named Godly-man, and this garment is to show the innocency of his life. Now those that throw dirt at him, are such as hate his well-doing, but, as you see, the dirt will not stick upon his clothes, so it shall be with him that liveth innocently in the world. Whoever they be that would make such men dirty, they labour all in vain; for God, by that a little time is spent, will cause that their innocence shall break forth as the light, and their righteousness as the noonday.

Then they took them, and had them to Mount Charity, where they showed them a man that had a bundle of cloth lying be. fore him, out of which he cut coats and garments for the poor that stood about him; yet his bundle or roll of cloth was never the less. Then said they, What should this be? This is, said the shepherds, to show you, that he who has a heart to give of his labour to the poor, shall never want wherewithal. He that watereth, shall be watered himself. And the cake that the widow gave to the prophet, did not cause that she had the less in her barrel.

They had them also to the place where they saw one Fool, and one Want- wit, washing an Ethiopian, with an intention to make him white; but the more they washed him, the blacker he was. Then they asked the shepherds what they should mean. So they told them, saying, Thus it is with the vile person; all

means

used to get such a one a good name, shall in conclusion tend but to make

him more abominable. Thus it was with the Pharisees; and so it shall be with all hypocrites.

Then said Mercy, the wife of Matthew, to Christiana, her mother, Mother, I would, if it might be, see the hole in the hill, or that commonly called the by-way to hell. So her mother brake her mind to the shepherds. Then they went to the door; it was on the side of a hill; and they opened it, and bid Mercy hearken awhile. So she hearkened, and heard one saying, Cursed be my father for holding of my feet back from the way of peace and life. Another said, Oh, that I had been torn in pieces before I had, to save my life, lost my soul! And another said, If I were to live again, how would I deny myself rather than come to this place! Then there was as if the very earth groaned and quaked under the feet of this young woman for fear: so she looked white, and came trembling away, saying, Blessed be he and she that are delivered from this place!

Now when the shepherds had shown them all these things, then they had them back to the palace, and entertained them with what the house would afford. But Mercy, being a young and married woman, longed for something that she saw there, but was ashamed to ask. Her mother-in-law then asked her what she ailed, for she looked as one not well. Then said Mercy, There is a looking glass hangs up in the dining-room, off which I cannot take my mind; if, therefore, I have it not, I think I shall miscarry. Then said her mother, I will mention thy wants to the shepherds, and they will not deny it thee. But, she said, I am ashamed that these men should know that I longed. Nay, my daughter, said she, it is no shame, but a virtue, to long for such a thing as that. So Mercy said, Then, mother, if you please, ask the skepherds if they are willing to sell it. Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would present a man, one way, with his own features exactly; and turn it but another way, and

it would show one the very face and similitude of the Prince of pilgrims himself. Yes, I have talked with them that can tell, and they have said that they have seen the very crown of thorns upon his head, by looking in that glass; they have therein also seen the holes in

his hands, his feet, and his side Yea, such an excellency is there in this glass, that it will show him to one where they have a mind to see him: whether living or dead; whether in earth or in heaven; whether in a state of humiliation or in his exaltation, whether coming to suffer or coming to reign, James i. 83; 1 Cor. xiii. 12; 2-Cor. iii. 18.

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Christiana therefore went to the shepherds apart: now the names of the shepherds were Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, and said unto them, There is one of my daughters, a married woman, that I think doth long for some. thing that she hath seen in this house; and she thinks that she shall miscarry if she should by you be denied.

EXPERIENCE. Call her, call her, she shall assuredly have what we can help her to. So they called her, and said to her, Mercy, what is that thing thou wouldst have? Then she blushed, and said, The great glass that hangs up in the diningroom. So Sincere ran and fetched it, and with a joyful consent it was given her. Then she bowed her head, and gave thanks, and said, By this I know that I have obtained favour in your eyes.

They also gave to the other young women such things as they desired, and to their husbands great commendations, for that they had joined with Mr. Great-heart in the slaying Giant Despair, and the demolishing Doubting Castle.

About Christiana's neck the shepherds put a bracelet, and so they did about the necks of her four daughters; also they put ear-rings in their ears, and jewels on their foreheads.

