{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1886/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1886","id":"gutenberg_1886","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1886","summary":null,"tags":["Bunyan, John, 1628-1688 -- Criticism and interpretation","Bunyan, John, 1628-1688. Pilgrim's progress","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Religion/Spirituality"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1894 Oliphant Anderson and Ferrier edition by David\nPrice, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk\n\n\n\n\n\nBUNYAN CHARACTERS--SECOND SERIES\nLectures delivered in St. George's Free Church Edinburgh\nBy Alexander Whyte, D.D.\n\n\nIGNORANCE\n\n\n   \"I was alive without the law once.\"--_Paul_.\n\n   \"I was now a brisk talker also myself in the matter of\n   religion.\"--_Bunyan_.\n\nThis is a new kind of pilgrim.  There are not many pilgrims like this\nbright brisk youth.  A few more young gentlemen like this, and the\npilgrimage way would positively soon become fashionable and popular, and\nbe the thing to do.  Had you met with this young gentleman in society,\nhad you noticed him beginning to come about your church, you would have\nlost no time in finding out who he was.  I can well believe it, you would\nhave replied.  Indeed, I felt sure of it.  I must ask him to the house.  I\nwas quite struck with his appearance and his manners.  Yes; ask him at\nonce to your house; show him some pointed attentions and you will never\nregret it.  For if he goes to the bar and works even decently at his\ncases, he will be first a sheriff and then a judge in no time.  If he\nshould take to politics, he will be an under-secretary before his first\nparliament is out.  And if he takes to the church, which is not at all\nunlikely, our West-end congregations will all be competing for him as\ntheir junior colleague; and, if he elects either of our Established\nchurches to exercise his profession in it, he will have dined with Her\nMajesty while half of his class-fellows are still half-starved\nprobationers.  Society fathers will point him out with anger to their\nunsuccessful sons, and society mothers will smile under their eyelids as\nthey see him hanging over their daughters.\n\nWell, as this handsome and well-appointed youth stepped out of his own\nneat little lane into the rough road on which our two pilgrims were\nstaggering upward, he felt somewhat ashamed to be seen in their company.\nAnd I do not wonder.  For a greater contrast you would not have seen on\nany road in all that country that day.  He was at your very first sight\nof him a gentleman and the son of a gentleman.  A little over-dressed\nperhaps; as, also, a little lofty to the two rather battered but\notherwise decent enough men who, being so much older than he, took the\nliberty of first accosting him.  \"Brisk\" is his biographer's description\nof him.  Feather-headed, flippant, and almost impudent, you might have\nbeen tempted to say of him had you joined the little party at that\nmoment.  But those two tumbled, broken-winded, and, indeed,\nbroken-hearted old men had been, as an old author says, so emptied from\nvessel to vessel--they had had a life of such sloughs and stiff\nclimbs--they had been in hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness so\noften--that it was no wonder that their dandiacal companion walked on a\nlittle ahead of them.  'Gentlemen,' his fine clothes and his cane and his\nhead in the air all said to his two somewhat disreputable-looking fellow-\ntravellers,--\"Gentlemen, you be utter strangers to me: I know you not.\nAnd, besides, I take my pleasure in walking alone, even more a great deal\nthan in company, unless I like it better.\"  But all his society manners,\nand all his costly and well-kept clothes, and all his easy and\nself-confident airs did not impose upon the two wary old pilgrims.  They\nhad seen too much of the world, and had been too long mixing among all\nkinds of pilgrims, young and old, true and false, to be easily imposed\nupon.  Besides, as one could see from their weather-beaten faces, and\ntheir threadbare garments, they had found the upward way so dreadfully\ndifficult that they both felt a real apprehension as to the future of\nthis light-hearted and light-headed youth.  \"You may find some difficulty\nat the gate,\" somewhat bluntly broke in the oldest of the two pilgrims on\ntheir young comrade.  \"I shall, no doubt, do at the gate as other good\npeople do,\" replied the young gentleman briskly.  \"But what have you to\nshow at the gate that may cause that the gate be opened to you?\"  \"Why, I\nknow my Lord's will, and I have been a good liver all my days, and I pay\nevery man his own.  I pray, moreover, and I fast.  I pay tithes, and give\nalms, and have left my country for whither I am going.\"  Now, before we\ngo further: Do all you young gentlemen do as much as that?  Have you\nalways been good livers?  Have you paid every man and woman their due?  Do\nyou pray to be called prayer?  And, if so, when, and where, and what for,\nand how long at a time?  I do not ask if your private prayer-book is like\nBishop Andrewes' _Devotions_, which was so reduced to pulp with tears and\nsweat and the clenching of his agonising hands that his literary\nexecutors were with difficulty able to decipher it.  Clito in the\n_Christian Perfection_ was so expeditious with his prayers that he used\nto boast that he could both dress and do his devotions in a quarter of an\nhour.  What was the longest time you ever took to dress or undress and\nsay your prayers?  Then, again, there is another Anglican young gentleman\nin the same High Church book who always fasts on Good Friday and the\nThirtieth of January.  Did you ever deny yourself a glass of wine or a\ncigar or an opera ticket for the church or the poor?  Could you honestly\nsay that you know what tithes are?  And is there a poor man or woman or\nchild in this whole city who will by any chance put your name into their\nprayers and praises at bedtime to-night?  I am afraid there are not many\nyoung gentlemen in this house to-night who could cast a stone at that\nbrisk lad Ignorance, Vain-Hope, door in the side of the hill, and all.  He\nwas not far from the kingdom of heaven; indeed, he got up to the very\ngate of it.  How many of you will get half as far?\n\nNow (what think you?), was it not a very bold thing in John Bunyan, whose\nown descent was of such a low and inconsiderable generation, his father's\nhouse being of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the\nfamilies in the land--was it not almost too bold in such a clown to take\nsuch a gentleman-scholar as Saul of Tarsus, the future Apostle of the\nLord, and put him into the _Pilgrim's Progress_, and there go on to\ndescribe him as a very brisk lad and nickname him with the nickname of\nIgnorance?  For, in knowledge of all kinds to be called knowledge,\nGamaliel's gold medallist could have bought the unlettered tinker of\nElstow in one end of the market and sold him in the other.  And nobody\nknew that better than Bunyan did.  And yet such a lion was he for the\ntruth, such a disciple of Luther was he, and such a defender and preacher\nof the one doctrine of a standing or falling church, that he fills page\nafter page with the crass ignorance of the otherwise most learned of all\nthe New Testament men.  Bunyan does not accuse the rising hope of the\nPharisees of school or of synagogue ignorance.  That young Hebrew Rabbi\nknew every jot and tittle of the law of Moses, and all the accumulated\ntraditions of the fathers to boot.  But Bunyan has Paul himself with him\nwhen he accuses and convicts Saul of an absolutely brutish ignorance of\nhis own heart and hidden nature.  That so very brisk lad was always\nboasting in himself of the day on which he was circumcised, and of the\nold stock of which he had come; of his tribe, of his zeal, of his\nblamelessness, and of the profit he had made of his educational and\necclesiastical opportunities.  Whereas Bunyan is fain to say of himself\nin his _Grace Abounding_ that he is \"not able to boast of noble blood or\nof a high-born state according to the flesh.  Though, all things\nconsidered, I magnify the Heavenly Majesty for that by this door He\nbrought me into this world to partake of the grace and life that is in\nChrist by the Gospel.\"\n\nAs we listen to the conversation that goes on between the two old\npilgrims and this smartly appointed youth, we find them striving hard,\nbut without any sign of success, to convince him of some of the things\nfrom which he gets his somewhat severe name.  For one thing, they at last\nbluntly told him that he evidently did not know the very A B C about\nhimself.  Till, when too hard pressed by the more ruthless of the two old\nmen, the exasperated youth at last frankly burst out: \"I will never\nbelieve that my heart is thus bad!\"  There is a warm touch of Bunyan's\nown experience here, mixed up with his so dramatic development of Paul's\nmorsels of autobiography that he lets drop in his Epistles to the\nPhilippians and to the Galatians.  \"Now was I become godly; now I was\nbecome a right honest man.  Though as yet I was nothing but a poor\npainted hypocrite, yet I was proud of my godliness.  I read my Bible, but\nas for Paul's Epistles, and such like Scriptures, I could not away with\nthem; being, as yet, but ignorant both of the corruptions of my nature\nand of the want and worth of Jesus Christ to save me.  The new birth did\nnever enter my mind, neither knew I the deceitfulness and treachery of my\nown wicked heart.  And as for secret thoughts, I took no notice of them.\"\nMy brethren, old and young, what do you think of all that?  What have you\nto say to all that?  Does all that not open a window and let a flood of\ndaylight into your own breast?  I am sure it does.  That is the best\nportrait of you that ever was painted.  Do you not see yourself there as\nin a glass?  And do you not turn with disgust and loathing from the\nstupid and foolish face?  You complain and tell stories about how\nimpostors and cheats and liars have come to your door and have impudently\nthrust themselves into your innermost rooms; but your own heart, if you\nonly knew it, is deceitful far above them all.  Not the human heart as it\nstands in confessions, and in catechisms, and in deep religious books,\nbut your own heart that beats out its blood-poison of self-deceit, and\ndarkness, and death day and night continually.  \"My heart is a good\nheart,\" said that poor ill-brought-up boy, who was already destroyed by\nhis father and his mother for lack of self-knowledge.  I entirely grant\nyou that those two old sinners by this time were taking very pessimistic\nand very melancholy views of human nature, and, therefore, of every human\nbeing, young and old.  They knew that no language had ever been coined in\nany scripture, or creed, or catechism, or secret diary of the deepest\npenitent, that even half uttered their own evil hearts; and they had\nlived long enough to see that we are all cut out of one web, are all dyed\nin one vat, and are all corrupted beyond all accusation or confession in\nAdam's corruption.  But how was that poor, mishandled lad to know or\nbelieve all that?  He could not.  It was impossible.  \"You go so fast,\ngentlemen, that I cannot keep pace with you.  Go you on before and I will\nstay a while behind.\"  Then said Christian to his companion: \"It pities\nme much for this poor lad, for it will certainly go ill with him at\nlast.\"  \"Alas!\" said Hopeful, \"there are abundance in our town in his\ncondition: whole families, yea, whole streets, and that of pilgrims too.\"\nIs your family such a family as this?  And are you yourself just such a\npilgrim as Ignorance was, and are you hastening on to just such an end?\n\nAnd then, as a consequence, being wholly ignorant of his own corruption\nand condemnation in the sight of God, this miserable man must remain\nignorant and outside of all that God has done in Christ for corrupt and\ncondemned men.  \"I believe that Christ died for sinners and that I shall\nbe justified before God from the curse through His gracious acceptance of\nmy obedience to His law.  Or, then, to take it this way, Christ makes my\nduties that are religious acceptable to His Father by virtue of His\nmerits, and so shall I be justified.\"  Now, I verify believe that nine\nout of ten of the young men who are here to-night would subscribe that\nstatement and never suspect there was anything wrong with it or with\nthemselves.  And yet, what does Christian, who, in this matter, is just\nJohn Bunyan, who again is just the word of God--what does the old pilgrim\nsay to this confession of this young pilgrim's faith?  \"Ignorance is thy\nname,\" he says, \"and as thy name is, so art thou: even this thy answer\ndemonstrateth what I say.  Ignorant thou art of what justifying\nrighteousness is, and as ignorant how to secure thy soul through the\nfaith of it from the heavy wrath of God.  Yea, thou also art ignorant of\nthe true effect of saving faith in this righteousness of Christ's, which\nis to bow and win over the heart to God in Christ, to love His name, His\nword, His ways, and His people.\"  Paul sums up all his own early life in\nthis one word, \"ignorant of God's righteousness.\"  \"Going about,\" he says\nalso, \"to establish our own righteousness, not submitting ourselves to be\njustified by the righteousness that God has provided with such wisdom and\ngrace, and at such a cost in His Son Jesus Christ.\"  Now, young men, I\ndefy you to be better born, better brought up, or to have better\nprospects than Saul of Tarsus had.  I defy you to have profited more by\nall your opportunities and advantages than he had done.  I defy you to be\nmore blameless in your opening manhood than he was.  And yet it all went\nlike smoke when he got a true sight of himself, and, with that, a true\nsight of Christ and His justifying righteousness.  Read at home to-night,\nand read when alone, what that great man of God says about all that in\nhis classical epistle to the Philippians, and refuse to sleep till you\nhave made the same submission.  And, to-night, and all your days, let\n_submission_, Paul's splendid submission, be the soul and spirit of all\nyour religious life.  Submission to be searched by God's holy law as by a\nlighted candle: submission to be justified from all that that candle\ndiscovers: submission to take Christ as your life and righteousness,\nsanctification and redemption: and submission of your mind and your will\nand your heart to Him at all times and in all things.  Nay, stay still,\nand say where you sit, Lord, I submit.  I submit on the spot to be\npardoned.  I submit now to be saved.  I submit in all things from this\nvery hour and house of God not any longer to be mine own, but to be\nThine, O God, Thine, Thine, for ever, in Jesus Christ Thy Son and my\nSaviour!\n\n\"But, one day, as I was passing in the field, and that, too, with some\ndashes in my conscience, fearing lest all was not right, suddenly this\nsentence fell upon my soul, Thy Righteousness is in heaven!  And,\nmethought, I saw with the eyes of my soul Jesus Christ at God's right\nhand.  There, I saw, was my Righteousness.  I also saw, moreover, that it\nwas not my good frame of heart that made my Righteousness better, nor my\nbad frame of heart that made my Righteousness worse: for my Righteousness\nwas Jesus Christ Himself, the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.\n'Twas glorious to me to see His exaltation, and the worth and prevalency\nof His benefits.  And that because I could now look from myself to Him\nand should reckon that all those graces of God that were now green in me\nwere yet but like those crack-groats and four-pence halfpennies that rich\nmen carry in their purses when their gold is in their trunks at home!  Oh,\nI saw that day that my gold was all in my trunk at home!  Even in Christ,\nmy Lord and Saviour!  Now, Christ was all to me: all my wisdom, all my\nrighteousness, all my sanctification and all my redemption.\"\n\n   \"Methinks in this God speaks,\n   No tinker hath such power.\"\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE-FAITH\n\n\n   \"O thou of little faith.\"--_Our Lord_.\n\nLittle-Faith, let it never be forgotten, was, all the time, a good man.\nWith all his mistakes about himself, with his sad misadventure, with all\nhis loss of blood and of money, and with his whole after-lifetime of\ndoleful and bitter complaints,--all the time, Little-Faith was all\nthrough, in a way, a good man.  To keep us right on this all-important\npoint, and to prevent our being prematurely prejudiced against this\npilgrim because of his somewhat prejudicial name--because give a dog a\nbad name, you know, and you had better hang him out of hand at\nonce--because, I say, of this pilgrim's somewhat suspicious name, his\nscrupulously just, and, indeed, kindly affected biographer says of him,\nand says it of him not once nor twice, but over and over and over again,\nthat this Little-Faith was really all the time a truly good man.  And,\nmore than that, this good man's goodness was not a new thing with him it\nwas not a thing of yesterday.  This man had, happily to begin with, a\ngood father and a good mother.  And if there was a good town in all those\nparts for a boy to be born and brought up in it was surely the town of\nSincere.  \"Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old\nhe will not depart from it.\"  Well, Little-Faith had been so trained up\nboth by his father and his mother and his schoolmaster and his minister,\nand he never cost either of them a sore heart or even an hour's sleep.\nOne who knew him well, as well, indeed, as only one young man knows\nanother, has been fain to testify, when suspicions have been cast on the\npurity and integrity of his youth, that nothing will describe this\npilgrim so well in the days of his youth as just those beautiful words\nout of the New Testament--\"an example to all young men in word, in\nconversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith even, and in purity\"--and\nthat, if there was one young man in all that town of Sincere who kept his\ngarments unspotted it was just our pilgrim of to-night.  Yes, said one\nwho had known him all his days, if the child is the father of the man,\nthen Little-Faith, as you so unaccountably to me call him, must have been\nall along a good man.\n\nIt was said long ago in _Vanity Fair_ about our present Premier that if\nhe were a worse man he would be a better statesman.  Now, I do not repeat\nthat in this place because I agree with it, but because it helps to\nillustrate, as sometimes a violent paradox will help to illustrate, a\ntruth that does not lie all at once on the surface.  But it is no paradox\nor extravagance or anything but the simple truth to say that if Little-\nFaith had had more and earlier discoveries made to him of the innate evil\nof his own heart, even if it had been by that innate evil bursting out of\nhis heart and laying waste his good life, he would either have been\ndriven out of his little faith altogether or driven into a far deeper\nfaith.  Had the commandment come to him in the manner it came to Paul;\nhad it come so as that the sinfulness of his inward nature had revived,\nas Paul says, under its entrance; then, either his great goodness or his\nlittle faith must have there and then died.  God's truth and man's\ngoodness cannot dwell together in the same heart.  Either the truth will\nkill the goodness, or the goodness will kill the truth.  Little-Faith, in\nshort, was such a good man, and had always been such a good man, and had\nled such an easy life in consequence, that his faith had not been much\nexercised, and therefore had not grown, as it must have been exercised\nand must have grown, had he not been such a good man.  In short, and to\nput it bluntly, had Little-Faith been a worse sinner, he would have been\na better saint.  \"_O felix culpa_!\" exclaimed a church father; \"O happy\nfault, which found for us sinners such a Redeemer.\"  An apostrophe which\nBishop Ken has put into these four bold lines--\n\n   \"What Adam did amiss,\n   Turned to our endless bliss;\n   O happy sin, which to atone,\n   Drew Filial God to leave His throne.\"\n\nAnd John Calvin, the soberest of men, supports Augustine, the most\nimpulsive of men, in saying the same thing.  All things which happen to\nthe saints are so overruled by God that what the world regards as evil\nthe issue shows to be good.  For what Augustine says is true, that even\nthe sins of saints are, through the guiding providence of God, so far\nfrom doing harm to them, that, on the contrary, they serve to advance\ntheir salvation.  And Richard Hooker, a theologian, if possible, still\nmore judicious than even John Calvin, says on this same subject and in\nsupport of the same great father, \"I am not afraid to affirm it boldly\nwith St. Augustine that men puffed up through a proud opinion of their\nown sanctity and holiness receive a benefit at the hands of God, and are\nassisted with His grace, when with His grace they are not assisted, but\npermitted, and that grievously, to transgress.  Ask the very soul of\nPeter, and it shall undoubtedly make you itself this answer: My eager\nprotestations, made in the glory of my ghostly strength, I am ashamed of;\nbut those crystal tears, wherewith my sin and weakness were bewailed,\nhave procured my endless joy: my strength hath been my ruin, and my fall\nmy stay.\"  And our own Samuel Rutherford is not likely to be left far\nbehind by the best of them when the grace of God is to be magnified.  \"Had\nsin never been we should have wanted the mysterious Emmanuel, the\nBeloved, the Chief among ten thousand, Christ, God-man, the Saviour of\nsinners.  For, no sick sinners, no soul-physician of sinners; no captive,\nno Redeemer; no slave of hell, no lovely ransom-payer of heaven.  Mary\nMagdalene with her seven devils, Paul with his hands smoking with the\nblood of the saints, and with his heart sick with malice and blasphemy\nagainst Christ and His Church, and all the rest of the washen ones whose\nrobes are made fair in the blood of the Lamb, and all the multitude that\nno man can number in that best of lands, are all but bits of free grace.\nO what a depth of unsearchable wisdom to contrive that lovely plot of\nfree grace.  Come, all intellectual capacities, and warm your hearts at\nthis fire.  Come, all ye created faculties, and smell the precious\nointment of Christ.  Oh come, sit down under His shadow and eat the\napples of life.  Oh that angels would come, and generations of men, and\nwonder, and admire, and fall down before the unsearchable wisdom of this\ngospel-art of the unsearchable riches of Christ!\"  And always pungent\nThomas Shepard of New England: \"You shall find this, that there is not\nany carriage or passage of the Lord's providence toward thee but He will\nget a name to Himself, first and last, by it.  Hence you shall find that\nthose very sins that dishonour His name He will even by them get Himself\na better name; for so far will they be from casting you out of His love\nthat He will actually do thee good by them.  Look and see if it is not so\nwith thee?  Doth not thy weakness strengthen thee like Paul?  Doth not\nthy blindness make thee cry for light?  And hath not God out of darkness\noftentimes brought light?  Thou hast felt venom against Christ and thy\nbrother, and thou hast on that account loathed thyself the more.  Thy\nfalls into sin make thee weary of it, watchful against it, long to be rid\nof it.  And thus He makes thy poison thy food, thy death thy life, thy\ndamnation thy salvation, and thy very greatest enemies thy very best\nfriends.  And hence Mr. Fox said that he thanked God more for his sins\nthan for his good works.  And the reason is, God will have His name.\"\nAnd, last, but not least, listen to our old acquaintance, James Fraser of\nBrea: \"I find advantages by my sins: '_Peccare nocet, peccavisse vero\njuvat_.'  I may say, as Mr. Fox said, my sins have, in a manner, done me\nmore good than my graces.  Grace and mercy have more abounded where sin\nhad much abounded.  I am by my sins made much more humble, watchful,\nrevengeful against myself.  I am made to see a greater need to depend\nmore upon Him and to love Him the more.  I find that true which Shepard\nsays, 'sin loses strength by every new fall.'\"  Have you followed all\nthat, my brethren?  Or have you stumbled at it?  Do you not understand\nit?  Does your superficial gin-horse mind incline to shake its empty head\nover all this?  I know that great names, and especially the great names\nof your own party, go much farther with you than the truth goes, and\ntherefore I have sheltered this deep truth under a shield of great names.