or emotional excitement may bring it on." And I was careful, keeping her as the apple of my eye. That journey through the Holy Land, undertaken at her own urgent entreaty, was but one continuous attempt to make her happy. She was the centre of a circle of love into which nothing harmful was allowed to enter. That I served her was natural. But Turks and Bedouins even looked upon her with worshiping awe. Ah ! deathless time, love and pain abounding ! Wherever we went, she found holy memories of Him 310 LETTERS FROM HELL. to whom her heart had been given ; He speaking to her through the Bible she loved. Nay, it was He that accom- panied her from place to place. Her happiness was supreme. " I seem to be in heaven already," she would say to me. To her the sun was rising and setting as in a dream, transfiguring all earthly things. The fleeting hours to her were as moments anticipating eternity. It came, the dreaded spectre, like a thunderbolt from a cloudless sky not carrying her off, but leaving me hopeless with fear. She recovered a little, but what prospect was there of returning health ? Her mind was easy, but anxiety with me was great. As a drooping lily she was, fair still and fragrant, holding her cup prayerfully while she was able, but fast closing her petals in the faintness of death. " Lily is tired," the Heavenly Gardener was transplanting her to His Paradise above. We were halting by the royal brook Lily remember- ing David and a greater King that passed there. The scenery is present with me even now every stone, every shrub of that hallowed spot. Moriah was in view, where Solomon's temple once stood, and that other temple built by Herod, where Omar's mosque now lifts her minarets proudly. To our right lay the valley of Jehoshaphat, deep and narrow, a cleft between towering mountains, the rocks on the one side being fretted with innumerable caves, the sepulchres of old, of kings and prophets. On the Mount of Cor- ruption to our left a poverty-stricken Jewish village clings to the steep incline. At our feet was the stony b*ed of Cedron, panting for its dried up waters ; the Mount of Olives was rising beyond, a succession of gentle curves, leading onward to Gethsemane. A group of ancient olive trees marks that sacred spot. The setting sun was casting deep shadows, broken by streaks of dazzling light, across the valley, the top of Olivet only glowing with a subdued radiance that was grateful to the eye. The place where we rested was in the shade entirely. A gentle breeze, but cool and refreshing, was playing about us. Lily sat still with folded hands, looking list- less ; she was tired tired to death perhaps. Her eyes closed. Oh how white she looked ! and pure as a dying Madonna. But more alarming than her pallor were those LETTERS FROM HELL. 211 sudden flushes overspreading her features, leaving her more white than before. The mule and his attendant had composed themselves to sleep at a little distance. " Happy boy ! " I said, looking at him, adding involuntarily, " Happy animal ! " The Turkish escort engaged for our safety lay smoking the inevitable hookah, in blissful ignorance apparently of landscape beauty or human grief. Silence was becoming oppressive. My Lily was not asleep, though her eyes were closed, and I turned to her gently with a question : " What are you think- ing of ? " " My sins," she said, looking at me. " Your sins ! " I echoed, refraining from what I was going to add, lest I should pain her. . . . " O Lily, my pious child, they can neither be grievous nor many." "Yes, -Philip !" she said eagerly; "there is no one good save He. We have all come short of the glory, but God only knows how much we have sinned." " But what makes you think of sin just now?" She looked up surprised. The gift was hers at any time to open my eyes. I knew what she meant. My gaze went abroad over the peaceful expanse. Truly what spot could be more fitted to convince man of his own worth- lessness ? I bowed my head in shame. " Dear friend," she continued, tremulous with emo- tion, " at this very moment I feel reproved ; even here wrong thoughts will assail the heart. A sudden longing had come to me that I might be spared a little longer, but I forgot to add, ' Thy will be done ! ' You see that was wrong, for we ought to yield ourselves to Him entirely, believing that our Father knows best, else we cannot be His children." An indescribably bitter feeling of anger and self-will rose in my heart ; what knew I of giving up the will for the gain of sonship ? My eye involuntarily sought the Mussulman, and the evil spirit said : " Better be a Turk outright ! " But chastening sorrow was at hand, and I said gently : " Surely you may live ; do not sadden your heart with such thoughts. O Lily, my good little sister, my own, think of ftie love that would keep you here ! " " I do," she said, with a smile like sunbeams breaking 212 LETTERS FROM HELL. through clouds, " love here is precious, but a better love awaits me beyond." Another pause, but I would not I could not be silent, and I continued : " The desire to live cannot be wrong, sweetest Lily. Let it be very present -with you, and you will see it ful- filled. God Himself has planted the love of life in our hearts ; it cannot be sinful, then, to cling to it. Do not wrong yourself ; there never was a less self-willed being than you, so unselfish and good." " So the brother's love would think," she said, looking at me tenderly ; " but you are right in this ; my feelings were not selfish though self-willed. It is not for my own sake I would wish to live I was thinking of others. Philip, darling, can you understand that I would like to live for your sake ? I know you will miss me more than any you, my one, my truest friend ! " Had I been alone with her I would have sunk at her feet in a transport of worship ; as it was I could but stammer : " Lily, I shall die if you leave me ! " Again we spoke not. But silence now was sweetened. I had seen heaven opened. Her face was veiled in solemn seriousness. I knew she was battling it out in her soul. But even the trouble of conflict could not cloud her trust in God. She saw the palm of victory, reaching forth her hand to seize it, for I heard her murmur : " Thy will, Lord, not mine ! " Yet the crown was not fully hers at that moment, it seemed ; she rose suddenly, saying with quivering lips : " It must be sin which prevents the full gift of peace. Surely it is wrong to cling to life ! . . But I am ready to go. . . . and I feel stronger now. Let us move on." I took hold of her hand with a gentle pressure, saying : I know not how I could frame such words ! " Lily, my own, it is not the world you feel bound to and surely such love as yours is far from sin ! How can you feel guilty and troubled ?" She looked at me, with a heavenly light gleaming in her eyes. I felt it at the time, but understood not such beauty, not knowing the victory it promised. " I do feel sinful, but not troubled," she said, " for I can trust Him, and He knows it. . ^ . Look, Philip," she continued, turning to the dned-up brook^ LETTERS FROM HELL. 213 ''can you count these pebbles, great and small? Innu- merable as they, are the sins of the world. But the foot of Him has passed here when He sorrowed even unto death. The sins of all were laid upon Him mine too. He has taken them away ; they cannot trouble me ! " We went on beyond Cedron, ascending Olivet, and reaching Gethsemane. The garden is enclosed with a low stone wall, and contains eight olive trees of great antiquity. The spot where Judas betrayed his Lord with a kiss is fenced in separately, and even the Turks deem it accursed. We stopped beneath those trees, the same, no doubt, which saw the Saviour wrestle in awful agony when He drank the cup that men might go free. Lily was kneeling in earnest devotion, praying for submission, and, I doubt not, praying for me. Peace was given her there and then, shining like a halo from her brow as she rose " Thy will be done ! " But my soul was barren of prayer. I felt ready to curse my weakness which had agreed to this pilgrimage through the Holy Land. I longed for our far-off home ; life there, I imagined, might have smiled upon us, whereas death stared me in the face at every turn on the sacred soil. We took the shorter way back, passing St. Stephen's Gate, and following the Via Dolorosa through the town. That road is full of holiest reminiscences ; the praetorium where the crown of thorns was platted and the Holy One mocked by sinful men the " Ecce Homo " arch, where Pilate pointed to the Saviour saying, " Behold the man ! " the spot where Mary, meeting her divine Son as He carried the Cross, fainted for grief and that other spot where the Lord, turning to the wailing women that followed Him, said : " Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your chil- dren ! " and lastly, the place where the saintly Veronica wiped His holy forehead with her veil. Here we turned aside ; but the road leads on to Calvary. This then was the Via Dolorosa ! A road of sorrows for me as well. But not of Him I thought who once went this way as the Lamb to be slain. I grieved for myself only, and not a thought of comfort I found on that road. How, then, should I be comforted here ? 