The crafty Mr. World, having won her confidence, escorted her all through the Wicked Valley. By a continual palliation she yielded one point after another until her virtue was sacrificed on a cursed altar. Satan assisted her in solving many perplexing problems when she reeled in the realm of doubt. At the conclusion of their protracted visit I heard the wicked Mr. World say to his beloved friend: “Your eyes are completely cured. You may now with safety lay aside the glasses. I hope you will never have occasion to use them again.” Of the multitudes that tarried here from the Narrow Way very few went out at the front door. Having stultified themselves, they passed from the rooms at the rear, and thenceforth traveled on the other path more suited to their changed natures. The two congenial companions, proceeding on their way, soon overtook a company of church-members. In the social intercourse which ensued each one resented the criticisms of those who refused to leave the Old Path. “Verily,” said one, “I now enjoy more liberty. I believe the road to Heaven should be as broad-gauged as possible.” “Certainly it should,” said another. “Those who want to climb hills and continually suffer inconveniences may do so. As for me, I want to reach Heaven on the easiest road. I believe this course leads to Paradise just as directly as the other.” These utterances were highly complimented by Mr. World, and he said that he was to be congratulated on meeting and associating with such congenial people. “On the way on which we are now traveling one can reach his reward as certainly and as speedily as on any other route. In addition, one can here enjoy natural and graceful pleasures which of course are not tolerated under the eyes of selfish and narrow-minded bigots.” I saw Mr. World and Miss Church-Member, now more intimate than ever, pass on alone, ever walking more hastily. Satan had told them, during their stay in the Wicked Valley, that the faster they journeyed the sooner and the more certainly would they reach their reward. Not far from the Wicked Valley there is a section called the Place of Warning. It has been maintained for thousands of years by virtuous workers from the King’s Highway. It is the last warning-station that travelers pass before reaching the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and here with tearful earnestness do the Shining Pilgrims of the cross speak their words of last caution, sing their sweet hymns of warning, and put forth every other loving endeavor in the hope of snatching some from the thoughtless throngs that go rushing by toward the Dark Valley. I listened and heard a voice from the Place of Warning speak to a motley crowd that were passing. “Whither go ye, whither go ye?” “We go to a better place called Heaven,” answered one of the company. “Then come hither and go on the Path of Life. The way on which ye are now traveling leadeth unto everlasting death.”