textfiles/etext/AUTHORS/HAWTHORNE/hawthorne-celestial-477.txt

                                      1843

                                TWICE-TOLD TALES

                             THE CELESTIAL RAILROAD

                             by Nathaniel Hawthorne

   NOT A GREAT WHILE AGO, passing through the gate of dreams, I
visited that region of the earth in which lies the famous city of
Destruction. It interested me much to learn that, by the public spirit
of some of the inhabitants, a railroad has recently been established
between this populous and flourishing town, and the Celestial City.
Having a little time upon my hands, I resolved to gratify a liberal
curiosity to make a trip thither. Accordingly, one fine morning, after
paying my bill at the hotel, and directing the porter to stow my
luggage behind a coach, I took my seat in the vehicle and set out
for the Station- house. It was my good fortune to enjoy the company of
a gentleman- one Mr. Smooth-it-away- who, though he had never actually
visited the Celestial City, yet seemed as well acquainted with its
laws, customs, policy, and statistics, as with those of the city of
Destruction, of which he was a native townsman. Being, moreover, a
Director of the railroad corporation, and one of its largest
stockholders, he had it in his power to give me all desirable
information respecting that praiseworthy enterprise.

   Our coach rattled out of the city, and, at a short distance from
its outskirts, passed over a bridge, of elegant construction, but
somewhat too slight, as I imagined, to sustain any considerable
weight. On both sides lay an extensive quagmire, which could not
have been more disagreeable either to sight or smell, had all the
kennels of the earth emptied their pollution there.

   "This," remarked Mr. Smooth-it-away, "is the famous Slough of
Despond- a disgrace to all the neighborhood; and the greater, that
it might so easily be converted into firm ground."

   "I have understood, said I, "that efforts have been made for that
purpose, from time immemorial. Bunyan mentions that above twenty
thousand cart-loads of wholesome instructions had been thrown in here,
without effect."

   "Very probably! and what effect could be anticipated from such
unsubstantial stuff?" cried Mr. Smooth-it-away. "You observe this
convenient bridge. We obtained a sufficient foundation for it by
throwing into the Slough some editions of books of morality, volumes
of French philosophy and German rationalism, tracts, sermons, and
essays of modern clergymen, extracts from Plato, Confucius, and
various Hindoo sages, together with a few ingenious commentaries
upon texts of Scripture- all of which, by some scientific process,
have been converted into a mass like granite. The whole bog might be
filled up with similar matter."

   It really seemed to me, however, that the bridge vibrated and
heaved up and down in a very formidable manner; and, spite of Mr.
Smooth-it-away's testimony to the solidity of its foundation, I should
be loth to cross it in a crowded omnibus; especially, if each
passenger were encumbered with as heavy luggage as that gentleman
and myself. Nevertheless, we got over without accident, and soon found
ourselves at the Station-house. This very neat and spacious edifice is
erected on the site of the little Wicket-Gate, which formerly, as
all old pilgrims will recollect, stood directly across the highway,
and, by its inconvenient narrowness, was a great obstruction to the
traveller of liberal mind and expansive stomach. The reader of John
Bunyan will be glad to know, that Christian's old friend Evangelist,
who was accustomed to supply each pilgrim with a mystic roll, now
presides at the ticket office. Some malicious persons, it is true,
deny the identity of this reputable character with the Evangelist of
old times, and even pretend to bring competent evidence of an
imposture. Without involving myself in a dispute, I shall merely
observe, that, so far as my experience goes, the square pieces of
pasteboard, now delivered to passengers, are much more convenient
and useful along the road, than the antique roll of parchment. Whether
they will be as readily received at the gate of the Celestial City,
I decline giving an opinion.

   A large number of passengers were already at the Station-house,
awaiting the departure of the cars. By the aspect and demeanor of
these persons, it was easy to judge that the feelings of the community
had undergone a very favorable change, in reference to the celestial
pilgrimage. It would have done Bunyan's heart good to see it.
Instead of a lonely and ragged man, with a huge burthen on his back,
plodding along sorrowfully on foot, while the whole city hooted
after him, here were parties of the first gentry and most
respectable people in the neighborhood, setting forth towards the
Celestial City, as cheerfully as if the pilgrimage were merely a
summer tour. Among the gentlemen were characters of deserved eminence,
magistrates, politicians, and men of wealth, by whose example religion
could not but be greatly recommended to their meaner brethren. In
the ladies' apartment, too, I rejoiced to distinguish some of those
flowers of fashionable society, who are so well fitted to adorn the
most elevated circles of the Celestial City. There was much pleasant
conversation about the news of the day, topics of business,
politics, or the lighter matters of amusement; while religion,
though indubitably the main thing at heart, was thrown tastefully into
the back-ground. Even an infidel would have heard little or nothing to
shock his sensibility.