214 LETTERS FROM HF.I.L. It seems strange that T never thought of visiting the so-called city of the Jews, which is one of the greatest sights in hell. It is not spoken of as Jerusalem here ; but I doubt not it is the actual city which bore that name on earth. At any rate, I can never think of it without calling to mind the city I knew. A burning desire laid hold of me suddenly to go to Jerusalem. What though it was a town of sorrows to me, I had Lily there. It seems in my power once again to see the places I visited with her ; to traverse the nar- row valley of Jehoshaphat ; to rest by the bridge leading over Cedron ; to follow the road of sorrows from Gab- batha to Golgotha ; and, if so minded, to lay me down by the way at the rich man's gate another Lazarus. And yet if that city be Jerusalem in truth, it must be a city ruined and undone. There must be a great differ- ence between Jerusalem of old and Jerusalem after its fall. But what is that to me ? Whatever the city may have come to here, it cannot be so utterly changed that I shall not recognize the places I once saw with Lily by my side. I cannot rest ; and though light be fast decreasing, I am urged to go. What though it be but vain imagin- ings which drive me thither, there is a miserable satis- faction in obeying the behest. But let me make inquiries first concerning that strangest of cities. Far away though it be, surely there are people here who can tell me something about it ! LETTER XXVIII. FAR away and separated from the continent of hell by an immeasurable waste, lies the great city of the Jews a world apart. And there, in perpetual cycles, the dread history repeats itself, from the catastrophe of Golgotha to the final destruction. Upon the sacking of Jerusalem the whole is engulfed in darkness ; but daylight reappear- ing, the wheel of history has run back, once more to begin the awful period. Any one entering the city as the night is dispelled finds the Jewish people overwhelmed with horror at the recent LETTERS FROM HELL. 2Tg deed. The awful words keep sounding about them : " His blood be on us and on our children ! " They seem aware that a terrible thing has been done that a terrible retribution is at hand. Jerusalem trembles. Those who have taken part in bringing about that most fearful of crimes ever perpetrated by man, but whose consciences are not seared entirely, raise the question whether, after all, He was the Son of God whom they crucified ; they smite upon their breast and rend their garments. Even the chief priests and elders, hardened though they be, are disturbed. But they flatter themselves with the consolation that the sepulchre is made sure. As the great Sabbath breaks, behold them going forth to the garden with Caiaphas at their head. Pale are their faces and bloodshot their eyes ; they grind their teeth, but Satan upholds them ! The three crosses from Golgotha look down upon them ; but not one of those men dares lift an eye to the place where they hanged Him on the tree. Where is their priestly dignity ? See how they snatch up their long clothing and hasten apace to the tomb ! Having reached it they seem satisfied : it is all as it should be. The watch is there, the seal untouched, and the stone in its place. The great Sabbath has come. But never was there less of Sabbath joy in Jerusalem. A cloud is upon the people ; they all wish the festal time were past. Their thoughts roam away from symbolic action. The un- leavened bread has lost its sweetness ; the blood of the paschal lamb is clotted in their hands as they endeavor to put it upon the lintel of their houses. The angel of death does not pass by ; he is among them ; they know it in their hearts. But see, they shake off the stupor. As a stroke of lightning the news has fallen upon them that the Cruci- fied One has risen. The words of life sound as a death- knell in their ears. But is it true? Corroborative evidence is loud on all sides ; there is no gainsaying the wondrous event. They hasten towards the sepulchre. It is empty, and the stone rolled from the door. Pilate is one of the very first to whom the news is taken. His evil conscience has told him to expect the worst ; and lo, the worst has happened ! There is a God to raise the righteous, even from the grave, and to 2l6 LETTERS FROM HELL. i destroy the workers of iniquity. Pilate trembles at every sound ; each moment, he thinks, must bring the avenger to his door. He looks for his wife, the abject coward, and hears her cry : " My dream O my dream ! Alas, that thou deliveredst this Just One into their hands !" But the high priests and elders are not so easily daunted. They quickly spread the tale that the body of the Nazarene had been stolen away by His disciples, who invented, they said, the story of His resurrection. They bribed the watchmen to accuse themselves before Pilate of having slept at their post ; and the cowardly governor is glad to accept the lie, thrusting the unhappy men into prison to ease his mind. But the marvelous account is not so easily suppressed. Again and again it is said, the Son of Man is risen indeed, and has been seen by many ! And the chief priests know not how to help themselves ; the high council forbids the very mention of Him who was crucified. By degrees the terror lessens ; life in the city runs its wonted course. Like startled sheep the people follow their accustomed leaders, and these fail not to apply the balm of self-righteousness to every wound. Hypocrisy flourishes yielding the fruits of death. The whited sepulchres spread the corruption hidden within, and soon the whole body of the people has sickened with uncleanness. It is fast becoming a dead carcass, and the eagles, the worms, will have it for their prey. Pilate has disappeared. There have been other gov- ernors after him, more capable of ruling than he. And the people find it out to their hurt. They are a butt to cruelty and derision, till they can no longer bear it. The flames of insurrection shoot aloft, the heated passions breaking loose ; but Jerusalem's worst enemy is within her own walls the fury of discord. Wildly the people rave against each other ; no crime so hideous but it is committed against very brothers. Jerusalem's last hour is at hand. The enemy storms her walls, breathing ven- geance and destruction ; the end has come of trouble as of hatred an awful end. The horrors of that siege have never been equaled. A night of death envelopes the scene ; the history is played out, to begin again with each recurring dawn. LETTERS FROM HELL. 217 The day was far advanced when I entered the city. The final catastrophe was at hand. The enmity within had reached its height ; hopeless discord was rampant. Hypocrisy and hatred against the common enemy with- out were the only bonds uniting the seething mass. Deceit, treachery, unchaste living, perjury, murder, and all manner of sorcery, showed their unblushing front. And yet to outward appearance it continued the proud city of David. Gloriously as ever the holy hill of Zion lifted her battlements, and on Moriah rose the temple in splendor unsurpassed. Piety in long garments stood about the streets, making prayers for a pretence : crowds of people passed to and fro from the synagogues. Devoutness in fact made itself conspicuous everywhere. Among the pious inscriptions adorning the dwellings by way of proving the peculiar sanctity of their inhab- itants, I was struck with one especially which occurred far oftener than any other, so that I needs must take it as significant Godliness is gain ! It seemed, indeed, as if the people were running after both these jointly, looking upon godliness as a means, upon gain as the coveted result, and deeming no cunning too great to obtain it. My heart quaked as I stole