The Sleeping Bard; Or, Visions of the World, Death, and Hell

by Ellis Wynne

The Perishing World.

O man, upon this building gaze,
The mansion of the human race,
The world terrestrial see!
Its architect’s the King on high,
Who ne’er was born and ne’er will die—
The blest Divinity.
The world, its wall, its starlights all,
Its stores, where’er they lie,
Its wondrous brute variety,
Its reptiles, fish, and birds that fly,

And cannot number’d be,
The God above, to show his love,
Did give, O man, to thee.
For man, for man, whom he did plan,
God caus’d arise
This edifice,
Equal to heaven in all but size,
Beneath the sun so fair;
Then it he view’d, and that ’twas good
For man, he was aware.

Man only sought to know at first
Evil, and of the thing accursed
Obtain a sample small.
The sample grew a giantess,
’Tis easy from her size to guess
The whole her prey will fall.
Cellar and turret high,
Through hell’s dark treachery,
Now reeling, rocking terribly,
In swooning pangs appear;
The orchards round, are only found
Vile sedge and weeds to bear;
The roof gives way, more, more each day,
The walls too, spite
Of all their might,
Have frightful cracks, down all their height,
Which coming ruin show;
The dragons tell, that danger fell,
Now lurks the house below.

O man! this building fair and proud,
From its foundation to the cloud,
Is all in dangerous plight;
Beneath thee quakes and shakes the ground;
’Tis all, e’en down to hell’s profound,
A bog that scares the sight.
The sin man wrought, the deluge brought,
And without fail
A fiery gale,
Before which every thing shall quail,
His deeds shall waken now;
Worse evermore, till all is o’er,
Thy case, O world, shall grow.
There’s one place free, yet, man for thee,
Where mercies reign,
A place to which thou may’st attain,
Seek there a residence to gain
Lest thou in caverns howl;
For save thou there shalt quick repair,
Woe to thy wretched soul!

Towards yon building turn your face!
Too strong by far is yonder place
To lose the victory.
’Tis better than the reeling world;
For all the ills by hell uphurl’d
It has a remedy.
Sublime it braves the wildest waves;
It is a refuge place
Impregnable to Belial’s race,
With stones, emitting vivid rays,

Above its stately porch;
Itself, and those therein, compose
The universal church.
Though slaves of sin we long have been,
With faith sincere
We shall win pardon there;
Then in let’s press, O, brethren dear,
And claim our dignity!
By doing so, we saints below
And saints on high shall be.

A Vision of Death in his Palace Below.

In one of the long, black, chilly nights of winter, when it was much warmer in a kitchen of Glyn-cywarch, than on the summit of Cadair Idris, and much more pleasant to be in a snug chamber, with a warm bed-fellow, than in a shroud in the church yard, I was mussing upon some discourses which had passed between me and a neighbour, upon the shortness of human life, and how certain every one is of dying, and how uncertain as to the time. Whilst thus engaged, having but newly laid my head down upon the pillow, and being about half awake, I felt a great weight coming stealthily upon me, from the crown of my head to my heel, so that I could not stir a finger, nor any thing except my tongue, and beheld a lad upon my breast, and a lass mounted upon his back. On looking sharply, I guessed, from the warm smell which came from him, his clammy locks, and his gummy eyes, that the lad must be master Sleep. “Pray, sir,” said I, squealing, “what have I done to you, that you bring that witch here to suffocate me?” “Hush,” said he, “it is only my sister Nightmare;

we are both going to visit our brother Death, and have need of a third, and lest you should resist, we have come upon you without warning, as he himself will sometime; therefore you must come, whether you will or not.” “Alas!” said I, “must I die?” “O no,” said Nightmare; “we will spare you this time.” “But with your favour,” said I, “your brother Death never spared any one yet who was brought within reach of his dart; the fellow even ventured to fling a fall with the Lord of Life himself, though it is true he gained very little by his daring.” At these words Nightmare arose full of wrath and departed. “Hey,” said Sleep, “come away, and you shall have no cause to repent of your journey.” “Well,” said I, “may there never be night to saint Sleep, and may Nightmare never obtain any other place to crouch upon than the top of an awl, unless you return me to where you found me.” Then away he went with me, over woods and precipices, over oceans and valleys, over castles and towers, rivers and crags; and where did we descend, but by one of the gates of the daughters of Belial, on the posterior side of the city of Perdition, and I could there perceive, that the three gates of Perdition contracted into one on the hinder side, and opened into the same place—a place foggy, cold, and pestilential, replete with an unwholesome vapour, and clouds, lowering and terrible. “Pray, sir,” said I, “what dungeon of a place is this?” “The chambers of Death,” said Sleep. I had scarcely time to enquire, before I heard some people crying, some screaming, some groaning, some talking deliriously, some uttering blasphemies in a feeble tone: others in great agony, as if about to give up the ghost. Here and there one, after a mighty shout would become silent, and then forthwith I could hear a key revolving in a lock; I