\nFor their sakes let this sure truth of God's best saints lie in peace and\nundisputed beside you till you arrive to understand it.\n\nBut, to proceed,--the thing was this.  At this passage there comes down\nfrom Broadway-gate a lane called Dead-Man's-lane, so called because of\nthe murders that are commonly done there.  And this Little-Faith going on\npilgrimage, as we now do, chanced to sit down there and fell fast asleep.\nYes; the thing was this: This good man had never been what one would call\nreally awake.  He was not a bad man, as men went in the town of Sincere,\nbut he always had a half-slept half-awakened look about his eyes, till\nnow, at this most unfortunate spot, he fell stone-dead asleep.  You all\nknow, I shall suppose, what the apostle Paul and John Bunyan mean by\nsleep, do you not?  You all know, at any rate, to begin with, what sleep\nmeans in the accident column of the morning papers.  You all know what\nsleep meant and what it involved and cost in the Thirsk signal-box the\nother night. {1}  When a man is asleep, he is as good as dead, and other\npeople are as good as dead to him.  He is dead to duty, to danger, to\nother people's lives, as well as to his own.  He may be having pleasant\ndreams, and may even be laughing aloud in his sleep, but that may only\nmake his awaking all the more hideous.  He may awake just in time, or he\nmay awake just too late.  Only, he is asleep and he neither knows nor\ncares.  Now, there is a sleep of the soul as well as of the body.  And as\nthe soul is in worth, as the soul is in its life and in its death to the\nbody, so is its sleep.  Many of you sitting there are quite as dead to\nheaven and hell, to death and judgment, and to what a stake other people\nas well as yourselves have in your sleep as that poor sleeper in the\nsignal-box was dead to what was coming rushing on him through the black\nnight.  And as all his gnashing of teeth at himself, and all his sobs\nbefore his judge and before the laid-out dead, and before distracted\nwidows and half-mad husbands did not bring back that fatal moment when he\nfell asleep so sweetly, so will it be with you.  Lazarus! come forth!\nWise and foolish virgins both: Behold the Bridegroom cometh!  Awake, thou\nthat sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light!\n\nAnd, with that, Guilt with a great club that was in his hand struck\nLittle-Faith on the head, and with that blow felled him to the earth,\nwhere he lay bleeding as one that would soon bleed to death.  Yes, yes,\nall true to the very life.  A man may be the boast and the example of all\nthe town, and yet, unknown to them all, and all but unknown to himself\ntill he is struck down, he may have had guilt enough on his track all the\ntime to lay him half dead at the mouth of Dead-Man's-lane.  Good as was\nthe certificate that all men in their honesty gave to Little-Faith, yet\neven he had some bad enough memories behind him and within him had he\nonly kept them ever present with him.  But, then, it was just this that\nall along was the matter with Little-Faith.  Till, somehow, after that\nsad and yet not wholly evil sleep, all his past sins leapt out into the\nlight and suddenly became and remained all the rest of his life like\nscarlet.  So loaded, indeed, was the club of Guilt with the nails and\nstuds and clamps of secret aggravation, that every nail and stud left its\nown bleeding bruise in the prostrate man's head.  I have myself, says the\nnarrator of Little-Faith's story, I have myself been engaged as he was,\nand I found it to be a terrible thing.  I would, as the saying is, have\nsold my life at that moment for a penny; but that, as God would have it,\nI was clothed with armour of proof: ay, and yet though I was thus\nharnessed, I found it hard work to quit myself like a man.  No man can\ntell what in that combat attends us but he that hath been in the battle\nhimself.  Great-Grace himself,--whoso looks well upon his face shall see\nthose cuts and scars that shall easily give demonstration of what I say.\n\nMost unfortunately there was no good Samaritan with his beast on the road\nthat day to take the half-dead man to an inn.  And thus it was that\nLittle-Faith was left to lie in his blood till there was almost no more\nblood left in him.  Till at last, coming a little to himself, he made a\nshift to scrabble on his way.  When he was able to look a little to\nhimself, besides all his wounds and loss of blood, he found that all his\nspending money was gone, and what was he to do, a stranger in such a\nplight on a strange road?  There was nothing for it but he must just beg\nhis way with many a hungry belly for the remainder of his way.  You all\nunderstand the parable at this point?  Our knowledge of gospel truth; our\npersonal experience of the life of God in our own soul; our sensible\nattainments in this grace of the Spirit and in that; in secret prayer, in\nlove to God, in forgiveness of injuries, in goodwill to all men, and in\nself-denial that no one knows of,--in things like these we possess what\nmay be called the pocket-money of the spiritual life.  All these things,\nat their best, are not the true jewel that no thief can break through nor\nsteal; but though they are not our best and truest riches, yet they have\ntheir place and play their part in sending us up the pilgrim way.  By our\nlong and close study of the word of God, if that is indeed our case; by\ndivine truth dwelling richly and experimentally in our hearts; and by a\nhidden life that is its own witness, and which always has the Holy\nSpirit's seal set upon it that we are the children of God,--all that\nkeeps, and is designed by God to keep our hearts up amid the labours and\nthe faintings, the hopes and the fears of the spiritual life.  All that\nkeeps us at the least and the worst above famine and beggary.  Now, the\nwhole pity with Little-Faith was, that though he was not a bad man, yet\nhe never, even at his best days, had much of those things that make a\ngood and well-furnished pilgrim; and what little he had he had now clean\nlost.  He had never been much a reader of his Bible; he had never sat\nover it as other men sat over their news-letters and their romances.  He\nhad never had much taste or talent for spiritual books of any kind.  He\nwas a good sort of man, but he was not exactly the manner of man on whose\nbroken heart the Holy Ghost sets the broad seal of heaven.  But for his\ndreadful misadventure, he might have plodded on, a decent, humdrum,\ncommonplace, everyday kind of pilgrim; but when that catastrophe fell on\nhim he had nothing to fall back upon.  The secret ways of faith and love\nand hope were wholly unknown to him.  He had no practice in importunate\nprayer.  He had never prayed a whole night all his life.  He had never\nneeded to do so.  For were we not told when we first met him what a\nblameless and pure and true and good man he had always been?  He did not\nknow how to find his way about in his Bible; and as for the maps and\nguide-books that some pilgrims never let out of their hand, even when he\nhad some spending money about him, he never laid it out that way.  And a\nmore helpless pilgrim than Little-Faith was all the rest of the way you\nnever saw.  He was forced to beg as he went, says his historian.  That is\nto say, he had to lean upon and look to wiser and better-furnished men\nthan himself.  He had to share their meals, look to them to pay his\nbills, keep close to their company, walk in their foot-prints, and at\nnight borrow their oil, and it was only in this poor dependent way that\nLittle-Faith managed to struggle on to the end of his dim and joyless\njourney.\n\nIt would have been far more becoming and far more profitable if Christian\nand Hopeful, instead of falling out of temper and calling one another bad\nnames over the sad case of Little-Faith, had tried to tell one another\nwhy that unhappy pilgrim's faith was so small, and how both their own\nfaith and his might from that day have been made more.  Hopeful, for some\nreason or other, was in a rude and boastful mood of mind that day, and\nChristian was more tart and snappish than we have ever before seen him;\nand, altogether, the opportunity of learning something useful out of\nLittle-Faith's story has been all but lost to us.  But, now, since there\nare so many of Little-Faith's kindred among ourselves--so many good men\nwho are either half asleep in their religious life or are begging their\nway from door to door--let them be told, in closing, one or two out of\nmany other ways in which their too little faith may possibly be made\nstronger and more fruitful.\n\nWell, then, faith, like everything else, once we have it, grows greater\nby our continual exercise of it.  Exercise, then, intentionally and\nseriously and on system your faith every day.  And exercise it habitually\nand increasingly on your Bible, on heaven, and on Jesus Christ.  And let\nyour faith on all these things, and places, and persons, work by love,--by\nlove and by imagination.  Our love is cold and our faith is small and\nweak for lack of imagination.  Read your Psalm, your Gospel, your Epistle\nevery morning and every night with your eye upon the object.  Think you\nsee the Psalmist amid all his deep and divine experiences.  Think you see\nJesus Christ speaking His parables, saying His prayers, and doing His\ngood works.  Walk up and down with Him, observing His manner, His look,\nHis gait, His divinity in your humanity, till Galilee and Jerusalem\nbecome Scotland and Edinburgh; that is, till He is as much with you, and\nmore, than He was with Peter and James and John.  Never close your eye a\nsingle night till you have again laid your hand on the very head of the\nLamb of God, and till you feel that your sin and guilt have all passed\noff your hand and on upon His head.  And never rise without, like William\nLaw, saluting the rising sun in the name of God, as if he had just been\ncreated and sent up into your sky to let you see to serve God and your\nneighbour for another day.  And be often out of this world and up in\nheaven.  Beat all about you at building castles in the air; you have more\nmaterial and more reason.  For is not faith the substance of things hoped\nfor, and the evidence of things not seen?  Walk often in heaven's\nfriendly streets.  Pass often into heaven's many mansions filled with\nhappy families.  Imagine this unhappy life at an end, and imagine\nyourself sent back to this probationary world to play the man for a few\nshort years before heaven finally calls you home.  Little-Faith was a\ngood man, but there was no speculation in his eyes and no secrets of love\nin his heart.  And if your faith also is little, and your spending money\nalso is run low, try this way of love and imagination.  If you have a\nbetter way, then go on with it and be happy yourself and helpful to\nothers; but if your faith is at a standstill and is stricken with\nbarrenness, try my counsel of putting more heart and more inward eye,\nmore holy love and more heavenly joy, into your frigid and sterile\nreligion.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLATTERER\n\n\n   \"A man that flattereth his neighbour spreadeth a net for his\n   feet.\"--_The Wise Man_.\n\nBoth Ignorance and Little-Faith would have had their revenge and\nsatisfaction upon Christian and Hopeful had they seen those two so\nPharisaical old men taken in the Flatterer's net.  For it was nothing\nelse but the swaggering pride of Hopeful over the pitiful case of Little-\nFaith, taken along with the hard and hasty ways of Christian with that\nunhappy youth Ignorance, that so soon laid them both down under the small\ncords of the Shining One.  This word of the wise man, that pride goeth\nbefore destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall, was fulfilled to\nthe very letter in Christian and Hopeful that high-minded day.  At the\nsame time, it must be admitted that Christian and Hopeful would have been\nmore than human if they had not both felt and let fall some superiority,\nsome scorn, and some impatience in the presence of such a silly and\nupsetting stripling as Ignorance was; as, also, over the story of such a\npoor-spirited and spunging creature as Little-Faith was.  Christian and\nHopeful had just come down from their delightful time among the\nDelectable Mountains, and they were as full as they could hold of all\nkinds of knowledge, and faith, and hope, and assurance; when, most\nunfortunately, as it turned out, they first came across Ignorance, and\nthen, after quarrelling with him, they fell out between themselves over\nthe case of Little-Faith.  Their superior knowledge of the truth, and\ntheir superior strength of faith, ought to have made them more able to\nbear with the infirmities of the weak, and with the passing moods,\nhowever provoking, of one another.  But no.  And their impatience and\ncontempt and bad temper all came at this crisis to such a head with them\nthat they could only be cured by the small cords and the stinging words\nof the Shining One.  The true key to this so painful part of the parable\nhangs at our own girdle.  We who have been born and brought up in an\nevangelical church are thrown from time to time into the company of\nmen--ministers and people--who have not had our advantages and\nopportunities.  They have been born, baptized, and brought up in\ncommunities and churches the clean opposite of ours; and they are as\nignorant of all New Testament religion as Ignorance himself was; or, on\nthe other hand, they are as full of superstition and terror and spiritual\nstarvation as Little-Faith was.  And then, instead of recollecting and\nlaying to heart Who made us to differ from such ignorance and such\nunbelief, and thus putting on love and humility and patience toward our\nneighbours, we speak scornfully and roughly to them, and boast ourselves\nover them, and as good as say to them, Stand by thyself, come not near to\nme, for I am wiser, wider-minded, stronger, and better every way than\nthou.  And then, ere ever we are aware of what we are doing, we have let\nthe arch-flatterer of religious superiority and of spiritual pride seduce\nus aside out of the lowly and heavenly way of love and humility till we\nare again brought back to it with rebukes of conscience and with other\nchastisements.  You all understand, my brethren, that the man black of\nflesh but covered with a white robe was no wayside seducer who met\nChristian and Hopeful at that dangerous part of the road only and only on\nthat high-minded day.  You know from yourselves surely that both\nChristian and Hopeful carried that black but smooth-spoken man within\nthemselves.  The Flatterer who led the two pilgrims so fatally wrong that\nday was just their own heart taken out of their own bosom and personified\nand dramatised by Bunyan's dramatic genius, and so made to walk and talk\nand flatter and puff up outside of themselves till they came again to see\nwho in reality he was and whence he came,--that is to say, till they were\nbrought to see what they themselves still were, and would always be, when\nthey were left to themselves.  \"Where did you lie last night? asked the\nShining One with the whip.  With the Shepherds on the Delectable\nMountains, they answered.  He asked them then if they had not of those\nshepherds a note of direction for the way?  They answered, Yes.  But did\nyou not, said he, when you were at a stand pluck out and read your note?\nThey answered, No.  He asked them why?  They said they forgot.  He asked,\nmoreover if the shepherds did not bid them beware of the Flatterer?  They\nanswered, Yes; but we did not imagine, said they, that this fine-spoken\nman had been he.\"\n\nAll good literature, both sacred and profane, both ancient and modern, is\nfull of the Flatterer.  Let me not, protests Elihu in his powerful speech\nin the book of Job, let me not accept any man's person; neither let me\ngive flattering titles unto man, lest in so doing my Maker should soon\ntake me away.  And the Psalmist in his powerful description of the wicked\nmen of his day: There is no faithfulness in their mouth; their inward\npart is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter\nwith their tongue.  And again: They speak with flattering lips, and with\na double heart do they speak.  But the Lord shall cut off all flattering\nlips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things.  \"The perpetual\nhyperbole\" of pure love becomes in the lips of impure love the impure\nbait that leads the simple ones astray on the streets of the city as seen\nand heard by the wise man out of his casement.  My son, say unto wisdom,\nThou art my sister, and call understanding thy kinswoman; that they may\nkeep thee from the strange woman, from the stranger which flattereth thee\nwith her words, which forsaketh the guide of her youth, and forgetteth\nthe covenant of her God.  And then in the same book of Hebrew aphorisms\nwe find this text which Bunyan puts on the margin of the page: \"A man\nthat flattereth his neighbour spreadeth a net for his feet.\"  And now,\nbefore we leave the ancient world, if you would not think it beneath the\ndignity of the place we are in, I would like to read to you a passage out\nof a round-about paper written by a satirist of Greece about the time of\nEzra and Nehemiah in Jerusalem.  You will easily remark the difference of\ntone between the seriousness and pathos of the Hebrew prophet and the\nlight and chaffing touch of Theophrastus.  \"The Flatterer is a person,\"\nsays that satirist of Greek society, \"who will say to you as he walks\nwith you, 'Do you observe how people are looking at you?  This happens to\nno man in Athens but to you.  A fine compliment was paid you yesterday in\nthe Porch.  More than thirty persons were sitting there when the question\nwas started, Who is our foremost man?  Every one mentioned you first, and\nended by coming back to your name.'  The Flatterer will laugh also at\nyour stalest joke, and will stuff his cloak into his mouth as if he could\nnot repress his amusement when you again tell it.  He will buy apples and\npears and will give to your children when you are by, and will kiss them\nall and will say, 'Chicks of a good father.'  Also, when he assists at\nthe purchase of slippers he will declare that the foot is more shapely\nthan the shoe.  He is the first of the guests to praise the wine and to\nsay as he reclines next the host, 'How delicate your fare always is'; and\ntaking up something from the table, 'Now, how excellent that is!'\"  And\nso on.  Yes, we have heard it all over and over again in Modern Athens\nalso.  The Greek fable also of the fox and the crow and the piece of\ncheese is only another illustration of the truth that the God of truth\nand integrity never left Himself without a witness.  Our own literature\nalso is scattered full of the Flatterer and his too willing dupes.  \"Of\npraise a mere glutton,\" says Goldsmith of David Garrick, \"he swallowed\nwhat came.  The puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame.\"  \"Delicious\nessence,\" exclaims Sterne, \"how refreshing thou art to poor human nature!\nHow sweetly dost thou mix with the blood, and help it through the most\ndifficult and tortuous passages to the heart.\"  \"He that slanders me,\"\nsays Cowper, \"paints me blacker than I am, and he that flatters me\nwhiter.  They both daub me, and when I look in the glass of conscience, I\nsee myself disguised by both.\"  And then he sings:\n\n   \"The worth of these three kingdoms I defy\n   To lure me to the baseness of a lie;\n   And of all lies (be that one poet's boast),\n   The lie that flatters I abhor the most.\"\n\nNow, praise, which is one of the best and sweetest things in human life,\nso soon passes over into flattery, which is one of the worst things, that\nsomething must here be said and laid to heart about praise also.  But, to\nbegin with, praise itself must first be praised.  There is nothing nobler\nthan true praise in him who speaks it, and there is nothing dearer and\nsweeter to him who hears it.  God Himself inhabits the praises of Israel.\nAll God's works praise Him.  Whoso offereth praise glorifieth Me.  Praise\nwaiteth for Thee, O God, in Zion.  Enter into His gates with\nthanksgiving, and into His courts with praise.  Violence shall no more be\nheard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou\nshalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise.  And such also is\nall true praise between man and man.  How deliciously sweet is praise!\nHow we labour after it! how we look for it and wait for it! and how we\nlanguish and die if we do not get it!  Again, when it comes to us, how it\ncheers us up and makes our face to shine!  For a long time after it our\nstep is so swift on the street and our face beams so that all men can\nquite well see what has come to us.  Praise is like wine in our blood; it\nis new life to our fainting heart.  So much is this the case that a\nsalutation of praise is to be our first taste of heaven itself.  It will\nwipe all tears off our eyes when we hear our Lord saying to us, \"Well\ndone!\" when all our good works that we have done in the body shall be\nfound unto praise and honour and glory in the great day of Jesus Christ.\n\nAt the same time, this same love of praise is one of our most besetting\nand fatal temptations as long as we are in this false and double and\ndeceptive world.  Sin, God curse it! has corrupted and poisoned\neverything, the very best things of this life, and when the best things\nare corrupted and poisoned they become the worst things.  And praise does\nnot escape this universal and fatal law.  Weak, evil, and self-seeking\nmen are near us, and we lean upon them, look to them, and listen to them.\nWe make them our strength and support, and seek repose and refreshment\nfrom them.  They cannot be all or any of these things to us; but we are\nfar on in life, we are done with life, before we have discovered that and\nwill admit that.  Most men never discover and admit that till they are\nout of this life altogether.  Christ's praise and the applause of His\nsaints and angels are so future and so far away from us, and man's praise\nand the applause of this world, hollow and false as it is, is so near us,\nthat we feed our souls on offal and garbage, when, already, in the\nwitness of a good conscience, we might be feasting our souls on the\nfinest of the wheat, and satisfying them with honey out of the rock.  And,\nthen, this insatiable appetite of our hearts, being so degraded and\nperverted, like all degraded and perverted appetites, becomes an iron-\nfast slave to what it feeds upon.  What miserable slaves we all are to\nthe approval and the praise of men!  How they hold us in their bondage!\nHow we lick their hands and sit up on our haunches and go through our\npostures for a crumb!  How we crawl on our belly and lick their feet for\na stroke and a smile!  What a hound's life does that man lead who lives\nupon the approval and the praise and the patronage of men!  What meanness\nfills his mind; what baseness fills his heart!  What a shameful leash he\nis led about the world in!  How kicked about and spat upon he is; while\nnot half so much as he knows all the time that he deserves to be!  Better\nfar be a dog at once and bay the moon than be a man and fawn upon the\npraises of men.\n\nIf you would be a man at all, not to speak of a Christian man, starve\nthis appetite till you have quite extirpated it.  You will never be safe\nfrom it as long as it stirs within you.  Extirpate it!  Extirpate it!  You\nwill never know true self-respect and you will never deserve to know it,\ntill you have wholly extirpated your appetite for praise.  Put your foot\nupon it, put it out of your heart.  Stop fishing for it, and when you see\nit coming, turn away and stop your ears against it.  And should it still\ninsinuate itself, at any rate do not repeat to others what has already so\nflattered and humbled and weakened you.  Telling it to others will only\nhumble and weaken you more.  By repeating the praise that you have heard\nor read about yourself you only expose yourself and purchase\nwell-deserved contempt for yourself.  And, more than that, by fishing for\npraise you lay yourself open to all sorts of flatterers.  Honest men, men\nwho truly respect and admire you, will show you their dignified regard\nand appreciation of you and your work by their silence; while your leaky\nslaves will crowd around you with floods of praise that they know well\nwill please and purchase you.  And when you cannot with all your arts\nsqueeze a drop out of those who love and honour you, gallons will be\npoured upon you by those who have respect neither for themselves nor for\nyou.  