through the crowded streets. This, then, was Jerusalem ! Oh how different from the city I had known, and yet how like ! It was the same old Jerusalem of the time when the Saviour went about in it teaching and healing. The Saviour ay, at every step the thought of Him rose to my mind, to the forgetting even of Lily. Here surely there must be men who can tell of Him. But first of all I would follow that road from Gabbatha to Golgotha alas, with other feelings than might have been possible on earth ! I needed a guide, and stopped the first Jew I met on the way. But he broke from me gruffly with a sneer, so did another, and yet another. And presently I was buf- feted on even mentioning the Via Dolorosa. I suppose they took it for Latin and believed me to be a Roman. At first I saw in their rudeness merely their probable dislike to me as a stranger; before long, however, I could not but accept the fact that hi all that city no one could be found who had any knowledge concerning the Son of Mary. He was forgotten forgotten entirely. False 2l8 LETTERS FROM HELL. prophets had risen in His stead, to whom they had listened. There was nothing left for me but to try and find the way unaided. I turned away in the direction of Brook Cedron, find- ing the very place by the bridge where once I rested with Lily. On that spot I would rest me now alas, rest I could not ; I only stopped ! There I sat, silent and alone, but content was far away. Memories of Lily were neither more vivid nor more real ; longing only was increased tenfold. I had been anxious to revisit the holy scenes, and found them fraught with disappointment. But since existence to me was one great disillusion, what mattered it ! Jerusalem was but a grave, forsaken of the Spirit, estranged from God, a prey to hatred, a dead body given over to the undying worm. The souls peopling it were the ghosts of an awful past, living in the destruction they had called down. What could I have found there to yield me even a shadow of content ? I had come thither to find myself in a like damnation. Fool that I was to expect it other- wise ! But we never learn by experience ; we did not on earth we cannot in hell ! Faint at heart, I groveled my way back to the city, and came upon scenes of excitement. A new governor had arrived, the last but one appointed by Rome, and was making a splendid entry. I was anxious to see something of one of the most remarkable cities in hell, the city of Politicians, called also the town of Injustice. Thither I moved. On the road I met the strangest procession a most extraordinary machine being wheeled along by a rabble conspicuous for scarlet caps, and howling frightfully. On the top of the structure I beheld sitting as on a throne a man wearing the most elegant apparel of Paris fashion and last century style. The hair slightly pow- dered and carefully arranged, the necktie scrupulously white and embroidered, the velvet coat both costly and genteel, the cuffs of lace setting off hands delicately shaped like a woman's, the silken hose, the shoes trim with bow and buckle, would one not take such outward signs as the index of a disposition fastidiously refined ? LETTERS FROM HELL. 2IQ But no, he is satiated with blood, worse than Nero him- self, his triumphal car on the present occasion being an ambulant guillotine. Have you recognized him ? Still thirsting for blood, this graceful image of gentil- ity ; but hell yields nothing for the quenching of thirst, not even blood. He is always looking at people's necks, as shown by his compliments, such as they are. " Sir," he says, " your neck is very fine. Madam, allow me to congratulate you upon a lovely throat ! " Followed by his creatures, a very hangman's company, he likes to ride abroad among the people, upon whom he looks as a kind of raw material for his philanthropic experiments. But the common folk make faces at him, calling him a fool possessed of a harmless mania. No one is afraid of him now, for power over necks is not given him here ; the unsatisfied craving is his punishment also. Still he has a circle of friends and followers who share his notions with regard to the general rottenness of society and the need of sanguinary revolution. They are sorry for his disap- pointment, and whenever he has fixed upon a place for his beloved guillotine, they very kindly offer him their necks for decapitation ; the procedure, mind you, being without hurt or harm to themselves, the sort of thing which used to be done in Astley's theatre. But their good-natured make-believe cannot satisfy him, simply because there is no shedding of blood. It was a long journey I had undertaken, and I passed by a town looking a very necropolis. Dark and mute it rose upon a dismal flat. No window, no door, showed life within ; not a sound was heard, and though gates stood open not a soul came forth. Once, twice I walked around, not a living creature in sight. I kept wonder- ing, till a stray ghost explained to me the strange appear- ance. It was the town of the Inquisition, he said ; adding that not long since a. powerful king of Spain, with unheard of splendor and a great retinue, had made his entry into that town. "Shall I, or shall I not?" I came to the conclusion that where his Catholic Majesty had gone I might venture. But at the gate I came upon a placard sufficiently startling. Thus it ran : 22O LETTERS FROM HELL. "AUTODAKK OK TECUUAR INTEREST! "Whereas his most Catholic Majesty, the powerful protector of the Holy Inquisition, has graciously promised to be burnt alive, after most royal and exquisite torture ; and whereas six hundred heretics will wait on his Majesty at the stake : the sub- lime spectacle of their witnessing his passing to the nether fire is herewith announced, the setting in scene being strictly in keep- ing with hell." A strange announcement to be sure ! But no doubt he had come to his own place, that much-lamented king of Spain, and the town was even now preparing to greet him right royally. Should I indeed go in ? I hesitated Still I doubted not that even the worst in that city might be borne ; and, on the other hand, that placard exercised a kind of demoniac influence over my imagination. I must see that sight ! This, then, was the second " holy " city I had the honor of visiting, and in truth there is a peculiar like- ness between them. What the City of Destruction is to the Jewish people, the town, of the Inquisition may be said to be to Christendom. A shudder went through me as I entered. Automat- ically the gates swung on their hinges, closing with an ominous shriek. Those gates, strange to say, stand open like a yawning grave to him who approaches, fall- ing to behind him who has gone in. There I was in the town of crooked streets and death-breathing atmosphere. The high houses have the fewest of windows, and those are provided with iron bars, prison-like. Horror seemed to dwell within. Mysterious figures went gliding through the gloomy thoroughfares, wrapped in long " cowls, and hoods over their heads, with two round staring holes for the eyes ? Are they dead men risen from their graves ? And here and there a procession meets me, either of dismal penitence, offering the most horrible examples of fanatical self-torture, or of thanksgiving, more dismal still, accompanying condemned sufferers to the scene of their public agony. Pomp and vanity here also, for- sooth ! But the only thing which brings life into the stagnation of that city is an autodaft. LETTERS FROM HELL. 221 The inhabitants one and all are people who at one time or another were servants of the Inquisition. Others may enter if they are so minded, I myself being one of the few foolhardy who did so. This city of the Inquisition is as a grave enclosing a terrible secret. For no one knows who, in accordance with the verdict of an unknown tribunal, shall be the next to be dragged to most horrible torture. No one is safe, not even those who hold high position in the mys- terious community possibly the most zealous votaries of a fanatical church. The very members of the secret tribunal are not safe! for he who lately sentenced his neighbor to cruel and exquisite torture may be the very one to suffer next. Their fate lays hold of them secretly and swiftly fate ? nay, but a just retribution. They are dragged from their hiding-places and brought to the bar. They shall give an account of their faith. They are utterly unable ; no one can do so in hell. They are judged accordingly ; but, be it noticed, their very judges are equally unable to confess their faith. And now for torture! Whatever of horror, of cruelty, has been invented on behalf of the Inquisition, is all known here and applied to the fullest extent. The victims are disembodied spirits : true, but their imagina- tion is keenly alive to the torment. On earth they raved against hapless humanity ; now they rave against one another, each being judge and victim in turn. They /wind up with the stake. But although the fire has no flame, and although the miserable wretches are unable to burn, they none the less suffer in the spirit the excruciating agony of dying on a slowly consuming pyre. The end of all is horror unspeakable. Souls do not live here; they tremble and quake. Even I shared in the common sensation, although I tried to console myself 'that in such respect, at any rate, I was guiltless, having never joined, directly or indirectly, in religious persecution. But no matter since I was there, I seemed in a like damnation. How frightful was the silence the lull before an awful storm! For the city was preparing for the climax of her existence. It was plainly evident that the autodafc was about to take place. Muffled figures kept gliding from the houses, moving away in a self-same direction. 