Beyond the grave--bliss for
his own shade; fire and brimstone, eternal woe for theirs. Ay, and
'tis not but for a season will he vex us, but for ever, and for ever,
and for ever--if he knoweth in the least what he meaneth by the
phrase. And this he calls 'Charity.'
"Yes, sirs, beyond the grave he would condemn us, beyond the grave--a
place of peace whereto I deem there are not many here but will be
content at length to come; and I not least content, when my duty is
done, my children provided for, and my last suspicion of fear and
folly suppressed.
"To conclude, sir--and beshrew me, gentlemen, how time doth fly in
talk!--this Christian goeth his way. We, each in accord with his
caprice and conscience, go ours. We envy him not his vapours, his
terrors, or his shameless greed of reward. Why, then, doth he envy us
our wealth, our success, our gaiety, our content? He raves. He is
haunted. What is man but as grass, and the flower of grass? Come the
sickle, he is clean gone. I can but repeat it, sir, our poor neighbour
was crazed: 'tis Christian in a word."
A sigh, a murmur of satisfaction and relief, rose from the company, as
if one and all had escaped by Mr.
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