at their sides wonderfully carved pictures of people who had been
good and kind and always thoughtful of others instead of themselves. As
Dante looked at them they seemed to him to be the most marvelous
pictures he had ever seen. He thought within his heart, "How beautiful!"
"How beautiful!" "How I wish I could be like these people!" Then he
turned and looked down upon the rocks on which he was treading, he saw
there were more carvings upon the stones below; but these were of people
who thought of nobody but themselves--haughty people, selfish people,
and idle ones.

As Dante gazed upon them, he bowed himself lower and lower, for he
thought within his heart, "I fear I am more like these people than I am
like the others." He had been a proud and haughty man in the past, and
now he knew how ugly and selfish that haughtiness was. As he ascended
the road, he must have prayed to God to make him more like the beautiful
and gentle people whose portraits he had seen upon the rocks at his
side. He had been walking, bent very low; all at once he straightened
himself up; he felt as if some great weight had been lifted off his
shoulders. He turned to Virgil, saying, "Master, from what heavy thing
have I been lightened?" Virgil glanced up at his forehead. Dante
stretched forth the fingers of his hand and felt the letters which the
angel had placed upon his forehead. There were but six. There had been
seven. Virgil smiled, and the two passed on.

Their ears caught the sound of voices singing in sweet tones, "Blessed
are the poor in spirit!" "Blessed are the poor in spirit!" Then Dante
knew that the other souls, too, had prayed to God to take pride and
haughtiness and selfishness out of their lives.

They passed along to the higher terrace on the mountain side, and here
they saw no pictures, but heard strange, sweet voices singing through
the air. These voices were singing of the people who had been glad when
others were made happy, who had loved and praised the good in those
about them, who had rejoiced when some one else besides themselves had
been commended. The voices seemed so joyful as they told of these loving
hearts, that Dante shut his eyes and listened. Soon he heard other
voices tell of the people who had liked to talk of themselves and not of
others, who did not care to hear anybody else praised, people whom it
made unhappy to know that anybody else was happy. "Ah!" thought he to
himself, "I fear, I fear that I have bee