222 LETTERS FROM HELL. I need but follow them to reach the scene. But as my soul called up the picture of what was to be acted by the most Catholic king amid six hundred heretics, a horror fell upon me. I could not I dare not witness the spectacle. I turned and fled as if death in the shape of the holy Hermandad itself were at my heels. Happily I escaped from the town, the cold drops on my forehead, my knees shaking with anguish. I fell in a swoon as soon as the terrible gate closed behind me. LETTER XXIX. GIGANTIC structures in earth's parlance may mean the Pyramids, or the great works of Babylon and Nineveh, or some Chinese wall of later date. I have not seen any of these wonders, or their ruins either, but I venture to assert that their importance dwindles into nothing by the side of the growing edifice called the city of Politicians here. And that fabric is raised in a single day, meaning the space between one hell night and another. I call it a day ; it may be months, years I know not. " City," let me tell you, is an inappropriate term, since, although a dwelling-place of many, it is but a single mass, ever added to, but never finished. Between one darkness and another, it reaches colossal dimensions, to break down at last in a heap of shapeless ruin. Night puts a stop to the work, which is begun afresh with every succeeding dawn ; yet not quite afresh, the foundations being the same once for all. Indeed it is they which cause the ever-recurring downfall ; for, extensive as they are, covering an area of unlimited vastness, they are hope- lessly rotten. Who laid them is a mystery ; if one may guess, it must have been Satan himself. But however that may be, those foundations have survived through ages of superstructure and ruin. There are passages through them in all directions, and holes where the work- ers dwell something like the catacombs. The " city " then rises on this base. All the states- men in hell have duty here as master-builders, and of workmen there is no lack ; millions there are, hell continually disgorging them on this spot, and like bees LETTERS FROM HELL. 223 they bring their building materials with them, working together in virtue of a common instinct like those insects. You have heard it said of this man or of that, that his conscience is turned to a stone. Now this is no mere figure of speech ; such sayings embody an awful truth. It is a terrible thing, my friend, to have a stone where the conscience ought to be ! Every deceitful act, every deed of injustice or want of mercy, helps to petrify your conscience. And some people's hearts are so deadened that every righteous feeling has been displaced by a stone of that kind. No one is free from these dead weights, no one who comes hither at least, and some drag such loads about with them, that the marvel is they continue alive. Now this city is built of such stones. Some souls there are fohose one occupation it is to free their hearts of the petrifying load. Free ? but it is hopeless trying ; and though stones upon stones be added to the rising structure, the stony heart cannot here be changed. One finds this out by experience only ; but some there are, so loaded with injustice, and so anxious to get rid of it, that no experience will convince them. The head and corner-stones are furnished by the master-builders, the former experts in statesmanship. It is simply astounding to behold the overwhelming weights produced by men of their antecedents. Indeed, one requires the insight obtained here in order to form an idea as to the extent of treachery, injustice, and subtle craft they were capable of in the days of their earthly life. Among them are to be found the greatest wrong- doers the world ever produced. No one has a more unlimited scope for evil than statesmen, not excepting kings ; and their responsibility is awful. For a man might be born heir to some crown and could not help it ; but no man can be a statesman without of his own free will undertaking a ruler's duties. They knew what they engaged in and have no excuse. The welfare of millions was in their hand the power of blessing or cursing; and how did they use it? Look at history nay, examine the present time. They seem to believe, these men, that in the interest of politics, as they call it, any amount of evil doing will pass. Justice ? it is an empty sound. The welfare of nations ? the power of the state is more than that. They believe themselves 224 LETTERS FROM HELL. exempt from all laws, moral or divine, imagining God, if He judges them at all, will judge them according to some special standard of right and wrong. Treacherous dealing, tyranny, and armed force were their chief ideas of governing, no matter how many unknown subjects might suffer cruel hardship. And behold, the world's perversity judges them by the glittering tinsel of success, calling him greatest who out-manceuvres all others in perfidy diplomacy is the current expression ; but things are called by their true name here. It is quite apparent in hell that some of the greatest crimes earth ever wit- nessed were committed in behalf of the so-called higher arts of diplomacy, and that some of the greatest delin- quents are to be found among the starred and gartered office-bearers who are the right hand of kings; But the chief duty of these master-builders consists in seeing the profusion of material, their own and that of others, properly disposed. This offers real difficulty ; for each of these ex-statesmen very naturally has his own plan to go by. No two of them ever agree, even though they should find themselves stationed side by side. But sometimes they are separated, say a hundred miles from one another. Imagine, then, the circumference of the city, and try to imagine these statesmen one here, one there building away, heedless of each other. This is the reason why the state is never accomplished. I say " state," for the latent idea is to form a state, and when it is finished to choose a king. There are numbers of landless sovereigns loafing about the outskirts of the city, dreadfully anxious to be chosen. I have spoken of those miserable crown-bearers in a former letter. Our statesmen are sufficiently aware of the difficulty of their undertaking ; they are forever sending depatches in all directions, now cajoling, now threatening, as they hope to gain their end. And their ambassadors creep about from one court I mean building-station to another; but no amount of diplomatic perfidy avails, and nothing remains but to call a congress at last. But since there is no neutral ground in all the city itself, they fix upon a certain mud island in the black river which laves the base of this building ground. In order to gain that island they have no choice but to try the experiment of swimming. Now one would imagine our noble diplo- LETTERS FROM Ht.t.1,. 