   One great convenience of the new method of going on pilgrimage, I
must not forget to mention. Our enormous burthens, instead of being
carried on our shoulders, as had been the custom of old, were all
snugly deposited in the baggage-car, and, as I was assured, would be
delivered to their respective owners at the journey's end. Another
thing, likewise, the benevolent reader will be delighted to
understand. It may be remembered that there was an ancient feud
between Prince Beelzebub and the keeper of the Wicket-Gate, and that
the adherents of the former distinguished personage were accustomed to
shoot deadly arrows at honest pilgrims, while knocking at the door.
This dispute, much to the credit as well of the illustrious
potentate above-mentioned, as of the worthy and enlightened
Directors of the railroad, has been pacifically arranged, on the
principle of mutual compromise. The Prince's subjects are now pretty
numerously employed about the Station-house, some in taking care of
the baggage, others in collecting fuel, feeding the engines, and
such congenial occupations; and I can conscientiously affirm, that
persons more attentive to their business, more willing to accommodate,
or more generally agreeable to the passengers, are not to be found
on any railroad. Every good heart must surely exult at so satisfactory
an arrangement of an immemorial difficulty.

   "Where is Mr. Great-heart?" inquired I. "Beyond a doubt, the
Directors have engaged that famous old champion to be chief
conductor on the railroad?"

   "Why, no," said Mr. Smooth-it-away, with a dry cough. "He was
offered the situation of brake-man; but, to tell you the truth, our
friend Great-heart has grown preposterously stiff and narrow in his
old age. He has so often guided pilgrims over the road, on foot,
that he considers it a sin to travel in any other fashion. Besides,
the old fellow had entered so heartily into the ancient feud with
Prince Beelzebub, that he would have been perpetually at blows or
ill language with some of the Prince's subjects, and thus have
embroiled us anew. So, on the whole, we were not sorry when honest
Great-heart went off to the Celestial City in a huff, and left us at
liberty to choose a more suitable and accommodating man. Yonder
comes the conductor of the train. You will probably recognize him at
once."

   The engine at this moment took its station in advance of the
cars, looking, I must confess, much more like a sort of mechanical
demon that would hurry us to the infernal regions, than a laudable
contrivance for smoothing our way to the Celestial City. On its top
sat a personage almost enveloped in smoke and flame, which- not to
startle the reader- appeared to gush from his own mouth and stomach,
as well as from the engine's brazen abdomen.

   "Do my eyes deceive me?" cried I. "What on earth is this! A
living creature? If so, he is own brother to the engine he rides
upon!"

   "Poh, poh, you are obtuse!" said Mr. Smooth-it-away, with a
hearty laugh. "Don't you know Apollyon, Christian's old enemy, with
whom he fought so fierce a battle in the Valley of Humiliation? He was
the very fellow to manage the engine; and so we have reconciled him to
the custom of going on pilgrimage, and engaged him as chief
conductor."

   "Bravo, bravo!" exclaimed I, with irrepressible enthusiasm, "this
shows the liberality of the age; this proves, if anything can, that
all musty prejudices are in a fair way to be obliterated. And how will
Christian rejoice to hear of this happy transformation of his old
antagonist! I promise myself great pleasure in informing him of it,
when we reach the Celestial City."

   The passengers being all comfortably seated, we now rattled away
merrily, accomplishing a greater distance in ten minutes than
Christian probably trudged over in a day. It was laughable while we
glanced along, as it were, at the tail of a thunderbolt, to observe
two dusty foot-travellers, in the old pilgrim-guise, with cockle-shell
and staff, their mystic rolls of parchment in their hands, and their
intolerable burthens on their backs. The preposterous obstinacy of
these honest people, in persisting to groan and stumble along the
difficult pathway, rather than take advantage of modern
improvements, excited great mirth among our wiser brotherhood. We
greeted the two pilgrims with many pleasant gibes and a roar of
laughter; whereupon, they gazed at us with such woful and absurdly
compassionate visages, that our merriment grew tenfold more
obstreperous. Apollyon, also, entered heartily into the fun, and
contrived to flirt the smoke and flame of the engine, or of his own
breath, into their faces, and envelope them in an atmosphere of
scalding steam. These little practical jokes amused us mightily, and
doubtless afforded the pilgrims the gratification of considering
themselves martyrs.

