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Cupid's Cyclopedia

<h2>AMORIA</h2> (SEE MAP) Amoria is the most ancient and honorable country upon the earth’s surface and is without question the most intensely populated. It is a green and fertile country, and the principal occupation of its people is hearticultural husbandry. The form of government is Home Rule, and to become a citizen, although born in the country, it is required that at least one complete journey be made from end to end of the country’s principal highway. This at first seems an odd requirement, but there is good reasoning behind it. First, as this great highway, known as the Path of True Love, in its devious windings touches practically every portion of the kingdom—the trip is likely to open the traveller’s eyes and teach him much of the resources and conditions of the country he wishes to call his own. Second, as the road is rough and in places sometimes seemingly impassable, the trip will test the determination and stability of the most hearty. Turn to the map and we find Amoria bounded on three sides by Misanthropia, the State of Indifference, and the Sea of Oblivion, emptying into which the Quarrel River forever pours its flotsam and jetsam. On the upper side you will see it is bounded by the edge of the map; this is because it is too cold in that direction to sustain human life. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/map.jpg" width-obs="700" height-obs="430" alt="Map of the Ancient and Marvellous Countrie of AMORIA" /> Map of the Ancient and Marvellous Countrie of AMORIA SHOWING THE DEVIOUS WINDINGS OF THE PATH OF TRUE LOVE WITH THE MANY DANGERS AND OBSTACLES THAT BESET THE WAY, AND SHOWING, LIKEWISE, THE SEVERAL UNFORTUNATE BY-PATHS LIKELY TO MISLEAD THE WAYFARER TO A WRONG TURNING. WHEREBY MUCH VALUABLE TIME MIGHT BE LOST AND A LARGE DEGREE OF UNHAPPINESS ENCOUNTERED, BESIDES A RETRACING OF MANY SAD AND FATIGUING STEPS </div> Let us now follow, upon the map, the course of this historic road. Far up in the corner of the map we find Mount Curiosity—its snow-capped peaks lost in the soft gray veil of mist that has prevented the scientists from determining its greatest heights. The ascent of the mountain is usually made on the side where it comes nearest to the State of Indifference (see note Y); here a well-worn path, known as the Path of Least Resistance, takes one by such a gradual and agreeable route that little or no effort is realized in the climb, and it is usually a surprise when, just a little below the frost line, one comes suddenly upon a little plateau high, high, in the heavens. Here the air is salubrious and the temperature even. The view is so wonderful in the early Dawn that the most phlegmatic will become enthusiastic. This little plateau is known as the Plateau Platonic and is quite flat. In spite of its beauty and charm few travellers are satisfied to rest here long. In leaving the plateau one must have a care, for there are two paths quite similar in appearance—one leading up the mountain to nowhere and loneliness, and the other the commencement of the Path of True Love. The careful traveller need not mistake the path, for beside the entrance, at about the height of a man’s heart and nailed to a great Oak, is a crudely fashioned hand with finger pointing the way. This is called the Hand of Fate. Alas, too few take the trouble to look for this guide, and many take the wrong path; while those who, by sheer luck, take the right one are easily discouraged because of the very uncertain condition of mind they soon find themselves in. These usually lose heart before going a great way, or in their careless method of progress take some wrong turning and come to a swift and bad end. But we will follow the progress of the traveller who believes in signs. It is hard to describe those first impressions as one comes swinging down the mountainside and sees winding far out and across the verdant Valley of Dreams, dotted here and there with its picturesque castles, the Path of True Love like a silver thread. It seems so bright and pure, and off to the right there is such a happy pink glow in the sky, that one usually finds himself humming some old love song. Lucky the traveller who puts a clover in his buttonhole, while crossing the Valley of Dreams, for all too soon the cold winds that sweep across Lake Indifference, and make the trip around it a perilous and discouraging one, will be chilling his marrow. He will need both courage and luck when, rounding the upper end of the lake, he comes upon the rough and rocky stretch of road running along the edge of a fearful precipice which overhangs the lake, and is known as the Height of Indifference; here one false step and all is lost. Past this danger the road turns from the lake, but the traveller has hardly time to congratulate himself upon the warmer conditions when he is confronted by a most disconcerting range of mountains known as the Mountains of Opposition. If you do not cross the mountains the mountains will double cross you, so push on and with tact and determination they will be overcome. The mountains passed, a smooth bit of road is reached and brighter weather, that, after the lowering clouds, the storms and many obstacles met with in the mountains, will likely mislead the traveller into thinking his troubles over. Light-hearted he will push forward hurriedly, taking little heed of the fast increasing cold. Fortunately, just at the edge of the map and just upon the longitude of Respect, the road takes a sudden sharp turn, but it is almost from bad to worse, for it plunges the traveller into the Forest of Misunderstanding, a dark and dismal place that will fill the strongest with misgivings. The only way is to stick close to the road. This is sometimes hard in the darkness as there are many by-paths. Travellers once off the correct road have been known to wander for years without once seeing the sunlight. About half way through the forest there is a road turning to the right; it seems the easier way, dipping down, as it does, into a little valley and across a turbulent little stream, beyond which it disappears from sight in the tangle of brilliant foliage covering Mount Folly. Unhappy he who takes this turn, for there is many a slippery stone in the bed of this stream and the crossing is not a happy one. If one would turn back at the first slip, but human nature is stubborn and few do; besides there seems little choice between the dismal forest behind