turned at the sound to look for the door, and by dint of long gazing, I could see tens of thousands of doors, apparently far off though close by my side notwithstanding. “Please to inform me, master Sleep,” said I, “to what place these doors open?” “They open,” he replied, “into the land of Oblivion, a vast country under the rule of my brother Death; and the great wall here, is the limit of the immense eternity.” As I looked I could see a little death at each door, all with different arms, and different names, though evidently they were all subjects of the same king. Notwithstanding which, there was much contention between them concerning the sick; for the one wished to snatch the sick through his door, and the other would fain have him through his own. On drawing near, we could see above every door, the name of the death written, who kept it; and likewise by every door, hundreds of various things left scattered about, denoting the haste of those who went through. Over one door I could see Famine, though purses and full bags were lying on the ground beside it, and boxes nailed up, standing near. “That,” said he, “is the gate of the misers.” “To whom,” said I, “do these rags belong?” “Principally to misers,” he replied; “but there are some there belonging to lazy idlers, and to ballad singers, and to others, poor in every thing, but spirit, who preferred starvation to begging.” In the next door was the death of the Ruling Passion, and parallel with it I could hear many voices, as of men in the extremity of cold. By this door were many books, some pots and flaggons, here and there a staff and a walking stick, some compasses and charts, and shipping tackle. “This is the road by which scholars go,” said I. “Some scholars go by it,” said he, “solitary, helpless wretches, whose relations have stripped them of their last

article of raiment; but people of various other descriptions go by it also. Those,” said he, (speaking of the pots,) “are the relics of jolly companions, whose feet are freezing under benches, whilst their heads are boiling with drink and uproar; and the things yonder belong to travellers of snowy mountains, and to traffickers in the North sea.”

Next at hand was a meagre skeleton of a figure, called the death of Fear. Through his exterior you might see that he did not possess any heart; and by his door there were bags, and chests also, and locks and castles. By this gate went usurers, bad governors and tyrants, and some of the murderers, but the plurality of the latter were driven past to the next gate, where there was a death called Gallows, with his cord ready for their necks.

Next was to be seen the death of Love, and by his feet were hundreds of instruments, and books of music, and verses, and love letters, and also ointments and colors to beautify the countenance, and a thousand other embellishing wares, and also some swords. “With some of those swords,” said my companion, “bandits have been slain whilst fighting for women, and with others, love-lorn creatures have stabbed themselves.” I could perceive that this death was purblind.

At the next door, was a death who had the most repulsive figure of all: his entire liver was consumed. He was called the death of Envy. “This one,” said Sleep, “assaults losing gamesters, slanderers, and many a female rider, who repineth at the law which rendered the wife subject to her husband.” “Pray, sir,” said I, “what is the meaning of female rider?” “Female rider,” said he, “is the term used here, for the woman who would ride her husband, her neighbours,

and her country too, if possible, and the end of her long riding will be, that she will ride the Devil, from that door, down to hell.”

Next stood the door of the death of Ambition, and of those who lift their nostrils on high, and break their shins for want of looking beneath their feet. Beside this door were crowns, sceptres, banners, all sorts of patents and commissions, and all kinds of heraldric and warlike arms.

But before I could look on any more of these countless doors, I heard a voice commanding me by my name to prepare. At this word, I could feel myself beginning to melt, like a snow ball in the heat of the sun; whereupon my master gave me some soporific drink, so that I fell asleep, but by the time I awoke, he had conveyed me to a considerable distance, on the other side of the wall. I found myself in a valley of pitchy darkness, and as it seemed to me, limitless. At the end of a little time, I could see by a dim light, like that of a dying candle, innumerable human shades—some on foot, and some on horseback, running through one another like the wind, silently and with wonderful solemnity.

