’I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing to admit that the most important thing which a human being possesses is his soul; it is of infinitely more importance than the body, which is a frail substance, and cannot last for many years; but not so the soul, 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 seen thee, and observed thee doing so.  Yet, during the whole time that I have known thee, I have not heard proceed from thy lips one single word of praise or thanksgiving to . . .’

And in this manner the admirable woman proceeded for a considerable time, and to all her discourse I listened with attention; and when she had concluded, I took her hand and said, ‘I thank you,’ and that was all.