was taken, when she told him who she was! He skipped, he smiled, he blessed them with a thousand good wishes; saying, 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. And then said he unto them,Matthew, be thou like Matthew the publican, not in vice but in virtue. Samuel, said he, be thou like Samuel the prophet, a man of faith and prayer. Joseph, said he, be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house-chaste, and one that flies from temptation. And James, be thou like James the Just, and like James the brother of our Lord. (Matt. x. 3. Ps. xcix. 6. Gen. xxxix. Acts, i. 13, 14.) 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 troublesome 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 very well bear it; for men of my calling are oftentimes intrusted with the conduct of such as he was.

HON. Why, 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 anybody 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 shrunk 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 a while, 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 chickenhearted 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 Iwas 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 comfortable. 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 pondering 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 think 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 abhorred; 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 wake