A little onward, just beside the road, An ancient monumental figure stood; A pillar first it seem'd-they nearer drew, A female figure then appear'd in view. What can it be?-awhile they stood and gaz'd,Th' inscription tried to read ('twas half eras'd) The words, with pains, at length they found to be, 'Lot's wife remember, who this pillar see.' 'O salutary lesson,' Hopeful cried, 'To me, solicited to turn aside

'To me, inclin'd that dang'rous mine to see,
'My keeper, God! I give the praise to thee;
'Like her's (I own with shame) like her's my
'I live to praise, while she's a rock of salt.'

Close by the path a copious river flow'd,
Which David calls, The river of his God.'*
On either hand delightful meadows lay,
And fragrant rows of fruit trees line the way:
The trees supply them with delicious food,
Their leaves for healing purposes were good.
In flow'ry fields they find secure repose,
Sweeter than any, save a pilgrim, knows:

fault;

*This is an allusion to Ps. xlvi. 4, and Rev. xxii. 1, where we read of "a pure river of water of life ;"- "The streams whereof make glad the city of God:" the author intends the happy enjoyments of Christian privileges, such as pardon, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.

They drink, refresh'd, the living water here;
They eat, and drink, and sleep, devoid of fear.
How good was God! how sweet and calm their rest!
O how completely were the Pilgrims blest!
Refresh'd and thankful, now they speed their way;
For many a mile as yet before them lay.
Reluctant they forsake this pleasant spot,
For not so smooth the pilgrim's constant lot:
Ere long the road grew rough, and full of stones;
Their feet were blister'd,-weary were their bones.

Now, tow'rds the left, and close beside the road, A meadow lay, and there the path was good. Over the stile goes Christian,—" Let us see "Whether it keeps along our road,' said he. "Yes, Hopeful, come; 'tis charming walking here, ""Tis the right way, my brother, never fear.” 'Twas By-path Meadow now the Pilgrims trod, A way that leads from happiness and God. Here dang'rous traps and horrid pits abound, On purpose form'd by him that owns the ground. Vain-Confidence, who walk'd but just before, Falling, was crush'd to death, and seen no more; They heard his groans, and now were sore afraid: 'Where are we now?' poor trembling Hopeful said; 'I fear'd, my friend, this path would lead astray: O that we had not left the narrow way.'