band's blood upon these stones to this day. Behold, also, how here and there are yet to be seen upon the place some of the shivers of Apollyon's broken darts. See also how they did beat the ground with their feet as they fought, to make good their places against each other; how also with their by-blows they did split the very stones in pieces. Verily, Christian did here play the man, and showed himself as stout as Hercules could, had he been here, even he himself. When Apollyon was beat, he made his retreat to the next valley, that is called the Valley of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come anon. Lo, yonder also stands a monument on which is engraven this battle, and Christian's victory, to his fame throughout all ages. So, because it stood just on the way-side before them, they stepped to it, and read the writing, which word for word was this:

Hard by here was a battle fought, Most strange, and yet most true; Christian and Apollyon sought Each other to subdue.

The man so bravely play'd the man, He made the fiend to fly;

Of which a monument I stand,

The same to testify.

When they had passed by this place, they came upon the borders of the Shadow of Death. This valley was longer than the other; a place also most strangely haunted with evil things, as many are able to testify; but these women and children went the better through it, because they had daylight, and because Mr. Great-heart was their conductor.

When they were entered upon this valley, they thought that they heard a groaning as of dying men; a very great groaning. They thought also that they did hear words of lamenta. tion, spoken as of some in extreme torment. These things made the boys to quake; the women also looked pale and wan; but their guide bid them be of good comfort.

So they went on a little farther, and they thought that they felt the ground begin to shake under them, as if some hollow place was there: they heard also a kind of hissing, as of serpents, but nothing as yet appeared. Then said the boys, Are we not yet at the end of this doleful place? But the guide also bid them be of good courage, and look well to their feet; lest haply, said he, you be taken in

some snare.

Now James began to be sick; but I think the cause thereof was fear: so his mother gave him some of that

glass of spirits that had been given her at the Interpreter's house, and three of the pills that Mr. Skill had prepared, and the boy began to revive. Thus they went on till they came to about the middle of the valley; and then Christiana said, Me. thinks I see something yonder upon the road before us, a thing of such a shape as I have not seen. Then said Joseph, Mother, what is it? An ugly thing, child, an ugly thing, said she. But, mother, what is it like? said he. "Tis like I cannot tell what, said she; and now it is but a little way off: Then said she, It is nigh.

Well, well, said Mr. Great heart, let them that are most afraid keep close to me. So the fiend came on, and the conductor met it; but when it was just come to him, it vanished to all their sights. Then remembered they what had been said some time ago, "Resist the devil, and he will flee from you," James iv. 7.

They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed. But they had not gone far, before Mercy, looking behind her, saw, as she thought, something most like a lion, and it came a great padding pace after; and it had a hollow voice of roaring; and at every roar that it gave, it made all the valley echo, and all their hearts to ache, save the heart of him that was their guide. So it came up, and Mr. Great-heart went behind, and put the pilgrims all before him. The lion also came on apace, and Mr. Great-heart addressed himself to give him battle, 1 Pet. v. 8, 9. But when he saw that it was determined that resistance should be made, he also drew back, and came no farther.

Then they went on again, and their conductor went before them, till they came to a place where was cast up a pit the whole breadth of the way; and before they could be prepared to go over that, a great mist and a darkness fell upon them, so that they could not see. Then said the pilgrims, Alas, what now shall we do? But their guide made answer, Fear not, stand still, and see what an end will be put to this also; so they stayed there, because their path was marred. They then also


thought that they did hear more apparently the noise and rushing of the enemies; the fire also, and smoke of the pit, were much easier to be discerned. Then said Christiana to Mercy, Now I see what my poor husband went through. I have heard much of this place, but I never was here before now. Poor man he went here all alone in the night; he had night almost quite through the way; also these fiends were busy about him, as if they would have torn him in pieces. Many have spoken of it; but none can tell what the Valley of the Shadow of Death should mean until they come in themselves. The heart knoweth its own bitterness; and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy, Prov. xiv. 10. To be here is a fearful thing.

GREAT. This is like doing business in great waters, or like going down into the deep. This is like being in the heart of the sea, and like going down to the bottoms of the mountains. Now it seems as if the earth, with its bars, were about us for ever. But let them that walk in darkness and have no light, trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon their God, Isa. 1. 10. For my part, as I have told you already, I have gone often through this valley, and have been much harder put to it than now I am; and yet you see I am alive. I would not boast, for that I am not my own saviour; but I trust we shall have a good deliverance. Come, let us pray for light to Him that can lighten our darkness, and that can rebuke not only these, but all the satans in hell.

