Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

The hours of the Sabbath passed slowly away. I sat gazing at the sky, the trees and the water. At last I strolled up to the house and sat down in the porch. It was empty; there was no modest maiden there, as on the preceding Sabbath. The damsel of the book had accompanied the rest. I had seen her in the procession, and the house appeared quite deserted. The owners had probably left it to my custody, so I sat down in the porch, quite alone. The hours of the Sabbath passed heavily away.

At last evening came, and with it the party of the morning. I was now at my place beneath the oak. I went forward to meet them. Peter and his wife received me with a calm and quiet greeting, and passed forward. The rest of the party had broke into groups. There was a kind of excitement amongst them, and much eager whispering. I went to one of the groups; the young girl of whom I have spoken more than once, was speaking: “Such a sermon,” said she, “it has never been our lot to hear; Peter never before spoke as he has done this day⁠—he was always a powerful preacher; but oh, the unction of the discourse of this morning, and yet more of that of the afternoon, which was the continuation of it.” “What was the subject?” said I, interrupting her. “Ah! you should have been there, young man, to have heard it; it would have made a lasting impression upon you. I was bathed in tears all the time; those who heard it will never forget the preaching of the good Peter Williams on the Power, Providence and Goodness of God.”

On the morrow I said to my friends: “I am about to depart; farewell!” “Depart!” said Peter and his wife simultaneously, “whither wouldst thou go?” “I can’t stay here all my days,” I replied. “Of course not,” said Peter, “but we had no idea of losing thee so soon: we had almost hoped that thou wouldst join us, become one of us. We are under infinite obligations to thee.” “You mean I am under infinite obligations to you,” said I. “Did you not save my life?” “Perhaps so, under God,” said Peter; “and what hast thou not done for me? Art thou aware that, under God, thou hast preserved my soul from despair? But, independent of that, we like thy company, and feel a deep interest in thee, and would fain teach thee the way that is right. Hearken, tomorrow we go into Wales; go with us.” “I have no wish to go into Wales,” said I. “Why not?” said Peter with animation. “Wales is a goodly country; as the Scripture says⁠—a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths, that spring out of valleys and hills, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest dig lead.”

“I daresay it is a very fine country,” said I, “but I have no wish to go there just now; my destiny seems to point in another direction, to say nothing of my trade.” “Thou dost right to say nothing of thy trade,” said Peter, smiling, “for thou seemest to care nothing about it; which has led Winifred and myself to suspect that thou art not altogether what thou seemest; but, setting that aside, we should be most happy if thou wouldst go with us into Wales.” “I cannot promise to go with you into Wales,” said I; “but, as you depart tomorrow, I will stay with you through the day, and on the morrow accompany you part of the way.” “Do,” said Peter. “I have many people to see today, and so has Winifred; but we will both endeavour to have some serious discourse with thee, which, perhaps, will turn to thy profit in the end.”

In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was seated beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced addressing me in the following manner:⁠—

“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 by 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