Faugh!  Flee from flatterers, and take up only with sternly true\nand faithful men.  \"I am much less regardful,\" says Richard Baxter, \"of\nthe approbation of men, and set much lighter store by their praise and\ntheir blame, than I once did.  All worldly things appear most vain and\nunsatisfying to those who have tried them most.  But while I feel that\nthis has had some hand in my distaste for man's praise, yet it is the\nincreasing impression on my heart of man's nothingness and God's\ntranscendent greatness; it is the brevity and vanity of all earthly\nthings, taken along with the nearness of eternity;--it is all this that\nhas at last lifted me above the blame and the praise of men.\"\n\nTo conclude; let us make up our mind and determine to pass on to God on\nthe spot every syllable of praise that ever comes to our eyes or our\nears--if, in this cold, selfish, envious, and grudging world, any\nsyllable of praise ever should come to us.  Even if pure and generous and\nwell-deserved praise should at any time come to us, all that does not\nmake it ours.  The best earned usury is not the steward's own money to do\nwith it what he likes.  The principal and the interest, and the trader\ntoo, are all his master's.  And, more than that, after the wisest and the\nbest trader has done his best, he will remain, to himself at least, a\nmost unprofitable servant.  Pass on then immediately, dutifully, and to\nits very last syllable, to God all the praise that comes to you.  Wash\nyour hands of it and say, Not unto us, O God, not unto us, but unto Thy\nname.  And then, to take the most selfish and hungry-hearted view of this\nwhole matter, what you thus pass on to God as not your own but His, He\nwill soon, and in a better and safer world, return again to the full with\nusury to you, and you again to God, and He again to you, and so on, all\ndown the pure and true and sweet and blessed life of heaven.\n\n\n\n\nATHEIST\n\n\n   \" . . . without God [literally, atheists] in the world.\"--_Paul_.\n\n\"Yonder is a man with his back toward Zion, and he is coming to meet us.\nSo he drew nearer and nearer, and at last came up to them.  His name was\nAtheist, and he asked them whither they were going?  We are going to the\nMount Zion, they answered.  Then Atheist fell into a very great laughter.\nWhat is the meaning of your laughter? they asked.  I laugh to see what\nignorant persons you are to take upon you so tedious a journey, and yet\nare like to have nothing but your travel for your pains.  Why, man?  Do\nyou think we shall not be received? they said.  Received!  There is no\nsuch place as you dream of in all this world.  But there is in the world\nto come, replied Christian.  When I was at home, Atheist went on, in mine\nown country I heard as you now affirm, and, from that hearing, I went out\nto see, and have been seeking this city you speak of this twenty years,\nbut find no more of it than I did the first day I set out.  And, still\nlaughing, he went his way.\"\n\nHaving begun to tell us about Atheist, why did Bunyan not tell us more?\nWe would have thanked him warmly to-night for a little more about this\nunhappy man.  Why did the dreamer not take another eight or ten pages in\norder to tell us, as only he could have told us, how this man that is now\nAtheist had spent his past twenty years seeking Mount Zion?  Those\nprecious unwritten pages are now buried in John Strudwick's vault in\nBunhill Fields, and no other man has arisen able to handle Bunyan's\nbiographic pen.  Had Bunyan but put off the entrance of Christian and\nHopeful into the city till he had told us something more about the twenty\nyears it had taken this once earnest pilgrim to become an atheist, how\nvaluable an interpolation that would have been!  What was it that made\nthis man to set out so long ago for the Celestial City?  What was it that\nso stoutly determined him to leave off all his old companions and turn\nhis back on the sweet refreshments of his youth?  How did he do at the\nSlough of Despond?  Did he come that way?  What about the Wicket Gate,\nand the House Beautiful, and the Interpreter's House, and the Delectable\nMountains?  What men, and especially what women, did he meet and converse\nwith on his way?  What were his fortunes, and what his misfortunes?  How\nmuch did he lay out at Vanity Fair, and on what?  At what point of his\ntwenty years' way did his youthful faith begin to shake, and his youthful\nlove begin to become lukewarm?  And what was it that at last made him\nquite turn round his back on Zion and his face to his own country?  I\ncannot forgive Bunyan to-night for not telling us the story of Atheist's\nconversion, his pilgrimage, and his apostasy in full.\n\nAt the same time, though it cannot be denied that Bunyan has lost at this\npoint a great opportunity for his genius and for our advantage,--at the\nsame time, he undoubtedly did a very courageous thing in introducing\nAtheist at all; and, especially, in introducing him to us and making him\nlaugh so loudly at us when we are on the very borders of the land of\nBeulah.  A less courageous writer, and a writer less sure of his ground,\nwould have left out Atheist altogether; or, if he had felt constrained to\nintroduce him, would have introduced him at any other period of our\nhistory rather than at this period.  Under other hands than Bunyan's we\nwould have met with this mocking reprobate just outside the City of\nDestruction; or, perhaps, among the booths of Vanity Fair; or, indeed,\nanywhere but where we now meet him.  And, that our greater-minded author\ndoes not let loose the laughter of Atheist upon us till we are almost out\nof the body is a stroke of skill and truth and boldness that makes us\nglad indeed that we possess such a sketch at Bunyan's hand at all, all\ntoo abrupt and all too short as that sketch is.  In the absence, then, of\na full-length and finished portrait of Atheist, we must be content to\nfall back on some of the reflections and lessons that the mere mention of\nhis name, the spot he passes us on, and the ridicule of his laughter, all\ntaken together, awaken in our minds.  One rapid stroke of such a brush as\nthat of John Bunyan conveys more to us than a full-length likeness, with\nall the strongest colours, of any other artist would be able to do.\n\n1.  One thing the life-long admiration of John Bunyan's books has helped\nto kindle and burn into my mind and my imagination is this: What a\nuniverse of things is the heart of man!  Were there nothing else in the\nheart of man but all the places and all the persons and all the\nadventures that John Bunyan saw in his sleep, what a world that would\nopen up in all our bosoms!  All the pilgrims, good and bad--they, or the\nseed and possibility of them all, are all in your heart and in mine.  All\nthe cities, all the roads that lead from one city to another, with all\nthe paths and all the by-paths,--all the adventures, experiences,\nendurances, conflicts, overthrows, victories,--all are within us and\nnever are to be seen anywhere else.  Heaven and hell, God and the devil,\nlife and death, salvation and damnation, time and eternity, all are\nwithin us.  \"There is no Mount Zion in all this world,\" bellowed out this\nblinded fool.  \"No; I know that quite well,\" quickly responded Christian;\n\"but there is in the world to come.\"  He would have said the whole truth,\nand he would have been entirely right, had he taken time to add, \"and in\nthe world within.\"  \"And more,\" he should have said to Atheist, \"much\nmore in the world within than in any possible world to come.\"  The\nCelestial City, every Sabbath-school child begins gradually to\nunderstand, is not up among the stars; till, as he grows older, he takes\nin the whole of the New Testament truth that the kingdom of heaven is\nwholly within him.  You all understand, my brethren, that were we swept\nin a moment up to the furthest star, by all that infinite flight we would\nnot be one hair's-breadth nearer the heavenly city.  That is not the\nright direction to that city.  The city whose builder and maker is God\nlies in quite a different direction from that altogether; not by\nascending up beyond sun and moon and stars to all eternity would we ever\nget one hand's-breadth nearer God.  But if you deny yourself sleep to-\nnight till you have read His book and bowed your knees in His closet; if,\nfor His sake, you deny yourself to-morrow when you are eating and\ndrinking; as often as you say, \"Not my will, but Thine be done\"; as often\nas you humble yourself when others exalt themselves; as often as you\nrefuse praise and despise blame for His sake; as often as you forgive\nbefore God your enemy, and rejoice with your friend,--Behold! the kingdom\nof heaven, with its King and all His shining court of angels and saints\nis around you;--is, indeed, within you.  No; there is no such place.\nHeaven is not in any place: heaven is in a person where it is at all; and\nyou are that person as often as you put off an earthly and put on a\nheavenly mind.  That mocking reprobate, with his secret heart all through\nthose twenty years hungering after the lusts of his youth,--he was wholly\nright in what he so unintentionally said; there is no such place in all\nthis world.  And, even if there were, it would spue him and all who are\nlike him out of its mouth.\n\n2.  And, then, in all that universe of things that fills that bottomless\npit and shoreless sea the human heart, there is nothing deeper down in it\nthan just its deep and unsearchable atheism.  The very deepest thing, and\nthe most absolutely inexpugnable thing, in every human heart is its\ntheism; its original and inextinguishable convictions about itself and\nabout God.  But, all but as deep as that--for all around that, and all\nover that, and soaking all through that--there lies a superincumbent mass\nof sullen, brutish, malignant atheism.  Nay, so deep down is the atheism\nof all our hearts, that it is only one here and another there of the\nholiest and the ripest of God's saints who ever get down to it, or even\nget at their deepest within sight of it.  Robert Fleming tells us about\nRobert Bruce, that he was a man that had much inward exercise about his\nown personal case, and had been often assaulted anent that great\nfoundation truth, if there was a God.  And often, when he had come up to\nthe pulpit, after being some time silent, which was his usual way, he\nwould say, \"I think it is a great matter to believe there is a God\";\ntelling the people that it was another thing to believe that than they\njudged.  But it was also known to his friends what extraordinary\nconfirmations he had from the Lord therein, and what near familiarity he\ndid attain to in his heart-converse with God: Yea, truly, adds Fleming,\nsome things I have had thereanent that seem so strange and marvellous\nthat I forbear to set them down.  And in Halyburton's priceless _Memoirs_\nwe read: \"Hereby I was brought into a doubt about the truths of religion,\nthe being of God, and things eternal.  Whenever I was in dangers or\nstraits and would build upon these things, a suspicion secretly haunted\nme, what if the things are not?  This perplexity was somewhat eased while\none day I was reading how Robert Bruce was shaken about the being of God,\nand how at length he came to the fullest satisfaction.\"  And in another\nplace: \"Some days ago reading Ex. ix. and x., and finding this, 'That ye\nmay know that I am God' frequently repeated, and elsewhere in passages\ninnumerable, as the end of God's manifesting Himself in His word and\nworks; I observe from it that atheism is deeply rooted even in the Lord's\npeople, seeing they need to be taught this so much.  The great difficulty\nthat the whole of revelation has to grapple with is atheism; its whole\nstruggle is to recover man to his first impressions of a God.  This one\npoint comprehends the whole of man's recovery, just as atheism is the\nwhole of man's apostasy.\"  And, again, in another part of the same great\nbook, Halyburton says: \"I must observe, also, the wise providence of God,\nthat the greatest difficulties that lie against religion are hid from\natheists.  All the objections I meet with in their writings are not\nnearly so subtle as those which are often suggested to myself.  The\nreason of this is obvious from the very nature of the thing--such persons\ntake not a near-hand view of religion, and while persons stand at a\ndistance neither are the advantages nor the difficulties of religion\ndiscerned.\"  And now listen to Bunyan, that arch-atheist: \"Whole floods\nof blasphemies both against God, Christ, and the Scriptures were poured\nupon my spirit, to my great confusion and astonishment.  Against the very\nbeing of God and of His only beloved Son; or, whether there were, in\ntruth, a God and a Christ, or no.  Of all the temptations that ever I met\nwith in my life, to question the being of God and the truth of the Gospel\nis the worst, and the worst to be borne.  When this temptation comes it\ntakes away my girdle from me, and removeth the foundation from under me.\"\n\n   \"Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart and write.\"\n\nAnd John Bunyan looked into his own deep and holy heart, and out of it he\ncomposed this incident of Atheist.\n\n3.  It may not be out of place at this point to look for a moment at some\nof the things that agitate, stir up, and make the secret atheism of our\nhearts to fluctuate and overflow.  Butler has a fine passage in which he\npoints out that it is only the higher class of minds that are tempted\nwith speculative difficulties such as those were that assaulted Christian\nand Hopeful after they were so near the end of their journey.  Coarse,\ncommonplace, and mean-minded men have their probation appointed them\namong coarse, mean, and commonplace things; whereas enlightened,\nenlarged, and elevated men are exercised after the manner of Robert\nBruce, Thomas Halyburton, John Bunyan, and Butler himself.  \"The chief\ntemptations of the generality of the world are the ordinary motives to\ninjustice or unrestrained pleasure; but there are other persons without\nthis shallowness of temper; persons of a deeper sense as to what is\ninvisible and future.  Now, these persons have their moral discipline set\nthem in that high region.\"  The profound bishop means that while their\nappetites and their tempers are the stumbling-stones of the most of men,\nthe difficult problems of natural and revealed and experimental religion\nare the test and the triumph of other men.  As we have just seen in the\nmen mentioned above.  Students, whose temptations lie fully as much in\ntheir intellects as in their senses, should buy (for a few pence)\nHalyburton's Memoirs.  \"With Halyburton,\" says Dr. John Duncan, \"I feel\ngreat intellectual congruity.  Halyburton was naturally a sceptic, but\nGod gave that sceptic great faith.\"\n\nThen again, what Atheist calls the \"tediousness\" of the journey has\nundoubtedly a great hand in making some half-in-earnest men sceptics, if\nnot scoffers.  Many of us here to-night who can never now take this\nmiserable man's way out of the tedium of the Christian life, yet most\nbitterly feel it.  Whether that tedium is inherent in that life, and\ninevitable to such men as we are who are attempting that life; how far\nthat feature belongs to the very essence of the pilgrim life, and how far\nwe import our own tedium into the pilgrimage; the fact remains as Atheist\nputs it.  As Atheist in this book says, so the Atheist who is in our\nhearts often says: We are like to have nothing for all our pains but a\nlifetime of tedious travel.  Yes, wherever the blame lies, there can be\nno doubt about it, that what this hilarious scoffer calls the tediousness\nof the way is but a too common experience among many of those who,\ntediousness and all, will still cleave fast to it and will never leave\nit.\n\nThen, again, great trials in life, great straits, dark and\ntoo-long-continued providences, prayer unanswered, or not yet answered in\nthe way we dictate, bad men and bad causes growing like a green bay tree,\nand good men and good work languishing and dying; these things, and many\nmore things such as these, of which this world of faith and patience is\nfull, prove quite too much for some men till they give themselves up to a\nstate of mind that is nothing better than atheism.  \"My evidences and my\ncertainty,\" says Halyburton, \"were not answerable to the weight I was\ncompelled to lay upon them.\"  A figure which Goodwin in his own tender\nand graphic way takes up thus: \"Set pins in a wall and fix them in ever\nso loosely, yet, if you hang nothing upon them they will seem to stand\nfirm; but hang a heavy weight upon them, or even give them the least jog\nas you pass, and the whole thing will suddenly come down.  The wall is\nGod's word, the slack pin is our faith, and the weight and the jog are\nthe heavy burdens and the sudden shocks of life, and down our hearts go,\nwall and pin and suspended vessel and all.\"\n\nWhen the church and her ministers, when the Scriptures and their\nanomalies, and when the faults and failings of Christian men are made the\nsubject of mockery and laughter, the reverence, the fear, the awe, the\nrespect that all enter so largely into religion, and especially into the\nreligion of young people, is too easily destroyed; and not seldom the\nfirst seeds of practical and sometimes of speculative atheism are thus\nsown.  The mischief that has been done by mockery and laughter to the\nsouls, especially of the young and the inexperienced, only the great day\nwill fully disclose.\n\nAnd then, two men of great weight and authority with us, tell us what we\nwho are ministers would have found out without them: this, namely, that\nthe greatest atheists are they who are ever handling holy things without\nfeeling them.\n\n\"Is it true,\" said Christian to Hopeful, his fellow, \"is it true what\nthis man hath said?\"  \"Take heed,\" said Hopeful, \"remember what it hath\ncost us already for hearkening to such kind of fellows.  What!  No Mount\nZion!  Did we not see from the Delectable Mountains the gate of the City?\nAnd, besides, are we not to walk by faith?  Let us go on lest the man\nwith the whip overtakes us again.\"  Christian: \"My brother, I said that\nbut to prove thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit of the honesty of thy\nheart.\"  Many a deep and powerful passage has Butler composed on that\nthesis which Hopeful here supplies him with; and many a brilliant sermon\nhas Newman preached on that same text till he has made our\n\"predispositions to faith\" a fruitful and an ever fresh commonplace to\nhundreds of preachers.  Yes; the best bulwark of faith is a good and\nhonest heart.  To such a happy heart the truth is its own unshaken\nevidence.  To whom can we go but to Thee?--they who have such a heart\nprotest.  The whole bent of such men's minds is toward the truth of the\ngospel.  Their instincts keep them on the right way even when their\nreason and their observation are both confounded.  As Newman keeps on\nsaying, they are \"easy of belief.\"  They cannot keep away from Christ and\nHis church.  They cannot turn back.  They must go on.  Though He slay\nthem they will die yearning after Him.  They often fall into great error\nand into great guilt, but their seed remaineth in them, and they cannot\ncontinue in error or in guilt, because they are born of God.  They are\nthey in whom\n\n   \"Persuasion and belief\n   Have ripened into faith; and faith become\n   A passionate intuition.\"\n\n\n\n\nHOPEFUL\n\n\n   \"We are saved by hope.\"--_Paul_\n\nUp till the time when Christian and Faithful passed through Vanity Fair\non their way to the Celestial City, Hopeful was one of the most light-\nminded men in all that light-minded town.  By his birth, and both on his\nfather's and his mother's side, Hopeful was, to begin with, a youth of an\nunusually shallow and silly mind.  In the jargon of our day he was a man\nof a peculiarly optimistic temperament.  No one ever blamed him for being\ntoo subjective and introspective.  It took many sharp trials and many\nbitter disappointments to take the inborn frivolity and superficiality\nout of this young man's heart.  He was far on in his life, he was far on\neven in his religious life, before you would have ever thought of calling\nhim a serious-minded man.  Hopeful had been born and brought up to early\nmanhood in the town of Vanity, and he knew nothing better and desired\nnothing better than to lay out his whole life and to rest all his hopes\non the things of the fair; on such things, that is, as houses, lands,\nplaces, honours, preferments, titles, pleasures, and delights of all\nsorts.  And that vain and empty life went on with him, till, as he told\nhis companion afterwards, it had all ended with him in revelling, and\ndrinking, and uncleanness, and Sabbath-breaking, and all such things as\ndestroyed his soul.  But in Hopeful's happy case also the blood of the\nmartyrs became the seed of the church.  Hopeful, as he was afterwards\ncalled, had suffered so many bitter disappointments and shipwrecks of\nexpectation from the things of the fair, that is to say, from the houses,\nthe places, the preferments, the pleasures and what not, of the fair,\nthat even his heart was ripe for something better than any of those\nthings, when, as God would have it, Christian and Faithful came to the\ntown.  Hopeful was still hanging about the booths of the fair; he was\njust fingering his last sixpence over a commodity that he knew quite well\nwould be like gall in his belly as soon as he had bought it; when,--what\nis that hubbub that rolls down the street?  Hopeful was always the first\nto see and to hear every new thing that came to the town, and thus it was\nthat he was soon in the thick of the tumult that rose around Christian\nand Faithful.  Had those two pilgrims come to the town at any former\ntime, Hopeful would have been among the foremost to mock at and smite the\ntwo men; but, to-day, Hopeful's heart is so empty, and his purse also,\nthat he is already won to their side by the loving looks and the wise and\nsweet words of the two ill-used men.  Some of the men of the town said\nthat the two pilgrims were outlandish and bedlamite men, but Hopeful took\ncourage to reprove some of the foremost of the mob.  Till, at last, when\nFaithful was at the stake, it was all that his companions could do to\nkeep back Hopeful from leaping up on the burning pile and embracing the\nexpiring man.  And then, when He who overrules all things so brought it\nabout that Christian escaped out of their hands, who should come forth\nand join him at the upward gate of the city but just Hopeful, who not\nonly joined himself to the lonely pilgrim, but told him also that there\nwere many more of the men of the city who would take their time and\nfollow after.  And thus, adds his biographer, when one died to make his\ntestimony to the truth, another rose up out of his ashes to be a\ncompanion to Christian.\n\nWhen Madame Krudener was getting her foot measured by a pietist\nshoemaker, she was so struck with the repose and the sweetness and the\nheavenly joy of the poor man's look and manner that she could not help\nbut ask him what had happened to him that he had such a look on his\ncountenance and such a light in his eye.  She was miserable, though she\nhad all that heart could wish.  She had all that made her one of the most\nenvied women in Europe; she had birth, talents, riches, rank, and the\nfriendship of princes and princesses, and yet she was of all women the\nmost miserable.  And here was a poor chance shoemaker whose whole heart\nwas running over with a joy such that all her wealth could not purchase\nto her heart one single drop of it.  The simple soul soon told her his\nsecret; it was no secret: it was just Jesus Christ who had done it all.\nAnd thus her poor shoemaker's happy face was the means of this great\nlady's conversion.  And, in like manner, it was the beholding of\nChristian and Faithful in their words and in their behaviour at the fair\nthat decided Hopeful to join himself to Christian and henceforth to be\nhis companion.\n\nWhat were the things, asked Christian of his young companion, that first\nled you to leave off the vanities of the fair and to think to be a\npilgrim?  Many things, replied Hopeful.  Sometimes if I did but meet a\ngood man in the street.  Or if mine head began unaccountably, or mine\nheart, to ache.  Or if some one of my companions became suddenly sick.  Or\nif I heard the bell toll that some one was dead.  But, especially, when I\nthought of myself that I must quickly come to judgment.  And then it is\ntold in the best style of the book how peace and rest and the beginning\nof true satisfaction came to poor Hopeful's heart at last.  