University of Virginia Library

LETTER XLIX.
The Hon. Mr. HARRINGTON to the Rev.
Mr. HOLMES.

Accumulated sorrows
continue to break over my devoted head.
Harriot is at times deprived of her reason,
and we have no expectation of her recovery—my
son is deeply affected—he seems
strangely disordered.

REVOLVING in my mind all thefe things,
and the unhappy affair that led to them,
the whole train of my past life returned fresh
upon my mind. Pained with the disagreeable
picture, and oppressed with the weight
of my afflition, I funk down to fleep:

These circumstances had so strongly impressed
my imagination that they produced the
following Dream—My blood is chilled with
horrour as I write.

METHOUGHT I suddenly found myself in
a large, open field, waste and uncultivated—
here I wandered in a solitary manner for
some time—gries seized my heart at the awful
appearance of the place, and I cried aloud—“How
long shall I travel here, alone
and friendless—a dusky mist swims before
my fight, and the obscure horizon seems only
to inclose this dismal wild!” Having advanced
a few steps, I thought a light at a distance
appeared to my doubtful view. Faint
with fatigue, I approached it, and had the
satisfaction to behold a person of the most

benign aspect—a quiet ferenity was painted
on his brow, and happiness ineffable beamed
from his divine countenance—Joy leaped
in my bosom, and in the ecstacy of passion
I endeavoured to clasp the blessed spirit
to my heart; but it vanished in my embrace.

“TEACH me, blessed shade,” said I, with
a trembling voice—“ teach me to find the
habitations of men—What do I here?—
Why am I doomed to explore the barren
bosom of this baleful desert?” “This,” returned
the spirit, in a voice, which, while it
commanded veneration and love, struck
awe and terrour into my soul—“this is not
the habitation of the sons of mortality—it is
the place appointed to receive the souls of all

men, after they have resigned the bodies they
animated on earth. Those who have violated
the laws of reason, humanity, religion,
and have dishonoured their God, here meet
the punishment due to their crimes.

“ATTEND me, therefore, and view the
condition of those thoughtless souls, who, a
few days ago, were upon earth immerfed in
pleasure, luxury and vice—Regardless of futurity,
and unprepared for their eternal summons
to another world—and who persisted
in the delight of their own eyes in opposition
to the divine law, and deaf to the voice of
reclaiming virtue. These, the sons of folly
and riot, are smitten by the angel of death,
while they are yet drinking of the bowl of
vice—while the words of blasphemy yet

well upon their tongues. And when
their unhappy spirits sink to these infernal
regions, their surviving companions
rehearse their funeral panegyricks—the praise
of one is, that he could drink the longeft—
the merit of another, that he could sing a
good song—a third secures his same by being
excellent in mimickry and bussoonery—
How unhappy must he be, who leaves no
other testimony of his usefulness behind
him!

“HOW different is the fate of the good
man: While upon earth his life is employed
in the cause of virtue—The happiness he
bestows on those around him is reflected back
with tenfold reward; and when he takes
rank in that happy place, where there is fulness

of joy, and leaves the world of mankind,
what numbers are joined in the general
concern for his loss—The aged, while
they prepare for the fame journey, delight to
dwell on his good actions—the virgin strews
flowers on his grave, and the poet consumes
the midnight oil to celebrate his virtues.”

THERE was so much benignity in every
word and action of my attendant, that I
found myself imperceptibly attached to him.
My attention to his discourse had prevented
me from observing the progress we had made
—for we had arrived at a place encircled
with high walls—a great gate, at the command
of my guide, instantly flew open—
“Follow me,” said he—I tremblingly obeyed.—

MY ears were instantaneously filled with
the faint cries of those here doomed to receive
the rewards of their demerits. Looking
earnestly forward, I beheld a group of
unhappy wretches—I observed a person who
was continually tormenting them—he held
in one hand a whip, the lashes of which
were composed of adders, and the stings of
scorpions; and in the other a large mirrour,
which, when he held up to the faces of the
tormented, exhibited their crimes in the most
flagrant colours, and forced them to acknowledge
the justness of their punishment.
“These,” said my guide, “who are scourged
with a whip of scorpions, and who start
with horrour at the reflection of their deeds
upon earth, are the fouls of the Gambler—
the Prodigal—the Duelist, and the Ingrate.

“THOSE whom you see yonder,” continued
he, “those wasted, emaciated spirits,
are the souls of the Envious—they are
doomed to view the most beautiful fruit,
which they can never taste, and behold pleasures
which they can never enjoy. This
punishment is adjuded them because most
of those vile passions, by which men suffer
themselves to be ruled, bring real evil, for
promised good.

“FOR this reason the allwise Judge hath
ordered the same passions still to inflame
those ghosts, with which they were possessed
on earth—Observe you despicable crew!—
behold the sin of Avarice!—those fordid
ghosts are the souls of Misers—Lo! they
eye their delightful bags with horrid pleas.

ure; and with a ghastly smile, brood over
their imaginary riches. Unable to carry
their wealth about with them, they are confined
to one spot, and in one position. This
infernal joy is the source of their tortures,
for behold them start at every sound, and
tremble at the flitting of a shade. Thus
are they doomed to be their own tormentors—to
pore over their gold with immortal
fear, apprehension, and jealousy, and to
guard their ideal wealth with the tears of
care, and the eyes of eternal watchfulness.

“BEHOLD here,” continued my guide;
“the miserable division of Suicides!”—
“Unhappy they!” added I, “who, repining
at the ills of life, raised the sacrilegious
steel against their own bosoms! How vain

the reiterated wish to again animate the
breathless clay—to breathe the vital air—
and to behold the cheering luminary of
Heaven!”—“Upbraid me not—O my father!”
cried a voice—I looked up, and
thought my son appeared among them—but
immediately turning from so shocking a
spectacle, I suddenly beheld my once loved
Maria—“O delight of my youth! do I behold
thee once more!—Let me hide my
sorrows in thy friendly bosom.” I advanced
towards her—but she flew from me with
scorn and indignation—“O speak! Maria!
speak to me!” She pointed with her finger
to a group of spirits, and was out of sight in
a moment.

“LET me,” said my conductor, “prepare
you for a more dreadful sight.” The increasing
melancholy, and affecting gloom of
the situation, forboded something terrifying
to my soul—I looked toward the place where
Maria had pointed, and saw a number of
souls remote from any division of the unhappy.
In their countenances were depicted
more anguish, sorrow and despair—I
turned my head immediately from this
dreadful sight, without distinguishing the nature
of their torments. Quivering with horrour,
I inquired who they were—“These,”
answered my guide, with a sigh, “are the
miserable race of SEDUCERS.—Repentance
and shame drive them far from the rest of
the accursed. Even the damned look on
them with horrour, and thank fate their
crimes are not of so deep a die.”

HE had hardly finished, when a demon
took hold of me, and furiously hurried me
in the midst of this unhappy group—I was
so terrified that it immediately roused me
from my sleep.—

EVEN now, while I write to you, my good
friend, my hand trembles with fear at the
painful remembrance—Yet

Farewel!