In the days of the Inquisition cruel men deceived the prisoner,
as pleasure and sensualism deceive the young now. With soft
words the jailer promised the prisoner release on the morrow.
When the appointed hour came he opened the door and pointed down
the corridor, and oh, joy of joys! yonder was the green sward,
cool with grass, and gay with tulips and crimson flowers. With
a shout of joy the prisoner ran forward to cast himself upon
the cool ground, but lo! it was a mockery, a delusion, a lying
deceit. What afar off seemed grass was really sheet-iron painted
in the similitude of verdure. What looked like red tulips and
crimson flowers was iron beaten into the similitude of blossoms
and heated red hot by flames underneath. Where coolness was
promised scorching was given. The vista promised pleasure; it
gave pain. And when a man or a woman looks upon the worldly
life, with all its pleasures of appetite and physical sense,
from afar off, it wears a brilliant aspect and a crimson hue.
But near at hand the scene changes, and lo, the honey is bitter,
all the fountains of peace are poisoned.--N. D. HILLIS.
(2392)