Walk Where You Will.

In the marshes of the Styx the carnal look at us, whilst we watch the heretic rending his flesh. Through the dim oppressive air fly those who have stained the world with the beauty of their sin. We walk in Dante’s raiment and with Dante’s heart.

Cruelty becomes courtesy, for who is baser than he who has mercy for the condemned? In the jaws of the Dark Gentleman, we see the man who sold Christ, and in the same jaws the men who slew Cæsar. We shiver, and come forth to re-behold the stars.

The droppings of warm tears evoke no music for a knowledge of vulgarity better than anyone has ever known it; our first authority on the second-rate, derived from visions and culled from a keyhole perspective.

We have merely touched the surface of the soul.