and the lure of Mt. Folly ahead. Folly lasts but a day, however, and the foliage soon loses its attractive coloring. The foolish wayfarer then pushing on finds himself again confronted by the turbulent stream, but easier to cross this time. A little way further the path ends at what appears to be a refreshing spring; it is the Spring of Untruth, and he who lies to drink of its waters will ever be a slave of the drug. Again as one is nearing the edges of the Black Forest is another road leading off to the left and to the Spring of Mistrust. Turn not aside nor drink of this spring; its waters are bitter and this turning but takes one back into the depths of the dismal forest. Emerging from the Black Forest of Misunderstanding the road winds across a fertile and easy-going prairie land, twice crossing the acid waters of Bicker Brook (see note 23), and crossing the Quarrel River takes its course along the foot of what, by many, is considered the most beautiful mountain in Amoria, Mount Unselfishness. The going is easy here, and when one comes to a little road branching off and running right up the mountain side he is apt to feel very little inclination to take it. Nearly every traveller knows by hearsay that this is a short-cut one should take, but standing at the foot of the mountain, with a broad smooth road on one hand and this little used difficult mountain path (it is hardly more than a blazed trail) on the other, it is much to the traveller’s credit who attempts it at all. Quite a few do, however, begin the ascent, but almost without exception have not the strength to continue and turn back to the main highway, only to be shortly plunged again and again in the cold and caustic waters of the Quarrel River as the road crosses and recrosses it. There are no bridges here, and many a poor traveller becoming exhausted in the mad battle with the current hopelessly loses all self-control and is carried away to be lost in the Sea of Oblivion. At the river’s mouth is Lost Hope Island; this is really nothing more than a bar, and superstition has it that there, on stormy nights when the tide is coming in, congregate those poor lost souls, and it is claimed, on good authority, that the discords of their mournful songs can be heard even as far as to the edges of the Desert of Absence. After these several crossings of the Quarrel River the road again becomes easy and travel should be a pleasure, but the traveller is weary from the recent struggle with the river, and is almost thankful for the flat stretch of road where it first crosses the Desert of Absence. It were often better if this bit of road were longer, for before the traveller entirely regains his former vim he is deep in the unhealthy mists and quicksands of the Slough of Despond, and it is in a very weakened condition that he commences the second crossing of the Desert of Absence. In this condition is it strange that one loiter in the Oasis of Flirtation—the one bright spot in an otherwise dull desert? But an oasis and a flirtation have their limits, and when one’s thirst is satisfied one wants to move on. And well this is for the traveller on the Path of True Love, for only a little and the desert is passed, and the road leads for many happy miles through the sweetest and most beautiful meadow land where the warm sunlight, the songs of the birds, and the sweet odor of new-mown hay repay one for all the hardships of the past, and so stimulate the traveller that he strikes out upon the third crossing of the Desert of Absence with a light step and a song in his heart, and though the trip is longer it seems far shorter than either of the previous crossings. So happy indeed has he been and, with the soft airs of the desert making his heart grow fonder, the way seems so easy that the sudden obstruction of two of the lesser spurs of the Mountains of Opposition fill him with misgiving, and the valley between them is well named Blue Valley. (See note 13.) In such a condition of mind the traveller plunges down the mountain side and is soon deep in a great gloomy forest, not likely to raise his spirits, but rather calculated to depress them still more. Imagine then the elation when bursting at length from the depression of the Forest of Gloom the traveller sees before him that transcendently beautiful mountain, Mount Hope. Well may he hold his breath and gaze in rapture, for before him rises the most beautiful mountain in all the world and will ever be as long as life lasts. With its velvety slopes and shaded dells, its little silver rills tinkling down the mountain side, sounding like fairy laughter through the trees, the gently stirring air freighted with the perfume of myriads of fragrant blossoms, and over all a tender rose-colored glow reflected from the soft pinky clouds that forever tenderly rest upon the mountain’s top, it is indeed the most beautiful of nature’s jewels. So it seems, with Hope so long deferred, to that tired-eyed struggler upon Love’s Highway, often heartsick and oppressed by the vicissitudes of the way, for here he may rest and, gazing again out over the dear Valley of Dreams, rejuvenate the Yearning, the Ambition, and the Determination that have brought him through so much. To these he may now add Hope, and so equipped and refreshed he dashes a second time through the Forest of Gloom, and though confronted by the most stubborn and rocky section (known as the Parent Peak) in the entire range of the Mountains of Opposition, his past experience and his added strength carry him over with little effort, and, coming down the last steep slope, his heart gives a bound as his eye follows the smooth roadway stretching invitingly across a nearly level expanse of well-cultivated country thickly dotted with the happy homes of those who had once been travellers like himself. If he be not short-sighted, he is able to see even as far ahead as to where the road and his lonely journey end in heavenly Mount Heart’s Desire. As he passes along many a cheerful face smiles out at him from the doorways, and many a cheerful word of welcome and greeting encourages him to hasten. The smiles of the rosy-cheeked children seem especially sweet to him. The journey’s end! The goal is reached! Naught remains further for the traveller now except the Oath of Allegiance which is performed with considerable ceremony in the little church just around the corner to the left. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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