But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers and players on stringed instruments to welcome the pilgrims as they went up, and followed one another in at the beautiful gate of the City. As for Christian's children, the four boys that Christiana brought with her, with their wives and children, I did not stay where I was till they were gone over. Also, since I came away, I heard one say that they were yet alive, and so would be for the help of the Church in that place where they were for a time. Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that desire it an account of what I here am silent about: meantime I bid my reader ADIEU. THE LITTLE PILGRIM. THE STORY OF A LITTLE GIRL WHO TRIED TO GO ON PILGRIMAGE. In a large old house, with two kind aunts, The little Marian dwelt; And a happy child she was, I ween, For though at times she felt That playmates would be better far Than either birds or flowers, Yet her kind old aunts, and story books, Soothed many lonely hours. Her favorite haunt, in the summer-time, Was a large old apple-tree; And oft amid the boughs she sat, With her pet book on her knee. The "Pilgrim's Progress" was its name, And Marian loved it much; It is, indeed, a glorious book, There are not many such! She read it in her little bed, Beside the winter fire, And in summer-time, in the apple-tree, As though she would never tire. But, unexplained, 'tis just the book To puzzle the young brain; And the poor child had no kind friend, Its meaning to explain. For though her aunts were very kind, They were not overwise, And only said, "Don't read so, child, I'm sure you'll spoil your eyes." But Marian still went reading on, And visions strange and wild Began to fill the little head Of the lonely, dreaming child; For she thought that Christian and his wife, And all their children too, Had left behind their pleasant home, And done what she must do. "I'll take my Bible," said the child, "And seek the road to heaven; I'll try to find the Wicket Gate, And hope to be forgiven. I wish my aunts would go with me, But 'tis in vain to ask; They are so deaf and rather lame, They'd think it quite a task. "No! I must go alone, I see, So I'll not let them know; Or, like poor Christian's friends, they'll say, 'My dear, you must not go.' "But I must wait till some grand scheme Can all their thoughts engage; And then I'll leave my pleasant home, And go on pilgrimage." She had not waited long, before, One fine autumnal day, She saw the large old coach arrive, To take her aunts away. "We're going out to spend the day," The two old ladies said; "We mean to visit Mrs. Blair-- Poor soul!--she's ill in bed.