So they cried and prayed, and God sent light and deliverance, for there was now no let in their way; no, not there, where but now they were stopped with a pit. Yet they were not got through the valley. So they went on still, and behold, great stinks and loathsome smells, to the great annoyance of them. Then said Mercy to Christiana, It is not so pleasant being here as at the gate, or at the Interpreter's, or at the house where we lay last.

Oh but, said one of the boys, it is not so bad to go through here, as it is to abide here always; and for aught I know, one reason why we must go this way to the house prepared for us is, that our home might be made the sweeter to us.

Well said, Samuel, quoth the guide; thou hast now spoken like a man. Why, if ever I get out here again, said the boy, I think I shall prize light and good way better than ever I did in all my life. Then said the guide, We shall be out by and by.

So on they went, and Joseph said, Cannot we see to the end of this valley as yet? Then said the guide, Look to your feet, for we shall presently be among the snares: so they looked to their feet, and went on; but they were troubled much with the snares. Now when they were come among the snares, they espied a man cast into the ditch on the left hand, with his flesh all rent and torn. Then said the guide, That is one Heedless, that was going this way; he has lain there a great while. There was one Take-heed with him when he was taken and slain; but he es

caped their hands. You cannot imagine how many are killed hereabouts, and yet men are so foolishly venturous as to set out lightly on pilgrimage, and to come without a guide. Poor Christian! it was a wonder that he here escaped; but he was beloved of his God; also he had a good heart of his own, or else he could never have done it.

Now they drew towards the end of this way; and just where Christian had seen the cave when he went by, out thence came forth Maul, a giant. This Maul did use to spoil young pilgrims with sophistry; and he called Great heart by his name, and said unto him, How many times have you een forbidden to do these things? Then seid Mr. Great-heart, What things? What things! quoth the giant; you know what things; but I will put an end to your trade.

But pray, said Mr. Great-heart, before we fall to it, let us understand wherefore we must fight. Now the women and children stood trembling, and knew not what to do. Quoth the giant, you rob the country, and rob it with the worst of thefts. These are but generals, said Mr. Great-heart, come to particu. lars, man.

Then said the giant, Thou practisest the craft of a kidnapper; thou gatherest up women and children, and carriest them into a strange country, to the weakening of my master's kingdom. But now Great-heart replied, I am a servant of the God of heaven; my business is to persuade sinners to repentance. I am commanded to do my endeavour to turn men, women, and children, from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan



unto God; and if this be indeed the ground of thy quarrel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt.

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Then the giant came up, and Mr. Great-heart went to meet him; and as he went he drew his sword, but the giant had a club. So without more ado they fell to it, and at the first blow the giant struck Mr. Great-heart down upon one of his knees. With that the women and children cried out. So Mr. Greatheart, recovering himself, laid about him in full lusty manner, and gave the giant a wound in his arm. Thus he fought for the space of an hour, to that height of heat, that the breath came out of the giant's nostrils as the heat doth out of a boiling cauldron.

Then they sat down to rest them; but Mr. Great-heart betook himself to prayer. Also the women and children did nothing but sigh and cry all the time that the battle did last.

When they had rested them, and taken breath, they both fell to it again, and Mr. Great-heart, with a blow, fetched the giant down to the ground. Nay, hold, let me recover, quoth he. So Mr. Great-heart fairly let him get up, so to it they went again; and the giant missed but little of all to breaking Mr. Great-heart's skull with his club.

Mr. Great-heart seeing that, runs to him in the full heat of his spirit, and pierceth him under the fifth rib. With that the giant began to faint, and could hold up his club no longer. Then Mr. Greatheart seconded his blow, and smote the head of the his giant from shoulders. Then the women and children rejoiced,

and Mr. Great-heart also praised God for the deliverance he had wrought.

When this was done, they amongst them erected a pillar, and fastened the giant's head thereon, and wrote under it in letters that passengers might read:

He that did wear this head was one That pilgrims did misuse;

He stopt their way, he spared none, But did them all abuse.

Until that I, Great-heart arose,

The pilgrims' guide to be; Until that I did him oppose,

That was their enemy.