225 matists to be very loth to let the filthy water touch their august persons. But far from it. They like it ! (You remember that the black river is fed by all the refuse of injustice and falsehood oozing down from the world.) It is quite a sight, I assure you, to see them sprawling in the horrible water. They have reached their own element, it is plain ; and like a set of schoolboys in a mill-pond, they flounder about quite lustily. No sooner are they landed, however, than behold our dignified statesmen ! The congress is inaugurated with due solemnity, each plenipotentiary falling into his place with singular adroitness, and agreeing with peculiar suavity that a common plan of action must be arrived at. But there unanimity stops. Innumerable proposals are made and rejected, mutual jealousy rendering concord impossible. One motion presently meets with accept- ance : let each representative try and work out his part towards the general aim. Great hopes are aired, and the result is truly ridiculous. The completed scheme proves the most deplorable farrago ; but no one is pre- pared to give up his individual position, and the end is confusion. Vainly the most impressive speeches are delivered about the incomparable benefits of simple honesty in politics ; about the infernal balance of power, without which the greatest revolutions and most hopeless complications are to be dreaded ; about the eternal laws of the nature of things ; about the duties of politics in a beneficent sense, and the moral power of the ruling creed in modern times, which brands with infamy mere brutal force ; about the high state of culture arrived at in this nineteenth century, which alone ought to govern all social questions ; about principles of action which should not be set aside even in hell ; about sacred rights which must be upheld at any sacrifice. In short, no parliament on earth could develop greater bombast than a meeting of ex-politicians here. But result there is none, and nothing remains but to raise the congress. Before separating, however, there is the usual exchange of compliments a profusion of gratitude for mutual helpfulness and invaluable assistance in unraveling dif- ficult points. The congress, in fact, is pronounced a success ; the trumpets are sounded, and newspapers sing paeans to the deep penetration, the rare discern- 226 LETTERS FROM HEtJ,. ment, and ingenious sagacity of the great leaders in whom was vested the confidence of nations. The plenipotentiaries, duly elated, retire with amiable expressions of friendly feeling on behalf of their respect- ive cabinets, which, however, does not prevent thtm, in swimming back, from casting up the muddy waters against each other. So much for the congress. And the building continues. Time passes. It is long- since the radiance of Paradise has last been seen ; light is ebbing away. But they build and build out of their own stony hearts and consciences. The structure arises, an informal mass ; the higher it reaches, the plainer becomes the fact that it cannot stand. They have just about attained the crowning cupola, which is achieved by dint of innumerable strokes of policy when, behold, the towering structure collapses with a thundering crash, heard in the farthermost regions of hell! Each stone is flying back to its owner, and cries of despair die away in a common wail. Nothing remains but the gigantic foundation ; the builders have fled in horror, leaving the abject kings cowering in misery, like Marius of old on the ruins of Carthage. It is night, and hell is over- whelmed with the stillness of death, the terrors of dark- ness ever and anon being broken by the wailings of desolate kings. LETTER XXX. LIGHT has all but vanished. My thoughts keep wandering back to Lily My one chance of attaining at least a semblance of peace. How sweetly she bore up against illness while she was able ; what patience, what fortitude was hers, to quiet our apprehensions ! But she grew restless at last. We thought of return- ing to Europe as speedily as possible; she, however, entreated to be taken back to Bethlehem, and we could not refuse her. With all possible care we had set about the journey, yet were fearful of consequences on reach- ing our destination, though Lily assured us she felt better and only needed rest. LETTERS FROM HELL. 227 Hours she passed reclining on a little terrace by the convent wall, where I had spread a canvas to protect her from the sun, I sitting near her; indeed I hardly left her now, and may well say that I was sorrowful unto death. It was there that, for the last time, she told me a story, making an effort as though to prove her fitness. Her last story ! It was not the effort that overcame her her happy smile, the sweet cadence of her voice said so but death itself. . . . " The mcvTiing broke ; the mists of night that veiled the clefts between Olivet and Jerusalem yielded to the return of life. The Apostle James was coming down the mount, he who was called the Just, the brother of the Lord. He had spent the night communing with God on the mountain, even as the Master had been wont. And he loved the spot where his Lord had wrestled in agony. " The apostle was going home, but, quitting the olive grove, he tarried a little on the hillside overlooking the valley. The sun was about to rise, a fresh wind scatter- ing the curling mists. Close by lay the garden of Geth- semane; Brook Cedron murmured below. The royal city opposite lifted her brow the proud temple sparkling in glory the temple of which one stone soon would not be left upon another. " But James hoped to be spared the awful sight, for he loved his town and people. A solemn foreboding told him that he would have run his race before and won the crown a happy foreboding, for more than town and people he loved his Lord, and to be with Him for ever would be the fullness of joy. " He was about to proceed when a woman came up to him, young and fair, but plunged in grief. She was but seventeen. Hot tears ran down her check, and she wrung her hands. Falling at the apostle's feet, she implored him to pity her. Her husband, she said, had been struck down by a wasting fever, and was fast dying. Physicians could not help him, and they were very poor. He must die, alas, and they loved one another so truly ! " The apostle looked at her in silence, as though reading her inmost soul. He knew her, for she had been present repeatedly when he had proclaimed the good tidings of grace. But faith had not yet -taken root in her heart; she clung to the world, and the love of self was strong. 228 LETTERS FROM HELL. It seemed hard to give up the world in the flower of youth, and harder still to yield self. The old man con- tinued gazing at the young woman silently. She felt the power of his look, and was troubled. For with all tenderness there was in his eye a solemn seriousness, a holy influence over souls which is born of God. At last he spoke : " ' Woman, do you love him truly ? ' "'Yea, Father, with all my heart,' replied she' trem- blingly. "'As much as yourself?' continued the apostle. " ' Oh far more ! ' cried she, sobs breaking her voice. " ' It is well, my daughter ; there is a means by which you may save your husband's life. You may think it hard, but remember it is the only means ! Go about from house to house, begging charity for him ! ' " ' Alas, Father, how should alms save him from dying?' " ' It is not alms of money you shall ask for, but alms of time. All the days, or parts of the days, which good people for the sake of charity will yield out of their own lives, shall be given to your husband.' "The sorrowful wife thought within herself that at all events some people were inclined to charity, and that most valued money far more than time ; that, while cleaving to mammon, they wasted many a precious day quite recklessly. She thanked the apostle, and, gather- ing courage, went her way. " And presently she was seen going about Jerusalem, telling her story from door to door with humble entreaty, speaking of her sick husband whom she loved, and of the servant of God who had directed her to the pity of charitable men. ' Oh have mercy on me,' she cried \ ' let me not ask in vain ; give me a day, oh each of you,, and God will bless you for ever ! ' " But it was quite hopeless. Some laughed at her,, requesting to know if she were in her right mind ; others pushed her away rudely for even suggesting such a thing ; others again thought it a good joke, but preferred not to join in it. Some few, however, seemed ready to admit the possible efficacy of the remedy, but were none the less unwilling to assist in procuring the means. Their own lives were precarious, they said ; they had much ado LETTERS FROM HELL. 229 in order to provide for their families, and should not feel justified in sparing any of their precious time. But, strange to say, the very people who were known to waste time most carelessly