might be found there; and
how it had been built with towers and high walls, and great gates to shut
it in, so that no stranger should find entrance; and how every house was
a palace, with statues of marble, and pillars so precious with beautiful
work, and arches so lofty and so fair that they were better than had they
been made of gold,--yet gold was not wanting, nor diamond stones that
shone like stars, and everything more beautiful and stately than heart
could conceive.

'And while we built and labored,' he said, 'our hearts were a little
appeased. And it was called the city of Art, and all was perfect in it,
so that nothing had ever been seen to compare with it for beauty; and we
walked upon the battlements and looked over the plain and viewed the
dwellers there, who were not as we. And we went on to fill every room and
every hall with carved work in stone and beaten gold, and pictures and
woven tissues that were like the sun-gleams and the rainbows of the
pleasant earth. And crowds came around envying us and seeking to enter;
but we closed our gates and drove them away. And it was said among us
that life would now become as of old, and everything would go well with
us as in the happy days.'

The little Pilgrim looked up into his face, and for pity of his pain
(though it was past) almost wished that _that_ could have come true.

'But when the work was done,' he said, and for a moment no more.

'Oh, brother! when the work was done?' 'You do not know what it is,' he
said, 'to be ten times more powerful and strong, to want no rest, to have
fire in your veins, to have the craving in your heart above everything
that is known to man. When the work was done, we glared upon each other
with hungry eyes, and each man wished to thrust forth his neighbor and
possess all to himself. And then we ceased to take pleasure in it,
notwithstanding that it was beautiful; and there were some who would have
beaten down the walls and built them anew; and some would have torn up
the silver and gold, and tossed out the fair statues and the adornments
in scorn and rage to the meaner multitudes below. And we who were the
workers began to contend one against another to satisfy the gnawings of
the rage that was in our hearts. For we had deceived ourselves, thinking
once more that all would be well; while all the time nothing was changed,
and we were but as the miserable ones that rushed from place to place.'

Though all this wretchedness was