When they were minded to go hence, they let them go in peace, but gave not to them those certain cautions which before were given to Christian and his companion. The reason was, for that these had Great-heart to be their guide, who was one that was well acquainted with things, and so could give them their cautions more seasonably, to wit, even when the danger was nigh the approaching. What cautions Christian and his companion had received of the shepherds, they had also lost by that the time was come that they had need to put them in practice. Wherefore here was the advantage that this company had over the other.

From thence they went on singing, and they said,

Behold, how fitly are the stages set

For their relief that pilgrims are become,
And how they us receive without one let,

That make the other life our mark and home!

What novelties they have to us they give,

That we, though pilgrims, joyful lives may live.
They do upon us, too, such things bestow,

That show we pilgrims are where'er we go.

When they were gone from the shepherds. they quickly came to the place where Christian met with one Turn-away, that dwelt in the town of Apostacy. Wherefore of him Mr. Greatheart their guide did now put them in mind, saying, This is the place where Christian met with one Turn-away, who carried with him the character of his rebellion at his back. And this I have to say concerning this man; he would hearken to no counsel, but once a falling, persuasion could not stop him. When he came to the place where the cross and sepulchre were, he did meet with one that bid him look there; but he gnashed with his teeth, and stamped, and said he was resolved to go back to his own town. Before he came to the gate he met with Evangelist, who offered to lay hands on him, to turn him into the way again. But this Turn-away resisted him, and having done much despite unto him, he got away over the wall, and so escaped his hand.

Then they went on; and just at the place where Little-faith formerly was robbed, there stood a man with his sword drawn, and his face all

over with blood. Then said Mr. Great heart, Who art thou? The man made answer,

saying, I am one whose name is Valiant-for-truth. I am a pilgrim, and am going to the Celes ial City. Now, as I was in my way, there were three men

did beset me, and propounded unto me these three things: 1. Whether I would become one of them, Prov. i. 11-14. 2. Or go back from whence I came. 3. Or die upon the place. To the first I answered, I had been a true man for a long season, and therefore it could not be expected that I should now cast in my lot with thieves. Then they demanded what I should say to the second. So I told them the place from whence I came, had I not found incommodity there, I had not forsaken it at all; but finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable for me, I forsook it for this way. Then they asked me what I said to the third. And I told them, my life cost far more dear than that I should lightly give it away. Besides, you have nothing to do thus to put things to my choice; wherefore at your peril be it if you meddle. Then these three

Wild-head, Inconsiderate, and Pragmatick, drew upon me, and I also drew upon them. So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of above three hours. They have left upon me, as you see, some of the marks of their valour, and have also carried away with them some of mine. They are but just now gone: I suppose they might, as the saying is, hear your horse dash, and so they betook themselves to flight.

GREAT-HEART. But here was great odds, three against one. VALIANT. 'Tis true; but little or more are nothing to him that has the truth on his side: "Though an host should encamp against me," said one, Psa. xxvii. 3, "my heart shall not fear; though war shall rise against me, in this will I be confident," etc. Besides, said he, I have read in some records that one man has fought an army: and how many did Samson slay with the jawbone of an ass!

GREAT. Then said the guide, Why did you not cry out, that some might have come for your succour?

VALIANT. So I did to my King, who I knew could hear me, and afford invisible help, and that was sufficient for me.

GREAT. Then said Great-heart to Mr. Valiant-for-truth, Thou hast worthily behaved thyself; let me see thy sword. So he showed it him.

When he had taken it in his hand, and looked thereon a while, he said, Ha! it is a right Jerusalem blade.

VALIANT. It is so. Let a man have one of these blades, with a hand to wield it, and skill to use it, and he might venture upon an angel with it. He need not fear its holding, if he can but tell how to lay on. Its edge will never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones, and soul and spirit, and all, Heb. iv. 12. GREAT. But you fought a great while, I wonder you was not weary.

VALIANT. I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand; and then they were joined together as if a sword grew out of my arm, and when the blood ran through my fingers then I fought with most courage.

GREAT? Thou hast done well; thou hast resisted unto blood, striving against sin. Thou shalt abide by us, come in and go out with us; for we are thy companions. Then they took him, and washed his wounds, and gave him of what they had, to refresh him, and so they went together.

Now, as they went on, because Mr. Great-heart was delighted in him (for he loved one greatly that he found to be a man of his hands), and because there were in company them that were feeble and weak, therefore he questioned with him about many things; as first, what countryman he was.

VALIANT. I am of Dark-land; for there I was born, and there my father and mother are still.