   At some distance from the railroad, Mr. Smooth-it-away pointed to a
large, antique edifice, which, he observed, was a tavern of long
standing, and had formerly been a noted stopping-place for pilgrims.
In Bunyan's road-book it is mentioned as the Interpreter's House.

   "I have long had a curiosity to visit that old mansion," remarked
I.

   "It is not one of our stations, as you perceive," said my
companion. "The keeper was violently opposed to the railroad; and well
he might be, as the track left his house of entertainment on one side,
and thus was pretty certain to deprive him of all his reputable
customers. But the foot-path still passes his door; and the old
gentleman now and then receives a call from some simple traveller, and
entertains him with fare as old-fashioned as himself."

   Before our talk on this subject came to a conclusion, we were
rushing by the place where Christian's burthen fell from his
shoulders, at the sight of the Cross. This served as a theme for Mr.
Smooth-it-away, Mr. Live-for-the-world, Mr. Hide-sin-in-the-heart, Mr.
Scaly-conscience, and a knot of gentlemen from the town of
Shun-repentance, to descant upon the inestimable advantages
resulting from the safety of our baggage. Myself, and all the
passengers indeed, joined with great unanimity in this view of the
matter; for our burthens were rich in many things esteemed precious
throughout the world; and especially, we each of us possessed a
great variety of favorite Habits, which we trusted would not be out of
fashion, even in the polite circles of the Celestial City. It would
have been a sad spectacle to see such an assortment of valuable
articles tumbling into the sepulchre. Thus pleasantly conversing on
the favorable circumstances of our position, as compared with those of
past pilgrims, and of narrow-minded ones at the present day, we soon
found ourselves at the foot of the Hill Difficulty. Through the very
heart of this rocky mountain a tunnel has been constructed, of most
admirable architecture, with a lofty arch and a spacious double-track;
so that, unless the earth and rocks should chance to crumble down,
it will remain an eternal monument of the builder's skill and
enterprise. It is a great though incidental advantage, that the
materials from the heart of the Hill Difficulty have been employed
in filling up the Valley of Humiliation; thus obviating the
necessity of descending into that disagreeable and unwholesome hollow.

   "This is a wonderful improvement, indeed," said I. "Yet I should
have been glad of an opportunity to visit the Palace Beautiful, and be
introduced to the charming young ladies- Miss Prudence, Miss Piety,
Miss Charity, and the rest- who have the kindness to entertain
pilgrims there."

   "Young ladies!" cried Mr. Smooth-it-away, as soon as he could speak
for laughing. "And charming young ladies! Why, my dear fellow, they
are old maids, every soul of them- prim, starched, dry, and angular-
and not one of them, I will venture to say, has altered so much as the
fashion of her gown, since the days of Christian's pilgrimage."

   "Ah, well, said I, much comforted, "then I can very readily
dispense with their acquaintance."

   The respectable Apollyon was now putting on the steam at a
prodigious rate; anxious, perhaps, to get rid of the unpleasant
reminiscences connected with the spot where he had so disastrously
encountered Christian. Consulting Mr. Bunyan's road-book, I
perceived that we must now be within a few miles of the Valley of
the Shadow of Death; into which doleful region, at our present
speed, we should plunge much sooner than seemed at all desirable. In
truth, I expected nothing better than to find myself in the ditch on
one side, or the quag on the other. But on communicating my
apprehensions to Mr. Smooth-it-away, he assured me that the
difficulties of this passage, even in its worst condition, had been
vastly exaggerated, and that, in its present state of improvement, I
might consider myself as safe as on any railroad in Christendom.

