Anyhow, the public way is no place for me this evening. They’ll soon be back from their accursed revelry.” 

“The very air breathes sin to-day,”

“oh that I did not find the taint of the city in these works of God! Alas! sweet Nature, the child of the Almighty, is made to do the fiend’s work, and does it better than the town. O ye beautiful trees and fair flowers, O bright sun and balmy air, what a bondage ye are in, and how do ye groan till you are redeemed from it! Ye are bond-slaves, but not willingly, as man is; but how will you ever be turned to nobler purpose? How is this vast, this solid establishment of error, the incubus of many thousand years, ever to have an end? You yourselves, dear ones, will come to nought first. Anyhow, the public way is no place for me this evening. They’ll soon be back from their accursed revelry.”

 A sound of horns and voices had been heard from time to time through the woods, as if proceeding from parties dispersed through them; and in the growing twilight might be seen lights, glancing and wandering through the foliage. The cottage in which Agellius dwelt was on the other side of the hollow bridle-way which crossed the hill. To make for home he had first to walk some little distance along it; and scarcely had he descended into it for that purpose, when he found himself in the front of a band of revellers, who were returning from some scene of impious festivity. They were arrayed in holiday guise, as far as they studied dress at all; the symbols of idolatry were on their foreheads and arms; [pg 12]some of them were intoxicated, and most of them were women. 

[pg 12]

 “Why have you not been worshipping, young fellow?” said one. 

“Why have you not been worshipping, young fellow?”

 “Comely built,” said another, “but struck by the furies. I know the cut of him.” 

“Comely built,”

“but struck by the furies. I know the cut of him.”

 “By Astarte,” said a third, “he’s one of those sly Gnostics! I have seen the chap before, with his hangdog look. He is one of Pluto’s whelps, first cousin to Cerberus, and his name’s Channibal.” 

“By Astarte,”

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