It was a desert, bare, and blasted country, without grass, or vegetation, or woods, and without animals, with the exception of deadly monsters, and venomous reptiles of every kind; serpents, snakes, lice, toads, maw-worms, locusts, ear-wigs, and the like, which all exist on human corruption. Through myriads of shades, and creeping things, graves, sepulchres, and cemeteries, we proceeded, without interruption, to observe the country. At last I perceived some of the shades turning and looking upon me; and suddenly, notwithstanding the great silence that had prevailed before, there was a whispering from one to the other that there was a living

man at hand. “A living man,” said one; “a living man,” said the other; and they came thronging about me like caterpillars from every corner. “How did you come hither, sirrah?” said a little morkin of a death who was there. “Truly sir,” said I, “I know no more than yourself.” “What do they call you?” he demanded. “Call me what you please, here in your own country,” I replied, “but at home I am called the Sleeping Bard.”

At that word I beheld a crooked old man, with a double head like to a rough-barked thorn tree, raising himself erect, and looking upon me worse than the black devil himself; and lo! without saying a word, he hurled a large human skull at my head—many thanks to a tombstone which shielded me. “Pray be quiet, sir,” said I. “I am but a stranger, who was never here before, and you may be sure I will never return, if I can once reach home again.” “I will give you cause to remember having been here,” said he; and attacked me with a thigh-bone, like a very devil, whilst I avoided his blows as well as I could. “By heavens,” said I, “this is a most inhospitable country to strangers. Is there a justice of the peace here?” “Peace!” said he, “what peace do you deserve, who will not let people rest in their graves?” “Pray, sir,” said I, “may I be allowed to know your name, because I am not aware of ever having disturbed any one in this country.” “Sirrah,” said he, “know that not you are the Sleeping Bard, but that I am that person; and I have been allowed to rest here for nine hundred years, by every one but yourself.” And he attacked me again.

“Forbear, my brother,” said Merddyn, who was near at hand, “be not too hot; rather be thankful to him for keeping an honorable remembrance of your name upon earth.” “Great

honor forsooth,” said he, “I shall receive from such a blockhead as this. Sirrah! can you sing in the four-and-twenty measures? Can you carry the pedigree of Gog and Magog, and the genealogy of Brutus ap Sylfius, up to a millenium previous to the fall of Troy? Can you narrate when, and what will be the end of the combats betwixt the lion and the eagle, and betwixt the dragon and the red deer?” “Hey, hey! let me ask him a question,” said another, who was seated beside a large cauldron which was boiling, and going, bubble, bubble, over a fire. “Come nearer,” said he, “what is the meaning of this?”

“I till the judgment day
Upon the earth shall stray;
None knows for certainty
Whether fish or flesh I be.”

“I will request the favor of your name, sir,” said I, “that I may answer you in a suitable manner.” “I,” said he, “am Taliesin, [49] the prince of the Bards of the West, and that is a

piece of my composition.” “I know not,” said I, “what could be your meaning, unless it was, that the yellow plague [50] which destroyed Maelgwn of Gwynedd, put an end to you on the sea-shore, and that your body was divided amongst the crows and the fishes.” “Peace, fool!” said he, “I was alluding to my two callings, of man of the law and poet. Please to tell me, has a lawyer more similitude to a raven, than a poet to a whale? How many a one doth a single lawyer divest of his flesh, to swell out his own craw; and with what indifference does he extract the blood, and leave a man half alive! And as for the poet, where is the fish which is able to swallow like him? he is drinking oceans of liquor at all times, but the briny sea itself would not slack his thirst. And provided a man be a poet and a lawyer, how is it possible to know whether he be fish or flesh, especially if he be a courtier to boot, as I was, and obliged to vary his taste to every ones palate. But tell me,” said he, “whether there are at present, any of those fellows upon the earth?” “There’s plenty of them,” said I; “if one can patch together any nonsensical derry, he is styled a graduate bard. But as for the others; there is such a plague of lawyers, petty attornies, and scribes, that the locusts of Egypt bore light upon the country, in comparison with them. In your time, sir, there were but bargains of tofts and crofts, and a hand’s breadth of writing for a farm of a hundred pounds, and a raising of cairns and crosses, as memorials of the purchase and boundaries. There is no longer any such security, but there is far more craft and deceit, and a tombstone’s breadth of written parchment to secure the bargain;

