Мхи старой усадьбы

           TheretheystoodamidstthedensestbustleofVanity;thedealersofferingthemtheirpurpleandfinelinenandjewels,themenofwitandhumorgibingatthem,apairofbuxomladiesoglingthemaskance,whilethebenevolentMr.Smooth-it-awaywhisperedsomeofhiswisdomattheirelbows,andpointedtoanewly-erectedtemple;butthereweretheseworthysimpletons,makingthescenelookwildandmonstrous,merelybytheirsturdyrepudiationofallpartinitsbusinessorpleasures.

           Oneofthem—hisnamewasStick-to-the-right—perceivedinmyface,Isuppose,aspeciesofsympathyandalmostadmiration,which,tomyowngreatsurprise,Icouldnothelpfeelingforthispragmaticcouple.Itpromptedhimtoaddressme.

           "Sir,"inquiredhe,withasad,yetmildandkindlyvoice,"doyoucallyourselfapilgrim?"

           "Yes,"Ireplied,"myrighttothatappellationisindubitable.IammerelyasojournerhereinVanityFair,beingboundtotheCelestialCitybythenewrailroad."

           "Alas,friend,"rejoinedMr.Stick-to-the-truth,"Idoassureyou,andbeseechyoutoreceivethetruthofmywords,thatthatwholeconcernisabubble.Youmaytravelonitallyourlifetime,wereyoutolivethousandsofyears,andyetnevergetbeyondthelimitsofVanityFair.Yea,thoughyoushoulddeemyourselfenteringthegatesoftheblessedcity,itwillbenothingbutamiserabledelusion."

           "TheLordoftheCelestialCity,"begantheotherpilgrim,whosenamewasMr.