Next come the Shining Ones, wooden and trivial enough; the pilgrims pass into the river; the blot already mentioned settles over and obliterates Christian.
In two more cuts we behold them drawing nearer to the other shore; and then, between two radiant angels, one of whom points upward, we see them mounting in new weeds, their former lendings left behind them on the inky river.

More angels meet them; Heaven is displayed, and if no better, certainly no worse, than it has been shown by others--a place, at least, infinitely populous and glorious with light--a place that haunts solemnly the hearts of children.

And then this symbolic draughtsman once more strikes into his proper vein.

Three cuts conclude the first part.

In the first the gates close, black against the glory struggling from within.