and for all that, it is a wonder if a flaw be not in it, or said to be at least.” “Well then,” said Taliesin, “I should not be worth a straw in the world at present. I am better where I am. Truth will never be had where there are many poets, nor fair dealing where there are many lawyers; no, nor health where there are many physicians.” At this moment, a little grey-headed hobgoblin, who had heard that a living man was arrived, flung himself at my feet, weeping abundantly. “Dear me,” said I, “what are you?” “One who is grievously wronged every day in the world,” said he. “May God move your soul to procure justice for me.” “What is your name?” said I. “I am called Somebody,” he replied, “and there is scarcely a piece of pimping, or a calumny, or a lie, or tale, to set people at loggerheads, but must be laid upon me. ‘Verily,’ says one, ‘she is a prodigious fine girl, and she was praising you before somebody, notwithstanding that some very great person is paying his suit to her.’ ‘I heard somebody,’ says another, ‘reckoning that this estate was mortgaged nine hundred pounds deep.’ ‘I saw some one yesterday,’ says the beggar, ‘with a chequered slop, like a sailor, who had come with a large ship load of corn, to the neighbouring port.’ And thus every ragged dog mangles me for his own wicked purposes. Some call me Friend—‘I was informed by a friend,’ says one, ‘that so and so has no intention of leaving a farthing to his wife, and that there is no affection between them.’ Some others vilify me yet more, and call me Bird—‘A bird whistled in my ear, that there are bad practices going on there,’ say they. It is true, some call me by the more respectable name of Old Person; yet, not half the omens, prophecies, and counsels, which are attributed to the Old Person, belong to me. I have never bidden people to follow the old road,

provided the new one be better, nor a hundred similar things. But Somebody is my common name,” he continued, “him you will most frequently hear, to have been concerned in every atrocious matter. Because, ask a person wherever a vile, slanderous falsehood has been uttered, who it was who said it, and he will reply, ‘Truly I don’t know who, but somebody in the company said it;’ question then every one in the company concerning the fable, and every one will say he heard it from somebody, but no one knows from whom. Is not this a shameful injury?” he demanded. “Be so good as to inform every one whom you may hear naming me, that I have never said any one of these things, nor have ever invented nor uttered a lie to slander any one, nor a story to set relations by the ears; that I do not go near them; that I know nothing of their history, nor of their affairs, nor of their accursed secrets; and that they ought not to fling their wickedness upon me, but on their own corrupt brains.”

At this moment there came a little death, one of the secretaries of the king, desiring to know my name, and commanding master Sleep, to carry me instantly before the king. I was compelled to go, though utterly against my will, by the power, which, like a whirlwind carried me away, betwixt high and low, thousands of miles back to the left hand, until we came again in sight of the boundary wall, and reached a narrow corner. Here we perceived an immense, frowning, ruinous palace, open at the top, reaching to the wall where were the innumerable doors, all of which led to this huge, terrific court. The walls were constructed with the sculls of men, which grinned horribly with their teeth. The clay was black, and was prepared with tears and sweat; and the mortar on the outside was variegated with phlegm and pus, and on the inside

with black-red blood. On the top of each turret, you might see a little death, with a smoking heart stuck on the point of his dart.

Around the palace was a wood, consisting of a few poisonous yews and deadly cypresses, and in these, owls, blood crows, vultures and the like were nestling; and croaking continually for flesh, though the whole place was nothing but a stinking shamble. We entered the gate. All the pillars of the hall were made of human thigh bones; the pillars of the parlour were of shank bones; and the floors were one continued layer of every species of offal. It was not long before I came in sight of a vast and frightful altar, where I beheld the king of Terrors swallowing human flesh and blood, and a thousand petty deaths, from every hole, feeding him with fresh, warm flesh. “Behold,” said the death who brought me there, addressing himself to the king, “a spark, whom I found in the midst of the land of Oblivion; he came so light footed, that your majesty never tasted a morsel of him.” “How can that be?” said the king, and opened his jaws as wide as an earthquake to swallow me. Whereupon I turned all trembling to Sleep. “It was I,” said Sleep, “who brought him here.” “Well,” said the meagre, grizly king, turning to me, “for my brother Sleep’s sake, you shall be permitted to return this time, but beware of me the next.” After having employed himself for a considerable time in casting carcasses into his insatiable paunch, he caused his subjects to be called together, and moved from the altar to a terrific throne of exceeding height, to pronounce judgment on the prisoners newly arrived. In an instant came innumerable multitudes of the dead, making their obeisance to their king, and taking their stations in remarkable order. And lo! king Death was

