Turning from the inventors， we took a more generalsurvey of the inmates of the hall. Many persons werepresent， whose right of entrance appeared to consist insome crochet of the brain， which， so long as it mightoperate， produced a change in their relation to the actualworld. It is singular how very few there are， who do notoccasionally gain admittance on such a score， either inabstracted musings， or momentary thoughts， or brightanticipations， or vivid remembrances； for even the actualbecomes ideal， whether in hope or memory， and beguilesthe dreamer into the Hall of Fantasy. Some unfortunatesmake their whole abode and business here， and contracthabits which unfit them for all the real employments oflife. Others—but these are few—possess the faculty， intheir occasional visits， of discovering a purer truth thanthe world can impart， among the lights and shadows ofthese pictured windows.
And with all its dangerous influences， we have reasonto thank God， that there is such a place of refuge fromthe gloom and chillness of actual life. Hither may comethe prisoner， escaping from his dark and narrow cell， andcanker ous chain， to breathe free air in this enchantedatmosphere. The sick man leaves his weary pillow， andfinds strength to wander hither， though his wasted limbsmight not support him even to the threshold of hischamber. The exile passes through the Hall of Fantasy，to revisit his native soil. The burthen of years rolls downfrom the old man’s shoulders， the moment that the dooruncloses. Mourners leave their heavy sorrows at theentrance， and here rejoin the lost ones， whose faces wouldelse be seen no more， until thought shall have become theonly fact. It may be said， in truth， that there is but half alife—the meaner and earthlier half—for those who neverfind their way into the hall. Nor must I fail to mention，that， in the observatory of the edifice， is kept thatwonderful perspective glass， through which the shepherdsof the Delectable Mountains showed Christian the far-offgleam of the Celestial City. The eye of Faith still loves togaze through it.
“I observe some men here，” said I to my friend， “whomight set up a strong claim to be reckoned among themost real personages of the day.”
“Certainly，” he replied. “If a man be in advance of hisage， he must be content to make his abode in this hall，until the lingering generations of his fellow-men come upwith him. He can find no other shelter in the universe.
But the fantasies of one day are the deepest realities of afuture one.”
“It is difficult to distinguish them apart， amid thegorgeous and bewildering light of this hall，” rejoined I.
“The white sunshine of actual life is necessary in order totest them. I am rather apt to doubt both men and theirreasonings， till I meet them in that truthful medium.”
“Perhaps your faith in the ideal is deeper than you areaware，” said my friend. “You are at least a Democrat； andmethinks no scanty share of such faith is essential to theadoption of that creed.”
Among the characters who had elicited these remarks，were most of the noted reformers of the day， whether inphysics， politics， morals， or religion. There is no surer methodof arriving at the Hall of Fantasy， than to throw oneself intothe current of a theory； for， whatever landmarks of factmay be set up along the stream， there is a law of naturethat impels it thither. And let it be so； for here the wisehead and capacious heart may do their work； and whatis good and true becomes gradually hardened into fact，while error melts away and vanishes among the shadowsof the hall. Therefore may none， who believe and rejoicein the progress of mankind， be angry with me because Irecognized their apostles and leaders， amid the fantasticradiance of those pictured windows. I love and honor suchmen， as well as they.
It would be endless to describe the herd of real orself-styled reformers， that peopled this place of refuge.
They were the representatives of an unquiet period，when mankind is seeking to cast off the whole tissue ofancient custom， like a tattered garment. Many of themhad got possession of some crystal fragment of truth， thebrightness of which so dazzled them， that they could seenothing else in the wide universe. Here were men， whosefaith had embodied itself in the form of a potatoe； andothers whose long beards had a deep spiritual significance.
Here was the abolitionist， brandishing his one idea like aniron flail. In a word， there were a thousand shapes of goodand evil， faith and infidelity， wisdom and nonsense， —amost incongruous throng.
Yet， withal， the heart of the stanchest conservative，unless he abjured his fellowship with man， could hardlyhave helped throbbing in sympathy with the spirit thatpervaded these innumerable theorists. It was good forthe man of unquickened heart to listen even to theirfolly. Far down， beyond the fathom of the intellect， thesoul acknowledged that all these varying and conflictingdevelopments of human ity were united in one sentiment.
Be the individual theory as wild as fancy could makeit， still the wiser spirit would recognize the struggle ofthe race after a better and purer life， than had yet beenrealized on earth. My faith revived， even while I rejectedall their schemes. It could not be， that the world shouldcontinue forever what it has been； a soil where Happinessis so rare a flower， and Virtue so often a blighted fruit； abattle-field where the good principle， with its shield flungabove its head， can hardly save itself amid the rush ofadverse influences. In the enthusiasm of such thoughts， Igazed through one of the pictured windows； and， behold！