ges from the various works about them. As soon as I heard what
they were, I ran away with all my speed, having a mortal dread of
these books.

We had now traversed the valley, and, approaching the barrier of
mountains, we found a passage cut through, which greatly resembled the
Pausilipo, near Naples; it was closed on the side towards the valley,
only with a curtain of white paper, upon which were printed the names
of the principal reviews, which my conductor assured me were enough to
prevent any of the unhappy works we had seen from coming near the
passage.

As we advanced through the mountains, occasional gleams of light
appeared before us, and immediately vanished, leaving us in darkness.
My guide, however, seemed to be well acquainted with the way, and we
went on fearlessly till we emerged into an open field, lighted up by
constant flashes of lightning, which glared from every side; the air
was hot, and strongly impregnated with sulphur. "Each department of my
dominions," said the Devil, "receives its light from the works which
are sent there. You are now surrounded by the glittering but
evanescent coruscations of the more recent novels. This department of
hell was never very well supplied till quite lately, though Fielding,
Smollett, Maturin, and Godwin, did what they could for us. Our
greatest benefactors have been Disraeli, Bulwer, and Victor Hugo; and
this glare of light, so painful to our eyes, proceeds chiefly from
their books." There was a tremendous noise like the rioting of an army
of drunken men, with horrible cries and imprecations, and fiend-like
laughing, which made my blood curdle; and such a scrambling and
fighting among the books, as I never saw before. I could not imagine
at first what could be the cause of this, till I discovered at last a
golden hill rising up like a cone in the midst of the plane, with just
room enough for one book on the summit; and I found that the novels
were fighting like so many devils for the occupation of this place.
One work, however, had gained possession of it, and seemed to maintain
its hold with a strength and resolution which bade defiance to the
rest. I could not at first make out the name of this book, which
seemed to stand upon its golden throne like the Prince of Hell; but
presently the whole arch of the heavens glared with new brilliancy,
and the magic name of _Vivian Grey_ flashed from the book in letters
of scorching light. I was much afraid, however, that _