" Dinner being
over, the pilgrim was led by the obliging poet to a pathway past the
silent and lonesome River of Oblivion, where most mortal names and fames
are forever lost, only a few being rescued from its waves and set on
golden scrolls in the temple of Immortality.
Now when they had looked on for a while at this notable sight they left
the River Oblivion and proceeded to the Valley of Lost Lumber. It was a
long though narrow valley shut in between two lofty mountain ridges, and
in it were stored away all the things which men lose or waste on earth.
Here they found an infinite number of lovers' sighs, beyond which lay
the useless moments lost in folly and crime, and the long wasted leisure
of ignorant and idle men. Next came the vain desires and foolish wishes
that can never take effect, and these were heaped together in such
quantities that they blocked up the greater part of the valley. Here,
too, were mountains of gold and silver which foolish politicians throw
away in bribing voters to return them to Congress; a little farther on
was an enormous pile of garlands with steel gins concealed among their
flowers, which Virgil explained to be flatteries; while a heap of
grasshoppers which had burst themselves in keeping up their shrill,
monotonous chirp, represented, he said, the dedications and addresses
which servile authors used to write in praise of unworthy patrons. In
the middle of the valley lay a great pool of spilt broth, and this
signified the alms which rich men are too selfish to give away in their
lifetime but bequeath to charities in their wills, to be paid out of
money they can no longer use.
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