rs and
deportment became more and more like those of the inhabitants. The
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 amidst
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 here in Vanity Fair, being bound to the Celestial
City by the new railroad."

"Alas, friend," rejoined Mr. Stick-to-the-truth, "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 lifetime, 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. Foot-it-to-heaven, "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 m