Our coach rattled out of the city, and, at a short distance from
its outskirts, passed over a bridge, of elegant construction, but
somewhat too slight, as I imagined, to sustain any considerable
weight. On both sides lay an extensive quagmire, which could not
have been more disagreeable either to sight or smell, had all the
kennels of the earth emptied their pollution there.
"This," remarked Mr. Smooth-it-away, "is the famous Slough of
Despond- a disgrace to all the neighborhood; and the greater, that
it might so easily be converted into firm ground."
"I have understood, said I, "that efforts have been made for that
purpose, from time immemorial. Bunyan mentions that above twenty
thousand cart-loads of wholesome instructions had been thrown in here,
without effect."
"Very probably! and what effect could be anticipated from such
unsubstantial stuff?" cried Mr. Smooth-it-away. "You observe this
convenient bridge. We obtained a sufficient foundation for it by
throwing into the Slough some editions of books of morality, volumes
of French philosophy and German rationalism, tracts, sermons, and
essays of modern clergymen, extracts from Plato, Confucius, and
various Hindoo sages, together with a few ingenious commentaries
upon texts of Scripture- all of which, by some scientific process,
have been converted into a mass like granite.
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