Mosses from an old manse
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 cartloads 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, in spite of Mr.
Smooth-it-away’s testimony to the solidity of its foundation, I should
be loath 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 stationhouse. 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 burden 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 and
politics, or the lighter matters of amusement; while religion, though
indubitably the main thing at heart, was thrown tastefully into the
background. 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 burdens, 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. Greatheart?” 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 brakeman; but, to tell you the truth, our friend
Greatheart 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 Greatheart 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 engineer 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 engineer.”
“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
burdens 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 envelop 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 footpath 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 burden fell from his shoulders at the sight
of the Cross. This served as a theme for Mr. Smooth-it-away, Mr.
Livefor-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 burdens 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