But you must\npromise me to read the passage for yourselves before you sleep to-night;\nand to read it again and again till, like Hopeful's, your heart also is\nfull of joy, and your eyes full of tears, and your affections running\nover with love to the name and to the people and to all the ways of Jesus\nChrist.\n\nAnd then, it is very encouraging and reassuring to us to see how\nHopeful's true conversion so deepened and sobered and strengthened his\nwhole character.  He remained to the end in his mental constitution and\nwhole temperament, as we say, the same man he had always been; but, while\nremaining the same man, at the same time a most wonderful change\ngradually began to come over him, till, by slow but sure degrees, he\nbecame the Hopeful we know and look to and lean upon.  To use his own\nautobiographic words about himself, it was \"by hearing and considering of\nthings that are Divine\" that his natural levity was so completely whipped\nout of his soul till he was made at last an indispensable companion to\nChristian, strong-minded and serious-minded man as he was.  \"Conversion\nto God,\" says William Law, \"is often very sudden and instantaneous,\nunexpectedly raised from variety of occasions.  Thus, one by seeing only\na withered tree, another by reading the lives and deaths of the\nantediluvian fathers, one by hearing of heaven, another of hell, one by\nreading of the love or wrath of God, another of the sufferings of Christ,\nmay find himself, as it were, melted into penitence all of a sudden.  It\nmay be granted also that the greatest sinner may in a moment be converted\nto God, and may feel himself wounded in such a degree as perhaps those\nnever were who have been turning to God all their lives.  But, then, it\nis to be observed that this suddenness of change or flash of conviction\nis by no means of the essence of true conversion.  This stroke of\nconversion is not to be considered as signifying our high state of a new\nbirth in Christ, or a proof that we are on a sudden made new creatures,\nbut that we are thus suddenly called upon and stirred up to look after a\nnewness of nature.  The renewal of our first birth and state is something\nentirely distinct from our first sudden conversion and call to\nrepentance.  That is not a thing done in an instant, but is a certain\nprocess, a gradual release from our captivity and disorder, consisting of\nseveral stages and degrees, both of life and death, which the soul must\ngo through before it can have thoroughly put off the old man.  It is well\nworth observing that our Saviour's greatest trials were near the end of\nHis life.  This might sufficiently show us that our first awakenings have\ncarried us but a little way; that we should not then begin to be self-\nassured of our own salvation, but should remember that we stand at a\ngreat distance from, and are in great ignorance of, our severest trials.\"\nSuch was the way that Christian in his experience and in his wisdom\ntalked to his young companion till his outward trials and the consequent\ndiscoveries he made of his own weakness and corruption made even Hopeful\nhimself a sober-minded and a thoughtful man.  \"Where pain ends, gain ends\ntoo.\"\n\nThen, again, no one can read Hopeful's remarkable history without\ndiscovering this about him, that he showed best in adversity and\ndistress, just as he showed worst in deliverance and prosperity.  It is a\nfine lesson in Christian hope to descend into Giant Despair's dungeon and\nhear the older pilgrim groaning and the younger pilgrim consoling him,\nand, again, to stand on the bank of the last river and hear Hopeful\nholding up Christian's drowning head.  \"Be of good cheer, my brother, for\nI feel the bottom, and it is good!\"  Bless Hopeful for that, all you\nwhose deathbeds are still before you.  For never was more true and fit\nword spoken for a dying hour than that.  Read, till you have it by heart\nand in the dark, Hopeful's whole history, but especially his triumphant\nend.  And have some one bespoken beforehand to read Hopeful in the River\nto you when you have in a great measure lost your senses, and when a\ngreat horror has taken hold of your mind.  \"I sink in deep waters,\" cried\nChristian, as his sins came to his mind, even the sins which he had\ncommitted both since and before he came to be a pilgrim.  \"But I see the\ngate,\" said Hopeful, \"and men standing at it ready to receive us.\"  \"Read\nto me where I first cast my anchor,\" said John Knox to his weeping wife.\n\nThe Enchanted Ground, on the other hand, threatened to throw Hopeful back\nagain into his former light-minded state.  And there is no saying what\nshipwreck he might have made there had the older man not been with him to\nsteady and reprove and instruct him.  As it was, a touch now and then of\nhis old vain temper returned to him till it took all his companion's\nwatchfulness and wariness to carry them both out of that second Vanity\nFair.  \"I acknowledge myself in a fault,\" said Hopeful to Christian, \"and\nhad I been here alone I had run in danger of death.  Hitherto, thy\ncompany hath been my mercy, and thou shalt have a good reward for all thy\nlabour.\"\n\nNow, my brethren, in my opinion we owe a great debt of gratitude to John\nBunyan for the large and the displayed place he has given to Hopeful in\nthe _Pilgrim's Progress_.  The fulness and balance and proportion of the\n_Pilgrim's Progress_ are features of that wonderful book far too much\noverlooked.  So far as my reading goes I do not know any other author who\nhas at all done the justice to the saving grace of hope that John Bunyan\nhas done both in his doctrinal and in his allegorical works.  Bunyan\nstands alone and supreme not only for the insight, and the power with\nwhich he has constructed the character and the career of Hopeful, but\neven for having given him the space at all adequate to his merits and his\nservices.  In those eighty-seven so suggestive pages that form the index\nto Dr. Thomas Goodwin's works I find some hundred and twenty-four\nreferences to \"faith,\" while there are only two references to \"hope.\"  And\nthat same oversight and neglect runs through all our religious\nliterature, and I suppose, as a consequence, through all our preaching\ntoo.  Now that is not the treatment the Bible gives to this so essential\nChristian grace, as any one may see at a glance who takes the trouble to\nturn up his Cruden.  Hope has a great place alongside of faith and love\nin the Holy Scriptures, and it has a correspondingly large and eloquent\nplace in Bunyan.  Now, that being so, why is it that this so great and so\nblessed grace has so fallen out of our sermons and out of our hearts?  May\nGod grant that our reading of Hopeful's autobiography and his subsequent\nhistory to-night may do something to restore the blessed grace of hope to\nits proper place both in our pulpit and in all our hearts.\n\nTo kindle then, to quicken, and to anchor your hope, my brethren, may I\nhave God's help to speak for a little longer to your hearts concerning\nthis neglected grace!  For, what is hope?  Hope is a passion of the soul,\nwise or foolish, to be ashamed of or to be proud of, just according to\nthe thing hoped for, and just according to the grounds of the hope.  Hope\nis made up of these two ingredients--desire and expectation.  What we\ngreatly desire we take no rest till we find good grounds on which to\nbuild up our expectations of it; and when we have found good grounds for\nour expectations, then a glad hope takes possession of our hearts.  Now,\nto begin with, how is it with your desires?  You are afraid to say much\nabout your expectations and your hopes.  Well; let us come to your\nhearts' desires.--Men of God, I will enter into your hearts and I will\ntell you your hearts' desires better than you know them yourselves; for\nthe heart is deceitful above all things.  The time was, when, like this\nyoung pilgrim before he became a pilgrim, your desires were all set on\nhouses, and lands, and places, and honours, and preferments, and wives,\nand children, and silver, and gold, and what not.  These things at one\ntime were the utmost limit of your desires.  But that has all been\nchanged.  For now you have begun to desire a better city, that is, an\nheavenly.  What is your chief desire for this New Year? {2}   Is it not a\nnew heart?  Is it not a clean heart?  Is it not a holy heart?  Is it not\nthat the Holy Ghost would write the golden rule on the tables of your\nheart?  Does not God know that it is the deepest desire of your heart to\nbe able to love your neighbour as yourself?  To be able to rejoice with\nhim in his joy as well as to weep with him in his sorrow?  What would you\nnot give never again to feel envy in your heart at your brother, or\nstraitness and pining at his prosperity?  One thing do I desire, said the\nPsalmist, that mine ear may be nailed to the doorpost of my God: that I\nmay always be His servant, and may never wander from His service.  Now,\nthat is your desire too.  I am sure it is.  You would not say it of\nyourself, but I defy you to deny it when it is said about you.  Well,\nthen, such things being found among your desires, what grounds have you\nfor expecting the fulfilment of such desires?  What grounds?  The best of\ngrounds and every ground.  For you have the sure ground of God's word.\nAnd you have more than His word: you have His very nature, and the very\nnature of things.  For shall God create such desires in any man's heart\nonly to starve and torture that man?  Impossible!  It were blasphemy to\nsuspect it.  No.  Where God has made any man to be so far a partaker of\nthe Divine nature as to change all that man's deepest desires, and to\nturn them from vanity to wisdom, from earth to heaven, and from the\ncreature to the Creator, doubt not, wherever He has begun such a work,\nthat He will hasten to finish it.  Yes; lift up your heavy hearts, all ye\nwho desire such things, for God hath sent His Son to say to you, Blessed\nare ye that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for ye shall be\nfilled.  Only, keep desiring.  Desire every day with a stronger and a\nmore inconsolable desire.  Desire, and ground your desire on God's word,\nand then heave your hope like an anchor within the veil whither the\nForerunner is for you entered.  May I so hope? you say.  May I venture to\nhope?  Yes; not only may you hope, but you must hope.  You are commanded\nto hope.  It is as much your bounden duty to hope always, and to hope for\nthe greatest and best things, as it is to repent of your sins, to love\nGod and your neighbour, to keep yourself pure, and to set a watch on the\ndoor of your lips.  You have been destroyed, I confess and lament it, for\nlack of knowledge about the nature, the grounds, and the duty of hope.\nBut make up now for past neglect.  Hope steadfastly, hope constantly,\nhope boldly; hope for the best things, the greatest things, the most\ndivine and the most blessed things.  If you forget to-night all else you\nhave heard to-day, I implore you not any longer to forget and neglect\nthis, that hope is your immediate, constant, imperative duty.  No sin, no\ndepth of corruption in your heart, no assault on your heart from your\nconscience, can justify you in ceasing to hope.  Even when trouble \"comes\ntumbling over the neck of all your reformations\" as it came tumbling on\nHopeful, let that only drive you the more deeply down into the true\ngrounds of hope; even against hope rejoice in hope.  Remember the\nPsalmist in the hundred-and-thirtieth Psalm,--down in the deeps, if ever\na fallen sinner was.  Yet hear him when you cannot see him saying: I hope\nin Thy word!  And--for it is worthy to stand beside even that splendid\npsalm,--I beseech you to read and lay to heart what Hopeful says about\nhimself in his conversion despair.\n\nAnd then, as if to justify that hope, there always come with it such\nsanctifying influences and such sure results.  The hope that you are one\nday to awaken in the Divine likeness will make you lie down on your bed\nevery night in self-examination, repentance, prayer, and praise.  The\nhope that your eyes are one day to see Christ as He is will make you\npurify yourself as nothing else will.  The hope that you are to walk with\nChrist in white will make you keep your garments clean; it will make you\nwash them many times every day in the blood of the Lamb.  The hope that\nyou are to cast your crown at His feet will make you watch that no man\ntakes your crown from you.  The hope that you are to drink wine with Him\nin His Father's kingdom will reconcile you meanwhile to water, lest with\nyour wine you stumble any of His little ones.  The hope of hearing Him\nsay, Well done!--how that will make you labour and endure and not faint!\nAnd the hope that you shall one day enter in through the gates into the\ncity, and have a right to the tree of life,--how scrupulous that will\nmake you to keep all His commandments!  And this is one of His\ncommandments, that you gird up the loins of your mind, and hope to the\nend for the grace that is to be brought unto you at the revelation of\nJesus Christ.\n\n\n\n\nTEMPORARY\n\n\n   \"They are they, which, when they hear, receive the word with joy; and\n   have no root, which for a while believe, and in time of temptation\n   fall away.\"--_Our Lord_.\n\n\"Well, then, did you not know about ten years ago one Temporary in your\nparts who was a forward man in religion?  Know him! replied the other.\nYes.  For my house not being above three miles from his house he would\nofttimes come to me, and that with many tears.  Truly I pitied the man,\nand was not altogether without hope of him; but one may see that it is\nnot every one who cries Lord, Lord.  And now, since we are talking about\nhim, let us a little inquire into the reason of the sudden backsliding of\nhim and such others.  It may be very profitable, said Christian, but do\nyou begin.  Well, then, there are in my judgment several reasons for it.\"\nAnd then, with the older man's entire approval, Hopeful sets forth\nseveral reasons, taken from his own observation of backsliders, why so\nmany men's religion is such a temporary thing; why so many run well for a\ntime, and then stand still, and then turn back.\n\n1.  The fear of man bringeth a snare, said Hopeful, moralising over his\nold acquaintance Temporary.  And how true that observation is every\nevangelical minister knows to his deep disappointment.  A young man comes\nto his minister at some time of distress in his life, or at some time of\nrevival of religion in the community, or at an ordinary communion season,\nand gives every sign that he is early and fairly embarked on an\nhonourable Christian life.  He takes his place in the Church of Christ,\nand he puts out his hand to her work, till we begin to look forward with\nboastfulness to a life of great stability and great attainment for that\nman.  Our Lord, as we see from so many of His parables, must have had\nmany such cases among His first followers.  Our Lord might be speaking\nprophetically, as well as out of His own experience, so well do His\nregretful and lamenting words fit into so many of our own cases to-day.\nFor, look at that young business man.  He has been born and brought up in\nthe Church of Christ.  He has gladdened more hearts than he knows by the\nnoble promise of his early days.  Many admiring and loving eyes have been\nturned on him as he took so hopefully the upward way.  But a sifting-time\nsoon comes.  A time of temptation comes.  A time comes when sides must be\ntaken in some moral, religious, ecclesiastical controversy.  This young\nman is at that moment a candidate for a post that will bring distinction,\nwealth, and social influence to him who holds it.  And the candidate we\nare so much interested in is admittedly a man of such outstanding talents\nthat he would at once get the post were it not that the holder of that\npost must not have his name so much associated with such and such a\nchurch, such and such political and religious opinions, and such and such\npublic men.  He is told that.  Indeed, he is not so dull as to need to be\ntold that.  He has seen that all along.  And at first it is a dreadful\nwrench to him.  He feels how far he is falling from his high ideals in\nlife; and, at first, and for a long time, it is a dreadful humiliation to\nhim.  But, then, there are splendid compensations.  And, better than\nthat, there are some good, and indeed compelling, reasons that begin to\nrise up in our minds when we need them and begin to look for them, till\nwhat at first seemed so mean and so contemptible, and so ungrateful, and\nso dishonourable, as well as so spiritually perilous, comes to be faced\nand gone through with positively on a ground of high principle, and,\nindeed, of stern moral necessity.  So deceitful is the human heart that\nyou could not believe what compelling reasons such a mean-spirited man\nwill face you with as to why he should leave all the ways he once so\ndelighted in for a piece of bread, and for the smile of the open enemies\nof his church, and his faith, not to say his Saviour.  You will meet with\nseveral such men any afternoon coming home from their business.  Sometimes\nthey have still some honest shame on their faces when they meet you; but\nstill oftener they pass you with a sullen hatred and a fierce defiance.\nThis is he who heard the word, and anon with joy received it.  Yet had he\nnot root in himself, but dured for a while; for when tribulation or\npersecution arose because of the word by and by he was offended.  They\nwent out from us, says John, but they were not of us; for if they had\nbeen of us they would no doubt have continued with us; but they went out\nthat they might be made manifest that they were not all of us.\n\n2.  Guilt, again, Hopeful went on, and to meditate terror, are so\ngrievous to most men, that they rather choose such ways as will but\nharden their hearts still more and more.  You all know what it is to\nmeditate terror?  \"Thine heart shall meditate terror,\" says the prophet,\n\"when thou sayest to thyself, who among us shall dwell with the devouring\nfire? who among us shall dwell with everlasting burnings?\"  The fifty-\nfirst Psalm is perhaps the best meditation both of guilt and of terror\nthat we have in the whole Bible.  But there are many other psalms and\npassages of psalms only second to the fifty-first Psalm, such as the\ntwenty-second, the thirty-eighth, the sixty-ninth, and the hundred-and-\nthirtieth.  Our Lord Himself also was meditating terror in the garden of\nGethsemane, and Paul both guilt and terror when he imagined himself both\nan apostate preacher and a castaway soul.  And John's meditations of\nterror in the Revelation rose into those magnificent pictures of the Last\nJudgment with which he has to all time covered the walls of the Seven\nChurches.  In his own _Grace Abounding_ there are meditations of terror\nquite worthy to stand beside the most terrible things of that kind that\never were written, as also in many others of our author's dramatical and\nhomiletical books.  I read to you the other Sabbath morning a meditation\nof terror that was found among Bishop Andrewes' private papers after his\ndeath.  You will not all have forgotten that meditation, but I will read\nit to you to-night again.  \"How fearful,\" says Andrewes, in his terror,\n\"will Thy judgment be, O Lord, when the thrones are set, and the angels\nstand around, and men are brought in, and the books are opened, and all\nour works are inquired into, and all our thoughts are examined, and all\nthe hidden things of darkness!  What, O God, shall Thy judgment that day\nbe upon me?  Who shall quench my flame, who shall lighten my darkness, if\nThou pity me not?  Lord, as Thou art loving, give me tears, give me\nfloods of tears, and give me all that this day, before it be too late.\nFor then will be the incorruptible Judge, the horrible judgment-seat, the\nanswer without excuse, the inevitable charge, the shameful punishment,\nthe endless Gehenna, the pitiless angels, the yawning hell, the roaring\nstream of fire, the unquenchable flame, the dark prison, the rayless\ndarkness, the bed of live coals, the unwearied worm, the indissoluble\nchains, the bottomless chaos, the impassable wall, the inconsolable cry.\nAnd none to stand by me; none to plead for me; none to snatch me out.\"\nNow, no Temporary ever possessed anything like that in his own\nhandwriting among his private papers.  A meditation like that, written\nout with his own hand, and hidden away under lock and key, will secure\nany man from it, even if he had been appointed to backsliding and\nreprobation.  Bishop Andrewes, as any one will see who reads his _Private\nDevotions_, was the chief of sinners; but his discovered and deciphered\npapers will all speak for him when they are spread out before the great\nwhite throne, \"glorious in their deformity, being slubbered,\" as his\neditors say, \"with his pious hands, and watered with his penitential\ntears.\"\n\nThomas Shepard's _Ten Virgins_ is the most terrible book upon Temporaries\nthat ever was written.  Temporaries never once saw their true vileness,\nhe keeps on saying.  Temporaries are, no doubt, wounded for sin\nsometimes, but never in the right place nor to the right depth.  And\nagain, sin, and especially heart-sin, is never really bitter to\nTemporaries.  In an \"exhortation to all new beginners, and so to all\nothers,\" \"Be sure,\" Shepard says, \"your wound for sin at first is deep\nenough.  For all the error in a man's faith and sanctification springs\nfrom his first error in his humiliation.  If a man's humiliation be\nfalse, or even weak or little, then his faith and his hold of Christ are\nweak and little, and his sanctification counterfeit.  But if a man's\nwound be right, and his humiliation deep enough, that man's faith will be\nright and his sanctification will be glorious.  The esteem of Christ is\nalways little where sin lies light.\"  And Hopeful himself says a thing at\nthis point that is quite worthy of Shepard himself, such is its depth and\ninsight.  He speaks of the righteous actually _loving_ the sight of their\nmisery.  He does not explain what he means by that startling language\nbecause he is talking all the time, as he knows quite well, to one who\nunderstood all that before he was born.  Nor will I attempt to explain or\nto vindicate what he says.  Those of you who love the sight of your own\nmisery as sinners will understand what Hopeful says without any\nexplanation; while those who do not understand him would only be the more\nstumbled by any explanation of him.  The love of the sight of their\nmisery, and the unearthly sweetness of their sorrow for sin, are only\nanother two of those provoking paradoxes of which the lives of God's true\nsaints are full--paradoxes and impossibilities and incoherencies that\nmake the literature of experimental religion to be positively hateful and\nunbearable to Temporary and to all his self-seeking and apostate kindred.\n\n3.  But even where the consciences of such men are occasionally awakened,\nproceeds Hopeful, in his so searching discovery of Temporaries, yet their\nminds are not changed.  There you are pretty near the business, replied\nhis fellow; for the bottom of all is, for want of a change of their mind\nand will.  Now, one would have been afraid and ashamed for one moment to\nsuspect that Temporary's mind was not completely changed, so \"forward\"\nwas he at first in his religion.  But, no: forward before all his\nneighbours as Temporary was, to begin with, yet all the time his mind was\nnot really changed.  His forwardness did not properly spring out of his\ntrue mind at all, but only out of his momentarily awakened conscience and\nhis momentarily excited heart.  A sinner with a truly changed mind is\nnever forward.  His mind is so changed that forwardness in anything is\nutterly alien to it, and especially all forwardness in the profession of\nreligion.  The change that had taken place in Temporary, whatever was the\nseat of it, only led him to bully men like Christian and Hopeful, who\nwould not go fast enough for him.  \"Come,\" said Pliable, in the beginning\nof the book, \"come on and let us mend our pace.\"  \"I cannot go so fast as\nI would,\" humbly replied Christian, \"because of this burden on my back.\"\nIt is a common observation among mountaineers that he who takes the hill\nat the greatest spurt is the last climber to come to the top, and that\nmany who so ostentatiously make spurts at the bottom of the hill never\ncome within sight of the top at all.  And this is one of the constant\ndangers that wait on all revivals, religious retreats, conferences, and\neven communion seasons.  