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, 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 sooner talk of the other place, and of the
goodness and hospitality of God amongst His saints above."

And then the excellent man began to dilate upon the joys of heaven, and
the goodness and hospitality of God in the mansions above, explaining to
me, in the clearest way, how I might get there.

And when he had finished what he had to say, he left me, whereupon
Winifred drew nigh, and sitting down by me, began to address me. "I do
not think," said she, "from what I have observed of thee, that thou
wouldst wish to be ungrateful, and yet is not thy whole life a series of
ingratitude, and to whom?--to thy Maker. Has He not endowed thee with a
goodly and healthy form, and senses which enable thee to enjoy the
delights of His beautiful universe--the work of His hands? Canst thou
not enjoy, even to rapture, the brightness of the sun, the perfume of the
meads, and the song of the dear birds, which inhabit among the trees?
Yes, thou canst; for I have