uired Pliable,
stroking his leg.

"Believed in what, my friend?" said Obstinate, in a dull voice.

"About Mount Zion, and the Crowns of Glory, and the Harps of Gold, and
such like," said Pliable uneasily--"at least, it is said so; so 'tis said."

"Believed!" retorted a smooth young man who seemed to feel the heat,
and sat by the staircase door. "That's an easy task--to believe, sir.
Ask any pretty minikin!"

"And I'd make bold to enquire of yonder Liveloose," said a thick,
monotonous voice (a Mr. Dull's, so Reverie informed me), "if mebbe he
be referring to one of his own, or that fellow Sloth's devilish fairy
tales? I know one yet he'll eat again some day."

At which remark all laughed consumedly, save Dull.

"Well, one thing Christian had, and none can deny it," said Pliable, a
little hotly, "and that was Imagination? _I_ shan't forget the tales
he was wont to tell: what say you, Superstition?"

Mr. Superstition lifted dark, rather vacant eyes on Pliable. "Yes,
yes," he said: "Flame, and sigh, and lamentation. My God, my God,
gentlemen!"

"Oo-ay, Oo-ay," yelped the voice of Mistrust, startled out of silence.

"Oo-ay," whistled Malice, under his breath.

"Tush, tush!" broke in Obstinate again, and snapped his fingers in the
air. "And what is this precious Imagination? Whither doth it conduct a
man, but to beggary, infamy, and the mad-house? Look ye to it, friend
Pliable! 'Tis a devouring flame; give it but wind and leisure, the
fairest house is ashes."

"Ashes; ashes!" mocked one called Cruelty, who had more than once
taken my attention with his peculiar contortions--"talking of ashes,
what of Love-the-log Faithful, Master Tongue-stump? What of
Love-the-log Faithful?"

At which Liveloose was so extremely amused, the tears stood in his
eyes for laughing.

I looked round for Mistrust, and easily recognised my friend by his
hare-like face, and the rage in his little active eyes. But
unfortunately, as I turned to enquire somewhat of Reverie, Liveloose
suddenly paused in his merriment with open mouth; and the whole
company heard my question, "But who was Love-the-log Faithful?"

I was at once again the centre of attention, and Mr. Obstinate rose
very laboriously from his settle and held out a great hand to me.

"I'm pleased to meet thee," he said, with a heavy bow. "There's a dear
heart with my good neighbour Superstition yonder who will present a
very fair account of that misguided young man. Madam Wanto