Our hot fits, the hotter they are, are only the\nmore likely, unless we take the greatest care, to cast us down into all\nthe more deadly a chill.  It is this danger that our Lord points out so\nplainly in His parable of apostasy.  The same is he, says our Lord, that\nheareth the word, and anon with joy receiveth it; yet hath he not root in\nhimself, but dureth for a while.  In Hopeful's words, his mind and will\nwere never changed with all his joy, only his passing moods and his\nmomentary emotions.\n\nMultitudes of men who are as forward at first as Pliable and Temporary\nwere turn out at last to have no root in themselves; but here and there\nyou will discover a man who is all root together.  There are some men\nwhose whole mind and heart and will, whose whole inward man, has gone to\nroot.  All the strength and all the fatness of their religious life\nretreat into its root.  They have no leaves at all, and they have too\nlittle fruit as yet; but you should see their roots.  Only, no eye but\nthe eye of God can see sorrow for sin--secret and sore humiliation on\naccount of secret sin--the incessant agony that goes on within between\nthe flesh and the spirit, between sin and grace, between very hell and\nheaven itself.  To know your own evil hearts, my brethren, say to you on\nthat subject what any Temporary will, is the very root of the whole\nmatter to you.  Whatever Dr. Newman's mistakes as to outward churches may\nhave been, he was a master of the human heart, the most difficult of all\nmatters to master.  Listen, then, to what he says on the matter now in\nhand.  \"Now, unless we have some just idea of our hearts and of sin, we\ncan have no right idea of a Moral Governor, a Saviour, or a Sanctifier;\nthat is, in professing to believe in them we shall be using words without\nattaching any distinct meaning to them.  Thus self-knowledge is at the\nroot of all real religious knowledge; and it is vain,--it is worse than\nvain,--it is a deceit and a mischief, to think to understand the\nChristian doctrines as a matter of course, merely by being taught by\nbooks, or by attending sermons, or by any outward means, however\nexcellent, taken by themselves.  For it is in proportion as we search our\nhearts and understand our own nature that we understand what is meant by\nan Infinite Governor and Judge; it is in proportion as we comprehend the\nnature of disobedience and our actual sinfulness that we feel what is the\nblessing of the removal of sin, redemption, pardon, sanctification, which\notherwise are mere words.  God speaks to us primarily in our hearts.  Self-\nknowledge is the key to the precepts and doctrines of Scripture.  The\nvery utmost that any outward notices of religion can do is to startle us\nand make us turn inward and search our hearts; and then, when we have\nexperienced what it is to read ourselves, we shall profit by the doctrine\nof the Church and the Bible.\"  My brethren, the temper in which you\nreceive that passage, and receive it from its author, may be safely taken\nby you as a sure presage whether you are to turn out a Temporary and a\nCastaway or no.\n\nNow, to conclude with a word of admission, and, bound up with it, a word\nof encouragement.  After all that has been said, I fully admit that we\nare all Temporaries to begin with.  We all cool down from our first heat\nin religion.  We all halt from our first spurt.  We all turn back from\nfaith and from duty and from privilege through our fear of men, or\nthrough our corrupt love of ourselves, or through our coarse-minded love\nof this present world.  Only, those who are appointed to perseverance,\nand through that to eternal life, always kindle again; they are kindled\nagain, and they love the return of their lost warmth.  They recover\nthemselves and address themselves again and again to the race that is\nstill set before them.  They prove themselves not to be of those who draw\nback unto perdition, but of those that believe to the saving of the soul.\nNow, if you have only too good ground to suspect that you are but a\ntemporary believer, what are you to do to make your sure escape out of\nthat perilous state?  What, but to keep on believing?  You must cry\nconstantly, Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbelief!  When at any time\nyou are under any temptation or corruption, and you feel that your faith\nand your love are letting slip their hold of Christ and of eternal life,\nthen knot your weak heart all the faster to the throne of grace, to the\ncross of Christ, and to the gate of heaven.  Give up all your mind and\nheart, and all that is within you, to the one thing needful.  Labour\nnight and day in your own heart at believing on Christ, at loving your\nneighbour, and at discovering, denying, and crucifying yourself.  It will\nall pay you in the long run.  For if you do all these things, and\npersistently do them, then, though you are at this moment all but dead to\nall divine things, and all but a reprobate, it will be found at last that\nall the time your name was written among the elect in heaven.\n\nThe perseverance of the saints, the \"five points\" notwithstanding, is not\na foregone conclusion.  The final perseverance of the ripest and surest\nsaint is all made up of ever-new beginnings in repentance, in faith, in\nlove, and in obedience.  Begin, then, every new day to repent anew, to\nreturn anew, to believe and to love anew.  And if all your New-Year\nrepentances and returnings and reformations are all already proved to be\nbut temporary--even if they lie all around you already a bitter mockery\nof all your professions--still, begin again.  Begin to-night, and begin\nagain to-morrow morning.  Spend all the remainder of your days on earth\nbeginning.  And, ere ever you are aware, the final perseverance of\nanother predestinated saint will be found accomplished in you.\n\n\n\n\nSECRET\n\n\n   \"The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him.\"--_David_.\n\nA truly religious life is always a secret life: it is a life hid, as Paul\nhas it, with Christ in God.  The secret of the Lord, says the Psalmist,\nis with them that fear Him.  And thus it is that when men begin to fear\nGod, both their hearts and their lives are henceforth full of all kinds\nof secrets that are known to themselves and to God only.  It was when\nChristiana's fearful thoughts began to work in her mind about her husband\nwhom she had lost--it was when all her unkind, unnatural, and ungodly\ncarriages to her dear friend came into her mind in swarms, clogged her\nconscience, and loaded her with guilt--it was then that Secret knocked at\nher door.  \"Next morning,\" so her opening history runs, \"when she was up,\nand had prayed to God, and talked with her children awhile, one knocked\nhard at the door to whom she spake out, saying, If thou comest in God's\nname, come in.  So he who was at the door said, Amen, and opened the\ndoor, and saluted her with, Peace be to this house.  The which when he\nhad done, he said, Christiana, knowest thou wherefore I am come?  Then\nshe blushed and trembled, also her heart began to wax warm with desires\nto know whence he came, and what was his errand to her.  So he said unto\nher, My name is Secret, I dwell with those that are high.  It is talked\nof where I dwell as if thou hadst a desire to go thither; also, there is\na report that thou art aware now of the evil thou formerly didst to thy\nhusband in hardening of thy heart against his way, and in keeping of thy\nbabes in their ignorance.  Christiana, the Merciful One has sent me to\ntell thee that He is a God ready to forgive, and that He taketh delight\nto multiply to pardon offences.  He would also have thee know that He\ninviteth thee to come into His presence, even to His table, and that He\nwill there feed thee with the fat of His house, and with the heritage of\nJacob thy father.  Christiana at all this was greatly abashed in herself,\nand she bowed her head to the ground, while her visitor proceeded and\nsaid, Christiana, here is a letter for thee which I have brought from thy\nhusband's King.  So she took it and opened it, and, as she opened it, it\nsmelt after the manner of the best perfume; also it was written in\nlettering of gold.  The contents of the letter was to this effect, that\nthe King would have her do as did Christian her husband, for that was the\nway to come to the city and to dwell in His presence with joy for ever.\nAt this the good woman was completely overcome.  So she said to her\nvisitor, Sir, will you carry me and my children with you that we may go\nand worship this King?  Then said the heavenly visitor, Christiana, the\nbitter is before the sweet.  Thou must through troubles, as did he that\nwent before thee, enter this celestial city.\"  And so on.\n\n1.  Now, to begin with, you will have noticed the way in which Christiana\nwas prepared for the entrance of Secret into her house.  She was a widow.\nShe sat alone in that loneliness which only widows know and understand.\nMore than lonely, she was very miserable.  \"Mark this,\" says the author\non the margin, \"you that are churls to your godly relations.\"  For this\nwidow felt sure that her husband had been taken from her because of her\ncruel behaviour to him.  Her past unnatural carriages toward her husband\nnow rent the very caul of her heart in sunder.  And, again and again,\nabout that same time strange dreams would sometimes visit her.  Dreams\nsuch as this.  She would see her husband in a place of bliss with a harp\nin his hand, standing and playing upon it before One that sat on a throne\nwith a rainbow round His head.  She saw also as if he bowed his head with\nhis face to the paved work that was under the Prince's feet, saying, I\nheartily thank my Lord and King for bringing me to this place.  You will\neasily see how ready this lone woman was with all that for his entrance\nwho knocked and said, Peace be to this house, and handed her a letter of\nperfume from her husband's King.  Then you will have remarked also some\nof the things this visitor from on high said to her of the place whence\nhe had come.  He told her, to begin with, how they sometimes talked about\nher in his country.  She thought that she was a lonely and forgotten\nwidow, and that no one cared what became of her.  But her visitor assured\nher she was quite wrong in thinking that.  He had often himself heard her\nname mentioned in conversation above; and the most hopeful reports, he\ntold her, were circulated from door to door that she was actually all but\nstarted on the upward way.  Yes, he said, and we have a place prepared\nfor you on the strength of these reports, a place among the immortals\nclose beside your husband.  And all that, as you will not wonder, was the\nbeginning of Christiana's secret life.  After that morning she never\nagain felt alone or forgotten.  I am not alone, she would after that say,\nwhen any of her old neighbours knocked at her door.  No, I am not alone,\nbut if thou comest in God's name, come in.\n\n2.  And from that day a long succession of secret providences began to\nenter Christiana's life, till, as time went on, her whole life was filled\nfull of secret providences.  And not her present life only, but her\ndiscoveries of God's secret providences towards her and hers became\nretrospective also, till both her own parentage and birth, her husband's\nparentage and birth also, the day she first saw him, the day of their\nespousals, the day of their marriage, and the day of his death, all shone\nout now as so many secret and special providences of God toward her.\nBishop Martensen has a fine passage on the fragmentariness of our\nknowledge, not only of divine providence as a whole, but even of those\ndivine providences that fill up our own lives.  And he warns us that,\ntill we have heard the \"Prologue in Heaven,\" many a riddle in our lives\nmust of necessity remain unsolved.  Christiana could not have told her\ninquiring children what a prologue was, nor an epilogue either, but many\nwere the wise and winning discourses she held with her boys about their\nfather now in heaven, about her happiness in having had such a father for\nher children, and about their happiness that the road was open before\nthem to go to where he now is.  And there are many poor widows among\nourselves who are wiser than all their teachers, because they are in that\nschool of experience into which God takes His afflicted people and opens\nto them His deepest secrets.  They remember, with Job, when the secret of\nthe Lord was first upon their tabernacle.  Their widowed hearts are full\nof holy household memories.  They remember the days when the candle of\nthe Lord shone upon their head when they washed their steps with butter,\nand the rock poured them out rivers of oil.  And still, when, like Job\nalso, they sit solitary among the ashes, the secret of the Lord is only\nthe more secretly and intimately with them.  John Bunyan was well fitted\nto be Christiana's biographer, because his own life was as full as it\ncould hold of these same secret and special providences.  One day he was\nwalking--so he tells us--in a good man's shop, bemoaning himself of his\nsad and doleful state--when a mighty rushing wind came in through the\nwindow and seemed to carry words of Scripture on its wings to Bunyan's\ndisconsolate soul.  He candidly tells us that he does not know, after\ntwenty years' reflection, what to make of that strange dispensation.  That\nit took place, and that it left the most blessed results behind it, he is\nsure; but as to how God did it, by what means, by what instruments, both\nthe rushing wind itself and the salutation that accompanied it, he is\nfain to let lie till the day of judgment.  And many of ourselves have had\nstrange dispensations too that we must leave alone, and seek no other\nexplanation of them for the present but the blessed results of them.  We\nhave had divine descents into our lives that we can never attempt to\ndescribe.  Interpositions as plain to us as if we had both seen and\nspoken with the angel who executed them.  Miraculous deliverances that\nthrow many Old and New Testament miracles into the shade.  Providential\nadaptations and readjustments also, as if all things were actually and\nopenly and without a veil being made to work together for our good.\nExtrications also; nets broken, snares snapped, and such pavilions of\nsafety and solace opened to us that we can find no psalm secret and\nspecial enough in which to utter our life-long astonishment.  Importunate\nprayers anticipated, postponed, denied, translated, transmuted, and then\nanswered till our cup was too full; sweet changed to bitter, and bitter\nchanged to sweet, so wonderfully, so graciously, and so often, that words\nfail us, and we can only now laugh and now weep over it all.  Poor Cowper\nknew something about it--\n\n   \"God moves in a mysterious way\n      His wonders to perform;\n   He plants His footsteps in the sea,\n      And rides upon the storm.\n\n   \"Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,\n      The clouds ye so much dread\n   Are big with mercy, and shall break\n      In blessings on your head.\n\n   \"Blind unbelief is sure to err,\n      And scan his work in vain;\n   God is His own interpreter,\n      And He will make it plain.\"\n\n3.  Secret scriptures also--from that enlightening day Christiana's Bible\nbecame full of them.  Peter says that no prophecy is of any private\ninterpretation; and, whatever he means by that, what he says must be\ntrue.  But Christiana would have understood the apostle better if he had\nsaid the exact opposite of that,--if not about the prophecies, at least\nabout the psalms.  Leave the prophecies in this connection alone; but of\nthe psalms it may safely be said that it is neither the literal nor the\nhistorical nor the mystical interpretation that gets at the heart of\nthose supreme scriptures.  It is the private, personal, and, indeed,\nsecret interpretation that gets best at the deepest heart of the psalms.\nAn old Bible came into my hands the other day--a Bible that had seen\nservice--and it opened of its own accord at the Book of Psalms.  On\nturning over the yellow leaves I found a date and a deep indentation\nopposite these words: \"Commit thy way unto the Lord: trust also in Him:\nand He will bring it to pass.\"  And as I looked at the figures on the\nmargin, and at the underscored text, I felt as if I were on the brink of\nan old-world secret.  \"Create in me a clean heart\" had a significant\ninitial also; as had this: \"The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit.\"\nThe whole of the hundred-and-third psalm was bracketed off from all\npublic interpretation; while the tenth, the cardinal verse of that secret\npsalm, had a special seal set upon it.  Judging from its stains and scars\nand other accidents, the whole of the hundred-and-nineteenth psalm had\nbeen a special favourite; while the hundred-and-forty-third also was all\nbroidered round with shorthand symbols.  But the secret key of all those\nsymbols and dates and enigmatical marks was no longer to be found; it had\nbeen carried away in the owner's own heart.  But, my head being full of\nChristiana at the time, I felt as if I held her own old Bible in my hand\nas I turned over those ancient leaves.\n\n4.  Our Lord so practised secrecy Himself in His fasting, in His praying,\nand in His almsgiving, and He makes so much of that same secrecy in all\nHis teaching, as almost to make the essence of all true religion to stand\nin its secrecy.  \"When thou prayest,\" says our Lord, \"shut thy door and\npray in secret.\"  As much as to say that we are scarcely praying at all\nwhen we are praying in public.  Praying in public is so difficult that\nnew beginners, like His disciples, have to practise that so difficult art\nfor a long time in secret.  Public prayer has so many besetting sins, it\nis open to so many temptations, distractions, and corruptions, that it is\nalmost impossible to preserve the real essence of prayer in public\nprayer.  But in secret all those temptations and distractions are happily\nabsent.  We have no temptation to be too long in secret prayer, or too\nloud, or too eloquent.  Stately old English goes for nothing in secret\nprayer.  We never need to go to our knees in secret trembling, lest we\nlose the thread of our prayer, or forget that so fit and so fine\nexpression.  The longer we are the better in secret prayer.  Much\nspeaking is really a virtue in secret prayer; much speaking and many\nrepetitions.  Also, we can put things into our secret prayers that we\ndare not come within a thousand miles of in the pulpit, or the prayer-\nmeeting, or the family.  We can enter into the most plain-spoken\nparticulars about ourselves in secret.  We can put our proper name upon\nourselves, and upon our actions, and especially upon our thoughts when\nour door is shut.  Then, again, we can pray for other people by name in\nsecret; we can enter, so far as we know them, into all their\ncircumstances in a way it is impossible to do anywhere but in the utmost\nsecrecy.  We can, in short, be ourselves in secret; and, unless it is to\nplease or to impress men, we had better not pray at all unless we are\nourselves when we are engaged in it.  You can be yourself, your very\nworst self; nay, you must be, else you will not long pray in secret, and\neven if you did you would not be heard.  I do not remember that very much\nis said in so many words in her after-history about Christiana's habits\nof closet-prayer.  But that Secret taught her the way, and waited till\nshe had tasted the sweetness and the strength of being a good while on\nher knees alone, I am safe to say; indeed, I read it between the lines in\nall her after-life.  She was rewarded openly in a way that testifies to\nmuch secret prayer; that is to say, in the early conversion of her\nchildren, in the way they settled in life, and such like things.  Pray\nmuch for those things in secret that you wish to possess openly.\n\n5.  But perhaps the best and most infallible evidence we can have of the\ntruth of our religion in this life is in the steady increase of our\nsecret sinfulness.  Christiana had no trouble with her own wicked heart\nso long as she was a woman of a wicked life.  But directly she became a\nnew creature, her heart began to swarm, such is her own expression, with\nsinful memories, sinful thoughts, and sinful feelings; till she had need\nof some one ever near her, like Greatheart, constantly to assure her that\nthose cruel and deadly swarms, instead of being a bad sign of her\nsalvation, were the very best signs possible of her good estate.  Humility\nis the foundation of all our graces, and there is no humility so deep and\nso ever-deepening as that evangelical humility which in its turn rises\nout of and rests upon secret sinfulness.  Not upon acts of secret sin.  Do\nnot mistake me.  Acts of secret sin harden the heart and debauch the\nconscience.  But I speak of that secret, original, unexplored, and\ninexpugnable sinfulness out of which all a sinner's actual sins, both\nopen sins and secret, spring; and out of which a like life of open and\nactual sins would spring in God's very best saints, if only both He and\nthey did not watch night and day against them.  Sensibility to sin, or\nrather to sinfulness, is far and away the best evidence of sanctification\nthat is possible to us in this life.  It is this keen and bitter\nsensibility that secures, amid all oppositions and obstructions, the true\nsaint's onward and upward progress.  Were it not for the misery of their\nown hearts, God's best saints would fall asleep and go back like other\nmen.  A sinful heart is the misery of all miseries.  It is the deepest\nand darkest of all dungeons.  It is the most painful and the most\nloathsome of all diseases.  And the secrecy of it all adds to the\nbitterness and the gall of it all.  We may know that other men's hearts\nare as sinful as our own, but we do not feel their sinfulness.  We cannot\nsensibly feel humiliation, bondage, sickness, and self-loathing on\naccount of another man's envy, or ill-will, or resentment, or cruelty, or\nfalsehood, or impurity.  All these things must be our own before we can\nenter into the pain and the shame of them; but, when we do, then we taste\nwhat death and hell are indeed.  As I write these feeble words about it,\na devil's shaft of envy that was shot all against my will into my heart\nthis morning, still, after a whole day, rankles and festers there.  I\nhave been on my knees with it again and again; I have stood and looked\ninto an open grave to-day; but there it is sucking at my heart's blood\nstill, like a leech of hell.  Who can understand his errors?  Cleanse\nThou me from secret faults.  Create in me a clean heart, O God, O\nwretched man that I am!  \"Let a man,\" says William Law when he is\nenforcing humility, \"but consider that if the world knew all that of him\nwhich he knows of himself: if they saw what vanity and what passions\ngovern his inside, and what secret tempers sully and corrupt his best\nactions, he would have no more pretence to be honoured and admired for\nhis goodness and wisdom than a rotten and distempered body to be loved\nand admired for its beauty and comeliness.  This is so true, and so known\nto the hearts of almost all people, that nothing would appear more\ndreadful to them than to have their hearts fully discovered to the eyes\nof all beholders.  And, perhaps, there are very few people in the world\nwho would not rather choose to die than to have all their secret follies,\nthe errors of their judgments, the vanity of their minds, the falseness\nof their pretences, the frequency of their vain and disorderly passions,\ntheir uneasinesses, hatreds, envies, and vexations made known to all the\nworld.\"  Where did William Law get that terrible passage?  Where could he\nget it but in the secret heart of the miserable author of the _Serious\nCall_?\n\n6.  The half cannot be told of the guilt and the corruption, the pain and\nthe shame and the manifold misery of secret sin; but all that will be\ntold, believed, and understood by all men long before the full\nmagnificence of their sanctification, and the superb transcendence of\ntheir blessedness, will even begin to be described to God's secret\nsaints.  For, all that sleepless, cruel, and soul-killing pain, and all\nthat shameful and humbling corruption,--all that means, all that is, so\nmuch holiness, so much heaven, working itself out in the soul.  All that\nis so much immortal life, spotless beauty, and incorruptible joy already\nbegun in the soul.  Every such pang in a holy heart is a death-pang of\nanother sin and a birth-pang of another grace.  