_The Hon. Mr._ HARRINGTON to the _Rev. Mr._ HOLMES.
_Boston._
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 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 weight of
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
beamed from 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—“_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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 then
So terrible, it shakes my very soul.—
Farewel!