“ATTEND me, therefore, and view the condition of those thoughtless souls, who, a few days ago, were upon earth immersed in pleasure, luxury and vice—Regardless of futurity, and unprepared for their eternal summons to another world—and who persisted in the delight of their own eyes in opposition to the Divine law, and deaf to the voice of reclaiming virtue. These, the sons of folly and riot, are smitten by the angel of death, while they are yet drinking of the bowl of vice—while the words of blasphemy yet dwell upon their tongues. And when their unhappy spirits sink to these infernal regions, their surviving companions rehearse their funeral panegyricks—the praise of one is, that he could drink the longest—the merit of another that he could sing a good song—a third secures his fame by being excellent in mimickry and buffoonery.—How unhappy he must be, who leaves no other testimony of his usefulness behind him! “HOW different is the fate of the good man: While upon earth his life is employed in the cause of virtue.—The happiness he bestows on those around him is reflected back with ten-fold reward; and when he takes rank in that happy place, where there is fullness of joy, and leaves the world of mankind, what numbers are joined in the general concern of his loss!—The aged, while they prepare for the same journey, delight to dwell on his good actions—the virgin strews flowers on his grave, and the poet consumes the midnight oil to celebrate his virtues.” THERE was so much benignity in every word and action of my attendant, that I found myself imperceptibly attached to him. My attention to his discourse had prevented me from observing the progress we had made—for we had arrived at a place encircled with high walls—A great gate, at the command of my guide, instantly flew open—“Follow me,” said he—I tremblingly obeyed. MY ears were instantaneously filled with the faint cries of those here doomed to receive the rewards of their demerits. Looking earnestly forward, I beheld a group of unhappy wretches—I observed a person who was continually tormenting them—he held in one hand a whip, the lashes of which were composed of adders, and the stings of scorpions; and in the other a large mirrour, which, when he held up to the faces of the tormented exhibited their crimes in the most flagrant colours, and forced them to acknowledge the justness of their punishment. “These,” said my guide, “who are scourged with a whip of scorpions, and who start with horrour at the reflection of their deeds upon earth, are the souls of the Gambler—the Prodigal—the Duellist, and the Ingrate. “THOSE whom you see yonder,” continued he, “those wasted, emaciated spirits, are the souls of the Envious—they are doomed to view the most beautiful fruit, which they can never taste, and behold pleasures which they can never enjoy. This punishment is adjudged them because most of those vile passions, by which men suffer themselves to be ruled, bring real evil, for promised good.