GREAT. Dark-land! said the guide; doth not that lay on the same coast with the City of Destruction?

VALIANT. Yes, it doth. Now that which caused me to come on pilgrimage was this. We had one Mr. Tell-true come into our parts, and he told it about what Christian had done, that went from the City of Destruction; namely, how he had forsaken his wife and children, and had betaken himself to a pilgrim's life. It was also confidently reported, how he had killed a serpent that did come out to resist him in his journey; and how he got through to whither he intended. It was also told what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, especially when he came to the gates of the Celestial City; for there, said the man, he was received with sound of trumpet by a company of shining ones. He told also how all the bells in the city did ring for joy at his reception, and what golden garments he was clothed with; with many other things that now I shall forbear to relate. In a word, that man so told the story of Christian and his travels that my heart fell into a burning haste to be gone after him; nor could father or mother stay me. So I got from them, and am come thus far on my way.

GREAT. You came in at the gate, did you not? VALIANT. Yes, yes; for the same man also told us, that all would be nothing, if we did not begin to enter this way at the gate.

GREAT. Look you, said the guide to Christiana, the pilgrimage of your husband, with what he has gotten thereby is spread abroad far and near.

VALIANT. Why, is this Christian's wife?

GREAT. Yes, that it is: and these also are his four sons.
VALIANT. What! and going on pilgrimage too??
GREAT. Yes, verily, they are following after.

VALIANT. It glads me at the heart. Good man, how joyful will he be when he shall see them that would not go with him, yet to enter after him in at the gates into the Celestial City!

GREAT. Without doubt it will be a comfort to him; for next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be a joy to meet there his wife and children.

VALIANT. But now you are upon that, pray let me see your opinion about it. Some make a question, whether we shall know one another when we are there.

PAT. Do you think they shall know themselves then, or y shall rejoice to see themselves in that bliss? and if

they think they shall know and do this, why not know others, and rejoice in their welfare also? Again, since relations are our second self, though that state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not be rationally concluded, that we shall be more glad to see them there, than to see they are wanting?

VALIANT. Well, I perceive whereabouts you are as to this. Have you any more things to ask me about my beginning to come on pilgrimage?

GREAT. Yes; were your father and mother willing that you should become a pilgrim?

VALIANT. Oh no; they used all means imaginable to persuade me to stay at home.

GREAT. Why, what could they say against it?

VALIANT. They said it was an idle life; and if I myself were not inclined to sloth and laziness, I would never countenanc a pilgrim's condition.

GREAT. And what did they say else?

VALIANT. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous way; yea, the most dangerous way in the world, said they, is that which the pilgrims go.

GREAT. Did they show you wherein this way is so dangerous? VALIANT. Yes, and that in many particulars.

GREAT. Name some of them.

VALIANT. They told me of the Slough of Despond, where Christian was well nigh smothered. They told me that there were archers standing ready in Beelzebub Castle to shoot them who should knock at the Wicket-gate for entrance. They told me also of the wood and dark mountains; of the hill Difficulty; of the lions; and also of the three giants, Bloody-man, Maul, and Slay-good. They said, moreover, that there was a foul fiend haunted the Valley of Humiliation; and that Christian was by him almost bereft of life. Besides, said they, you must go over the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the hobgob. lins are, where the light is darkness, where the way is full of snares, pits, traps, and gins. They told me also of Giant Despair, of Doubting Castle, and of the ruin that the pilgrims had met with thefe. Further, they said I must go over the Enchanted Ground, which was dangerous; and that after all this I should find a river, over which there was no bridge; and that river did lie betwixt me and the Celestial Country. GREAT. And was this all?

VALIANT. No. They also told me that this way was full of deceivers, and of persons that lay in wait there to turn good men out of the path.

GREAT. But how did they make that out?

VALIANT. They told me, that Mr. Worldly-wiseman did lie there in wait to deceive. They said also that there were Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the road. They said also that By-ends, Talkative, or Demas, would go near to gather me up; that the Flatterer would catch me in his net; or that with greenheaded Ignorance, I would presume to go on to the gate, from whence he was sent back to the hole that was in the side of the hill, and made to go the by-way to hell.

GREAT. I promise you this was enough to discourage you; but did they make an end here?

