Consulting Mr. Bunyan's road-book, I
perceived that we must now be within a few miles of the Valley of
the Shadow of Death; into which doleful region, at our present
speed, we should plunge much sooner than seemed at all desirable. In
truth, I expected nothing better than to find myself in the ditch on
one side, or the quag on the other. But on communicating my
apprehensions to Mr. Smooth-it-away, he assured me that the
difficulties of this passage, even in its worst condition, had been
vastly exaggerated, and that, in its present state of improvement, I
might consider myself as safe as on any railroad in Christendom.
Even while we were speaking, the train shot into the entrance of
this dreaded Valley. Though I plead guilty to some foolish
palpitations of the heart, during our headlong rush over the
causeway here constructed, yet it were unjust to withhold the
highest encomiums on the boldness of its original conception, and
the ingenuity of those who executed it. It was gratifying, likewise,
to observe how much care had been taken to dispel the everlasting
gloom, and supply the defect of cheerful sunshine; not a ray of
which has ever penetrated among these awful shadows. For this purpose,
the inflammable gas, which exudes plentifully from the soil, is
collected by means of pipes, and thence communicated to a quadruple
row of lamps, along the whole extent of the passage.
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