in his regal vest of flaming scarlet, covered all over with figures of women and children weeping, and men uttering groans; about his head was a black-red three-cornered cap (which his friend Lucifer had sent as a present to him,) and upon its corners were written misery, wailing, and woe. Above his head were thousands of representations of battles on sea and land, towns burning, the earth opening, and the great water of the deluge; and beneath his feet nothing was to be seen but the crowns and sceptres of the kings whom he had overcome from the beginning. On his right hand Fate was sitting, seemingly engaged in reading, with a murky look, a huge volume which was before him; and on his left was an old man called Time, licking innumerable threads of gold, and silver, and copper, and very many of iron. Some few of the threads were growing better towards their end, and thousands growing worse. Along the threads were hours, days, and years; and Fate, according as his volume directed him, was continually breaking the threads of life, and opening the doors of the boundary wall, betwixt the two worlds.

We had not looked around us long, before we heard four fiddlers, newly dead, summoned to the bar. “How comes it,” said the king of Terrors, “that loving merriment as ye do, ye kept not on the other side of the gulf, for there has never been any merriment on this side.” “We have never done,” said one of the musicians, “harm to any body, but have rendered people joyous, and have taken quietly what they gave us for our pains.” Said Death, “did you never keep any one from his work, and cause him to lose his time; or did you never keep people from church? ha!” “O no!” said another, “perhaps now and then on a Sunday, after service, we may have kept some in the public house till the next morning, or

during summer tide, may have kept them dancing in the ring on the green all night; for sure enough, we were more liked, and more lucky in obtaining a congregation than the parson.” “Away, away with these fellows to the country of Despair!” said the terrific king, “bind the four back to back and cast them to their customers, to dance bare-footed on floors of glowing heat, and to amble to all eternity without either praise or music.”

The next that came to the bar was a certain king, who had lived very near to Rome. “Hold up your hand, prisoner,” said one of the officers. “I hope,” said he, “that you have some better manners and favour to show to a king.” “Sirrah,” said Death, “why did you not keep on the other side of the gulf where all are kings? On this side there is none but myself, and another down below, and you will soon see, that neither he nor I will rate you according to the degree of your majesty, but according to the degree of your wickedness, in order to adapt your punishment to your crimes, therefore answer to the interrogation.” “Sir,” he replied, “I would have you know, that you have no authority to detain me, nor to interrogate me, as I have a pardon for all my sins under the Pope’s own hand. On account of my faithful services, he has given me a warrant to go straight to Paradise, without tarrying one moment in Purgatory.” At these words the king and all the haggard train gave a ghastly grin, to escape from laughing outright; but the other full of wrath at their ridicule, commanded them aloud to show him the way. “Peace, thou lost fool!” cried Death, “Purgatory lies behind you, on the other side of the wall, for you ought to purify yourself during your life; and on the right hand, on the other side of that gulf is Paradise. But there is no road by which

it is possible for you to escape, either through the gulf to Paradise, or through the boundary wall back to the world; and if you were to give your kingdom, (supposing you could give it,) you would not obtain permission from the keepers of those doors, to take one peep through the key hole. It is called the irrepassable wall, for when once you have come through you may abandon all hope of returning. But since you stand so high on the books of the Pope, you shall go and prepare his bed, beside that of the Pope who was before him, and there you shall kiss his toe for ever, and he the toe of Lucifer.”

Immediately thereupon, four little deaths raised the poor king up, who was by this time shivering like the leaf of an aspen, and snatched him out of sight like lightning. Next after him came a young fellow and woman. He had been a jolly companion and she a lady of pleasure, or one free of her person; but they were called here by their naked names, drunkard and harlot. “I hope,” said the drunkard, “I shall find some favour with you; I have sent to you many a bloated booty in a torrent of good ale; and when I failed to kill others, I came myself, willingly, to feed you.” “With the permission of the court,” said the harlot, “you have not sent half as much as I, and my offerings were burning sacrifices, rich roast meat ready for the board.” “Hey, hey!” said Death, “all this was done for your own accursed passions’ sake and not to feed me. Bind the two face to face, as they are old acquaintances, and cast them into the land of Darkness, and let each be a torment to the other, until the day of judgment.” They were then snatched away, with their heads downwards.

Next to these there came seven recorders. Having been commanded to raise their hands to the bar, they would by no

means obey, as the rails were greasy. One began to wrangle boisterously; “we ought to obtain a fair citation to prepare our answer;” said he, “instead of being rushed upon unawares.”