VALIANT. No, stay. They told me also of many that had tried that way of old, and that had gone a great way therein. to see if they could find something of the glory there that so many had so much talked of from time to time, and how they came back again, and befooled themselves for setting a foot out of doors in that path, to the satisfaction of all the country. And they named several that did so, as Obstinate and Pliable, Mistrust and Timorous, Turn-away and old Atheist, with several more; who, they said, had some of them gone far to see what they could find, but not one of them had found so much advantage by going as amounted to the weight of a feather. GREAT. Said they any thing more to discourage you. VALIANT. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing, who was a pilgrim, and how he found his way so solitary, that he never had a comfortable hour therein; also that Mr. Despondency had like to have been starved therein: yea, and also (which I had almost forgot) that Christian himself, about whom there had been such a noise after all his ventures for a celestial crown, was certainly drowned in the Black river, and never went a foot farther, however it was smothered up.

GREAT. And did none of these things discourage you? VALIANT. No, they seemed but as so many nothings to me. GREAT. How came that about?

VALIANT. Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-truth had said; and that carried me beyond them all.

GREAT. Then this was your victory, even your faith? VALIANT. It was so. I believed, and therefore came out, got into the way, fought all that set themselves against me, and, by believing, am come to this place.

Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither!
One here will constant be,
Come wind, come weather;

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is one, said he, that comes from whereabout 1 dwelt. His name is Standfast; he is certainly a right good pilgrim.

So they came up one to another. And presently Standfast said to old Honest, Ho, father Honest, are you there? Ay, said he, that I am, as sure as you are there. Right glad am I, said Mr. Standfast, that I have found you on this road. And as glad am I, said the other, that I espied you on your knees. Then Mr. Standfast blushed, and said, But why, did you see me? Yes, that I did, quoth the other and with my heart was glad at the sight. Why, what did you think? said Standfast. Think! said old Honest; what should I think? I thought we had an honest man on the road, and therefore should have his company by-and-by. If you thought not amiss, said Standfast, how happy am I! But if I be not as I should, 'tis I alone must bear it. That is true, said the other; but your fear doth fur. ther confirm me that things are right betwixt the Prince of pilgrims and your soul. For he saith, "Blessed is the man that feareth always," Prov. xxviii. 14.

VALIANT. Well but, brother, I pray thee, tell us what was it that was the cause of thy being upon thy knees even now; was it for that some special mercy laid obligations upon thee, or how?

STAND. Why, we are, as you see, upon the Enchanted Ground; and as I was coming along, I was musing with my self of what a dangerous nature the road in this place was, and how many that had come even thus far on pilgrimage had here been stopped, and been destroyed. I thought also of the manner of the death with which this place destroyed men. Those that die here, die of no violent distemper; the death which such die is not grievous to them. For he that goeth away in a sleep, begins that journey with desire and pleasure. Yea, such acquiesce in the will of that disease.

HON. Then Mr. Honest interrupting him, said, Did you see the two men asleep in the arbour?

STAND. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Too-bold there; and, for aught I know, there they will lie till they rot, Prov. x. 7. But let me go on with my tale. As I was thus musing, as I said, there was one in very pleasant attire, but old, who presented herself to me, and offered me three things, to wit, her body, her purse, and her bed. Now the truth is, I was both weary and sleepy: I am also as poor as an owlet, and that perhaps the witch knew. Well, I repulsed her once and again, but she put by my repulses, and smiled. Then I began to be angry; but she mattered that nothing at all. Then she made offers again, and said if I would be ruled by her, she would make me great and happy; for, said she, I am the mistress of the world, and men are made happy by me. Then I asked her name, and she told me it was Madam Bubble. This set me further from her; but still she followed me with enticements. Then I betook me, as you saw, to my knees, and with hands lifted up, and cries, I prayed to Him that had said he would help. So just as you came up the gentlewoman went her way. Then I con. tinued to give thanks for this my great deliverance, for I verily believe she intended good, but rather sought to make stop of me in my journey.

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HON. Without doubt, her designs were bad. But stay, now you talk of her, methinks I either have seen her, or have read some story of her.

STAND. Perhaps you have done both.

HON. Madam Bubble! Is she not a tall, comely dame, somewhat of a swarthy complexion?

STAND. Right, you hit it; she is just such a one. HON. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give you a smile at the end of a sentence?

STAND. You fall right upon it again, for these are her very actions.

HON. Doth she not wear a great purse by her side, and is not her hand often in it, fingering her money, as if that was her heart's delight.

