 | The celestial rail-road |  |
THE CELESTIAL RAIL-ROAD.
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 had 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, by making 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
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 incovenient 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 the dispute,
I shall merely observe, that, so far as my
experience goes, the square pieces of pasteboard,
now delivered to passengers, are much
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
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 baggagecar,
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
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
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 that 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 foottravellers,
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 woeful 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
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
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 expel 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 has 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
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—a 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
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 itself 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
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 to 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
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
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
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 had 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
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 labours 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
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,
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,
as 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
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 bargain.
Day after day, as I walked the streets of Vanity,
my manners and deportment became more
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
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 life-time
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. Go-the-old-way,
“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
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 trafficing
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 carried it away piecemeal. Had all regrets
been punished as rigorously as this poor dame's
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
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 the
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 congratulating
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,
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 woe, 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
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 unwordly 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
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 livid
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 celestial rail-road | |