Brotherly love is at last\nbeing born never to die in that heart where envy and malice and\nresentment and revenge are causing inward agony.  And humility and\nmeekness and the whole mind of Christ are there where pride and anger and\nill-will are felt to be very hell itself.  And holiness, even as God is\nholy, will soon be there for ever where the sinfulness of sin is a\nsinner's acutest sorrow.  \"As for me,\" said one whose sin was ever before\nhim, \"I will behold Thy face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied when\nI wake with Thy likeness.\"\n\n\n\n\nMRS. TIMOROUS\n\n\n   \"But the fearful [literally, the timid and the cowardly] shall have\n   their part in the second death.\"--_Revelation xxi_.\n\nNo sooner had Secret bidden Christiana farewell than she began with all\nher might to make ready for her great journey.  \"Come, my children, let\nus pack up and begone to the gate that leads to the Celestial City, that\nwe may see your father and be with him, and with his companions, in\npeace, according to the laws of that land.\"  And then: \"Come in, if you\ncome in God's name!\" Christiana called out, as two of her neighbours\nknocked at her door.  \"Having little to do at home this morning,\" said\nthe elder of the two women, \"I have come across to kill a little time\nwith you.  I spent last night with Mrs. Light-mind, and I have some good\nnews for you this morning.\"  \"I am just preparing for a journey this\nmorning,\" said Christiana, packing up all the time, \"and I have not so\nmuch as one moment to spare.\"  You know yourselves what Christiana's\nnervousness and almost impatience were.  You know how it upsets your good\ntemper and all your civility when you are packing up for a long absence\nfrom home, and some one comes in, and will talk, and will not see how\nbehindhand and how busy you are.  \"For what journey, I pray you?\" asked\nMrs. Timorous, for that was her visitor's name.  \"Even to go after my\ngood husband,\" the busy woman said, and with that she fell a-weeping.  But\nyou must read the whole account of that eventful morning in Christiana's\nmemoirs for yourselves till you have it, as Secret said, by\nroot-of-heart.  On the understanding that you are not total strangers to\nthat so excellently-written passage I shall now venture a few\nobservations upon it.\n\n1.  Well, to begin with, Mrs. Timorous was not a bad woman, as women went\nin that town and in that day.  Her companions,--her gossips, as she would\nhave called them,--were far worse women than she was; and, had it not\nbeen for her family infirmity, had it not been for that timid,\nhesitating, lukewarm, and half-and-half habit of mind which she had\ninherited from her father, there is no saying what part she might have\nplayed in the famous expedition of Christiana and Mercy and the boys.  Her\nfather had been a pilgrim himself at one time; but he had now for a long\ntime been known in the town as a turncoat and a temporary, and all his\nchildren had unhappily taken after their father in that.  Had her father\nheld on as he at one time had begun--had he held on in the face of all\nfear and all danger as Christiana's noble husband had done--to a\ncertainty his daughter would have started that morning with Christiana\nand her company, and would have been, if a timid, easily scared, and\ntroublesome pilgrim, yet as true a pilgrim, and made as welcome at last,\nas, say, Miss Much-afraid, Mr. Fearing, and Mr. Ready-to-halt were made.\nBut her father's superficiality and shakiness, and at bottom his warm\nlove of this world and his lukewarm love of the world to come, had\nunfortunately all descended to his daughter, till we find her actually\nreviling Christiana on that decisive morning, and returning to her dish\nof tea and tittle-tattle with Mrs. Bats-eyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs.\nLight-mind, and Mrs. Know-nothing.\n\n2.  The thing that positively terrified Mrs. Timorous at the very thought\nof setting out with Christiana that morning was that intolerable way in\nwhich Christiana had begun to go back upon her past life as a wife and a\nmother.  Christiana could not hide her deep distress, and, indeed, she\ndid not much try.  Such were the swarms of painful memories that her\nhusband's late death, the visit of Secret, and one thing and another had\nlet loose upon Christiana's mind, that she could take pleasure in nothing\nbut in how she was to escape away from her past life, and how she could\nin any way mend it and make up for it where she could not escape from it.\n\"You may judge yourself,\" said Mrs. Timorous to Mrs. Light-mind, \"whether\nI was likely to find much entertainment with a woman like that!\"  For,\nMrs. Timorous too, you must know, had a past life of her own; and it was\nthat past life of hers all brought back by Christiana's words that\nmorning that made Mrs. Timorous so revile her old friend and return to\nthe society we so soon see her with.  Now, is not this the case, that we\nall have swarms of evil memories that we dare not face?  There is no\nsingle relationship in life that we can boldly look back upon and fully\nface.  As son or as daughter, as brother or as sister, as friend or as\nlover, as husband or as wife, as minister or as member, as master or as\nservant--what swarms of hornet-memories darken our hearts as we so look\nback!  Let any grown-up man, with some imagination, tenderness of heart,\nand integrity of conscience, go back step by step, taking some time to\nit,--at a new year, say, or a birthday, or on some such suitable\noccasion: let him go over his past life back to his youth and\nchildhood--and what an intolerable burden will be laid on his heart\nbefore he is done!  What a panorama of scarlet pictures will pass before\nhis inward eye!  What a forest of accusing fingers will be pointed at\nhim!  What hissing curses will be spat at him both by the lips of the\nliving and the dead!  What untold pains he will see that he has caused to\nthe innocent and the helpless!  What desolating disappointments, what\nshipwrecks of hope to this man and to that woman!  What a stone of\nstumbling he has been to many who on that stone have been for ever broken\nand lost!  What a rock of offence even his mere innocent existence, all\nunknown to himself till afterwards, has been!  Swarms, said Christiana.\nSwarms of hornets armed, said Samson.  And many of us understand what\nthat bitter word means better than any commentator on Bunyan or on Milton\ncan tell us.  One of the holiest men the Church of England ever produced,\nand one of her best devotional writers, used to shut his door on the\nnight of every first day of the week, and on his knees spread out a\nprayer which always contained this passage: \"I worship Thee, O God, on my\nface.  I smite my breast and say with the publican, God be merciful to me\na sinner; the chief of sinners; a sinner far above the publican.  Despise\nme not--an unclean worm, a dead dog, a putrid corpse.  Despise me not,\ndespise me not, O Lord.  But look upon me with those eyes with which Thou\ndidst look upon Magdalene at the feast, Peter in the hall, and the thief\non the cross.  O that mine eyes were a fountain of tears that I might\nweep night and day before Thee!  I despise and bruise myself that my\npenitence is not deeper, is not fuller.  Help Thou mine impenitence, and\nmore and more pierce, rend, and crush my heart.  My sins are more in\nnumber than the sand.  My iniquities are multiplied, and I have no\nrelief.\"  Perish your Puritanism, and your prayer-books too!  I hear some\nhigh-minded and indignant man saying.  Perish your Celestial City and all\nmy desire after it, before I say the like of that about myself!  Brave\nwords, my brother; brave words!  But there have been men as blameless as\nyou are, and as brave-hearted over it, who, when the scales fell off\ntheir eyes, were heard crying out ever after: O wretched man that I am!\nAnd: Have mercy on me, the chief of sinners!  And so, if it so please\nGod, will it yet be with you.\n\n3.  \"Having had little to do this morning,\" said Mrs. Timorous to Mrs.\nLight-mind, \"I went to give Christiana a visit.\"  \"Law,\" I read in his\nmost impressive Life, \"by this time was well turned fifty, but he rose as\nearly and was as soon at his desk as when he was still a new,\nenthusiastic, and scrupulously methodical student at Cambridge.\"  Summer\nand winter Law rose to his devotions and his studies at five o'clock, not\nbecause he had imperative sermons to prepare, but because, in his own\nwords, it is more reasonable to suppose a person up early because he is a\nChristian than because he is a labourer or a tradesman or a servant.  I\nhave a great deal of business to do, he would say.  I have a hardened\nheart to change; I have still the whole spirit of religion to get.  When\nLaw at any time felt a temptation to relax his rule of early devotion, he\nagain reminded himself how fast he was becoming an old man, and how far\nback his sanctification still was, till he flung himself out of bed and\nbegan to make himself a new heart before the servants had lighted their\nfires or the farmers had yoked their horses.  Shame on you, he said to\nhimself, to lie folded up in a bed when you might be pouring out your\nheart in prayer and in praise, and thus be preparing yourself for a place\namong those blessed beings who rest not day and night saying, Holy, Holy,\nHoly.  \"I have little to do this morning,\" said Mrs. Timorous.  \"But I am\npreparing for a journey,\" said Christiana.  \"I have now a price put into\nmy hand to get gain, and I should be a fool of the greatest size if I\nshould have no heart to strike in with the opportunity.\"\n\n4.  Another thing that completely threw out Christiana's idle visitor and\nmade her downright angry was the way she would finger and kiss and read\npieces out of the fragrant letter she held in her hand.  You will\nremember how Christiana came by that letter she was now so fond of.\n\"Here,\" said Secret, \"is a letter I have brought thee from thy husband's\nKing.\"  So she took it and opened it, and it smelt after the manner of\nthe best perfume; also it was written in letters of gold.  \"I advise\nthee,\" said Secret, \"that thou put this letter in thy bosom, that thou\nread therein to thy children until you have all got it by root-of-heart.\"\n\"His messenger was here,\" said Christiana to Mrs. Timorous, \"and has\nbrought me a letter which invites me to come.\"  And with that she plucked\nout the letter and read to her out of it, and said: \"What now do you say\nto all that?\"  That, again, is so true to our own life.  For there is\nnothing that more distastes and disrelishes many people among us than\njust that we should name to them our favourite books, and read a passage\nout of them, and ask them to say what they think of such wonderful words.\nSamuel Rutherford's _Letters_, for instance; a book that smells to some\nnostrils with the same heavenly perfume as Secret's own letter did.  A\nbook, moreover, that is written in the same ink of gold.  Ask at\nafternoon tea to-morrow, even in so-called Christian homes, when any of\nthe ladies round the table last read, and how often they have read,\n_Grace Abounding, The Saint's Rest, The Religious Affections, Jeremy\nTaylor, Law, a Kempis, Fenelon_, or such like, and they will smile to one\nanother and remark after you are gone on your strange taste for\nold-fashioned and long-winded and introspective books.  \"Julia has buried\nher husband and married her daughters, and since that she spends her time\nin reading.  She is always reading foolish and unedifying books.  She\ntells you every time she sees you that she is almost at the end of the\nsilliest book that ever she read in her life.  But the best of it is that\nit serves to dispose of a good deal of her spare time.  She tells you all\nromances are sad stuff, yet she is very impatient till she can get all\nshe can hear of.  Histories of intrigue and scandal are the books that\nJulia thinks are always too short.  The truth is, she lives upon folly\nand scandal and impertinence.  These things are the support of her dull\nhours.  And yet she does not see that in all this she is plainly telling\nyou that she is in a miserable, disordered, reprobate state of mind.  Now,\nwhether you read her books or no, you perhaps think with her that it is a\ndull task to read only religious and especially spiritual books.  But\nwhen you have the spirit of true religion, when you can think of God as\nyour only happiness, when you are not afraid of the joys of eternity, you\nwill think it a dull task to read any other books.  When it is the care\nof your soul to be humble, holy, pure, and heavenly-minded; when you know\nanything of the guilt and misery of sin, or feel a real need of\nsalvation, then you will find religious and truly spiritual books to be\nthe greatest feast and joy of your mind and heart.\"  Yes.  And then we\nshall thank God every day we live that He raised us up such helpers in\nour salvation as the gifted and gracious authors we have been speaking\nof.\n\n5.  \"The further I go the more danger I meet with,\" said old Timorous,\nthe father, to Christian, when Christian asked him on the Hill Difficulty\nwhy he was running the wrong way.  \"I, too, was going to the City of\nZion,\" he said; \"but the further on I go the more danger I meet with.\"\nAnd, in saying that, the old runaway gave our persevering pilgrim\nsomething to think about for all his days.  For, again and again, and\ntimes without number, Christian would have gone back too if only he had\nknown where to go.  Go on, therefore, he must.  To go back to him was\nsimply impossible.  Every day he lived he felt the bitter truth of what\nthat old apostate had so unwittingly said.  But, with all that he kept\nhimself in his onward way till, dangers and difficulties, death and hell\nand all, he came to the blessed end of it.  And that same has been the\nuniversal experience of all the true and out-and-out saints of God in all\ntime.  If poor old Timorous had only known it, if he had only had some\none beside him to remind him of it, the very thing that so fatally turned\nhim back was the best proof possible that he was on the right and the\nonly right way; ay, and fast coming, poor old castaway, to the very city\nhe had at one time set out to seek.  Now, it is only too likely that\nthere are some of my hearers at this with it to-night, that they are on\nthe point of giving up the life of faith, and hope, and love, and holy\nliving; because the deeper they carry that life into their own hearts the\nmore impossible they find it to live that life there.  The more they aim\ntheir hearts at God's law the more they despair of ever coming within\nsight of it.  My supremely miserable brother! if this is any consolation\nto you, if you can take any crumb of consolation out of it, let this be\ntold you, that, as a matter of fact, all truly holy men have in their\nheart of hearts had your very experience.  That is no strange and unheard-\nof thing which is passing within you.  And, indeed, if you could but\nbelieve it, that is one of the surest signs and seals of a true and\ngenuine child of God.  Dante, one of the bravest, but hardest bestead of\nGod's saints, was, just like you, well-nigh giving up the mountain\naltogether when his Greatheart, who was always at his side, divining what\nwas going on within him, said to him--\n\n   \"Those scars\n   That when they pain thee most then kindliest heal.\"\n\n\"The more I do,\" complained one of Thomas Shepard's best friends to him,\n\"the worse I am.\"  \"The best saints are the most sensible of sin,\" wrote\nSamuel Rutherford.  And, again he wrote, \"Sin rages far more in the godly\nthan ever it does in the ungodly.\"  And you dare not deny but that Samuel\nRutherford was one of the holiest men that ever lived, or that in saying\nall that he was speaking of himself.  And Newman: \"Every one who tries to\ndo God's will\"--and that also is Newman himself--\"will feel himself to be\nfull of all imperfection and sin; and the more he succeeds in regulating\nhis heart, the more will he discern its original bitterness and guilt.\"\nAs our own hymn has it:\n\n   \"They who fain would serve Thee best\n   Are conscious most of wrong within.\"\n\nWithout knowing it, Mrs. Timorous's runaway father was speaking the same\nlanguage as the chief of the saints.  Only he said, \"Therefore I have\nturned back,\" whereas, first Christian, and then Christiana his widow,\nsaid, \"Yet I must venture!\"\n\nAnd so say you.  Say, I must and I will venture!  Say it; clench your\nteeth and your hands and say it.  Say that you are determined to go on\ntowards heaven where the holy are--absolutely determined, though you are\nquite well aware that you are carrying up with you the blackest, the\nwickedest, the most corrupt, and the most abominable heart either out of\nhell or in it.  Say that, say all that, and still venture.  Say all that\nand all the more venture.  Venture upon God of whom such reassuring\nthings are said.  Venture upon the Son of God of whom His Father is\nrepresented as saying such inviting things.  Venture upon the cross.\nSurvey the wondrous cross and then make a bold venture upon it.  Think\nwho that is who is bleeding to death upon the cross, and why?  Look at\nHim till you never afterwards can see anything else.  Look at God's\nEternal, Divine, Well-pleasing Son with all the wages of sin dealt out to\nHim, body and soul, on that tree to the uttermost farthing.  And, devil\nincarnate though you indeed are, yet, say, if that spectacle does not\nsatisfy you, and encourage you, and carry your cowardice captive.\nVenture! I say, venture!  And if you find at last that you have ventured\ntoo far--if you have sinned and corrupted yourself beyond redemption--then\nit will be some consolation and distinction to you in hell that you had\nout-sinned the infinite grace of God, and had seen the end of the\nunsearchable riches of Christ.  Timid sinner, I but mock thee, therefore\nventure!  Fearful sinner, venture!  Cowardly sinner, venture.  Venture\nthyself upon thy God, upon Christ thy Saviour, and upon His cross.\nVenture all thy guilt and all thy corruption taken together upon Christ\nhanging upon His cross, and make that tremendous venture now!\n\n\n\n\nMERCY\n\n\n   \"Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.\"--_Our Lord_.\n\nThe first time that we see Mercy she is standing one sunshine morning\nknocking along with another at Christiana's door.  And all that we\nafterwards hear of Mercy might be described as, A morning call and all\nthat came of it; or, How a godly matron led on a poor maid to fall in\nlove with her own salvation.  John Bunyan, her biographer, in all his\ndevotion to Mercy, does not make it at all clear to us why such a sweet\nand good girl as Mercy was could be on such intimate terms with Mrs.\nTimorous and all her so questionable circle.  Could it be that Mercy's\nmother was one of that unhappy set?  And had this dear little woman-child\nbeen brought up so as to know no better than to figure in their\nassemblies, and go out on their morning rounds with Mrs. Light-mind and\nMrs. Know-nothing?  Or, was poor Mercy an orphan with no one to watch\nover her, and had her sweet face, her handsome figure, and her winning\nmanners made her one of the attractions of old Madam Wanton's midnight\nrouts?  However it came about, there was Mercy out on a series of morning\ncalls with a woman twice her age, but a woman whose many years had taught\nher neither womanliness nor wisdom.  \"If you come in God's name, come\nin,\" a voice from the inside answered the knocking of Mrs. Timorous and\nMercy, her companion, at Christiana's door.  In all their rounds that\nmorning the two women had not been met with another salutation like that;\nand that strange salutation so disconcerted and so confounded them that\nthey did not know whether to lift the latch and go in, or to run away and\nleave those to go in who could take their delight in such outlandish\nlanguage.  \"If you come in God's name, come in.\"  At this the women were\nstunned, for this kind of language they used not to hear or to perceive\nto drop from the lips of Christiana.  Yet they came in; but, behold, they\nfound the good woman preparing to be gone from her house.  The\nconversation that ensued was all carried on by the two elder women.  For\nit was often remarked about Mercy all her after-days that her voice was\never soft, and low, and, especially, seldom heard.  But her ears were not\nidle.  For all the time the debate went on--because by this time the\nconversation had risen to be a debate--Mercy was taking silent sides with\nChristiana and her distress and her intended enterprise, till, when Mrs.\nTimorous reviled Christiana and said, \"Come away, Mercy, and leave her in\nher own hands,\" Mercy by that time was brought to a standstill.  For,\nlike a rose among thorns, Mercy was thoughtful and wise and womanly far\nbeyond her years.  So much so, that already she had made up her mind to\noffer herself as a maidservant to help the widow with her work and to see\nher so far on her way, and, indeed, though she kept that to herself, to\ngo all the way with her, if the way should prove open to her.  First, her\nheart yearned over Christiana; so she said within herself, If my\nneighbour will needs be gone, I will go a little way with her to help\nher.  Secondly, her heart yearned over her own soul's salvation, for what\nChristiana had said had taken some hold upon Mercy's mind.  Wherefore she\nsaid within herself, I will yet have more talk with this Christiana, and\nif I find truth and life in what she shall say, myself with all my heart\nshall also go with her.  \"Neighbour,\" spoke out Mercy to Mrs. Timorous,\n\"I did indeed come with you to see Christiana this morning, and since she\nis, as you see, a-taking of her last farewell of her country, I think to\nwalk this sunshine morning a little way with her to help her on the way.\"\nBut she told her not of her second reason, but kept that to herself.  I\nwould fain go on with Mercy's memoirs all night.  But you will take up\nthat inviting thread for yourselves.  And meantime I shall stop here and\ngather up under two or three heads some of the more memorable results and\nlessons of that sunshine-morning call.\n\n1.  Well, then, to begin with, there was something quite queen-like,\nsomething absolutely commanding, about Christiana's look and manner, as\nwell as about all she said and did that morning.  Mercy's morning\ncompanion had all the advantages that dress and equipage could give her;\nwhile Christiana stood in the middle of the floor in her housewife's\nclothes, covered with dust and surrounded with all her dismantled house;\nbut, with all that, there was something about Christiana that took\nMercy's heart completely captive.  All that Christiana had by this time\ncome through had blanched her cheek and whitened her hair: but all that\nonly the more commanded Mercy's sensitive and noble soul.  To be open to\nimpressions of that kind is one of the finest endowments of a finely\nendowed nature; and, all through, the attentive reader of her history\nwill be sure to remark and imitate Mercy's exquisite and tenacious\nsensibility to all that is true and good, upright and honourable and\nnoble.  And then, what a blessing it is to a girl of Mercy's mould to\nmeet at opening womanhood with another woman, be it a mother, a mistress,\nor a neighbour, whose character then, and as life goes on, can supply the\npart of the supporting and sheltering oak to the springing and clinging\nvine.  Christiana being now the new woman she was, as well as a woman of\ngreat natural wisdom, dignity, and stability of character, the safety,\nthe salvation of poor motherless Mercy was as good as sure.  Indeed, all\nMercy's subsequent history is only one long and growing tribute to the\nworth, the constant love, and the sleepless solicitude of this true\nmother in Israel.\n\n2.  Now, it was so, that, wholly unknown to all her companions, young and\nold, in her own very remarkable words, Mercy had for a long time been\nhungering with all her heart to meet with some genuinely good\npeople,--with some people, as she said herself,--\"of truth and of life.\"\nThese are remarkable words to hear drop from the lips of a young girl,\nand especially a girl of Mercy's environment.  Now, had there been\nanything hollow, had there been one atom of insincerity or exaggeration\nabout Christiana that morning, had she talked too much, had all her\nactions not far more than borne out all her words, had there not been in\nthe broken-hearted woman a depth of mind and a warmth of heart far beyond\nall her words, Mercy would never have become a pilgrim.  