Now I saw that they went on to the ascent that was a little way off, cast up to be a prospect for pilgrims. That was the place from whence Christian had the first sight of Faithful, his brother. Wherefore, here they sat down and rested. They also here did eat and drink, and make merry, for that they had gotten deliverance from this so dangerous an enemy. As they sat thus and did eat, Christiana asked the guide if he had caught no hurt in the battle. Then said Mr. Great-heart, No, save a little on my flesh; yet that also shall be so far from being to my detriment, that it is at present a proof of my love to my Master and you, and shall be a means, by grace, to increase my reward at last.

CHR. But were you not afraid, good sir, when you saw him come with his club?

GREAT. It is my duty, said he, to mistrust my own ability, that I may have reliance on Him who is stronger than all. CHR. But what did you think when he fetched you down to the ground at the first blow?

GREAT. Why I thought, replied he, that so my Master himself was served, and yet he it was that conquered at last, 2 Cor. iv. 10, 11: Rom. viii. 87.

MATT. When you all have thought what you please, I think God has been wonderful good unto us, both in bringing us out of this valley, and in delivering us out of the hand of this enemy. For my part I see no reason why we should distrust our God any inore, since he has now, and in such a place as this, given us such testimony of his love. Then they got up, and went forward.

Now a little before them stood an oak, and under it, when they came to it, they found an old pilgrim fast asleep. They knew that he was a pilgrim, by his clothes, and his staff, and his girdle.

So the guide, Mr. Great-heart, awaked him; and the old gentleman, as he lifted up his eyes, cried out, What's the matter? who are you? and what is your business here?

GREAT. Come, man, be not so hot; here are none but friends. Yet the old man gets up, and s'ands upon his guard, and will ow of them what they are. Then said the guide, My name is

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ney: but, now I look better about me, I perceive you are honester people.

GREAT. Why, what would or could you have done to have helped yourself, if indeed we had been of that company?

HON. Done?

Why, I would have fought as long as breath had been in me; and had I so done, I am sure you could never have given me the worst on't; for a Christian can never be overcome unless he shall yield of himself.

GREAT. Well said, father Honest, quoth the guide; for by this I know thou art a cock of the right kind, for thou hast said the truth.

HON. And by this also I know that thou knowest what true pilgrimage is; for all others think that we are the soonest overcome of any.

GREAT. Well, now we are so happily met, pray let me crave your name, and the name of the place you came from.

HON. My name I cannot tell you; but I came from the town of Stupidity; it lieth about four degrees beyond the City of Destruction.

GREAT. Oh! are you that countryman? Then I deem I have half a guess of you. Your name is old Honesty, is it not?

HON. So the old gentleman blushed, and said, Not Honesty in the abstract, but Honest is my name; and I wish that my nature may agree to what I am called. But, sir, said the old gentleman, how could you guess that I am such a man, since I came from such a place?

GREAT. I had heard of you before by my Master, for he knows all things that are done on the earth. But I have often wondered that any should come from your place, for your town is worse than is the City of Destruction itself.

HON. Yes, we lie more off from the sun, and so are mure cold and senseless. But were a man in a mountain of ice. yet, if the Sun of Righteousness should arise upon him, his frozen heart shall feel a thaw; and thus it has been with me.

GREAT. I believe it, father Honest, I believe it; for I know the thing is true.

Then the old gentleman saluted all the pilgrims with a holy kiss of charity, and asked them their names, and how they had fared since they set out on their pilgrimage.

CHR. Then said Christiana, My name, I suppose, you have heard of; good Christian was my husband, and these four are his children. But can you think how the old gentleman was taken when she told him who she was? He skipped, he smiled, he blessed them with a thousand good wishes, saying:

HON. I have heard much of your husband, and of his travels and wars which he underwent in his days. Be it spoken to your comfort, the name of your husband rings all over these parts of the world: his faith, his courage, his enduring, and his sincerity under all, have made his name famous. Then he turned him to the boys, and asked of them their names, which they told him. Then said he unto them, Matthew, be thou like Matthew the publican, not in vice, but in virtue, Matt. x. 8. Samuel, said he, be thou like Samuel the prophet, a man of faith and prayer, Psa. xcix. 6. Joseph, said he, be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house, chaste and one that flees from temptation, Gen. xxxix. And, James, be thou like James the Just, and like James the brother of our Lord, Acts i. 18. Then they told him of Mercy, and how she had left her own town and her kindred to come along with Christiana, and with her sons. At that the old honest man said, Mercy is thy name: by mercy thou shalt be sustained and carried through all those difficulties that shall assault thee in thy way, till thou shalt come thither where thou shalt look the Fountain of mercy in the face with comfort. All this while the guide, Mr. Great-heart, was very well pleased, and smiled upon his companion.

