and I will show you the Dark River, and the Bridge of Folly.'
We drove on accordingly through the streets until the houses became far apart from each other, and the lamps dwindled by degrees both in number and brightness. A plunging gallop of the horses brought us to a high, half-ruined bridge, which spanned a rushing torrent, whose waters were of a pitchy blackness. The deep caverns whence this horrible river issued were lit in the distance by a pale phosphorescent glow that reminded me strangely of St Elmo's fire. The scene was terrible, and though I only saw it for a few moments, I shall never lose the sight of it. The river flowed down under the bridge, causing alarming vibrations, and became a frightful whirlpool which dashed its waves against an island of the hardest rock, and this was as black as the waters themselves. Far below, among the subterranean mountains, echoed the hoarse roar of a tremendous waterfall, mingled with other far more fearful sounds.
'This is the Bridge of Folly,' said the Doctor; 'that island is the Island of Ignorance; the whirlpool is called Presumption, and the river itself is Infidelity.'
While we sat in our carriage on the centre of the bridge I was horrified to see an aged man advancing towards us from the opposite side. He was attended by a crowd of admiring followers, who, whenever he turned and spoke a few words to them, shouted and clapped their bands. He came up to the Doctor's carriage, saluted us gravely, and addressed my friend thus:
'Ho, ho, Doctor Julius! I am rejoiced to welcome thee again into the country of infinite light, love universal, and pleasure eternal. Freedom, freedom; hurrah for freedom! It was our cradle, and it shall be our grave. Do I talk about graves? We shall have no grave. Art thou come,