seemed the least willing to part with even an hour. The poor young wife grew faint at heart, and the cruel taunts she met with from some. ..." So far Lily, and no further. One of those paroxysms broke the thread of her story, and before long that of her life. She did not recover the power of life was gone ; or rather, it was as a lamp making a few last flickering efforts, suddenly going out in darkness. . . . Years passed. Fifteen winters had gone over my head ; I was no longer young. I remembered at times Lily's broken story, and in some hour of tender emotion I was one day even prevailed on to tell it to a friend, who thought it so admirable that he fain would have known the whole. Fifteen years ! and how little had I tried to spend them in a manner worthy of the lovely memory of her who was gone. But, strange to tell, after that lapse of time, a stray number of some periodical fell into my hands. I was startled beyond measure on noticing a little story entitled, " The begging wife a legend of Jerusalem." Could it be Lily's story ? It was, indeed, not quite in the manner of her telling, but unmistakably the same, and no other ending would have seemed probable. This, then, is the continuation : " The young woman came to the door of a rich money- changer. Having learned her trouble, he considered awhile, looking at the matter in the light of a possible speculation. The dying man might have money, and no doubt was prepared to pay handsomely for what, after all, was not worth a great sum. How much would he give for a day ? a month ? a year ? Alas, the sorrowing wife must abandon her hopes ! her husband was poor very poor. "Continuing her way she met a Roman centurion. There was little prospect that he, a heathen, would have a heart for her, the Jewess. But he looked good-natured and she might try. " Indeed the centurion understood her better than she expected, for if he had not faith, he had superstition enough to make him credulous. 230 LETTERS FROM HELL. " ' My poor child,' he said doubtfully, stroking his grizzly beard, ' I would fain help thee. But you see this life of mine is so uncertain that I know not for a truth whether I have any right to call it mine. I may be dead to-morrow, and by Jove it would be wicked to grant away what I have not got ! Indeed I am not sure whether it would not be robbing Caesar of his due, for my life is sold to him. But I am very sorry for you, nevertheless ! Shall I give you some money ? ' " But money was not what she wanted ; she said so sadly, and the centurion went his way. " She next accosted a well-to-do tradesman, the owner of a carpenter's shop, employing hundreds of hands. That man was one of the ten lepers whom the Lord had cleansed, and of whom one only turned back to glorify God ; but he was not that one. The woman happened to address him with the self-same words with which they had called upon the Son of God ' Master, have mercy on us' ! but he knew no mercy. Turning to the busy scene in his shop, he answered, ' Woman, look at all this work; I cannot nearly meet demands, and yet you expect me to give you of the little time there is ! Nay, you must ask elsewhere.' " But she importuned him : ' O master ! for Rabbi Ben-Miriam's sake, who pitied you, pity me and my husband ! ' " The man had not expected to be thus reminded ; he grew red then pale, but found an answer pres- ently : " ' Well, as you seem to know that story, your request is doubly unfair. Don't you see how much shorter my life is than that of other people, since I can only be said to have lived from the day I was healed of that leprosy ? It is really too much to expect me to shorten a life already shortened. Get thee gone, woman ; time is too precious for further talk.' " Having left the workshop, the poor wife presently found herself near the temple. Now, filled with grief though she was, she forgot not to cast her mite into the treasury ; and going up she met the priest who, having executed his office, was retiring from the house of God. " ' Thou God of Abraham ! ' he cried, drawing his garments about him as she meekly endeavored to kiss LETTERS FROM HELL. 231 the hem. ' Thou God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, listen to this woman ! Am / to be the victim of her mad request ? It is sorcery! ' " ' I am neither mad nor given to sorcery,' she urged humbly. " ' Surely this is sorcery ! ' reiterated the priest, look- ing at her disdainfully. ' Beware, lest you be brought into the synagogue to be stoned ! ' " She next went to the house of a high-born Syrian of princely parentage, who had come to Jerusalem to enjoy his life. And he had enjoyed it, emptying the cup of pleasure to the very dregs. With his appetites blunted, he knew no longer how to waste his time. " She was admitted. Through an inner court, a para- dise in itself, where statues of whitest marble gleamed between dark-leaved shrubberies, where fountains played and birds united in chorus, where sweet flowerets steeped the air with fragrance ; through pillared halls hung with Tyrian purple and enriched with gold and ivory; over floors of Roman mosaic, and through doors opened and shut by slaves in gorgeous attire, she reached at last to where the lord of all this grandeur was taking his luxuri- ous repose after the exertion of the bath. She found him reclining on a couch with half-closed eyes. An Abyssinian slave, dark as night, was cooling the air about his head with a fan of peacock feathers ; while a Greek girl, fair as the day, stroked the soles of his feet with gentle touch. Both these women were beautiful, each after her kind, but that was not what the po6r sup- plicant thought of. Still less did she consider that she herself, holding the mean between Abyssinian and Greek, united in her own person the beauty of both night and day, with her warm complexion and her lus- trous eyes that the charms of these women paled before hers, like stars outshone by the moon. " ' Woman,' said the young man with languid voice, ' it is true, I care little for life ; it is a miserable farce at best. But why should I present you with that which hangs heavy on my own hands ! I see no reason. Phil- anthropy ? pooh it is give and take in the world. Now, what could you give me of pleasure or amusement that I have not tasted to the full ? I loathe life ; go and leave me to myself ! ' 232 LETTERS FROM HELL. " Crying bitterly, the poor wife left the house of the Syrian. " But hers was a sacred mission ; she dared not give up not yet ! There was a certain ruler who lived for his pleasure, and whose liberality invited others to share it. To live, with him, meant to enjoy, and, apart from enjoyment, the world to his understanding was a blank. He had known higher aims. As a youth he had observed all the commandments and had been anxious to inherit life. He was that same young man who came to the Lord saying : ' All these things have I kept what lack I yet?' But He whom he had called Good Master told him : ' If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come and follow me ! ' And that was not what the young man had expected ; for he had great possessions. "It was a turning-point in his life, and from that moment he ceased believing in an inheritance beyond the grave. He joined the Sadducees, who said that there was no resurrection, and became one of their most zealous followers. The poor young woman, therefore, could not well have asked of one more unlikely to give. The rich man replied contemptuously: " ' How foolish and surpassingly arrogant ! I have but this one life, and do you expect me to be lavish of it to any chance comer. Know that a day of my existence could not be paid for with all the gold of Ophir ! You have mistaken me, my pretty child ; you had better apply to the Pharisees.' " For two full days she continued begging from house to house, well-nigh exhausting the streets of Jerusalem ; but all she obtained was unkindly speeches, if not worse. "At the close of the second day she yielded to despair, falling on the ground by the gate of Damascus, tired to death and undone with grief. There she lay with a dull sense of misery. But suddenly the well of her tears was dried, a smile like a gleam of sunshine lighting up her grief- worn face. Fatigue was nothing now; she rose quickly and went to where she knew she would find the apostle. " ' Well, my daughter, and how have you sped ? ' asked he, with loving sympathy. - LETTERS FROM HELL. 233 " ' Alas, Father, men are void of pity. The world is evil, and its