“But are we bound to give you that same specific citation,” answered Death, “since you obtain in every place, and at every period of your life, warning of my coming. How many sermons have you not heard upon the mortality of man? How many books have you not seen? How many graves, how many sculls, how many diseases, how many messages and signs have you not had? What is your Sleep, but my own brother? What are sculls, but my visage? What does your daily food consist of but dead creatures? Seek not to cast your neglect upon me. Speak not of summons, when you have obtained it a hundred times.” “Pray,” said one red recorder, “what have you to advance against us?” “What?” said Death. “Drinking the sweat and blood of the poor, and levying double your wages.” “Here is an honest man,” replied the recorder, pointing to a pettifogger behind him, “who knows that we have never done any thing but what was fair; and it is not fair of you to detain us here, without a specific crime to prove against us.” “Hey, hey!” said Death, “you shall prove against yourselves. Place these people,” said he, “on the verge of the precipice before the tribunal of Justice, they shall obtain equity there though they never practiced it.”

There were still seven other prisoners remaining, and these kept up a prodigious bustle and noise. Some were flattering, others quarrelling, some blustering, some counselling, &c. Scarcely had they been called to the bar, when lo! the entire palace became seven times more horribly dark than before, and there was a shivering and a great agitation about

the throne, and Death became paler than ever. Upon enquiring what was the matter, one of the messengers of Lucifer stepped forward with a letter for Death, concerning these seven prisoners, and Fate presently caused the letter to be read publicly, and these were the words, as far as I can remember.

“Lucifer, King of the kings of the world, prince of Hell, and ruler of the Deep, to our natural son, the most mighty and terrible king Death, greeting, pre-eminence, and eternal spoil.

“For as much as we have been informed by some of our nimble messengers, who are constantly abroad to obtain information, that seven prisoners, of the seven most villainous and dangerous species in the world, have arrived lately at your royal palace, and that it is your intention to hurl them over the cliff into my kingdom. I hereby counsel you to try every possible means, to let them loose back again upon the world; they will do you there more service in sending you food, and sending me better company, for I would rather want than have them; we have had but too much plague with their companions for a long time, and my dominion is still disturbed by them. Therefore turn them back, or keep them with you. For, by the infernal crown, if you send them here, I will undermine the foundations of your kingdom, until it falls down into my own immense dominion.

“From the burning hall of assembly, at our royal palace in the pit of Hell, in the year of our reign, 5425.”

King Death, hereupon, stood for some time with his visage green and pale, in great perplexity of mind. But

whilst he was meditating, behold Fate, turned upon him such an iron-black scowl, as made him tremble. “Sirrah,” said he, “look to what you do. It is not in my power to send any one back, through the boundary of eternity, the irrepassable wall, nor in yours to harbour them here; therefore forward them to their destruction, in spite of the Arch Fiend. He has been able hitherto, in a minute to allot his proper place to every individual, in a drove of a thousand, nay, even of ten thousand captured souls; and what difficulty can he have with seven, however dangerous they may be. But though these seven should turn the infernal government topsy-turvy, do you drive them thither instantly, for fear I should receive commands to annihilate you before your time. As for his threats, they are only lies; for although thy end, and that of the old man yonder, (looking at Time,) are nigh at hand, being written only a few pages further on, in my unerring volume, yet you have no cause to be afraid of sinking to Lucifer; though every one in the abyss would be glad to obtain thee, yet they never, never shall. For the rocks of steel and eternal adamant, which form the roof of Hell, are too strong for anything to crumble them.” Whereupon, Death, considerably startled, called to one of his train, to write for him the following answer.

“Death, the king of Terror and Conqueror of conquerors, to his revered friend and neighbour Lucifer, king of Eternal Night, sovereign of the Bottomless Pool, sends greeting.

“After due reflection on your regal desire, it has appeared to us more advantageous, not only to our own dominion, but likewise to your own extensive kingdom, to send these prisoners, as far as possible from the doors of the irrepassable wall, lest their putrid odour should terrify the whole city of Destruction, so that no man should come to all eternity, to my side of the gate; and neither I obtain any thing to cool my sting, nor you a concourse of customers from earth to hell. Therefore I will leave to you to judge them, and to hurl them into such cells, as you may deem the most proper and secure for them.