Now, as they walked along together, the guide asked the old gentleman, if he did not know one Mr. Fearing, that came on pilgrimage out of his parts.

HON. Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had the root of the matter in him; but he was one of the most trouble. some pilgrims that ever I met with in all my days.

GREAT. I perceive you knew him, for you have given a very right character of him.



HON. Knew him! I was a great companion of his. I was with him most an end; when he first began to think upon what would come upon us hereafter, I was with him.

GREAT. I was his guide from my Master's house to the gates of the celestial city.

HON. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one? GREAT. I did so! but I could ery well bear; for men of my calling are oftentimes intrusted with the conduct of such as he


HON. Well, then, pray let us hear a little of him, and how he managed himself under your conduct.

GREAT. Why, he was always afraid that he should come short of whither he had a desire to go. Everything frightened him that he heard anybody speak of, if it had but the least appearance of opposition in it. I have heard that he lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for above a month together; nor durst he, for all he saw several go over before him, venture, though they many of them offered to lend him their hands. He would not go back again neither. The Celestial City-he said he should die if he came not to it: and yet he was dejected at every difficulty, and stumbled at every straw that any body cast in his way. Well, after he had lain at the Slough of Despond a great while, as I have told you, one sunshiny morning, I don't know how, he ventured, and so got over; but when he was over, he would scarcely believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of Despond in his mind, a slough that he carried everywhere with him, or else he could never have been as he was. So he came up to the gate, you know what I mean, that stands at the head of this way, and there also he stood a good while before he would venture to knock. When the gate was opened, he would give back, and give place to others, and say that he was not worthy. For, for all he got before some to the gate, yet many of them went in before him. There the poor man would stand shaking and shrinking; I dare say it would have pitied one's heart to have seen him. Nor would he go back again. At last he took the hammer that hanged on the gate, in his hand, and gave a small rap or two; then one opened to him, but he shrank back as before. He that opened stepped out after him, and said, Thou trembling one, what wantest thou? With that he fell down to the ground. He that spoke to him wondered to see him so faint, so he said to him, Peace be to thee; up, for I have set open the door to thee; come in, for thou art blessed. With that he got up, and went in trembling; and when he was in, he was ashamed to show his face. Well, after he had been entertained there awhile, as you know how the manner is, he was bid to go on his way, and also told the way he should take. So he went on till he came to our house; but as he behaved himself at the gate, so he did at my Master the Interpreter's door. He lay thereabout in the cold a good while before he would adventure to call; yet he would not go back: and the nights were long and cold then. Nay, he had a note of necessity in his bosom to my Master to receive him, and grant him the comfort of his house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant conductor; because he was himself so chicken-hearted a man; and yet for all that he was afraid to call at the door. So he lay up and down thereabouts, till, poor man, he was almost starved: yea, so great was his dejection, that though he had seen several others for knocking get in, yet he was afraid to venture. At last, I think, I looked out of the window, and perceiving a man to be up and down about the door, I went out to him, and asked what he was; but, poor man, the water stood in his eyes; so I perceived what he wanted. I went therefore in, and told it in the house, and we showed the thing to our Lord: so he sent me out again, to entreat him to come in; but I dare say, I had hard work to do it. At last he came in; and I will say that for my Lord, he carried it wonderfully lovingly to him. There were but a few good bits at the table, but some of it was laid upon his trencher. Then he presented the note; and my Lord looked thereon, and said his desire should be granted. So when he had been there a good while he seemed to get some heart, and to be a little more comforted. For my Master, you must know, is one of very tender bowels, especially to them that are afraid; wherefore he carried it so towards him, as might tend most to his encouragement. Well, when he had had a sight of the things of the place, and was ready to take his journey to go to the city, my Lord, as he did to Christian before, gave him a bottle of spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we set forward, and I went before him; but the man was but of few words, only he would sigh aloud.

When we were come to the place where the three fellows were hanged, he said that he doubted that that would be his end also. Only he seemed glad when he saw the Cross and the Sepulchre. There I confess he desired to stay a little to look; and he seemed for a while after to be a little cheery. When he came to the hill Difficulty, he made no stick at that, nor did he much fear the lions: for you must know that his troubles were not about such things as these; his fear was about his acceptance at last.

