even more a great deal than in company, unless I like it better.”  But all his society manners, and all his costly and well-kept clothes, and all his easy and self-confident airs did not impose upon the two wary old pilgrims.  They had seen too much of the world, and had been too long mixing among all kinds of pilgrims, young and old, true and false, to be easily imposed upon.  Besides, as one could see from their weather-beaten faces, and their threadbare garments, they had found the upward way so dreadfully difficult that they both felt a real apprehension as to the future of this light-hearted and light-headed youth.  “You may find some difficulty at the gate,” somewhat bluntly broke in the oldest of the two pilgrims on their young comrade.  “I shall, no doubt, do at the gate as other good people do,” replied the young gentleman briskly.  “But what have you to show at the gate that may cause that the gate be opened to you?” “Why, I know my Lord’s will, and I have been a good liver all my days, and I pay every man his own.  I pray, moreover, and I fast.  I pay tithes, and give alms, and have left my country for whither I am going.”  Now, before we go further:  Do all you young gentlemen do as much as that?  Have you always been good livers?  Have you paid every man and woman their due?  Do you pray to be called prayer?  And, if so, when, and where, and what for, and how long at a time?  I do not ask if your private prayer-book is like Bishop Andrewes’ Devotions, which was so reduced to pulp with tears and sweat and the clenching of his agonising hands that his literary executors were with difficulty able to decipher it.  Clito in the Christian Perfection was so expeditious with his prayers that he used to boast that he could both dress and do his devotions in a quarter of an hour.  What was the longest time you ever took to dress or undress and say your prayers?  Then, again, there is another Anglican young gentleman in the same High Church book who always fasts on Good Friday and the Thirtieth of January.  Did you ever deny yourself a glass of wine or a cigar or an opera ticket for the church or the poor?  Could you honestly say that you know what tithes are?  And is there a poor man or woman or child in this whole city who will by any chance put your name into their prayers and praises at bedtime to-night?  I am afraid there are not many young gentlemen in this house to-night who could cast a stone at that brisk lad Ignorance, Vain-Hope, door in the side of the hill, and all.  He was not far from the kingdom of heaven; indeed, he got up to the very gate of it.  How many of you will get half as far?