“From my nether palace in the great gate of Perdition, over Destruction. In the year, from the renewal of my kingdom, 1670.”

At hearing all this, I felt a great curiosity to know who these seven people could be, whom the devils themselves held in so much dread. But ere a minute had elapsed, the clerk of the crown called their names, as follows:—Master Meddler, alias Finger in Every Dish; but he was so vehement and busy in advising the others, that he could not get a moment’s time to answer for himself, until Death threatened to transfix him with his dart.

Then master Slanderer was called, alias Enemy of Fair Fame; but there was no answer. “He is too modest to hear his titles,” said the third, “and he never can bear his nicknames.” “Do you suppose,” said the Slanderer, “that you yourself have no titles. Call for,” said he, “master Coxcomb, alias Smooth Gullet, alias Poison Smile.” “Ready,” said a woman who was there, pointing to the Coxcomb. “O,” said he, “madam Bouncer! Your humble servant, I am overjoyed at seeing you well. I have never seen a woman look handsomer in breeches. But, oh! to think how miserable the country must be behind you, for want of its admirable she-governor;

yet your delightful company will make hell itself something better.” “O son of the arch fiend!” said she. “With you there is no need of another hell, you are yourself enough.” Then the cryer called Bouncer, or mistress Breeches. “Ready,” said another. But she said not a word, for want of being called madam. Next was called Contriver of Contrivances, alias Jack of all Trades; but he returned no answer either, for he was busied in devising a way to escape. “Ready, ready,” said one behind, “here he is, looking out for an opportunity to break through your palace, and unless you take care, he will have some notable contrivance to baulk you.” Said the Contriver, “call him, I beseech you, master Impeacher of his Brother, alias Searcher of Faults, alias Framer of Complaints.” “Ready, ready, this is he,” said a litigious pettifogger, for every one knew the name of the other, but would not acknowledge his own. “You shall be called,” said the Impeacher, “master Litigious Pettifogger, alias the Courts Comprised.” “Bear witness, I pray you all,” said the Pettifogger, “as to what the knave called me.” “Ho, ho!” said Death, “not by the baptismal font, but by his sins, is every one called in this country; and, with your permission, master Pettifogger, the names of your sins are those which shall stick to you henceforth for ever.” “Hey,” said the Pettifogger, “I swear by the Devil that I will make you smart for this. Though you are empowered to kill me, you have no authority to bestow nicknames upon me. I will file a complaint against you for defamation, and another for false imprisonment, against you and your friend Lucifer, in the court of Justice.”

By this time, I beheld the legions of Death, formed in order and armed, with their eyes fixed upon the king, awaiting

the word. “There,” said the king, standing erect upon his regal throne, “my terrible and invincible hosts, spare neither care nor diligence in removing these prisoners from out of my boundaries, lest they prove the ruin of my country; cast them bound, over the precipice of Despair, with their heads downward. But for the seventh, this Courts Comprised, who threatens me, leave him free over the chasm, beneath the court of Justice, and let him try whether he can make his complaint good against me.” Then Death reseated himself. And lo! all the deadly legions, after surrounding the prisoners and binding them, led them away to their couch. I also went out, and peeped after them. “Come away,” said Sleep, and snatched me up to the top of the highest turret of the palace. Thence I could see the prisoners proceeding to their eternal perdition. Presently a whirlwind arose, and dispersed the pitch-black cloud, which was spread universally over the face of the land of Oblivion, and by the light of a thousand candles, which were burning with a blue flame, at a particular place, I obtained a far distant view of the verge of the Bottomless Gulf, a sight exceedingly horrible; and also of a spectacle above, still more appalling, namely Justice upon his supreme seat, holding the keys of Hell, at a separate and distinct tribunal over the chasm, to pronounce judgment upon the damned as they came. I could see the prisoners cast headlong down the gulf, and Pettifogger rushing to fling himself over the terrific brink, rather than look once on the court of Justice. For oh! there was there a spectacle too severe for a guilty countenance. I merely gazed from afar, but I beheld more terrific horror, than I can at present relate, or I could at that time support, for my spirit struggled and fluttered at the awful sight, and wrestled so strenuously, that

it burst all the bands of Sleep, and my soul returned to its accustomed functions. And exceedingly overjoyed I was to see myself still amongst the living. I instantly determined upon reforming myself, as a hundred years of affliction in the paths of righteousness, would be less harrowing to me, than another glance on the horrors of this night.