sinful desires are for self only.' " ' You say truly. Compassion is with God alone.' " ' Yes, Father, and to Him therefore will I go. No one will give me as much as a single day, and many days are needed to restore my husband to my love. I well- nigh despaired. But suddenly I remembered that I had a life and to judge from my great youth, a long life before me. O man of God ! tell me, may I not give of mine own abundance what hard-hearted men are not willing to make up between them ? My husband is half my life to me ; let me give him, then, the half of my life. Let us live together and die together. Or, if it must be, let him have the whole ; I am willing to die, so that he may live.' " Thus she entreated, the tears flowing down gently over her lovelit face. But the apostle touched her head with a hand of blessing, and said, deeply moved : " ' Daughter, be of good cheer ; thou hast found grace in the sight of God. Depart in peace ; thy husband is given thee, and ye shall live together ! ' ' This is the story Lily's last. Ask me not to describe to you the impression it made on me. I felt as though Lily indeed were speaking to me from another world. My tears fell on the page and I bowed my head, sorrowing not so much for Lily as for myself. One thing I felt certain of even then. Had the choice been given me, I would gladly have divided my life with her; ay, selfish as I was, I believe I could have given up the whole to save hers. For I did love her! But now what use was the story to me, save that it moved my tears a few tears which I was ashamed to show. I endeavor to conclude this letter by the fast-failing light. I tremble I tremble, at the coming darkness. This fear, I suspect, is chiefly born from a feeling that a night to come we know not how soon will usher in the day of judgment. Ah, fearful night, that will bring us to the day when the Son of Man shall come in the clouds of heaven! Lost.' it is a terrible word, enclosing all the horrors of hell. * Am I- lost lost forever ? Not yet, the forever is to come, says a voice within. But again, is there hope ? 234 LETTERS FROM HELL. is there a possibility of being saved ? I cannot say. Both yes and no seem beyond me. Sometimes I do try and cling to a faint shadow of hope. But it darts through my soul as a flash of lightning; I am utterly unable to hold it fast. At times, again, when I have gone through seasons of deepest suffering, a sudden calm sinks down upon me. Dare I think it healing peace ? But no sooner am I aware of it than it is gone, and I even doubt that it was. Of course there can be no such thing as conversion in hell. But I keep asking might it not be possible that all these terrible sufferings, both of retrospect and of present reality, had power to prepare the soul ; that perchance at the moment when it is called out to appear at the great judgment, it will flee to the Saviour and clasp His feet for mercy and peace ? And if it were so, what if it were thousands of years -hence, or tens of thousands, how infinitely precious were this hope ! Let me suffer, however long, if so great a salvation were possible in the end. Lily ! ah, I know that she loves me, with a heavenly tenderness akin to the Saviour's for His own. And if the power of love that wondrous mystery be more than a mere fable, there is at any rate this one bond left between me and life. For I know my Lily ; that bond will never break in all eternity. But a bond which will neither break nor bring about union surely cannot exist in the sight of heaven ! And again, could Lily be happy enjoy salvation with- out me ? That is another question. Can she be content to live when I am lost ? And will God deny her what she loved most on earth, what even now in heaven she loves most, next to Him ? I cannot believe it. So this leaves me with a hope a hope centred in Lily. Not because she has power to save me, but because she had beea appointed to lead me to the feet of the Saviour. Perhaps. perhaps it will be given her to do so in a future age. She may yet show me the Cross, even as I all unworthy showed it to her when she died. Did she not say vith her last breath that we should meet again ? And nth this sure hope she fell asleep in peace ! Is it possible that God would have let her leave me with a peace founded on an untruth, a miserable delusion, even at the LETTERS FROM HELL. 235- soletnn moment of entering His presence ? Surely it is impossible. So the conclusion seems to lie very near t but I dare not I dare not draw it ! Again, also the whole of hell is burthened with a feeling, veiled and but dimly understood, that there is a possibility of redemption before the final word is spoken, when all is at an end. Hope raises her front, however feebly yea, a great hope. And surely God, being what He is, could never let millions of miserable souls feed on that streak of light if it were mere delusion surely v surely not ! He is the God of justice, and we receive the due reward of our deeds ; but, again, He is the God of mercy and unspeakable tenderness, who can never delight in our misery. And He is the God of truth ; He cannot let us feed on a lie ! And yet, is it not possible also that delusion is part of the punishment, being, like everything else, the outcome of a sin-deluded life ? Ah> woe is me, where is that hope which but a moment since illumined my soul as with a reflection of eternity ? it is gone gone, like a false dawn swallowed up in night ! . . . . I give up. My heart would break, but nothing ever breaks here. Hearts here are strong to bear any amount of misery. No, we are not so fortunate as to break our hearts. I was thinking of something else. . . . There may be a hope left nothing certainly could be much worse. . . . Things are desperately fast here, and not made for rupture. All is cause and effect, past act and conse-* quence. Indeed, since the word " hell " seems to have become objectionable with well-bred people, let me sug- gest their calling this place The World of Consequences ! Have you any idea that I am writing in an agony of despair ? You would shrink back from me in horror could, you see me, though perchance you still call me friend.. May heaven preserve you from ever seeing me ! But I forget, I was trying to finish this letter: It may be long, very long, before you hear of me again, if ever! I still will call you friend, yet it will be natural that if all break, friendship too must vanish. Farewell, then, my friend. Please God, we shall never meet! 236 LETTERS FROM HELL. I wrote the above as the awful night was spreading her wings, oh how I dreaded its settling ! Every renewed darkness brings new agony, new despair. And as soon as the light has vanished entirely, hell is swept of everything with which imagination had endowed it : towns, castles, houses, parks, churches, clubs, and all places of amusement everything has vanished, leaving a desert void, and souls unclothed of aught but bare being. Hell is then like a vast dungeon where man and woman, rich and poor, crawl about in utter loneliness. While the light lasted, dusky though at best it is, one could arrange oneself according to one's fancy, having everything one listed, unreal though it were mere shadows of thought : still it is a kind of occupation to surround oneself with imagined possessions ; but this terrible night admits of no such jugglery. It leaves me naked, poor, forsaken, homeless, friendless a prey to bitter reality. I shrink together within my miserable self, not knowing where I am, or who may be near me. Nor do I care to know, filled with the one thought that I am in the place of lost souls lost myself. Evil thoughts keep settling round my heart, beleagu- ing it as the ruthless Romans did the unhappy city of David. This siege, too, ends with a terrible destruction, an agony of suffering, the like of which the world has never seen. As before, I passed the long night shuddering, trem- bling for outward cold, but with a horrible fire within. You say in the world, and say truly, that there are con- flicts in which even strong men fail. Alas, the hardest conflict now seems a happy condition, for here strug- gling is at an end, as being too good for hell ! There is only raving and madness here, a kind of spiritual suicide even, but no struggling for victory. The soul here is a victim, forsaken by the powers of good. Every little devil is permitted to fasten his miserable claws on the helpless mind. Understand me, it is a figure of speech. There are no devils in this place