   Even while we were speaking, the train shot into the entrance of
this dreaded Valley. Though I plead guilty to some foolish
palpitations of the heart, during our headlong rush over the
causeway here constructed, yet it were unjust to withhold the
highest encomiums on the boldness of its original conception, and
the ingenuity of those who executed it. It was gratifying, likewise,
to observe how much care had been taken to dispel the everlasting
gloom, and supply the defect of cheerful sunshine; not a ray of
which has ever penetrated among these awful shadows. For this purpose,
the inflammable gas, which exudes plentifully from the soil, is
collected by means of pipes, and thence communicated to a quadruple
row of lamps, along the whole extent of the passage. Thus a radiance
has been created, even out of the fiery and sulphurous curse that
rests for ever upon the Valley; a radiance hurtful, however, to the
eyes, and somewhat bewildering, as I discovered by the changes which
it wrought in the visages of my companions. In this respect, as
compared with natural daylight, there is the same difference as
between truth and falsehood; but if the reader have ever travelled
through the dark Valley, he will have learned to be thankful for any
light that he could get; if not from the sky above, then from the
blasted soil beneath. Such was the red brilliancy of these lamps, that
they appeared to build walls of fire on both sides of the track,
between which we held our course at lightning speed, while a
reverberating thunder filled the Valley with its echoes. Had the
engine run off the track- a catastrophe, it is whispered, by no
means unprecedented- the bottomless pit, if there be any such place,
would undoubtedly have received us. Just as some dismal fooleries of
this nature had made my heart quake, there came a tremendous shriek,
careering along the Valley as if a thousand devils had burst their
lungs to utter it, but which proved to be merely the whistle of the
engine, on arriving at a stopping-place.

   The spot, where we had now paused, is the same that our friend
Bunyan- truthful man, but infected with many fantastic notions- has
designated, in terms plainer than I like to repeat, as the mouth of
the infernal region. This, however, must be a mistake; inasmuch as Mr.
Smooth-it-away, while we remained in the smoky and lurid cavern,
took occasion to prove that Tophet has not even a metaphorical
existence. The place, he assured us, is no other than the crater of
a half-extinct volcano, in which the Directors had caused forges to be
set up, for the manufacture of railroad iron. Hence, also, is obtained
a plentiful supply of fuel for the use of the engines. Whoever had
gazed into the dismal obscurity of the broad cavern-mouth, whence ever
and anon darted huge tongues of dusky flame- and had seen the strange,
half-shaped monsters, and visions of faces horribly grotesque, into
which the smoke seemed to wreathe itself- and had heard the awful
murmurs, and shrieks, and deep shuddering whispers of the blast,
sometimes forming themselves into words almost articulate- would
have seized upon Mr. Smooth-it-away's comfortable explanation, as
greedily as we did. The inhabitants of the cavern, moreover, were
unlovely personages, dark, smoke-begrimed, generally deformed, with
mis-shapen feet, and a glow of dusky redness in their eyes; as if
their hearts had caught fire, and were blazing out of the upper
windows. It struck me as a peculiarity, that the laborers at the
forge, and those who brought fuel to the engine, when they began to
draw short breath, positively emitted smoke from their mouth and
nostrils.

   Among the idlers about the train, most of whom were puffing
cigars which they had lighted at the flame of the crater, I was
perplexed to notice several who, to my certain knowledge, had
heretofore set forth by railroad for the Celestial City. They looked
dark, wild, and smoky, with a singular resemblance, indeed, to the
native inhabitants; like whom, also, they had a disagreeable
propensity to ill-natured gibes and sneers, the habit of which had
wrought a settled contortion of their visages. Having been on speaking
terms with one of these persons- an indolent, good-for-nothing fellow,
who went by the name of Take-it-easy- I called him, and inquired
what was his business there.

   "Did you not start," said I, "for the Celestial City?"

   "That's a fact," said Mr. Take-it-easy, carelessly puffing some
smoke into my eyes. "But I heard such bad accounts, that I never
took pains to climb the hill, on which the city stands. No business
doing- no fun going on- nothing to drink, and no smoking allowed-
and a thrumming of church-music from morning till night! I would not
stay in such a place, if they offered me house-room and living free."

   "But, my good Mr. Take-it-easy," cried I, "why take up your
residence here, of all places in the world?"

   "Oh," said the loafer, with a grin, "it is very warm hereabouts,
and I meet with plenty of old acquaintances, and altogether the
place suits me. I hope to see you back again, some day soon. A
pleasant journey to you!"