I got him into the house Beautiful, I think before he was


willing. Also when he was in, I brought him acquainted with the damsels of the place; but he was ashamed to make himself much in company. He desired much to be alone; yet he always loved good talk, and often would get behind the screen to hear it. He also loved much to see ancient things, and to be pon. dering them in his mind. He told me afterwards, that he loved to be in those two houses from which he came last, to wit, at the gate, and that of the interpreter, but that he durst not be so bold as to ask.

When we went also from the house Beautiful, down the hill, into the Valley of Humiliation, he went down as well as ever I saw a man in my life; for he cared not how mean he was, so he might be happy at last. Yea, I nink there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley and him; for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than he was in that valley.

Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley, Lam. iii. 27-29. He would now be up every morning by' break of day, tracing and walking to and fro in the valley.

But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I thought I should have lost my man: not for that he had any inclination to go back; that he always ab horred; but he was ready to die for fear. Oh, the hobgoblins will have me! Oh, the hobgoblins will have me! cried he, and I could not beat him out of it. He made such a noise and such an outcry here, that had they but heard him, it was enough to encourage them to come and fall upon us.

But this I took very great notice of, that this valley was as quiet when we went through it, as ever I knew it before or since. I suppose those enemies here had now a special check from our Lord, and a command not to meddle until Mr. Fearing had passed over it.

It would be too tedious to tell you of all: we will therefore only mention a passage or two more. When he was come to Vanity Fair, I thought he would have fought with all the men in the fair. I feared there we should have been both knocked on the head, so hot was he against their fooleries. Upon the enchanted ground he was very wakeful. But when he was come at the river where was no bridge, there again he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned for ever, and so never see that face with comfort, that he had come so many miles to behold.

And here also I took notice of what was very remarkable: the water of that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life; so he went over at last, not much above wetshod. When he was going up to the gate, I began to take leave of him, and to wish him a good reception above. So he said, I shall, I shall. Then parted we asunder, and I saw him no


HON. Then it seems he was well at last?

GREAT. Yes, yes, I never had a doubt about him. He was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very low, and that made his life so burdensome to himself, and so troublesome to others, Psa. lxxxviii. He was, above many, tender of sin; he was so afraid of doing injuries to others, that he often would deny himself of that which was lawful, because he would not offend, Rom. xiv. 21; 1 Cor. viii. 13.

HON. But what should be the reason that such a good man should be all his days so much in the dark?

GREAT. There are two sorts of reasons for it. One is, the wise God will have it so; some must pipe, and some must weep, Matt. xi. 16, 17. Now Mr. Fearing was one that played upon the bass. He and his fellows sound the sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other music are: though in. deed some say, the bass is the ground of music. And for my part, I care not at all for that profession which begins not in heaviness of mind. The first string that the musician usually touches, is the bass, when he intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon this string first, w. en he sets the soul in tune for himself. Only there was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing; he could play upon no other music but this, till towards his latter end.

I make bold to talk thus metaphorically for the ripening of the wits of young readers, and because, in the book of the Revelation, the saved are compared to a company of musicians, that play upon their trumpets and harps, and sing their songs be. fore the throne, Rev. v. 8: xiv. 2, 8.

HON. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by the relation which you have given of him. Difficulty, lions, or Vanity Fair, he feared not at all; it was only, sin, death, and hell, that were to him a terror, because he had some doubts about his interest in that celestial country.

GREAT. You say right; those were the things that were his troubles: and they, as you have well observed, arose from the weakness of his mind thereabout, not from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a pilgrim's life. I dare believe that as the proverb is, he could have bit a firebrand, had it stood in his way; but the things with which he was oppressed, no man ever yet could shake off with ease,

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CHR. Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr. Fearing has done me good: I thought nobody had been like me. But I see there was some semblance betwixt this good man and I; only we differed in two things. His troubles were so great, that they broke out; but mine I kept within. His also lay hard upon him, they made him that he could not knock at the houses provided for entertainment; but my trouble was always such as made me knock the louder.

MER. If I might also speak my heart, I must say that something of him has also dwelt in me. For I have ever been more afraid of the lake, and the loss of a place in paradise, than I have been of the loss of other things. Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habitation there! 'Tis enough, though I part with all the world to win it.

MATT. Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that made me think that I was far from having that within me which accompanies salvation. But if it was so with such a good man as he why may it not also go well with me?

JAMES. No fears, no grace, said James. Though there is not always grace where there is the fear of hell, yet to be sure there is no grace where there is no fear of God.