save our own evil desires, passions, and sinful thoughts. Satan at times is here, but, thanks be lo God, not yet has he final power over the soul. In this very night he was present come to look on the miserable beings he delights in considering his. LETTERS FROM HELL. 237 Though not always, yet generally, he chooses darkness for his visits. As a sudden whirlwind, felt but not seen, he is among us, and hell is frozen with horror. All the millions of souls then shrink together in an agony of unutterable fear, knowing that one is among them who never knew pity and ruth the great destroyer, ready to destroy them. And this is the dreadful thing, that, though certain of his presence ay, feeling it not one of us can say, see here ! see there ! You hear a crack- ling as of fire serpents of flame keep darting across the tenebrous space, snowing his path ; but where is he, the dread enemy ? His consuming eye at this very moment may be upon you, gloating over your trembling soul. I will be silent I cannot dwell on these horrors. Be it enough to say that again and again I felt myself in the very grasp of the evil one, who seemed to dally with my anguish. It took all manner of forms suffice it to give one : I suddenly felt as though I were a bottom- less ocean, in which my sins were swimming about like fish. And the devil sat on the shore, grinning and throwing his lines, using now this evil desire, now that, as a bait. He was an expert, catching fish upon fish. Suddenly the float disappeared, dragged down into the deep a good catch no doubt. He brought it up triumph- antly O Lord of pity, my own heart, bleeding and writhing ! It was horrible, horrible ! Let me drop the veil. This too is imagination of course, or, at worst, Satan's own evil pastime with the hopeless mind. But, never- theless, what is there more real than death ? and I suffered a hundred deaths in that night. At last, at last I know not after what length of time hell was given up again to its own state of misery rising to it with a gasp as out of a fearful dream. Then I felt it a relief almost to be but a prey once more to my own evil thoughts. Bad as it was, to be left to myself seemed gain. As before, the whole of my past life was unrolled to my sight, sin upon sin, failure upon failure, gnawing at my heart till it was but a single fes- tering wound. But with all this suffering, a longing was blended more deep, more burning, that any I had felt before. Not for the life behind me, the world with its pleasures was 238 LETTERS FROM HELL. dead, but for a living soul I thirsted a soul to under- stand me. Lily, my father, Aunt Betty from them I was separated to eternity, a great gulf being fixed between them and me; but my mother my own mother there was only death between me and her, and a won- drous truth lies hidden in that word love is stronger than death. That was the closest bond after all that between my mother and me the bond of Nature ! What in all the universe could be better than a mother's love! With a thirsty longing my thoughts turned to her O mother, where art thou ? And here again a great pain side by side with yearn- ing. How badly I had rewarded her love in life ! Had I not been her one and all ? but she, in truth, was very little to me. How wrongly I had judged her, often thinking meanly of her motives, deeming her cold and worldly a selfish nature to which the appreciation of society was more than the heart's goodness to which Christianity even was a mere matter of propriety ; in which faith and charity were not strong enough to teach her that self and the world should be sacrificed, but which hesitated not to sacrifice even the holiest on the world's altars to the advantage of self ! How wickedly I had thought of her, ungrateful wretch that I was! I grieved for it now; surely she had been the best of mothers the most perfect of women, loving and good! These painful thoughts unnerved me I felt weak and softened. "O mother, dear, mother!" my heart kept crying with the wail of a child. I care not if you laugh at me, but I had come to this I longed for her with the simple longing of the hungry babe for the mother's breast. For the first time the desire was strong in me to return to the upper world an indescribable power drawing me irresistibly. The ghost nature was fluttering within me, lifting its wings, urging me to go; but my yearning found vent in the cry only, " Mother, mother!" A faint streak of dawn. My eye fell on a cowering figure, ill-shaped and moaning, sunk in a heap not far from me. An impossible, frightful thought stole through me at the sight. ^ My soul heaved like a storm-lashed sea. LETTERS FROM HELL. 239 The figure moved and turned. . . . God in heaven, that terrible face, ghastly and distorted, it was ... it was . . . my mother's ! I dashed away in headlong flight I could, I would not believe it. ... But alas, my friend, what matters my believing it or not it was my mother ! Poor, poor mother ! This is the crushing blow, if such there be here. I thought I had known the worst but this is awful, awful! What more shall I say ? Words are powerless the despair of hell you cannot conceive. It were poor con- solation that, being equally miserable now, we might weep together, uphold one another, comforting each other in pain. But even that is denied! Tears we have not sympathy there is not; at least, I have not found it and naturally, since love is utterly unknown here. We can only cower side by side, through ages to come, ^ach taken up with self. Fellowship ? Nay, but it is worse than desert loneliness. We have not a word to say to one another; we dread to look at each other. Everything between us is cold, dead dead. We have our own agony of fire, each within the soul; but that fire which goes forth to warm another is as a burnt-out crater filled with the ashes of despair. . . . I can no more . . . fare thee well ! THE END. M A L A R I N E . SAFE AND SURE CURE FOR MALARIA TECE TJSEJ OF MALARIA is a poison emanating from soils more or less rich in organic matter and not devoted to the maintenance of healthy vegetation. The essential conditions for the production of the poison are, decomposition of vegetable organic matter, a certain degree of temperature, and moisture. It exists in marshes and swamps, where there is much vegetable matter ; in the soil of valleys and ravines, at the base of mountains, where surfaces covered with vegetation have been temporarily overflowed, during the drainage of lakes and ponds, in turning up the soil for new buildings, canals, railroads, etc. It is more apt to manifest itself during the latter part of the summer and autumo-than any other period of the year, and occurs after long, dry, hot spells followed by warm rains. Winds fre- quently carry the poison from one district to another. It is princi- pally inhaled and absorbed by the pulmonary membrane, though it may be taken in by the stomach, and not infrequently is absorbed by the skin. Malaria, by its action upon the cerebro-spinal nervous system, gives rise to a class of disorders known as Intermittent Fever, Chills and Fever, Ague, Dumb Ague, Remittent Fever, Congestive Fever, Enlargement of the Spleen, Congestion of the Liver, Dysen- tery, many neuralgic affections of an intermittent type, and the deteri- orated condition of the system found in individuals who have lived for some time under the influence of this miasmatic poison. The disease manifests itself most frequently in the form of inter mittent fever, ague, or chills and fever. Of this particular variety there are several types viz., Quotidian, when the paroxysm occurs every day; Tertian, every other day; Quartan, on the first and fourth days, etc. The Quotidian and Tertian are the most fre- quent, Octan or weekly returns not infrequent, others very rare. The symptoms or signs by which we may know malaria is present in the system are manifold. No disease has. ordinarily, so regular a succession of definite stages as Intermittent Fever, viz., the cold, the hot, and the sweating stage. THE COLD STAGE, or chill, begins with languor or yawn- ing; sensation of chilliness comes on, with chattering of the teeth, and rigor, or tremulous movements; the finger-nails usually become blue; thirst, loss of appetite, occasional vomiting, headache, de- pression of spirits, and drowsiness; perspiration absent. The duration of the chills varies from two minutes to three hours, aver- aging not more than forty-five minutes. sa3AWn - ?> % 3S. I I !]*, 11%^^ ^>ivr.a ft * = ~ ..^=