were to forget their journey's end, had thought of a
thousand little kind attentions to warn them of their dangers. And as
we sometimes see in our gardens written on a board in great letters,
"Beware of spring-guns"--"Man-traps are set here;" so had this King
caused to be written and stuck up, before the eyes of the travellers,
several little notices and cautions, such as, "Broad is the way that
leadeth to destruction;" "Take heed, lest ye also perish;" "Woe to
them that rise up early to drink wine;" "The pleasures of sin are but
for a season."

Such were the notices directed to the _Broad-way_ travellers; but they
were so busily engaged in plucking the flowers, sometimes before they
were blown, and in devouring the fruits, often before they were ripe,
and in loading themselves with _yellow clay_, under the weight of
which millions perished, that they had no time so much as to look at
the King's directions.

Many went wrong because they preferred a merry journey to a safe one,
and because they were terrified by certain notices chiefly intended
for the _Narrow-way_ travellers, such as, "Ye shall weep and lament,
but the world shall rejoice;" but had these foolish people allowed
themselves time or patience to read to the end, which they seldom
would do, they would have seen these comfortable words added: "But
your sorrow shall be turned into joy;" also, "Your joy no man taketh
from you;" and, "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."

Now I also saw in my dream, that many travellers who had a strong
dread of ending at the land of Misery, walked up to the Strait gate,
hoping, that though the entrance was narrow, yet if they could once
get in, the road would widen; but what was their grief, when on
looking more closely they saw written on the inside, "Narrow is the
way:" this made them take fright; they compared the inscriptions with
which the whole way was lined, such as, "Be ye not conformed to this
world"--"Deny yourselves, take up your cross," with all the tempting
pleasures of the wilderness.

Some indeed recollected the fine descriptions they had read of the
Happy land, the Golden city, and the river of Pleasures, and they
sighed; but then, those joys were distant, and from the faintness
of their light they soon got to think that what was remote might
be uncertain; and while the present good increased in bulk by its
nearness, the distant good receded, diminished, disappeared. Their
faith failed; they would tru