The book that I loved first and best, and lived upon in my
childhood, was "Pilgrim's Progress." It was as a story that I
cared for it, although I knew that it meant something more,--
something that was already going on in my own heart and life.
Oh, how I used to wish that I too could start off on a pilgrim-
age! It would be so much easier than the continual, discouraging
struggle to be good!
The lot I most envied was that of the contented Shepherd Boy in
the Valley of Humiliation, singing his cheerful songs, and
wearing "the herb called Heart's Ease in his bosom"; but all the
glorious ups and downs of the "Progress" I would gladly have
shared with Christiana and her children, never desiring to turn
aside into any "By-Path Meadow" while Mr. Great-Heart led the
way, and the Shining Ones came down to meet us along the road.
It was one of the necessities of my nature, as a child, to have
some one being, real or ideal, man or woman, before whom I
inwardly bowed down and worshiped. Mr. Great-Heart was the
perfect hero of my imagination.
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