But the natural\ndignity of Christiana's character; her capable, commanding, resolute\nways; the reality, even to agony, of her sorrow for her past life--all\ntaken together with her iron-fast determination to enter at once on a new\nlife--all that carried Mercy's heart completely captive.  Mercy felt that\nthere was a solemnity, an awesomeness, and a mystery about her new\nfriend's experiences and memories that it was not for a child like\nherself to attempt to intrude into.  But, all the more because of that, a\nspell of love and fear and reverence lay on Mercy's heart and mind all\nher after-days from that so solemn and so eventful morning when she first\nsaw Christiana's haggard countenance and heard her remorseful cries.  My\nso churlish carriages to him!  Now, such carriages between man and wife\nhad often pained and made ashamed Mercy's maidenly heart beyond all\nexpression.  Till she had sometimes said to herself, blushing with shame\nbefore herself as she said it, that if ever she was a wife--may my tongue\ncleave to the roof of my mouth before I say one churlish word to him who\nis my husband!  And thus it was that nothing that Christiana said that\nmorning in the uprush of her remorse moved Mercy more with pity and with\nlove than just what Christiana beat her breast about as concerning her\nlost husband.  Mercy used to say that she saw truth and life enough in\none hour that morning to sober and to solemnise and to warn her to set a\nwatch on the door of her lips for all her after-days.\n\n3.  Before Mrs. Timorous was well out of the door, Mercy had already\nplucked off her gloves, and hung up her morning bonnet on a nail in the\nwall, so much did her heart heave to help the cumbered widow and her\nfatherless children.  \"If thou wilt, I will hire thee,\" said Christiana,\n\"and thou shalt go with me as my servant.  Yet we will have all things\ncommon betwixt thee and me; only, now thou art here, go along with me.\"\nAt this Mercy fell on Christiana's neck and kissed her mother; for after\nthat morning Christiana had always a daughter of her own, and Mercy a\nmother.  And you may be sure, with two such women working with all their\nmight, all things were soon ready for their happy departure.\n\nMr. Kerr Bain invites his readers to compare John Bunyan's Mercy at this\npoint with William Law's Miranda.  I shall not tarry to draw out the full\ncomparison here, but shall content myself with simply repeating Mr.\nBain's happy reference.  Only, I shall not content myself till all to\nwhom my voice can reach, and who are able to enjoy only a first-rate\nbook, have Mr. Bain's book beside their _Pilgrim's Progress_.  That\nmorning, then, on which Mrs. Timorous, having nothing to do at home, set\nout with Mercy on a round of calls--that was Mercy's last idle morning\nfor all her days.  For her mind was, ever after that, to be always\nbusying of herself in doing, for when she had nothing to do for herself\nshe would be making of hosen and garments for others, and would bestow\nthem upon those that had need.  I will warrant her a good housewife,\nquoth Mr. Brisk to himself.  So much so that at any place they stopped on\nthe way, even for a day and a night to rest and refresh themselves, Mercy\nwould seek out all the poor and all the old people, and ere ever she was\naware what she was doing, already a good report had spread abroad\nconcerning the pilgrims and their pilgrimage.  At the same time, it must\nbe told that poor Mercy's heart was more heavy for the souls of the poor\npeople than for their naked bodies and hungry bellies.  So much was this\nso that when the shepherds, Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere,\ntook her to a place where she saw one Fool and one Want-wit washing of an\nEthiopian with intention to make him white, but the more they washed him\nthe blacker he was, Mercy blushed and felt guilty before the\nshepherds,--she so took home to her charitable heart the bootless work of\nFool and Want-wit.  Mercy put on the Salvationist bonnet at her first\noutset to the Celestial City, and she never put it off till she came to\nthat land where there are no more poor to make hosen and hats for, and no\nmore Ethiopians to take to the fountain.\n\n4.  There are not a few young communicants here to-night, as well as not\na few who are afraid as yet to offer themselves for the Lord's table;\nand, as it so falls out to-night, Mercy's case contains both an\nencouragement and an example to all such.  For never surely had a young\ncommunicant less to go upon than Mercy had that best morning of all her\nlife.  For she had nothing to go upon but a great desire to help\nChristiana with her work; some desire for truth and for life; and some\nfirst and feeble yearnings over her own soul,--yearnings, however, that\nshe kept entirely to herself.  That was all.  She had no remorses like\nthose which had ploughed up Christiana's cheeks into such channels of\ntears.  She had no dark past out of which swarms of hornets stung her\nguilty conscience.  Nor on the other hand, had she any such sweet dreams\nand inviting visions as those that were sent to cheer and encourage the\ndisconsolate widow.  She will have her own sweet dreams yet, that will\nmake her laugh loud out in her sleep.  But that will be long after this,\nwhen she has discovered how hard her heart is and how great God's grace\nis.  \"How shall I be ascertained,\" she put it to Christiana, \"that I also\nshall be entertained?  Had I but this hope, from one that can tell, I\nwould make no stick at all, but would go, being helped by Him that can\nhelp, though the way was never so tedious.  Had I as good hope for a\nloving reception as you have, I think no Slough of Despond would\ndiscourage me.\"  \"Well,\" said the other, \"you know your sore, and I know\nmine; and, good friend, we shall all have enough evil before we come to\nour journey's end.\"  And soon after that, of all places on the upward\nway, Mercy's evil began at the Wicket Gate.  \"I have a companion,\" said\nChristiana, \"that stands without.  One that is much dejected in her mind,\nfor that she comes, as she thinks, without sending for; whereas I was\nsent to by my husband's King.\"  So the porter opened the gate and looked\nout; but Mercy was fallen down in a swoon, for she fainted and was afraid\nthat the gate would not be opened to her.  \"O sir,\" she said, \"I am\nfaint; there is scarce life left in me.\"  But he answered her that one\nonce said, \"When my soul fainted within me, I remembered the Lord, and my\nprayer came in into Thee, into Thy holy temple.  Fear not, but stand up\nupon thy feet, and tell me wherefore thou art come.\"  \"I am come, sir,\ninto that for which I never was invited, as my friend Christiana was.  Her\ninvitation was from the Lord, and mine was but from her.  Wherefore, I\nfear that I presume.\"  Then said he to those that stood by, \"Fetch\nsomething and give it to Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her\nfainting.\"  So they fetched her a bundle of myrrh, and a while after she\nrevived.--Let young communicants be content with Mercy's invitation.  She\nstarted for the City just because she liked to be beside a good woman who\nwas starting thither.  She wished to help a good woman who was going\nthither; and just a little desire began at first to awaken in her heart\nto go to the city too.  Till, having once set her face to go up, one\nthing after another worked together to lead her up till she, too, had her\nlife full of those invitations and experiences and interests and\noccupations and enjoyments that make Mercy's name so memorable, and her\nhappy case such an example and such an inspiration, to all God-fearing\nyoung women especially.\n\n5.  John Bunyan must be held responsible for the strong dash of romance\nthat he so boldly throws into Mercy's memoirs.  But I shall postpone Mr.\nBrisk and his love-making and his answer to another lecture.  I shall not\nenter on Mercy's love matters here at all, but shall leave them to be\nread at home by those who like to read romances.  Only, since we have\nseen so much of Mercy as a maiden, one longs to see how she turned out as\na wife.  I can only imagine how Mercy turned out as a wife; but there is\na picture of a Scottish Covenanting girl as a married wife which always\nrises up before my mind when I think of Mercy's matronly days.  That\npicture might hang in Bunyan's own peculiar gallery, so beautiful is the\ndrawing, and so warm and so eloquent the colouring.  Take, then, this\nportrait of one of the daughters of the Scottish Covenant.  \"She was a\nwoman of great worth, whom I therefore passionately loved and inwardly\nhonoured.  A stately, beautiful, and comely personage; truly pious and\nfearing the Lord.  Of an evenly temper, patient in our common\ntribulations and under her personal distresses.  A woman of bright\nnatural parts, and of an uncommon stock of prudence; of a quick and\nlively apprehension in things she applied herself to, and of great\npresence of mind in surprising incidents.  Sagacious and acute in\ndiscerning the qualities of persons, and therefore not easily imposed\nupon.  [See Mr. Brisk's interviews with Mercy.]  Modest and grave in her\ndeportment, but naturally cheerful; wise and affable in conversation,\nalso having a good faculty at speaking and expressing herself with\nassurance.  Being a pattern of frugality and wise management in household\naffairs, all such were therefore entirely committed to her; well fitted\nfor and careful of the virtuous education of her children; remarkably\nuseful in the countryside, both in the Merse and in the Forest, through\nher skill in physic and surgery, which in many instances a peculiar\nblessing appeared to be commanded upon from heaven.  And, finally, a\ncrown to me in my public station and pulpit appearances.  During the time\nwe have lived together we have passed through a sea of trouble, as yet\nnot seeing the shore but afar off.\"\n\n\"The words of King Lemuel, the prophecy that his mother taught him.  What,\nmy son? and what, the son of my womb? and what, the son of my vows?  Who\ncan find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.  Her\nchildren arise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth\nher.  Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth\nthe Lord, she shall be praised.\"\n\n\n\n\nMR. BRISK\n\n\n   \"Be ye not unequally yoked.\"--_Paul_.\n\nThere were some severe precisians in John Bunyan's day who took the\nobjection to the author of the _Pilgrim's Progress_ that he sometimes\nlaughed too loud.\n\n   \"One may (I think) say, both he laughs and cries,\n   May well be guessed at by his watery eyes.\n   Some things are of that nature as to make\n   One's fancy chuckle while his heart doth ake.\n   When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep,\n   At the same time he did both laugh and weep.\"\n\nAnd even Dr. Cheever, in his excellent lectures on the _Pilgrim's\nProgress_, confesses that though the Second Part never ceases for a\nmoment to tell the serious story of the Pilgrimage, at the same time, it\nsometimes becomes so merry as almost to pass over into absolute comedy.\n\"There is one passage,\" says Cheever, \"which for exquisite humour, quiet\nsatire, and naturalness in the development of character is scarcely\nsurpassed in the language.  It is the account of the courtship between\nMr. Brisk and Mercy which took place at the House Beautiful.\"\n\nNow, the insertion of such an episode as that of Mr. Brisk into such a\nbook as the _Pilgrim's Progress_ is only yet another proof of the health,\nthe strength, and the truth to nature of John Bunyan's mind.  His was\neminently an honest, straightforward, manly, English understanding.  A\nsmaller man would not have ventured on Mr. Brisk in such a book as the\n_Pilgrim's Progress_.  But there is no affectation, there is no prudery,\nthere is no superiority to nature in John Bunyan.  He knew quite well\nthat of the thousands of men and women who were reading his _Pilgrim_\nthere was no subject, not even religion itself, that was taking up half\nso much of their thoughts as just love-making and marriage.  And, like\nthe wise man and the true teacher he was, he here points out to all his\nreaders how well true religion and the fullest satisfaction of the\nwarmest and the most universal of human affections can be both harmonised\nand made mutually helpful.  In Bunyan's day love was too much left to the\nplaywrights, just as in our day it is too much left to the poets and the\nnovelists.  And thus it is that in too many instances affection and\npassion have taken full possession of the hearts and the lives of our\nyoung people before any moral or religious lesson on these all-important\nsubjects has been given to them: any lesson such as John Bunyan so\nwinningly and so beautifully gives here.  \"This incident,\" says Thomas\nScott, \"is very properly introduced, and it is replete with instruction.\"\n\nNow, Mr. Brisk, to begin with, was, so we are told, a young man of some\nbreeding,--that is to say, he was a young man of some social position,\nsome education, and of a certain good manner, at least on the surface.  In\nDavid Scott's Illustrations Mr. Brisk stands before us a handsome and\nwell-dressed young man of the period, with his well-belted doublet, his\nvoluminous ruffles, his heavily-studded cuffs, his small cane, his\ndivided hair, and his delicate hand,--altogether answering excellently to\nhis name, were it not for the dashed look of surprise with which he gets\nhis answer, and, with what jauntiness he can at the moment command, takes\nhis departure.  \"Mr. Brisk was a man of some breeding,\" says Bunyan, \"and\nthat pretended to religion; but a man that stuck very close to the\nworld.\"  That Mr. Brisk made any pretence to religion at any other time\nand in any other place is not said; only that he put on that pretence\nwith his best clothes when he came once or twice or more to Mercy and\noffered love to her at the House Beautiful.  The man with the least\nreligion at other times, even the man with no pretence to religion at\nother times at all, will pretend to some religion when he is in love with\na young woman of Mercy's mind.  And yet it would not be fair to say that\nit is all pretence even in such a man at such a time.  Grant that a man\nis really in love; then, since all love is of the nature of religion, for\nthe time, the true lover is really on the borders of a truly religious\nlife.  It may with perfect truth be said of all men when they first fall\nin love that they are, for the time, not very far away from the kingdom\nof heaven.  For all love is good, so far as it goes.  God is Love; and\nall love, in the long-run, has a touch of the divine nature in it.  And\nfor once, if never again, every man who is deeply in love has a far-off\nglimpse of the beauty of holiness, and a far-off taste of that ineffable\nsweetness of which the satisfied saints of God sing so ecstatically.  But,\nin too many instances, a young man's love having been kindled only by the\ncreature, and, never rising from her to his and her Creator, as a rule,\nit sooner or later burns low and at last burns out, and leaves nothing\nbut embers and ashes in his once so ardent heart.  Mr. Brisk's\nlove-making might have ended in his becoming a pilgrim but for this fatal\nflaw in his heart, that even in his love-making he stuck so fast to the\nworld.  It is almost incredible: you may well refuse to believe it--that\nany young man in love, and especially a young gentleman of Mr. Brisk's\nbreeding, would approach his mistress with the question how much she\ncould earn a day.  As Mr. Brisk looks at Mercy's lap so full of hats and\nhosen and says it, I can see his natty cane beginning to lengthen itself\nout in his soft-skinned hand and to send out teeth like a muck-rake.  Give\nMr. Brisk another thirty years or so and he will be an ancient churl,\nraking to himself the sticks and the straws and the dust of the earth,\nneither looking up to nor regarding the celestial crown that is still\noffered to him in exchange for his instrument.\n\n\"Now, Mercy was of a fair countenance, and, therefore, all the more\nalluring.\"  But her fair countenance was really no temptation to her.\n\"Sit still, my daughter,\" said Naomi to Ruth in the Old Testament.  And\nit was entirely Mercy's maidenly nature to sit still.  Even before she\nhad come to her full womanhood under Christiana's motherly care she would\nhave been an example to Ruth.  Long ago, while Mercy was still a mere\ngirl, when Mrs. Light-mind said something to her one day that made her\nblush, Mercy at last looked up in real anger and said, We women should be\nwooed; we were not made to woo.  And thus it was that all their time at\nthe House Beautiful Mercy stayed close at home and worked with her needle\nand thread just as if she had been the plainest girl in all the town.  \"I\nmight have had husbands afore now,\" she said, with a cast of her head\nover the coat that lay on her lap, \"though I spake not of it to any.  But\nthey were such as did not like my conditions, though never did any of\nthem find fault with my person.  So they and I could not agree.\"  Once\nMercy's mouth was opened on the subject of possible husbands it is a\nmiracle that she did not go on in confidence to name some of the husbands\nshe might have had.  Mercy was too truthful and too honourable a maiden\nto have said even on that subject what she did say if it had not been\ntrue.  No doubt she believed it true.  And the belief so long as she\nmentioned no names, did not break any man's bones and did not spoil any\nman's market.  Don't set up too prudishly and say that it is a pity that\nMercy so far forgot herself as to make her little confidential boast.  We\nwould not have had her without that little boast.  Keep-at-home,\nsit-still, hats and hosen and all--her little boast only proves Mercy to\nhave been at heart a true daughter of Eve after all.\n\nThere is an old-fashioned word that comes up again and again in the\naccount of Mr. Brisk's courtship,--a word that contains far more interest\nand instruction for us than might on the surface appear.  When Mr. Brisk\nwas rallied upon his ill-success with Mercy, he was wont to say that\nundoubtedly Mistress Mercy was a very pretty lass, only she was troubled\nwith ill conditions.  And then, when Mercy was confiding to Prudence all\nabout her possible husbands, she said that they were all such as did not\nlike her conditions.  To which Prudence, keeping her countenance,\nreplied, that the men were but few in their day that could abide the\npractice that was set forth by such conditions as those of Mercy.  Well,\ntossed out Mercy, if nobody will have me I will die a maid, or my\nconditions shall be to me as a husband!  As I came again and again across\nthat old seventeenth-century word \"conditions,\" I said to myself, I feel\nsure that Dr. Murray of the Oxford Scriptorium will have noted this\nstriking passage.  And on turning up the Sixth Part of the _New English\nDictionary_, there, to be sure, was the old word standing in this present\nsetting.  Five long, rich, closely packed columns stood under the head of\n\"Condition\"; and amid a thousand illustrations of its use, the text:\n\"1684, Bunyan, Pilgr., ii. 84.  He said that Mercy was a pretty lass, but\ntroubled with ill conditions.\"  Poor illiterate John Bunyan stood in the\ncentre of a group of learned and famous men, composed of Chaucer, Wyclif,\nSkelton, Palsgrave, Raleigh, Featly, Richard Steel, and Walter Scott--all\nagreeing in their use of our word, and all supplying examples of its use\nin the best English books.  By Mercy's conditions, then, is just meant\nher cast of mind, her moral nature, her temper and her temperament, her\ndispositions and her inclinations, her habits of thought, habits of\nheart, habits of life, and so on.\n\n\"Well,\" said Mercy proudly, \"if nobody will have me, I will die a maid,\nor my conditions shall be to me as a husband.  For I cannot change my\nnature, and to have one that lies cross to me in this,--that I purpose\nnever to admit of as long as I live.\"  By this time, though she is still\nlittle more than a girl, Mercy had her habits formed, her character cast,\nand, more than all, her whole heart irrevocably set on her soul's\nsalvation.  And everything--husband and children and all--must condition\nthemselves to that, else she will have none of them.  She had sought\nfirst the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and she will seek\nnothing, she will accept nothing--no, not even a husband--who crosses her\nchoice in that.  She has chosen her life, and her husband with it.  Not\nthe man as yet, but the whole manner of the man.  The conditions of the\nman, as she said about herself; else she will boldly and bravely die a\nmaid.  And there are multitudes of married women who, when they read this\npage about Mercy, will gnash their teeth at the madness of their youth,\nand will wildly wish that they only were maids again; and, then, like\nMercy, they would take good care to make for themselves husbands of their\nown conditions too--of their own means, their own dispositions,\ninclinations, tastes, and pursuits.  For, according as our conditions to\none another are or are not in our marriages,\n\n   \"They locally contain or heaven or hell;\n   There is no third place in them.\"\n\nWhat untold good, then, may all our young women not get out of the loving\nstudy of Mercy's sweet, steadfast, noble character!  And what untold\nmisery may they not escape!  From first to last--and we are not yet come\nto her last--I most affectionately recommend Mercy to the hearts and\nminds of all young women here.  Single and married; setting out on\npilgrimage and steadfastly persevering in it; sitting still till the\nhusband with the right conditions comes, and then rising up with her\nwarm, well-kept heart to meet him--if any maiden here has no mother, or\nno elder sister, or no wise and prudent friend like Prudence or\nChristiana to take counsel of--and even if she has--let Mercy be her\nmeditation and her model through all her maidenly days.\n\n\"Nay, then,\" said Mercy, \"I will look no more on him, for I purpose never\nto have a clog to my soul.\"  A pungent resolve for every husband to read\nand to think to himself about, who has married a wife with a soul.  Let\nall husbands who have such wives halt here and ask themselves with some\nimagination as to what may sometimes go on, at communion times, say, in\nthe souls of their wives.  It is not every wife, it is true, who has a\nsoul to clog; but some of our wives have.  Well, now, let us ask\nourselves: How do we stand related to their souls?  Do our wives, when\nexamining the state of their souls since they married us, have to say\nthat at one time they had hoped to be further on in the life of the soul\nthan they yet are?  And are they compelled before God to admit that the\nmarriage they have made, and would make, has terribly hindered them?\nWould they have been better women, would they have been living a better\nlife, and doing far more good in the world, if they had taken their\nmaidenly ideals, like Mercy, for a husband?  Let us sometimes imagine\nourselves into the secrets of our wives' souls, and ask if they ever feel\nthat they are unequally and injuriously yoked in their deepest and best\nlife.  Do we ever see a tear falling in secret, or hear a stolen sigh\nheaved, or stumble on them at a stealthy prayer?  A Roman lady on being\nasked why she sometimes let a sob escape her and a tear fall, when she\nhad such a gentleman of breeding and rank and riches to her husband,\ntouched her slipper with her finger and said: \"Is not that a well-made, a\nneat, and a costly shoe?  And yet you would not believe how it pinches\nand pains me sometimes.\"\n\nBut some every whit as good women as Mercy was have purposed as nobly and\nas firmly as Mercy did, and yet have wakened up, when it was too late, to\nfind that, with all their high ideals, and with all their prudence, their\nhusband is not in himself, and is not to them, what they at one time felt\nsure he would be.  Mercy had a sister named Bountiful, who made that\nmistake and that dreadful discovery; and what Mercy had seen of married\nlife in her sister's house almost absolutely turned her against marriage\naltogether.  \"The one thing certain,\" says Thomas Mozley in his chapter\non Ideal Wife and Husband, \"is that both wife and husband are different\nin the result from the expectation.  Age, illness, an increasing family,\nno family at all, household cares, want of means, isolation, incompatible\nprejudices, quarrels, social difficulties, and such like, all tell on\nmarried people, and make them far other than they once promised to be.\"\nWhen that awakening comes there is only one solace, and women take to\nthat supreme solace much more often than men.  