   While he was speaking, the bell of the engine rang, and we dashed
away, after dropping a few passengers, but receiving no new ones.
Rattling onward through the Valley, we were dazzled with the
fiercely gleaming gas-lamps, as before. But sometimes, in the dark
of intense brightness, grim faces, that bore the aspect and expression
of individual sins, or evil passions, seemed to thrust themselves
through the veil of light, glaring upon us, and stretching forth a
great dusky hand, as if to impede our progress. I almost thought, that
they were my own sins that appalled me there. These were freaks of
imagination- nothing more, certainly- mere delusions, which I ought to
be heartily ashamed of- but, all through the Dark Valley, I was
tormented, and pestered, and dolefully bewildered, with the same
kind of waking dreams. The mephitic gases of that region intoxicate
the brain. As the light of natural day, however, began to struggle
with the glow of the lanterns, these vain imaginations lost their
vividness, and finally vanished with the first ray of sunshine that
greeted our escape from the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Ere we
had gone a mile beyond it, I could well nigh have taken my oath,
that this whole gloomy passage was a dream.

   At the end of the Valley, as John Bunyan mentions, is a cavern,
where, in his days, dwelt two cruel giants, Pope and Pagan, who had
strewn the ground about their residence with the bones of
slaughtered pilgrims. These vile old troglodytes are no longer
there; but in their deserted cave another terrible giant has thrust
himself, and makes it his business to seize upon honest travellers,
and fat them for his table with plentiful meals of smoke, mist,
moonshine, raw potatoes, and saw-dust. He is a German by birth, and is
called Giant Transcendentalist; but as to his form, his features,
his substance, and his nature generally, it is the chief peculiarity
of this huge miscreant, that neither he for himself, nor anybody for
him, has ever been able to describe them. As we rushed by the cavern's
mouth, we caught a hasty glimpse of him, looking somewhat like an
ill-proportioned figure, but considerably more like a heap of fog
and duskiness. He shouted after us but in so strange a phraseology,
that we knew not what he meant, nor whether to be encouraged or
affrighted.

   It was late in the day, when the train thundered into the ancient
city of Vanity, where Vanity Fair is still at the height of
prosperity, and exhibits an epitome of whatever is brilliant, gay, and
fascinating, beneath the sun. As I purposed to make a considerable
stay here, it gratified me to learn that there is no longer the want
of harmony between the townspeople and pilgrims, which impelled the
former to such lamentably mistaken measures as the persecution of
Christian, and the fiery martyrdom of Faithful. On the contrary, as
the new railroad brings with it great trade and a constant influx of
strangers, the lord of Vanity Fair is its chief patron, and the
capitalists of the city are among the largest stockholders. Many
passengers stop to take their pleasure or make their profit in the
Fair, instead of going onward to the Celestial City. Indeed, such
are the charms of the place, that people often affirm it to be the
true and only heaven; stoutly contending that there is no other,
that those who seek further are mere dreamers, and that, if the fabled
brightness of the Celestial City lay but a bare mile beyond the
gates of Vanity, they would not be fools enough to go thither. Without
subscribing to these, perhaps, exaggerated encomiums, I can truly say,
that my abode in the city was mainly agreeable, and my intercourse
with the inhabitants productive of much amusement and instruction.

   Being naturally of a serious turn, my attention was directed to the
solid advantages derivable from a residence here, rather than to the
effervescent pleasures, which are the grand object with too many
visitants. The Christian reader, if he have no accounts of the city
later than Bunyan's time, will be surprised to hear that almost
every street has its church, and that the reverend clergy are
nowhere held in higher respect than at Vanity Fair. And well do they
deserve such honorable estimation; for the maxims of wisdom and virtue
which fall from their lips, come from as deep a spiritual source,
and tend to as lofty a religious aim, as those of the sagest
philosophers of old. In justification of this high praise, I need only
mention the names of the Rev. Mr. Shallow-deep; the Rev. Mr.
Stumble-at-Truth; that fine old clerical character, the Rev. Mr.
This-to-day, who expects shortly to resign his pulpit to the Rev.
Mr. That-to-morrow; together with the Rev. Mr. Bewilderment; the
Rev. Mr. Clog-the-spirit; and, last and greatest, the Rev. Dr.
Wind-of-doctrine. The labors of these eminent divines are aided by
those of innumerable lecturers, who diffuse such a various profundity,
in all subjects of human or celestial science, that any man may
acquire an omnigenous erudition, without the trouble of even
learning to read. Thus literature is etherealized by assuming for
its medium the human voice; and knowledge, depositing all its
heavier particles- except, doubtless, its gold- becomes exhaled into a
sound, which forthwith steals into the ever-open ear of the community.
These ingenious methods constitute a sort of machinery, by which
thought and study are done to every person's hand, without his putting
himself to the slightest inconvenience in the matter. There is another
species of machine for the wholesale manufacture of individual
morality. This excellent result is effected by societies for all
manner of virtuous purposes; with which a man has merely to connect
himself, throwing, as it were, his quota of virtue into the common
stock; and the president and directors will take care that the
aggregate amount be well applied. All these, and other wonderful
improvements in ethics, religion, and literature, being made plain
to my comprehension, by the ingenious Mr. Smooth-it-away, inspired
me with a vast admiration of Vanity Fair.

