St. Peter opened the gate. But when he saw that the new-comer was St. Christopher, who had slighted his counsel, he refused to admit him.
The Celestial City, blazing in splendor, stood on the top of a high mountain; the sound of music and the odors of flowers came through the gate as it was opened, and the saint with a heavy heart turned away from all the ravishing beauty, and, hardly knowing what he did, went down the mountain, until he came to the gate of the region where bad souls dwell.
A youth at the gate said to him,—
“Come in.”
The gate opened, and the Evil One saw him.
“Shut the gate! shut the gate!” said the Evil One to the youth.
Far, far away the Holy City beamed with ineffable brightness, and up the hill again with a still heavy heart went St. Christopher.
“If I could only get my sack inside the gate, I could wish myself into it; and once inside the gate I could never be turned out.”
He came up to the gate again, and called for St. Peter.
The saint opened the gate a little.