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I AM THE SPECTATOR OF A MIGHTY BATTLE, IN WHICH CHRISTIAN.
MEETS APPOLLYON It is one of the prime joys of the long road that no two days are ever remotely alike--no two hours even; and sometimes a day that begins calmly will end with the most stirring events.
It was thus, indeed, with that perfect spring Sunday, when I left my friends, the Vedders, and turned my face again to the open country.

It began as quietly as any Sabbath morning of my life, but what an end it had! I would have travelled a thousand miles for the adventures which a bounteous road that day spilled carelessly into my willing hands.
I can give no adequate reason why it should be so, but there are Sunday mornings in the spring--at least in our country--which seem to put on, like a Sabbath garment, an atmosphere of divine quietude.

Warm, soft, clear, but, above all, immeasurably serene.
Such was that Sunday morning; and I was no sooner well afoot than I yielded to the ingratiating mood of the day.

Usually I am an active walker, loving the sense of quick motion and the stir it imparts to both body and mind, but that morning I found myself loitering, looking widely about me, and enjoying the lesser and quieter aspects of nature.