STAND. 'Tis just so. Had she stood by all this while, you could not more amply have set her forth before me, nor have better described her features.

HON. Then he that drew her picture was a good limner, and he that wrote of her said true.

GREAT. This woman is a witch, and it is by virtue of her Sorceries that this ground is enchanted. Whoever doth lay his head down in her lap, had as good lay it down on that block over which the axé doth hang and whoever lay their eyes upon her beauty, are accounted the enemies of God. This is she that

maintaineth in their splendour all those that are the enemies of pilgrims, James iv. 4. Yea, this is she that hath bought off many a man from a pilgrim's life. She is a great gossiper; she is always, both she and her daughters, at one pilgrim's heels or another; now com. mending, and then preferring the excellences of this life. She is a bold and impudent slut; she will talk with any man. She always laugheth poor pilgrims to scorn, but highly commends the rich. If there be one cunning to get money in a place, she will

speak well of him from house to house. She loveth banqueting and feasting mainly well; she is always at one full table another. She has given it out in some places that she a goddess, and therefore some do worship her. She has her time and open places for cheating; and she will say and avow it, that none can show a good comparable to hers. She promiseth to dwell with children's children, if they will but love her, and make much of her. She will cast out of her purse gold like dust in some places, and to some persons. She loves to be sought after, spoken well of, and to lie in the bosoms of men. She is never weary of commending her commodities, and she loves them most that think best of her. She will promise to some crowns and kingdoms if they will but take her advice; yet many hath she brought to the halter, and ten thousand times more to hell.

STAND. Oh! said Standfast, what a 'mercy is it that I did resist her; for whither might she have drawn me!

GREAT. Whither! nay, none but God knows whither. But, in general, to be sure, she would have drawn thee into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition, 1 Tim. vi. 9. 'Twas she that set Absalom against his father, and Jeroboam against his master. 'Twas she that pe suaded Judas to sell his Lord; and that prevailed with Demas to forsake the godly pilgrim's life. None can tell of the mischief that she doth. She makes variance betwixt rulers and subjects, betwixt parents and children, betwixt neighbour and neighbour, betwixt a man and his wife, betwixt a man and himself, betwixt the flesh and the spirit. Wherefore, good Mr. Standfast, be as your name is, and when you have done all, stand.

At this discourse there was among the pilgrims a mixture of joy and trembling; but at length they broke out and sang: What danger is the pilgrim in!

How many are his toes!

How many ways there are to sin

No living mortal knows.

Some in the ditch spoil'd are, yea, can

Lie tumbling in the mire:

Some, though they shun the frying-pan,
Do leap into the fire.

After this I beheld until they were come into the land of Beulah, where the sun shineth night and day. Here, because they were weary, they betook themselves awhile to rest. And because this country was common for pilgrims, and because the orchard and vineyards that were here belonged to the King of the celestial country, therefore they were licensed to make bold with any of his things. But a little while soon refreshed them here: for the bells did so ring, and the trumpets continually sound so melodiously, that they could not sleep, and yet they received as much refreshing as if they had slept their sleep ever so soundly. Here also the noise of them that walked the streets was, More pilgrims have come to town! And another would answer, saying, And so many went over the water, and were let in at the golden gates to-day! They would cry again, There is now a legion of shining ones just come to town, by which we know that there are more pilgrims upon the road; for here they come to wait for them, and to comfort them after their sorrow! Then the pilgrims got up, and walked to and fro. But how were their ears now filled with heavenly voices, and their eyes delighted with celestial visions! In this land. they heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smelt nothing, tasted nothing that was offensive to their stomach or mind; only when they tasted of the water of the river over which they were to go, they thought that it tasted a little bitterish to the palate; but it proved sweet when it was down.

In this place there was a record kept of the names of them that had been pilgrims of old, and a history of all the famous acts that they had done. It was here also much discoursed.

how the river to some had had its flowings, and what ebbings It has been in a it has had while others have gone over. manner dry for scme, while it has overflowed its banks for others.

In this place the children of the town would go into the King's gardens, and gather nosegays for the pilgrims, and bring them to them with much affection. Here also grew camphire with spikenard and saffron, calamus, and cinnamon, with all the trees of frank incense, myrrh, aud aloes, with all chief spices. With these the pilgrims' chambers were perfumed while they stayed here; and with these were their bodies anointed, to prepare them to go over the river, when the time appointed was come.

