reat bed,
hung with brown velvet curtains, through the gaps of which were visible
what seemed like white velvet pillows, strange humped conglomerations.
My friend explained to me that there had been a bin at the end of the
vault, out of the wood of which these singular fungi had sprouted. The
whole place was uncanny and horrible. The great velvet curtains swayed
in the current of air, and it seemed as though at any moment some
mysterious sleeper might be awakened, might peer forth from his dark
curtains, with a fretful enquiry as to why he was disturbed.

The scene dwelt in my mind for many days, and aroused in me a strange
train of thought; these dim vegetable forms, with their rich
luxuriance, their sinister beauty, awoke a curious repugnance in the
mind. They seemed unholy and evil. And yet it is all part of the life
of nature; it is just as natural, just as beautiful to find life at
work in this gloomy and unvisited place, wreathing the bare walls with
these dark, soft fabrics. It was impossible not to feel that there was
a certain joy of life in these growths, sprouting with such security
and luxuriance in a place so precisely adapted to their well-being; and
yet there was the shadow of death and darkness about them, to us whose
home is the free air and the sun. It seemed to me to make a curious
parable of the baffling mystery of evil, the luxuriant growth of sin in
the dark soul. I have always felt that the reason why the mystery of
evil is so baffling is because we so resolutely think of evil as of
something inimical to the nature of God; and yet evil must derive its
vitality from him. The one thing that it is impossible to believe is
that, in a world ruled by an all-powerful God, anything should come
into existence which is in opposition to his Will. It is impossible to
arrive at any solution of the difficulty, unless we either adopt the
belief that God is not all-powerful, and that there is a real dualism
in nature, two powers in eternal opposition; or else realise that evil
is in some way a manifestation of God. If we adopt the first theory,
we may conceive of the stationary tendency in nature, its inertness,
the force that tends to bring motion to a standstill, as one power, the
power of Death; and we may conceive of all motion and force as the
other power, the quickening spirit, the power of life. But even here
we are met with a difficulty, for when we try to transfer this dualism
to the region of