Upon that we turned our faces from the great City of Destruction and ascended towards the other city, which was considerably less; and on our way we met several at the upper end of the streets who had made a move as of turning away from the temptations of the gates of Destruction, and making for the gate of life.  But they either failed to find it or grew weary on the way; very few went through—­one man of rueful countenance, ran in earnest while crowds on all sides derided him, some mocking, {28b} some threatening him, and his kindred clinging to him, begging him not to condemn himself to lose the whole world at one stroke.  “I lose but a small portion of it, and were I to lose all, what loss, I pray you, would it be?  For what is there in the world to be desired, unless it be deceit, oppression and squalor, wickedness, folly and madness?  Contentment and rest is man’s supreme happiness—­this is not to be found in your city.  For who of you is content? {29a} ‘Higher, higher,’ is the aim of all in the Street of Pride, ‘More, more’ cry all that dwell in the Street of Lucre, ‘Sweet, sweet, yet more’ is the voice of everybody in the Street of Pleasure.  And as for rest, where is it, and who hath obtained it?  If a man is of high degree, adulation and envy almost kill him; if poor, everybody is ready to trample and despise him.  If one would prosper, he must set his mind upon being an intriguer; if one would gain respect, let him be a boaster or braggart; if one would be godly, and attend church and approach the altar, he is dubbed a hypocrite, if he abstain from doing so, he becomes at once an antichrist or a heretic; if he is light-hearted, he is called a scoffer, if silent, a morose cur; if he practises honesty, he is but a good-for-nothing fool; if well dressed, he is proud, if not, he is a pig; if gentle of speech, he is double-faced and a rogue, whom none can fathom; if rough, he is an arrogant and froward devil.  This is the world you make so much of, and pray you take my share of it and welcome,” and at the word he shook himself free of them all, and away he sped boldly to the narrow gate, and spite of all, pushing onwards he entered, and we too at his heels.  Upon the battlements on either side of the gate were many men dressed in black, encouraging the man and applauding him.  “Who are those in black up yonder?” I asked.  “They are the watchmen of King Emmanuel,” answered he, “who in their sovereign’s name invite men hither and help them through the gate.”

By this we were at the gate:  it was very low and narrow, and mean, compared with the lower gates; around the door the Ten Commandments were graven—­the first table on the right hand and above it, “Thou shalt love God with all thy heart,” and above the other table on the left, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” and above the whole “Love not the world neither the things that are in the world.”  I had not been looking on long before the watchmen began calling in a loud