LETTER XLIX.

The Hon. Mr.Harringtonto theRev. Mr.Holmes.

Boston.

ACCUMULATED sorrows continue to break over my devoted head.Harriotis 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 these 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 weightof my affliction, I sunk down to sleep: 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—grief 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 sight, 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 serenity was painted on his brow, happiness ineffable beamedfrom his Divine countenance—Joy leaped in my bosom, and in the ecstasy 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—“Thisis 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 thecondition of those thoughtless souls, who, a few days ago, were upon earth immersed 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 dwell 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 longest—the merit of another that he could sing a good song—a third secures his fame by being excellent in mimickry and buffoonery.—How unhappy he must 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 ten-fold reward; and when he takes rank in that happy place, where there is fullness of joy, and leaves the world of mankind, what numbers are joined in the general concern of his loss!—The aged, while they prepare for the same 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 ofmy 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 souls of the Gambler—the Prodigal—the Duellist, 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 adjudged 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 all-wise Judge hath ordered the same passions still to inflame those ghosts, with which they were possessed on earth—Observe yon despicable crew!—behold the sin of Avrice!—those sordid ghosts are the souls of Misers—Lo! they eye their delightful bags with horrid pleasure; and with a ghastly smile, brood over their imaginary riches. Unable to carry their wealth about with them, they are confined toone 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 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 breath 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—immediately turning fromso shocking a spectacle, I suddenly beheld my once lovedMaria—“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 whereMariahad 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 oftheir 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 aroused me from my sleep.—

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

——’Twas but a dream, but thenSo terrible, it shakes my very soul.—

——’Twas but a dream, but then

So terrible, it shakes my very soul.—

Farewel!

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