GREAT. Well said, James, thou hast hit the mark. For the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom; and to be sure they that wan 1the beginning, have neither middle nor end. But we will here conclude our discourse of Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this farewell.

Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear
Thy God, and wast afraid

Of doing any thing, while here,
That would have thee betrayed.
And didst thou fear the lake and pit?
Would others do so too!

For, as for them that want thy wit,
They do themselves undo.

Now I saw that they still went on in their talk. For after Mr. Great-heart had made an end with Mr. Fearing, Mr. Honest began to tell them of another, but his name was Mr. Self-will. He pretended himself to be a pilgrim, said Mr. Honest; but I persuade myself he never came in at the gate that stands at the head of the way.

GREAT. Had you ever any talk with him about it?

HON. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would always be like himself, self-willed. He neither cared for man, nor argument, nor yet example; what his mind prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing else could he be got to do.

GREAT. Pray what principles did he hold? for I suppose you can tell.

HON. He held, that a man might follow the vices as well as the virtues of pilgrims; and that if he did both, he should be certainly saved.

GREAT. HOW? If he had said, it is possible for the best to be guilty of the vices, as well as to partake of the virtues of pilgrims, he could not much have been blamed; for indeed we are exempted from no vice absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. But this I perceive is not the thing; but if I understand you right, your meaning is, that he was of opinion that it was allowable so to be.

HON. Ay, ay, so I mean, and so he believed and practised. GREAT. But what grounds had he for his so saying? HON. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his warrant. GREAT. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few particulars.

HON. So I will. He said, to have to do with other men's wives had been practised by David, God's beloved; and therefore he could do it. He said, to have more women than one was a thing that Solomon practised, and therefore he could do it. He said that Sarah and the godly midwives of Egypt lied, and so did saved Rahab, and therefore he could do it. He said, that the disciples went at the bidding of their Master, and took away the owner's ass, and therefore he could do so too. He said that Jacob got the inheritance of his father in a way of guile and dissimulation, and therefore he could do so too. GREAT. High base indeed? And are you sure he was of this opinion?

HON. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for it, bring arguments for it, etc.

GREAT. An opinion that is not fit to be with any allowance in the world!

HON. You must understand me rightly; he did not say that any man might do this; but that they who had the virtues of those that did such things, might also do the same.

GREAT. But what more false than such a conclusion? For this is as much as to say, that because good men heretofore have sinned of infirmity, therefore he had an allowance to do it, of a presumptuous mind; or that if, because a child, by the" blast of the wind, or for that it stumbled at a stone, fell down and defiled itself in the mire, therefore he might wilfully lie down and wallow like a boar therein. Who could have thought

that any one could so far have been blinded by the power of lust? But what is written must be true; they "stumble at the word, being disobedient, whereunto also they were appointed," 1 Pet. ii. 8. Again, his supposing that such may have the godly men's virtues, who addict themselves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the other. To eat up the sin of God's people, Hos. iv. 8, as a dog licks up filth, is no sign of one that is possessed with their virtues. Nor can I believe that one who is of this opinion, can at present have faith or love in him. But I know you have made some strong objections against him; prithee what can he say for himself? HON. Why, he says, to do this by way of opinion seems abundantly more honest than to do it, and yet hold contrary to it in opinion.

GREAT. A very wicked answer. For though to let loose the bridle to lusts, while our opinions are against such things, is bad; yet to sin, and plead a toleration so to do, is worse: the one stumbles beholders accidentally, the other leads them into the snare.

HON. There are many of this man's mind, that have not this man's mouth; and that makes going on pilgrimage of so little esteem as it is.

GREAT. You have said the truth, and it is to be lamented but he that feareth the King of paradise shall come out of them all. CHR. There are strange opinions in the world. I know one that said it was time enough to repent when we come to die. GREAT. Such are not over wise; that man would have been loth, might he have had a week to run twenty miles in his life, to defer his journey to the last hour of that week.

HON. You say right; and yet the generality of them who count themselves pilgrims do indeed do thus. I am, as you see, an old man, and have been a traveller in this road many a day; and I have taken notice of many things.

I have seen some that have set out as if they would drive all the world before them, who yet have in a few days died as they in the wilderness, and so never got sight of the promised land I have seen some that have promised nothing at first setting out to be pilgrims, and who, one would have thought, could not have lived a day, that have yet proved very good pilgrims. I have seen some who have run hastily forward, that again have, after a little time, run just as fast back again. I have seen some who have spoken very well of a pilgrim's life at first, that after a while have spoken as much against it. I have heard some, when they first set out for paradise, say positively there is such a place, who, when they have been almost there, have come back again, and said there is none. I have heard some vaunt what they would do in case they should be opposed, that have, even at a false alarm, fled faith, the pilgrim's way, and all.



