FullReads

All these were flung into the fierce and riotous blaze; and then a
mighty wind came roaring across the plain with a desolate howl, as
if it were the angry lamentation of the earth for the loss of
heaven’s sunshine; and it shook the gigantic pyramid of flame and
scattered the cinders of half-consumed abominations around upon the
spectators.

“This is terrible!” said I, feeling that my check grew pale, and
seeing a like change in the visages about me.

“Be of good courage yet,” answered the man with whom I had so often
spoken. He continued to gaze steadily at the spectacle with a
singular calmness, as if it concerned him merely as an observer.
“Be of good courage, nor yet exult too much; for there is far less
both of good and evil in the effect of this bonfire than the world
might be willing to believe.”

“How can that be?” exclaimed I, impatiently. “Has it not consumed
everything? Has it not swallowed up or melted down every human or
divine appendage of our mortal state that had substance enough to be
acted on by fire? Will there be anything left us to-morrow morning
better or worse than a heap of embers and ashes?”

“Assuredly there will,” said my grave friend. “Come hither
to-morrow morning, or whenever the combustible portion of the pile
shall be quite burned out, and you will find among the ashes
everything really valuable that you have seen cast into the flames.
Trust me, the world of to-morrow will again enrich itself with the
gold and diamonds which have been cast off by the world of today.
Not a truth is destroyed nor buried so deep among the ashes but it
will be raked up at last.”

This was a strange assurance. Yet I felt inclined to credit it, the
more especially as I beheld among the wallowing flames a copy of the
Holy Scriptures, the pages of which, instead of being blackened into
tinder, only assumed a more dazzling whiteness as the fingermarks of
human imperfection were purified away. Certain marginal notes and
commentaries, it is true, yielded to the intensity of the fiery
test, but without detriment to the smallest syllable that had flamed
from the pen of inspiration.

“Yes; there is the proof of what you say,” answered I, turning to
the observer; “but if only what is evil can feel the action of the
fire, then, surely, the conflagration has been of inestimable
utility. Yet, if I understand aright, you intimate a doubt whether
the world’s expectation of benefit would be realized by it.”

“Listen to the talk of these worthies,” said he, pointing to a group
in front of the blazing pile; “possibly they may teach you something
useful, without intending it.”

The persons whom he indicated consisted of that brutal and most
earthy figure who had stood forth so furiously in defence of the
gallows,–the hangman, in short,–together with the last thief and
the last murderer, all three of whom were clustered about the last
toper. The latter was liberally passing the brandy bottle, which he
had rescued from the general destruction of wines and spirits. This
little convivial party seemed at the lowest pitch of despondency, as
considering that the purified world must needs be utterly unlike the
sphere that they had hitherto known, and therefore but a strange and
desolate abode for gentlemen of their kidney.

“The best counsel for all of us is,” remarked the hangman, “that,
as soon as we have finished the last drop of liquor, I help you, my
three friends, to a comfortable end upon the nearest tree, and then
hang myself on the same bough. This is no world for us any longer.”