Henry Brocken

ughts of inte

ARD C

meaneth only that this young gentleman hath not enjoyed the pleasure of your company before. Will it amaze you to learn, my friends,

ad sat quietly smiling and listening. "My name, let me tell you, is Atheist, sir; and Christian was formerly a very nea

any evidently found his talk to their taste. They sat as still an

t in this plain world-to eat your cake, yet have it. And by some ill chance he happened at this time on a mouldy old folio in my friend's house that had been the property of his maternal grandmother-the subtlest old tome you ever set eyes on, though somewhat too dark and extrava

simple wits, and partly by reason of the sad condition a froward youth had reduced him to, he accepts the whole book-from A

wildly, "and has ever s

tones better. Believe me, I have traversed the narrow way this same Christian took, seeking the harps and pearls and the elixir vit?, these many years past. The book inciteth ye to it. It sets a man's heart on fire-that's weak enough to read it-with its pomp, and rhetoric, and far-away promises, and lofty counsels. Oh, fine words, who is not

He would pinch and contract the Universe to his own fantastical pattern. He is tedious, he is pragmatical, and-I affirm it in all sympathy and sorrow-he is crazed. Malice, haply, is a little sharp at times. And neighbour Obstinate dealeth full weight with his opinions. But this Christian Flown-to-Glory, as the urchins say, pinks with a bludgeon. He cannot endure an honest doubt. He distorteth a mere difference of opinion into a roaring Tophet. And because he is helpless, soli

eem there are not many here but will be content at length to come; and I not least content, whe

him not his vapours, his terrors, or his shameless greed of reward. Why, then, doth he envy us our wealth, our success, our gaiety, our content? He raves. He is haunted.

from the company, as if one and all had escaped

emark that I thought I now recollected to have heard Christian's name, but underst

oarsely. "He went stark, staring mad, and now i

ir and elbowed his way to the do

ou; and we'll show you as pretty a persuasion against pilgrimage as ever you saw." He opened his mouth where he stood between me and

e rose up, smiling softl

ce followed th

umouredly, "that Mr. Cruelty says more than he means. To my m

ellow," said Obstinate, patti

ight. His face was of the grey of ashes, and he looked once round on u

e with chin drawn a little back, Pliable bolt upright, like a green and white wand, Mistrust blinking his

he heedless, deep, untroubled gaze of Mrs. Nature, an

ed to me. "I know him only by repute, by hearsay," he said wit

nd into his breeches' pocket. "Nay, sir," he said,

e laughed, turn

and followed Rev

use over-night. And if you would kindly direct me to the nearest w

tition stood in the light of t

s way," he said, as

nswered, "and in the morning you sh

tily and turned in

the windows round about the smooth village-green. Even as we set out, I leading Rosinante by her bridle, and Superstition on my left hand, out

ed bushes begun to straiten our way, that this Mr. Superstition who had desired to accomp

yes busily searching the gloom to left and right of him. Indeed, those same dark eyes of h

self, led his horse, a pale, lovely creature w

wkwardly, turning to Reverie, "but my house is never so mute with horror as i

ess lightning quivered and was gone, revealing on the oppo

"that is not the w

"the Valley of the Shadow of D

at acid little man, did he

putting out his hand, "'tis fear only t

uelty," I said,

Believe me, sir, I would have followed Christian and his friend Hopeful very willingly long since; for as for Cruelty and Obstinate and all that clumsy rabble, I heed them not. Indeed my cousin Mistrust did go, and as you see returned with a caution; and a poor young school-fellow of mine, Jack Ignorance, came to an awful end. But it is because I owe partly to Christian and not all to myself thi

down a little by-lane on our left towards a country co

e to a house called Gloom, whose gardens slope down with plashing fountains and glimmering banks of