Now, as they were thus on their way, there came one running meet them, and said, Gentlemen, and you of theweak. er sort, if you love life, shift for yourselves, for the robbers are before you.

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GREAT. Then said Mr. Great-heart, They be the three that set upon Little-Faith heretofore. Well, said he, we are ready for them: so they went on their way. Now they looked at every turning when they should have met with the villains; but whether they heard of Mr. Great-heart, or whether they had some other game, they came not up to the pilgrims. Christiana then wished for an inn for herself and her chil

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GAIUS.. Yes, gentlemen, if you be true men; for my house is for none but pilgrims. Then were Christiana, Mercy, and the boys the more glad, for that the innkeeper was a lover of pilgrims, So they called for rooms, and he showed them one for Christiana and her children and Mercy, and another for Mr. Great-heart and the old gentleman.

GREAT. Then said Mr. Great-heart, Good Gaius, what hast thou for supper? for these pilgrims have come far to-day, and are weary.

GAIUS. It is late, said Gaius, so we cannot conveniently go out to seek food; but such as we have you shall be welcome to, if that will content.

GREAT. We will be content with what thou hast in the house, forasmuch as I have proved thee, thou art never destitute of that which is convenient.

Then he went down and spake to the cook, whose name was Taste-that-which-is-good, to get ready supper for so many pil. grims. This done, he came up again, saying, Come, my good friends, you are welcome to me, and I am glad that I have a house to entertain you in, and while supper is making ready, if you please, let us entertain one another with some good discourse; so they all said, Content.

GAIUS. Then said Gaius, Whose wife is this aged matron? and whose daughter is this young damsel?

GREAT. This woman is the wife of one Christian a pilgrim of former times; and these are his four children. The maid is one of her acquaintance, one that she hath persuaded to come with her on pilgrimage. The boys take all after their father, and covet to tread in his steps; yea, if they do but see any place where the old pilgrim hath lain, or any print of his foot, it ministereth joy to their hearts, and they covet to lie or tread in the same.

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GAIUS. Then said Galus, Is this Christian's wife, and are these Christian's children? I knew your husband's father, yea, also his father's father. Many have been good of this stock; their ancestors dwelt first at Antioch, Acts xi. 26. Christian's progenitors (I suppose you have heard your husband talk of them) were very worthy men. They have, above any that I know, showed themselves men of great virtue and courage, for the Lord of the pilgrims, his ways, and them that loved him. I have heard of many of your husband's relations that have stood all trials for the sake of the truth. Stephen, that was one of the first of the family from whence your husband sprang, was knocked on the head with stones, Acts vii. 59, 60. James, another of this generation, was slain with the edge of the sword, Acts xii. 2. To say nothing of Paul and Peter, men anciently of the family from whence your husband came, there was Ignatius, who was cast to the lions; Romanus, whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones; and Polycarp, that played the man in the fire. There was he that was hanged up in a basket in the sun for the wasps to eat; and he whom they put into a sack, and cast into the sea to be drowned. It would be impossible utterly to count up all of that family who have suffered injuries and death for the love of a pilgrim's life. Nor can I but be glad to see that thy husband has left behind him four such boys as these. I hope they will bear up their father's name, and tread in their father's steps, and come to their father's end.

GREAT. Indeed, sir, they are likely lads, they seem to choose heartily their father's ways.

GAIUS. That is it that I said. Wherefore Christian's family is like to spread abroad upon the face of the ground, and yet to be numerous upon the face of the earth; let Christiana look out some damsels for her sons, to whom they may be betrothed, etc., that the name of their father, and the house of his progenitors may never be forgotten in the world.

HON. 'Tis pity his family should fall and be extinct. GAIUS Fall it cannot, but be diminished it may; but let Christiana take my advice, and that is the way to uphold it. And, Christiana, said this innkeeper, I am glad to see thee and thy friend Mercy together here, a lovely couple. And, if I may advise, take Mercy into a nearer relation to thee; if she will, let her be given to Matthew, thy eldest son. It is the way to preserve a posterity in the earth. So this match was concluded, and in process of time they were married; but more of that hereafter.

