had seen. She understood as she passed along how
it was that those who had been dazzled but by a passing
glance had described the walls and the pavement as
gold. They were like what gold is, beautiful
and clear, of a lovely color, but softer in tone than
metal ever was, and as cool and fresh to walk upon
and to touch as if they had been velvet grass.
The buildings were all beautiful, of every style and
form that it is possible to think of, yet in great
harmony, as if every man had followed his own taste,
yet all had been so combined and grouped by the master
architect that each individual feature enhanced the
effect of the rest. Some of the houses were greater
and some smaller, but all of them were rich in carvings
and pictures and lovely decorations, and the effect
was as if the richest materials had been employed,
marbles and beautiful sculptured stone, and wood of
beautiful tints, though the little Pilgrim knew that
these were not like the marble and stone she had once
known, but heavenly representatives of them, far better
than they. There were people at work upon them,
building new houses and making additions, and a great
many painters painting upon them the history of the
people who lived there, or of others who were worthy
that commemoration. And the streets were full
of pleasant sound, and of crowds going and coming,
and the commotion of much business, and many things
to do. And this movement, and the brightness
of the air, and the wonderful things that were to be
seen on every side, made the Pilgrim gay, so that she
could have sung with pleasure as she went along.
And all who met her smiled, and every group exchanged
greetings as they passed along, all knowing each other.
Many of them, as might be seen, had come there, as
she did, to see the wonders of the beautiful city;
and all who lived there were ready to tell them whatever
they desired to know, and show them the finest houses
and the greatest pictures. And this gave a feeling
of holiday and pleasure which was delightful beyond
description, for all the busy people about were full
of sympathy with the strangers, bidding them welcome,
inviting them into their houses, making the warmest
fellowship. And friends were meeting continually
on every side; but the Pilgrim had no sense that she
was forlorn in being alone, for all were friends; and
it pleased her to watch the others, and see how one
turned this way and one another, every one finding
something that delighted him above all other things.
She herself took a great pleasure in watching a painter,
who was standing upon a balcony a little way above
her, painting upon a great fresco: and when he
saw this he asked her to come up beside him and see
his work. She asked him a great many questions
about it, and why it was that he was working only
at the draperies of the figures, and did not touch
their faces, some of which were already finished and
seemed to be looking at her, as living as she was,
out of the wall, while some were merely outlined as