Ch. 12 - A Story - Page 2

clergyman's own wife.

"If any one find peace in the grave, and grace from God, then it is
thou," said the clergyman, and he folded her hands, and read a psalm
over the dead body.

And she was borne to the grave: two heavy tears trickled down that
stern man's cheeks; and it was still and vacant in the parsonage; the
sunshine within was extinguished:--she was gone.

It was night. A cold wind blew over the clergyman's head; he opened
his eyes, and it was just as if the moon shone into his room. But the
moon did not shine. It was a figure which stood before his bed--he saw
the spirit of his deceased wife. She looked on him so singularly
afflicted; it seemed as though she would say something.

The man raised himself half erect in bed, and stretched his arms out
towards her.

"Not even to thee is granted everlasting peace. Thou dost suffer;
thou, the best, the most pious!"

And the dead bent her head in confirmation of his words, and laid her
hand on her breast.

"And can I procure you peace in the grave?"

"Yes!" it sounded in his ear.

"And how?"

"Give me a hair, but a single hair of the head of that sinner, whose
fire will never be quenched; that sinner whom God will cast down into
hell, to everlasting torment."

"Yes; so easily thou canst be liberated, thou pure, thou pious one!"
said he.

"Then follow me," said the dead; "it is so granted us. Thou canst be
by my side, wheresoever thy thoughts will. Invisible to mankind, we
stand in their most secret places; but thou must point with a sure
hand to the one destined to eternal punishment, and ere the cock crow
he must be found."

And swift, as if borne on the wings of thought, they were in the great
city, and the names of the dying sinners shone from the walls of the
houses in letters of fire: "Arrogance, Avarice, Drunkenness,
Voluptuousness;" in short, sin's whole seven-coloured arch.

"Yes, in there, as I thought it, as I knew it," said the clergyman,
"are housed those condemned to eternal fire."

And they stood before the splendidly-illumined portico, where the
broad stairs were covered with carpets and flowers, and the music of
the dance sounded through the festal saloons. The porter stood there
in silk and velvet, with a large silver-headed stick.

"_Our_ ball can match with the King's," said he, and turned towards
the crowd in the street--his magnificent thoughts were visible in his
whole person. "Poor devils! who stare in at the portico, you are
altogether ragamuffins, compared to me!"

"Arrogance," said the