Newspaper Page Text
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
THE LITTLE PILGRIM.
NE fine day in autumn
Dttle Marian Baw the
old family coach drive
up in front of the door
§|| * to take her aunts to
mb “We are going to spend the
day,” they said, “ with poor Mrs.
Blair, who is sick in bed. But,
Marian, you must stay at home ; you can
have your dinner under the large old ap
ple tree, and can play in the garden all
day”
Marian’s favorite book, you will recol-
lect, was Pilgrim’s Progress,
and she had read it so much
that she imagined it to be her
duty to go on a pilgrimage to
the Heavenly City, as Chris
tian and his wife had done.
And now, she thought, the
time has come for me to set
out. But her little heart dread
ed the journey, and she knelt
under the apple tree and pray
ed for God’s assistance, and
then with basket in hand she
went forth on her pilgrimage.
Behind the house where
Marian dwelt there lay, far off
in the distance, a high, steep
hill, which at morn was tinged
with the sun’s earliest rays.
This, she had no doubt, was
the hill “ Difficulty,” which her
book told her of, and towards
it she turned her face. ’Twas
a lovely morning in autumn —
the flowers bloomed brightly,
and the little lark sang merri
ly over the waving corn.
“Ah, little lark,” she said,
“you sing on your early pilgrimage. I
will sing, too, for pleasant thoughts
should now engage my mind.”
And she sang, in clear, sw T eet strains, a
little hymn which she had learned, and
gaily tripped on her way. Soon she came
to a pool of thick, soft mud which lay
across her pathway.
“This,” she cried, “is the ‘Slough of
Despond,’ ” but she bravely ventured
through, reaching the other side safely,
but with the loss of one of her little shoes.
On, on, she wandered for several miles,
until she became weary and foot-sore.
And then she sat her down on an old gray
stone, and ate some bread and fruit from
her little basket; then took her little Bi
ble out and read a cheering psalm. But
sleep at length overcame her, and when
she woke the sun was beginning to sink,
BURKE’S WEEKLY.
and little Marian jumped up and again
began her journey. A t length, near the
close of the day, she reached the foot of
the hill, and began its steep ascent.—
Though faint and weary, she continued
firm in her purpose, and at length stood
on the high hill-top. There, to her de
light, she saw a porter’s lodge, half hid
den by the trees.
“Oh, there’s the ‘ Wicket Gate,’” she
cried, “ and now to gain admittance be
fore it is too late.”
So she knocked gently at the door,
which w r as presently opened by a large
man, and little Marian felt as she never
felt before, for she thought sure that this
was “Goodwill,” the keeper of the “gate,”
and that she was now fairly entered on
her pilgrimage. But the man only said :
“ I suppose you’ve lost your way, young
miss ; I see you’ve lost your shoe,” and
lie added to his wife, within the house,
“ Here’s a little girl at our door, and you’ll
never see such an one again, if you live
to be a hundred. She calls me ‘ Good
will,’ and says she wants ‘ Discretion.’
There are older ones who want it too,
and will not own it.”
“ Take her to the Hall,” said his wife;
“the ladies there will soon know what to
do with her.”
The good man complied, and led Marian
on through many a flowery glade, until
the Hall came in view. This she took to
bo “ Palace Beautiful.” Soon little Marian
was inside this hospitable mansion, but
still believing this to be a part of her pil
grimage, she imagined that the three kind
ladies who received her were “ Piety,
Prudence and Charity.”
“ What is your name, my little dear ?”
asked the eldest. “We’ll send a servant
to your friends, for we are sure that they
must be uneasy.”
She modestly told her name and where
she lived, and the ladies gazed at her ad
miringly, for she was a lovely child.
“ ITow did you lose your way, my love ?”
asked another of the ladies.
“ I do not think I’ve lost it,” Marian
replied. “Is not this the ‘ Palace Beau
tiful,’ and may I not stay here to-night?”
“ We will be glad to have you stay with
us, dear, not only to-night, but for many
nights to come.”
But Marian’s answers puz
zled them, and they could not
for a while understand her;
but, at length one of the ladies
threw her arms around Mari
an’s neck, and said:
“ The secret’s out at last. I
see you have read that wonder
ful book ‘ The Pilgrim’s Pro
gress,’ which, unexplained, has
turned your little head. I
dearly loved that book when I
was a child, but my dear mam
ma explained it well to me as
I read; and if we can prevail
on your kind aunts to let you
spend some time with us, w r e
will read it with you, and make
it’s meaning clear.”
But to return to Marian’s
home. The servants had com
pany, and were too merry to
notice her absence until late in
the evening, and then they
wondered where she could be.
They sought her here and
there, but could not find her,
and her poor aunts, when they came
home, were nearly wild with grief. Tho
servants were sent in different directions,
but none of them thought of going over
the route Marian had chosen.
“Perhaps she followed us to town,” at
last said poor old Aunt Rebecca. “ I wish
we had not left our home, for it may be
the child is dead.”
So the coachman was sent to the town,
and when night came on a country boy
brought in Marian’s little shoe, which was
found sticking in the mud. At this the
ladies grief grew louder, but their hearts
were soon cheered by the appearance of
a grand footman, with a note in his hand.
Aunt Ruth read it and cried .
« Oh, sister, all is well. Marian is safe
at Brooklawn Hall, with Lady Arundel,
who wants to keep her for a month. Anti
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