The minister had already begun to speak and was growing eloquent as he warmed to his theme. They listened with absorbing interest to every word that fell from his lips. “Into this church,” the minister said, “come the wearied of heart, troubled perchance with inward fears resulting from the weird occurrences along the pathway through the Valley of Conviction. We bid you cast aside your thoughts of trouble and be at peace. There is a calmness you should covet untouched by such conviction. “They who sing and preach in that valley are low subjects of ignorance and folly, and happy for you if you succeed in totally forgetting all you saw or heard while passing through. Why should you worry about your condition? Are you not good enough? You have come hither from respectable parents, perhaps received Christian baptism, and can easily distinguish between right and wrong. Why should cruel daggers now pierce your heart? What you have done or expect to do is surely pleasing to your God. If you belong to the church, you are doubly safe. Let time change, or worlds fall, the church will stand forever. If you continue faithful here, you will have a glorious end; only be not influenced by the contemptible advocates of the Narrow Way, who show their vanity by their professions of superior sanctity. Be satisfied with the good, old, staid principles of this church, and be not swept away by every wind of doctrine that is blasting the earth with its sulphurous breath. Rejoice in your pilgrimage and let conviction no longer sadden your life.” After continuing at some length in this strain, the minister announced that a quartette would render an appropriate selection just received from the mountain-tops of Apathy. [Illustration: The Devil’s Auction Here many church members, and others, pay their all for a few baubles of worldly pleasure.] The congregation seemed to be greatly pleased as these words were sung with a show of sentiment: “Come, ye that struggle With thoughts of conviction; Continue no longer Such burdens to bear. Throw off forever This needless affliction; And taste of the pleasures That wisdom would share. “There’s rest for the soul In blissful forgetting; ’Tis bought by the prudent At moderate cost. Then cast to the winds Thy worry and fretting, And live in the sunshine Where shadows are lost.” At the conclusion of the services Mr. World conducted his friend from the church, and as they were moving again toward the surging crowds they heard the voice of an auctioneer. “Let us tarry a moment,” he urged as he turned his footsteps to that part of the Broad Highway known as the Devil’s Auction. A large company of men, women, and children were giving earnest heed to the auction which had been in progress all day.