suspect that thou art not altogether what
thou seemest; but, setting that aside, we should be most happy if thou
wouldst go with us into Wales." "I cannot promise to go with you into
Wales," said I; "but, as you depart to-morrow, I will stay with you
through the day, and on the morrow accompany you part of the way." "Do,"
said Peter: "I have many people to see to-day, and so has Winifred; but
we will both endeavour to have some serious discourse with thee, which,
perhaps, will turn to thy profit in the end."

In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was seated
beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced addressing me in
the following manner:--

"I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing to admit, that
the most important thing which a human being possesses is his soul; it is
of infinitely more importance than the body, which is a frail substance,
and cannot last for many years; but not so the soul, which, by its
nature, is imperishable. To one of two mansions the soul is destined to
depart, after its separation from the body, to heaven or hell; to the
halls of eternal bliss, where God and His holy angels dwell, or to the
place of endless misery, inhabited by Satan and his grisly companions. My
friend, if the joys of heaven are great, unutterably great, so are the
torments of hell unutterably so. I wish not to speak of them, I wish not
to terrify your imagination with the torments of hell: indeed, I like not
to think of them; but it is necessary to speak of them sometimes, and to
think of them sometimes, lest you should sink into a state of carnal
security. Authors, friend, and learned men, are not altogether agreed as
to the particulars of hell. They all agree, however, in considering it a
place of exceeding horror. Master Ellis Wyn, who by the bye was a
churchman, calls it, amongst other things, a place of strong sighs, and
of flaming sparks. Master Rees Pritchard, {238} who was not only a
churchman, but Vicar of Llandovery, and flourished about two hundred
years ago--I wish many like him flourished now--speaking of hell, in his
collection of sweet hymns, called the 'Welshman's Candle,' observes,

"'The pool is continually blazing; it is very deep, without any known
bottom, and the walls are so high, that there is neither hope nor
possibility of escaping over them.'

"But, as I told you just now, I have no great pleasure in talking of
hell. No, friend, no; I would soo