   It would fill a volume, in an age of pamphlets, were I to record
all my observations in this great capital of human business and
pleasure. There was an unlimited range of society- the powerful, the
wise, the witty, and the famous in every walk of life- princes,
presidents, poets, generals, artists, actors, and philanthropists, all
making their own market at the Fair, and deeming no price too
exorbitant for such commodities as hit their fancy. It was well
worth one's while, even if he had no idea of buying or selling, to
loiter through the bazaars, and observe the various sorts of traffic
that were going forward.

   Some of the purchasers, I thought, made very foolish bargains.
For instance, a young man having inherited a splendid fortune, laid
out a considerable portion of it in the purchase of diseases, and
finally spent all the rest for a heavy lot of repentance and a suit of
rags. A very pretty girl bartered a heart as clear as crystal, and
which seemed her most valuable possession, for another jewel of the
same kind, but so worn and defaced as to be utterly worthless. In
one shop, there were a great many crowns of laurel and myrtle, which
soldiers, authors, statesmen, and various other people, pressed
eagerly to buy; some purchased these paltry wreaths with their
lives; others by a toilsome servitude of years; and many sacrificed
whatever was most valuable, yet finally slunk away without the
crown. There was a sort of stock or scrip, called Conscience, which
seemed to be in great demand, and would purchase almost anything.
Indeed, few rich commodities were to be obtained without paying a
heavy sum in this particular stock, and a man's business was seldom
very lucrative, unless he knew precisely when and how to throw his
hoard of Conscience into the market. Yet as this stock was the only
thing of permanent value, whoever parted with it was sure to find
himself a loser, in the long run. Several of the speculations were
of a questionable character. Occasionally, a member of Congress
recruited his pocket by the sale of his constituents; and I was
assured that public officers have often sold their country at very
moderate prices. Thousands sold their happiness for a whim. Gilded
chains were in great demand, and purchased with almost any
sacrifice. In truth, those who desired, according to the old adage, to
sell anything valuable for a song, might find customers all over the
Fair; and there were innumerable messes of pottage, piping hot, for
such as chose to buy them with their birthrights. A few articles,
however, could not be found genuine at Vanity Fair. If a customer
wished to renew his stock of youth, the dealers offered him a set of
false teeth and an auburn wig; if he demanded peace of mind, they
recommended opium or a brandy-bottle.

   Tracts of land and golden mansions, situate in the Celestial
City, were often exchanged, at very disadvantageous rates, for a few
years' lease of small, dismal, inconvenient tenements in Vanity
Fair. Prince Beelzebub himself took great interest in this sort of
traffic, and sometimes condescended to meddle with smaller matters.
I once had the pleasure to see him bargaining with a miser for his
soul, which, after much ingenious skirmishing on both sides, his
Highness succeeded in obtaining at about the value of sixpence. The
Prince remarked, with a smile, that he was a loser by the transaction.

   Day after day, as I walked the streets of Vanity, my manners and
deportment became more and more like those of the inhabitants. The
place began to seem like home; the idea of pursuing my travels to
the Celestial City was almost obliterated from my mind. I was reminded
of it, however, by the sight of the same pair of simple pilgrims at
whom we had laughed so heartily, when Apollyon puffed smoke and
steam into their faces, at the commencement of our journey. There they
stood amid the densest bustle of Vanity- the dealers offering them
their purple, and fine linen, and jewels; the men of wit and humor
gibing at them; a pair of buxom ladies ogling them askance; while
the benevolent Mr. Smooth-it-away whispered some of his wisdom at
their elbows, and pointed to a newly-erected temple- but there were
these worthy simpletons, making the scene look wild and monstrous,
merely by their sturdy repudiation of all part in its business or
pleasures.

