A Present Hell. February 23.

"Ay," he muttered, "sing awa', . . . wi' pretty fancies and gran' words, and gang to hell for it."

"To hell, Mr. Mackaye?"

"Ay, to a verra real hell, Alton Locke, laddie -- a warse ane than any fiend's kitchen or subterranean Smithfield that ye'll hear o' in the pulpits -- the hell on earth o' being a flunkey, and a humbug, and a useless peacock, wasting God's gifts on your ain lusts and pleasures -- and kenning it -- and not being able to get oot o' it for the chains of vanity and self-indulgence."

Alton Locke, chap. viii. 1849.