Now while they lay here, and waited for the good hour, there was a noise in the town that there was a post come from the Celestial City, with matter of great importance to one Christiana, the wife of Christian the pilgrim. So inquiry was made for her, the house was found out where she was. So the post presented her with a letter. The contents were, Hail, good woman; I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expects that thou shouldst stand in his presence, in clothes of immortality, within these ten days.

When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith a sure token that he was a true messenger, and was come to bid her make haste to be gone. The token was, an arrow with a point sharpened with love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, that at the time appointed she must be gone.

When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that she was the first of this company that was to go over, she called for Mr. Great-heart, her guide, and told him how matters were. So he told her he was heartily glad of the news, and could have been glad had the post come for him. Then she bid him that he should give advice how all things should be prepared for her journey. So he told her, saying, thus and thus it must be; and we that survive will accompany you to the river side.

Then she called for her children, and gave them her blessing, and told them that she had read with comfort the mark that was set in their foreheads, and was glad to see them with her there, and that they had kept their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the poor that little she had, and commanded her sons

and daughters to be ready against the messenger should come for them.

When she had spoken these words to her guide, and to her children, she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and said unto him, Sir, you have in all places showed yourself true-hearted be faithful unto death, and my King will give you a crown of life, R. ii. 10. I would also entreat you to have an eye to my children; and if at any time you see them faint, speak comfortably to them. For my daughters, my sons' wives, they have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the promise upon them will be their end. But she gave Mr. Standfast a ring.

After him came Mr. Despondency and his daughter, Much- afraid;

to

whom she said, You ought with thankfulness for ever to remember your deliverance from the hands of Giant Despair.

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and out of Doubting Castle. The effect of that mercy ie, that you are brought with safety hither. Be ye watchful, air cast away fear; be sober, and hope to the end.

Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered from the mouth of Giant Slay-good that thou mightest live in the. light of the living, and see thy King with comfort. Only, I advise thee to repent for thine aptness to fear and doubt of his goodness, before he sends for thee; lest thou shouldst, when he comes, be forced to stand before him for that fault, with blushing.

Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. So the road was full of people to see her take her journey. But behold, all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots, which were come down from above to accompany her to the city gate. So she came forth, and entered the river, with a beckon of farewell to those that followed her. The last words that she was heard to say were, I come, Lord, to be thee, and with bless thee!

So

her children and friends returned to

their places, for those that waited for Christiana had carried her out of their sight. So she went and called, and entered in at the gate with all

the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had entered with before her. At her departure the children wept. But Mr. Great-heart and Mr. Valiant played upon the well-tuned cymbal and harp for joy. So all departed to their respective places.

In process of time, there came a post to the town again, and his business was with Mr.Ready-to-halt. So he inquired him out, and said, I am come from Him whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches; and my message is to tell thee that he expects thee at his table to sup with him in his kingdom, the next day after Easter; wherefore prepare thyself for this journey. Then he also gave him a token that he was a true messenger, saying, "I have broken thy goldon bowl, and loosed thy silver cord," Eccles. xii. 6.

After this, Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow-pilgrims, and told them, saying, I am sent for, and God shail surely visit you also. So he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will. And because he had nothing to bequeath to them that should survive

him but his crutches, and his good therefore wishes, thus he said, These crutches I bequeath to my son, that shall tread in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may prove better than I have been. Then he thanked Mr. Greatheart for his conduct and kindness, and so addressed

himself to his journey. When he came to the brink of the river, He said, Now I shall have no more need of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on. The last words he was heard to say were, Welcome life! So he went his way.

After this Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought him that the post sounded his horn at his chamber-door. Then he came in, and told him saying, I am come to tell thee that thy Master hath need of thee, and that in a very little time thou must behold his face in brightness. And take this as a token of the truth of my message: "Those that look out at the windows shall be darkened," Eccles. xii. 3. Then Mr. Feeble-mind' called for his friends, and told them what errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had received of the truth of the message. Then he said, Since I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make a will? As for my feeble mind, that I will leave behind me, for that I shall have no need of in the place whither I go, nor is it worth. bestowing upon the poorest pilgrims: wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr. Valiant, would bury it in a dunghill. This done, and the day being come on which he was to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His last words were, Hold out, faith and patience! So he went over to the other side.

When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Despor