   One of them- his name was Stick-to-the-right- perceived in my face,
I suppose, a species of sympathy and almost admiration, which, to my
own great surprise, I could not help feeling for this pragmatic
couple. It prompted him to address me.

   "Sir," inquired he, with a sad, yet mild and kindly voice, "do
you call yourself a pilgrim?"

   "Yes," I replied, "my right to that appellation is indubitable. I
am merely a sojourner here in Vanity Fair, being bound to the
Celestial City by the new railroad."

   "Alas, friend," rejoined Mr. Stick-to-the-right, "I do assure
you, and beseech you to receive the truth of my words, that that whole
concern is a bubble. You may travel on it all your lifetime, were
you to live thousands of years, and yet never get beyond the limits of
Vanity Fair! Yea; though you should deem yourself entering the gates
of the Blessed City, it will be nothing but a miserable delusion."

   "The Lord of the Celestial City," began the other pilgrim, whose
name was Mr. Foot-it-to-Heaven, "has refused, and will ever refuse, to
grant an act of incorporation for this railroad; and unless that be
obtained, no passenger can ever hope to enter his dominions.
Wherefore, every man, who buys a ticket, must lay his account with
losing the purchase-money- which is the value of his own soul."

   "Poh, nonsense!" said Mr. Smooth-it-away, taking my arm and leading
me off, "these fellows ought to be indicted for a libel. If the law
stood as it once did in Vanity Fair, we should see them grinning
through the iron bars of the prison window."

   This incident made a considerable impression on my mind, and
contributed with other circumstances to indispose me to a permanent
residence in the city of Vanity; although, of course, I was not simple
enough to give up my original plan of gliding along easily and
commodiously by railroad. Still, I grew anxious to be gone. There
was one strange thing that troubled me; amid the occupations or
amusements of the Fair, nothing was more common than for a person-
whether at a feast, theatre, or church, or trafficking for wealth
and honors, or whatever he might be doing, and however unseasonable
the interruption- suddenly to vanish like a soap-bubble, and be
never more seen of his fellows; and so accustomed were the latter to
such little accidents, that they went on with their business, as
quietly as if nothing had happened. But it was otherwise with me.

   Finally, after a pretty long residence at the Fair, I resumed my
journey towards the Celestial City, still with Mr. Smooth-it-away at
my side. At a short distance beyond the suburbs of Vanity, we passed
the ancient silver mine, of which Demas was the first discoverer,
and which is now wrought to great advantage, supplying nearly all
the coined currency of the world. A little further onward was the spot
where Lot's wife had stood for ages, under the semblance of a pillar
of salt. Curious travellers have long since carried it away piecemeal.
Had all regrets been punished as rigorously as this poor dame's
were, my yearning for the relinquished delights of Vanity Fair might
have produced a similar change in my own corporeal substance, and left
me a warning to future pilgrims.

   The next remarkable object was a large edifice, constructed of
moss-grown stone, but in a modern and airy style of architecture.
The engine came to a pause in its vicinity with the usual tremendous
shriek.

   "This was formerly the castle of the redoubted giant Despair,"
observed Mr. Smooth-it-away; "but, since his death, Mr. Flimsy-faith
has repaired it, and now keeps an excellent house of entertainment
here. It is one of our stopping-places."

   "It seems but slightly put together," remarked I, looking at the
frail, yet ponderous walls. "I do not envy Mr. Flimsy-faith his
habitation. Some day it will thunder down upon the heads of the
occupants."

   "We shall escape, at all events," said Mr. Smooth-it-away, "for
Apollyon is putting on the steam again."

   The road now plunged into a gorge of the Delectable Mountains,
and traversed the field where, in former ages, the blind men
wandered and stumbled among the tombs. One of these ancient
tomb-stones had been thrust across the track, by some malicious
person, and gave the train of cars a terrible jolt. Far up the
rugged side of a mountain, I perceived a rusty iron door, half
overgrown with bushes and creeping plants, but with smoke issuing from
its crevices.

   "Is that," inquired I, "the very door in the hill-side, which the
shepherds assured Christian was a by-way to Hell?"