GAIUS also proceeded, and said, I will now speak on the behalf of women, to take away their reproach. For as death and the curse came into the world by a woman, Gen. iii., so also did life and health; God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, Gal. iv. 4. Yea, to show how much they that came after did abhor the act of the mother, this sex in the Old Testament coveted children, if happily this or that woman might be the mother of the Saviour of the world. I will say again, that when the Saviour was come, women rejoiced in him, before either man or angel, Luke i. 42-45. I read not that man ever gave unto Christ so much as one groat; but the women followed him, and ministered to him of their substance, Luke viii. 2, 3. Twas a woman that washed his feet with tears, Luke vii. 37-50;


and a woman that anointed his body to the burial, John xi. 2; xii. 3. They were women who wept when he was going to the cross, Luke xxiii. 27; and women that followed him from the cross, Matt. xxvii. 55, 56; Luke xxiii. 55; and that sat over against his sepulchre when he was buried, Matt. xxvii. 61. They were women that were first with him at his resurrection. morn, Luke xxiv. 1, and women that brought tidings first to his disciples that he was risen from the dead, Luke xxiv. 22, 23. Women therefore are highly favoured, and show by these things, that they are sharers with us in the grace of life.

Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was almost ready, and sent one to lay the cloth, and the trenchers, and to set the salt and bread in order.

Then said Matthew, the sight of this cloth, and of this fore. runner of the supper, begetteth in me a greater appetite to my food than I had before.

GAIUS. So let all ministering doctrines to thee in this life beget in thee a greater desire to sit at the supper of the great King in his kingdom: for all preaching, books, and ordinances here, are but as the laying of the trenchers, and the setting of salt upon the board, when compared with the feast which our Lord will make for us when we come to his house.

So supper came up. And first a heave-shoulder and a wavebreast were set on the table before them, to show that they must begin the meal with prayer and praise to God. The heave-shoulder David lifted up his heart to God with; and with the wave-breast, where his heart lay, he used to lean upon his harp, when he played, Lev. vii. 32-34; x. 14, 15; Psa. xxv. 1; Heb. xiii. 15. These two dishes were very fresh and good, and they all ate heartily thereof.

The next they brought up was a bottle of wine as red as blood, Deut. xxxii. 14; Judg. ix. 13; John xv. 5. So Gaius said to them, Drink freely; this is the true juice of the vine, that makes glad the heart of God and man. So they drank, and were merry.

The next was a dish of milk, well crumbled; Gaius said, Let the boys have that, that they may grow thereby, 1 Pet.ii. 1, 2. Then they brought up in course a dish of butter and honey. Then said Gaius, Eat freely of this, for this is good to cheer up and strengthen your judgments and understandings. This was our Lord's dish when he was a child; "Butter and honey shall he eat, that he may know to refuse the evil, and choose the good," Isa. vii. 15.

Then they brought up a dish of apples, and they were very good-tasted fruit. Then said Matthew, May we eat apples, since it was they by and with which the serpent beguiled our first mother? Then said Gaius:

"Apples were they with which we were beguiled;
Yet sin, not apples, hath our souls defiled,
Apples forbid, if ate, corrupt the blood;
To eat such, when commanded, aoes us good.
Drink of his flagons then, thou church, his dove,
And eat his apples, who art sick of love."

Then said Matthew, I made the scruple, because I a while since was sick with the eating of fruit.

GAIUS. Forbidden fruit will make you sick; but not what our Lord has tolerated.

While they were thus talking, they were presented with another dish, and it was a dish of nuts, Song vi. 11. Then said some at the table, Nuts spoil tender teeth, especially the teeth of the children; which when Gaius heard he said :

"Hard texts are nuts (I will not call them cheaters),
Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters;
Open the shells, and you shall have the meat:
They here are brought for you to crack and eat."

Then were they very merry, and sat at the table a long time, talking of many things. Then said the old gentleman, My good landlord, while we are cracking your nuts, if you please, do you open this riddle:

A man there was, though some did count him mad,
The more he cast away the more he had.

Then they all gave good heed, wondering what good Gaius would say; so he sat still a while, and then thus replied; He who bestows his goods upon the poor, Shall have as much again, and ten times more. Then said Joseph, I dare say, sir, I did not think you could have found it out.

Oh! said Gaius, I have been trained up in this way a great while, nothing teaches like experience. I have learned of my Lord to be kind, and have found by experience that I have gained thereby. "There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty." "There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing; there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches," Prov. xi. 24; xiii. 7.

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