   "That was a joke on the part of the shepherds," said Mr.
Smooth-it-away, with a smile. "It is neither more nor less than the
door of a cavern, which they use as a smoke-house for the
preparation of mutton hams."

   My recollections of the journey are now, for a little space, dim
and confused, inasmuch as a singular drowsiness here overcame me,
owing to the fact that we were passing over the Enchanted Ground,
the air of which encourages a disposition to sleep. I awoke,
however, as soon as we crossed the borders of the pleasant land of
Beulah. All the passengers were rubbing their eyes, comparing watches,
and con-gratulating one another on the prospect of arriving so
seasonably at the journey's end. The sweet breezes of this happy clime
came refreshingly to our nostrils; we beheld the glimmering gush of
silver fountains, overhung by trees of beautiful foliage and delicious
fruit, which were propagated by grafts from the celestial gardens.
Once, as we dashed onward like a hurricane, there was a flutter of
wings, and the bright appearance of an angel in the air, speeding
forth on some heavenly mission. The engine now announced the close
vicinity of the final Station-house, by one last and horrible
scream, in which there seemed to be distinguishable every kind of
wailing and wo, and bitter fierceness of wrath, all mixed up with
the wild laughter of a devil or a madman. Throughout our journey, at
every stopping-place, Apollyon had exercised his ingenuity in screwing
the most abominable sounds out of the whistle of the steam-engine; but
in this closing effort he outdid himself, and created an infernal
uproar, which, besides disturbing the peaceful inhabitants of
Beulah, must have sent its discord even through the celestial gates.

   While the horrid clamor was still ringing in our ears, we heard
an exulting strain, as if a thousand instruments of music, with
height, and depth, and sweetness in their tones, at once tender and
triumphant, were struck in unison, to greet the approach of some
illustrious hero, who had fought the good fight and won a glorious
victory, and was come to lay aside his battered arms for ever. Looking
to ascertain what might be the occasion of this glad harmony, I
perceived, on alighting from the cars, that a multitude of shining
ones had assembled on the other side of the river, to welcome two poor
pilgrims, who were just emerging from its depths. They were the same
whom Apollyon and ourselves had persecuted with taunts and gibes,
and scalding steam, at the commencement of our journey- the same whose
unworldly aspect and impressive words had stirred my conscience,
amid the wild revellers of Vanity Fair.

   "How amazingly well those men have got on!" cried I to Mr.
Smooth-it-away. "I wish we were secure of as good a reception."

   "Never fear- never fear!" answered my friend. "Come- make haste;
the ferry-boat will be off directly; and in three minutes you will
be on the other side of the river. No doubt you will find coaches to
carry you up to the city gates."

   A steam ferry-boat, the last improvement on this important route,
lay at the river-side, puffing, snorting, and emitting all those other
disagreeable utterances, which betoken the departure to be
immediate. I hurried on board with the rest of the passengers, most of
whom were in great perturbation; some bawling out for their baggage;
some tearing their hair and exclaiming that the boat would explode
or sink; some already pale with the heaving of the stream; some gazing
affrighted at the ugly aspect of the steersman; and some still dizzy
with the slumberous influences of the Enchanted Ground. Looking back
to the shore, I was amazed to discern Mr. Smooth-it-away waving his
hand in token of farewell!

   "Don't you go over to the Celestial City?" exclaimed I.

   "Oh, no!" answered he with a queer smile, and that same
disagreeable contortion of visage which I had remarked in the
inhabitants of the Dark Valley. "Oh, no! I have come thus far only for
the sake of your pleasant company. Good bye! We shall meet again."

   And then did my excellent friend, Mr. Smooth-it-away, laugh
outright; in the midst of which cachinnation, a smoke-wreath issued
from his mouth and nostrils, while a twinkle of lurid flame darted out
of either eye, proving indubitably that his heart was all of a red
blaze. The impudent fiend! To deny the existence of Tophet, when he
felt its fiery tortures raging within his breast! I rushed to the side
of the boat, intending to fling myself on shore. But the wheels, as
they began their revolutions, threw a dash of spray over me, so
cold- so deadly cold, with the chill that will never leave those
waters, until Death be drowned in his own river- that, with a shiver
and a heart-quake, I awoke. Thank heaven, it was a Dream!

                        THE END
.