And that solace, as you\nall know, is true, if too late, religion.  And even where true religion\nhas already been, there is still a deeper and a more inward religion\nsuited to the new experiences and the new needs of life.  And if both\nhusband and wife in such a crisis truly betake themselves to Him who\ngathereth the solitary into families, the result will be such a\nremarriage of depth and tenderness, loyalty and mutual help, as their\nearly dreams never came within sight of.  Not early love, not children,\nnot plenty of means, not all the best amenities of married life taken\ntogether, will repair a marriage and keep a marriage in repair for one\nmoment like a living and an intense faith in God; a living and an intense\nlove to God; and then that faith in and love for one another that spring\nout of God and out of His love alone.\n\n   \"The tree\n   Sucks kindlier nurture from a soil enriched\n   By its own fallen leaves; and man is made,\n   In heart and spirit, from deciduous hopes\n   And things that seem to perish.\"\n\n\n\n\nMR. SKILL\n\n\n   \"The vine of Sodom.\"--_Moses_.\n\nWith infinite delicacy John Bunyan here tells us the sad story of\nMatthew's sore sickness at the House Beautiful.  The cause of the sore\nsickness, its symptoms, its serious nature, and its complete cures are\nall told with the utmost plainness; but, at the same time, with the most\nexquisite delicacy.  Bunyan calls the ancient physician who is summoned\nin and who effects the cure, Mr. Skill, but you must believe that Bunyan\nhimself is Mr. Skill; and I question if this skilful writer ever wrote a\nmore skilful page than just this page that now lies open before him who\nhas the eyes to read it.\n\nMatthew, it must always be remembered, was by this time a young man.  He\nwas the eldest son of Christiana his mother, and for some time now she\nhad been a sorely burdened widow.  Matthew's father was no longer near\nhis son to watch over him and to warn him against the temptations and the\ndangers that wait on opening manhood.  And thus his mother, with all her\nother cares, had to be both father and mother to her eldest son; and,\nwith all her good sense and all her long and close acquaintance with the\nworld, she was too fond a mother to suspect any evil of her eldest son.\nAnd thus it was that Christiana had nearly lost her eldest son before her\neyes were open to the terrible dangers he had for a long time been\nrunning.  For it was so, that the upward way that this household without\na head had to travel lay through a land full of all kinds of dangers both\nto the bodies and to the souls of such travellers as they were.  And what\nwell-nigh proved a fatal danger to Matthew lay right in his way.  It was\nBeelzebub's orchard.  Not that this young man's way lay through that\norchard exactly; yet, walled up as was that orchard with all its\nforbidden fruit, that evil fruit would hang over the wall so that if any\nlusty youth wished to taste it, he had only to reach up to the\nover-hanging branches and plash down on himself some of the forbidden\nbunches.  Now, that was just what Matthew had done.  Till we have him\nlying at the House Beautiful, not only not able to enjoy the delights of\nthe House and of the season, but so pained in his bowels and so pulled\ntogether with inward pains, that he sometimes cried out as if he were\nbeing torn to pieces.  At that moment Mr. Skill, the ancient physician,\nentered the sick-room, when, having a little observed Matthew's intense\nagony, with a certain mixture of goodness and severity he recited these\nprofessional verses over the trembling bed:\n\n   \"O conscience, who can stand against thy power?\n   Endure thy gripes and agonies one hour?\n   Stone, gout, strappado, racks, whatever is\n   Dreadful to sense, are only toys to this--\n   No pleasures, riches, honours, friends can tell\n   How to give ease to this, 'tis like to hell.\"\n\nAnd then, turning to the sick man's mother, who stood at the bed's head\nwringing her hands, the ancient leech said to her: \"This boy of yours has\nbeen tampering with the forbidden fruit!\"  At which the angry mother\nturned on the well-approved physician as if he had caused all the trouble\nthat he had come to cure.  But the ancient man knew both the son and the\nmother too, and therefore he addressed her with some asperity: \"I tell\nyou both that strong measures must be taken instantly, else he will die.\"\nWhen Mr. Skill had seen that the first purge was too weak, he made him\none to the purpose; and it was made, as he so learnedly said, _ex carne\net sanguine Christi_.  The pills were to be taken three at a time,\nfasting, in half a quarter of a pint of the tears of repentance.  After\nsome coaxing, such as mothers know best how to use, Matthew took the\nmedicine and was soon walking about again with a staff, and was able to\ngo from room to room of the hospitable and happy house.  Understandest\nthou what thou readest? said Philip the deacon to Queen Candace's\ntreasurer as he sat down beside him in the chariot and opened up to him\nthe fifty-third of the prophet Isaiah.  And, understandest thou what thou\nhere readest in Matthew and Mr. Skill?\n\n1.  Now, on this almost too closely veiled case I shall venture to\nremark, in the first place, that multitudes of boys grow up into young\nmen, and go out of our most godly homes and into a whole world of\ntemptation without due warning being given them as to where they are\ngoing.  \"I do marvel that none did warn him of it,\" said Mr. Skill, with\nsome anger.  What Matthew's father might have done in this matter had he\nbeen still in this world when his son became a man in it we can only\nguess.  As it was, it never entered his mother's too fond mind to take\nher fatherless boy by himself when she saw Beelzebub's orchard before\nhim, and tell him what Solomon told his son, and to point out to him the\nprophecy that King Lemuel's mother prophesied to her son.  Poor Matthew\nwas a young man before his mother was aware of it.  And, poor woman, she\nonly found that out when Mr. Skill was in the sick-room and was looking\nat her with eyes that seemed to say to her that she had murdered her\nchild.  She had loved too long to look on her first-born as still a\nchild.  When he went at any time for a season out of her sight, she had\nnever followed him with her knowledge of the world; she had never\nprevented him with an awakened and an anxious imagination; till now she\nhad got him home with no rest in his bones because of his sin.  And then\nshe began to cry too late, O naughty boy, and, O careless mother, what\nshall I do for my son!\n\n2.  \"That food, to wit, that fruit,\" said Mr. Skill, \"is even the most\nhurtful of all.  It is the fruit of Beelzebub's orchard.\"  So it is.\nThere is no fruit that hurts at all like that fruit.  How it hurts at the\ntime, we see in Matthew's sick-room; and how it hurts all a man's after\ndays we see in Jacob, and in Job, and in David, and in a thousand sin-\nsick souls of whose psalms of remorse and repentance the world cannot\ncontain all the books that should be written.  \"And yet I marvel,\" said\nthe indignant physician, \"that none did warn him of it; many have died\nthereof.\"  Oh if I could but get the ears of all the sons of godly\nfathers and mothers who are beginning to tamper with Beelzebub's orchard-\ntrees, I feel as if I could warn them to-night, and out of this text, of\nwhat they are doing!  I have known so many who have died thereof.  Oh if\nI could but save them in time from those gripes of conscience that will\npull them to pieces on the softest and the most fragrant bed that shall\never be made for them on earth!  It will be well with them if they do not\nlie down torn to pieces on their bed in hell, and curse the day they\nfirst plashed down into their youthful hands the vine of Sodom.  Both the\nway to hell and the way to heaven are full of many kinds of hurtful\nfruits; but that species of fruit that poor misguided Matthew plucked and\nate after he had well passed the gate that is at the head of the way is,\nby all men's testimony, by far the most hurtful of all forbidden fruits.\n\n3.  The whole scene in Matthew's sick-room reads, after all, less like a\nskilful invention than a real occurrence.  Inventive and realistic as\nJohn Bunyan is, there is surely something here that goes beyond even his\ngenius.  After making all allowance for Bunyan's unparalleled powers of\ncreation and narration, I am inclined to think, the oftener I read it,\nthat, after all, we have not so much John Bunyan here as very Nature\nherself.  Yes; John Gifford surely was Mr. Skill.  Sister Bosworth surely\nwas Matthew's mother.  And Matthew himself was Sister Bosworth's eldest\nson, while one John Bunyan, a travelling tinker, was busy with his\nfurnaces and his soldering-irons in Dame Bosworth's kitchen.  Young\nBunyan, with all his blackguardism, had never plashed down Beelzebub's\norchard.  He swears he never did, and we are bound to believe him.  But\nyoung Bosworth had been tampering with the forbidden fruit, and Gifford\nsaw at a glance what was wrong.  John Gifford was first an officer in the\nRoyalist army, then a doctor in Bedford, and now a Baptist Puritan\npastor; and the young tinker looked up to Gifford as the most wonderful\nman for learning in books and in bodies and souls of men in all the\nworld.  And when Gifford talked over young Bosworth's bed half to himself\nand half to them about a medicine made _ex carne et sanguine Christi_,\nthe future author of the _Pilgrim's Progress_ never forgot the phrase.  At\na glance Gifford saw what was the whole matter with the sick man.  And\npainful as the truth was to the sick man's mother, and humiliating with a\nlife-long humiliation to the sick man himself, Gifford was not the man or\nthe minister to beat about the bush at such a solemn moment.  \"This boy\nhas been tampering with that which will kill him unless he gets it taken\noff his conscience and out of his heart immediately.\"  Now, this same\ndivination into our pastoral cases is by far and away the most difficult\npart of a minister's work.  It is easy and pleasant with a fluent tongue\nto get through our pulpit work; but to descend the pulpit stairs and deal\nwith life, and with this and that sin in the lives of our people,--that\nis another matter.  \"We must labour,\" says Richard Baxter in his\n_Reformed Pastor_, \"to be acquainted with the state of all our people as\nfully as we can; both to know the persons and their inclinations and\nconversation; to know what sins they are most in danger of, what duties\nthey neglect, and what temptations they are most liable to.  For, if we\nknow not their temperament or their disease, we are likely to prove but\nunsuccessful physicians.\"  But when we begin to reform our pastorate to\nthat pattern, we are soon compelled to set down such entries in our\nsecret diary as that of Thomas Shepard of Harvard University: \"Sabbath,\n5th April 1641.  Nothing I do, nay, none under my shadow prosper.  I so\nwant wisdom for my place, and to guide others.\"  Yes; for what wisdom is\nneeded for the place of a minister like John Gifford, John Bunyan,\nRichard Baxter, and Thomas Shepard!  What wisdom, what divine genius, to\ndive into and divine the secret history of a soul from a twinge of\nconscience, even from a drop of the eye, a tone of the voice, or a\ngesture of the hand or of the head!  And yet, with some natural taste for\nthe holy work, with study, with experience, and with life-long expert\nreading, even a plain minister with no genius, but with some grace and\ntruth, may come to great eminence in the matters of the soul.  And then,\nwith what an interest, solemn and awful, with what a sleepless interest\nsuch a pastor goes about among his diseased, sin-torn, and scattered\nflock!  All their souls are naked and open under his divining eye.  They\nneed not to tell him where they ail, and of what sickness they are nigh\nunto death.  That food, he says, with some sternness over their sick-bed,\nI warned you of it; I told you with all plainness that many have died of\neating that fruit!  \"We must be ready,\" Baxter continues, \"to give advice\nto those that come to us with cases of conscience.  A minister is not\nonly for public preaching, but to be a known counsellor for his people's\nsouls as the lawyer is for their estates, and the physician is for their\nbodies.  And because the people are grown unacquainted with this office\nof the ministry, and their own necessity and duty herein, it belongeth to\nus to acquaint them herewith, and to press them publicly to come to us\nfor advice concerning their souls.  We must not only be willing of the\ntrouble, but draw it upon ourselves by inviting them hereto.  To this end\nit is very necessary to be acquainted with practical cases and able to\nassist them in trying their states.  One word of seasonable and prudent\nadvice hath done that good that many sermons would not have done.\"\n\n4.  As he went on pounding and preparing his well-approved pill, the (at\nthe bottom of his heart) kind old leech talked encouragingly to the\nmother and to her sick son, and said: \"Come, come; after all, do not he\ntoo much cast down.  Had we lived in the days of the old medicine, I\nwould have been compounding a purge out of the blood of a goat, and the\nashes of an heifer, and the juice of hyssop.  But I have a far better\nmedicine under my hands here.  This moment I will make you a purge to the\npurpose.\"  And then the learned man, half-doctor, half-divine, chanted\nagain the sacred incantation as he bent over his pestle and mortar,\nsaying: _Ex carne et sanguine Christi_!  Those shrewd old eyes soon saw\nthat, in spite of all their defences and all their denials, damage had\nbeen done to the conscience and the heart that nothing would set right\nbut a frank admission of the evil that had been done, and a prompt\nsubmission to the regimen appointed and the medicine prepared.  And how\noften we ministers puddle and peddle with goat's blood and heifer's ashes\nand hyssop juice when we should instantly prescribe stern fasting and\nsecret prayer and long spaces of repentance, and then the body and the\nblood of Christ.  How often our people cheat us into healing their hurt\nslightly!  How often they succeed in putting us off, after we are called\nin, with their own account of their cases, and set us out on a wild-goose\nchase!  I myself have more than once presented young men in their trouble\nwith apologetic books, University sermons, and watered-down explanations\nof the Confession and the Catechism, when, had I known all I came\nafterwards to know, I would have sent them Bunyan's _Sighs from Hell_.  I\nhave sent soul-sick women also _The Bruised Reed_, and _The Mission of\nthe Comforter_ with sympathising inscriptions, and sweet scriptures\nwritten inside, when, had I had Mr. Skill's keen eyes in my stupid head,\nI would have gone to them with the total abstinence pledge in my one\nhand, and Jeremy Taylor's _Holy Living and Dying_ in my other.  \"No diet\nbut that which is wholesome!\" almost in anger answered the sick man's\nmother.  \"I tell you,\" the honest leech replied, in more anger, \"this boy\nhas been tampering with Beelzebub's orchard.  And many have died of it!\"\n\n5.  It was while all the rest of the House Beautiful were supping on lamb\nand wine, and while there was such music in the House that made Mercy\nexclaim over it with wonder--it was at the smell of the supper and at the\nsound of the psalmody that Matthew's gripes seized upon him worse than\never.  All the time the others sat late into the night Matthew lay on the\nrack pulled to pieces.  After William Law's death at King's Cliffe, his\nexecutors found among his most secret papers a prayer he had composed for\nhis own alone use on a certain communion day when he was self-debarred\nfrom the Lord's table.  I do not know for certain just what fruit the\nyoung non-juror had stolen out of Beelzebub's orchard before that\ncommunion season; but I can see that he was in poor Matthew's exact\nexperience that communion night,--literally torn to pieces with agonies\nof conscience while all his fellow-worshippers were at the table of the\nLord.  While the psalms and hymns are being sung at the supper-table, lay\nyour ear to Law's closet door.  \"Whilst all Thy faithful servants are on\nthis day offering to Thee the comfortable sacrifice of the body and the\nblood of Christ, and feasting at that holy table which Thou hast ordained\nfor the refreshment, joy, and comfort of their souls, I, unhappy wretch,\nfull of guilt, am justly denied any share of these comforts that are\ncommon to the Christian world.  O my God, I am an unclean worm, a dead\ndog, a stinking carcass, justly removed from that society of saints who\nthis day kneel about Thine altar.  But, oh! suffer me to look toward Thy\nholy Sanctuary; suffer my soul again to be in the place where Thine\nhonour dwelleth.  Reject not the sacrifice of a broken heart, and do Thou\nbe with me in secret, though I am not fit to appear in Thy public\nworship.  Lord, if Thou wilt Thou canst make me clean.  Lord, speak but\nthe word, and Thy servant shall be healed.\"  It is the fruit of\nBeelzebub's orchard.  Many have died thereof.\n\n6.  \"Pray, sir, make me up twelve boxes of them; for if I can get these,\nI will never take other physic.\"  \"These same pills,\" he replied, \"are\ngood also to prevent diseases as well as to cure when one is sick.  But,\ngood woman, thou must take these pills no other way but as I have\nprescribed; for if you do, they will do no good.\"  I have taken one\nillustration from William Law's life; I shall take another from that\nworld of such illustrations and so close.  \"O God, let me never see such\nanother day as this.  Let the dreadful punishment of this day never be\nout of my mind.\"  And it never was.  For, after that day in hell, Law\nnever laid down his head on his pillow that he did not seem to remember\nthat dreadful day.  William Law would have satisfied Dr. Skill for a\nconvalescent.  For he never felt that he had any right to touch the body\nand blood of Christ, either at communion times, or a thousand times every\nday, till he had again got ready his heart of true repentance.  My\nbrethren, self-destroyed out of Beelzebub's orchard, and all my brethren,\nlive a life henceforth of true repentance.  Not out of the sins of your\nyouth only, but out of the best, the most watchful, and the most\nblameless day you ever live, distil your half-pint of repentance every\nnight before you sleep.  For, as dear old Skill said, unless you do,\nneither flesh nor blood of Christ, nor anything else, will do you any\ngenuine good.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHEPHERD BOY\n\n\n   \"He humbled Himself.\"--_Paul_.\n\n\"Now as they were going along and talking, they espied a boy feeding his\nfather's sheep.  The boy was in very mean clothes, but of a very fresh\nand well-favoured countenance, and as he sat by himself he sang.  Hark,\nsaid Mr. Greatheart, to what the shepherd boy saith.  So they hearkened\nand he said:\n\n      He that is down, needs fear no fall;\n   He that is low no pride:\n   He that is humble, ever shall\n   Have God to be his guide.\n\n      I am content with what I have,\n   Little be it or much:\n   And, Lord, contentment still I crave,\n   Because thou savest such.\n\n      Fulness to such a burden is\n   That go on pilgrimage:\n   Here little, and hereafter bliss,\n   Is best from age to age.\n\nThen said their guide, Do you hear him?  I will dare say that this boy\nlives a merrier life and wears more of that herb called Heart's-ease in\nhis bosom than he that is clad in silk and velvet.\"\n\nNow, notwithstanding all that, nobody knew better than John Bunyan knew,\nthat no shepherd boy that ever lived on the face of the earth ever sang\nthat song; only one Boy ever sang that song, and He was not the son of a\nshepherd at all, but the son of a carpenter.  And, saying that leads me\non to say this before I begin, that I look for a man of John Bunyan's\ninventive and sanctified genius to arise some day, and armed also to boot\nwith all our latest and best New Testament studies.  When that sorely-\nneeded man so arises he will take us back to Nazareth where that\ncarpenter's Boy was brought up, and he will let us see Him with our own\neyes being brought up.  He will lead us into Mary's house on Sabbath\ndays, and into Joseph's workshop on week days, and he will show us the\nchild Jesus, not so much learning His letters and then putting on His\ncarpenter's clothes, as learning obedience by the things that He every\nday suffered.  That choice author will show us our Lord, both before He\nhad discovered Himself to be our Lord, as well as after He had made that\ngreat discovery, always clothing Himself with humility as with a garment;\ntaking up His yoke of meekness and lowly-mindedness every day, and never\nfor one moment laying it down.  When some writer with as holy an\nimagination as that of John Bunyan, and with as sweet an English style,\nand with a New Testament scholarship of the first order so arises, and so\naddresses himself to the inward life of our Lord, what a blessing to our\nchildren that writer will be!  For he will make them see and feel just\nwhat all that was in which our Lord's perfect humility consisted, and how\nHis perfect humility fulfilled itself in Him from day to day; up through\nall His childhood days, school and synagogue days, workshop and holy\ndays, early manhood and mature manhood days; till He was so meek in all\nHis heart and so humble in all His mind that all men were sent to Him to\nlearn their meekness and their humility of Him.  I envy that gifted man\nthe deep delight he will have in his work, and the splendid reward he\nwill have in the love and the debt of all coming generations.  Only, may\nhe be really sent to us, and that soon!  Theodor Keim comes nearest a far-\noff glimpse of that eminent service of any New Testament scholar I know.\nJeremy Taylor and Thomas Goodwin also, in their own time and in their own\nway, had occasional inspirations toward this still-waiting treatment of\nthe master-subject of all learning and all genius--the inward\nsanctification, the growth in grace, and then the self-discovery of the\nincarnate Son of God.  But, so let it please God, some contemporary\nscholar will arise some day soon, combining in himself Goodwin's\nincomparable Christology, and Taylor's incomparable eloquence, and Keim's\nincomparably digested learning, with John Bunyan's incomparable\nimagination and incomparable English style, and the waiting work will be\ndone, and theology for this life will take on its copestone.  In his\nabsence, and till he comes, let us attempt a few annotations to-night on\nthis so-called shepherd boy's song in the Valley of Humiliation.\n\n   He that is down, needs fear no fall.\n\nThe whole scenery of the surrounding valley is set before us in that\nsingle eloquent stanza.  The sweet-voiced boy sits well off the wayside\nas he sings his song to himself.  He looks up to the hill-tops that hang\nover his valley, and every shining tooth of those many hill-tops has for\nhim its own evil legend.  He thinks he sees a little heap of bleaching\nbones just under where that eagle hangs and wheels and screams.  Not one\ntraveller through these perilous parts in a thousand gets down those\ncruel rocks unhurt; and many travellers have been irrecoverably lost\namong those deadly rocks, and have never received Christian burial.  All\nthe shepherds' cottages and all the hostel supper-tables for many miles\nround are full of terrible stories of the Hill Difficulty and the Descent\nDangerous.  And thus it is that this shepherd boy looks up with such fear\nat those sharp peaks and shining precipices, and lifts his fresh and well-\nfavoured countenance to heaven and sings again: \"He that is down, needs\nfear no fall.\"  Down in his own esteem, that is.  For this is a song of\nthe heart rather than of the highway.  Down--safe, that is, from the\nsteep and slippery places of self-estimation, self-exaltation,\nself-satisfaction.  Down--so as to be delivered from all ambition and\nemulation and envy.  Down, and safe, thank God, from all pride, all high-\nmindedness, and all stout-heartedness.  Down from the hard and cruel\nhills, and buried deep out of sight among those meadows where that herb\ngrows which is called Heart's-ease.  Down, where the green pastures grow\nand the quiet waters flow.  No, indeed; he that is down into this sweet\nbottom needs fear no fall.  For there is nowhere here for a man to fall\nfrom.  And, even if he did fall, he would only fall upon a\nfragrance-breathing bed of lilies.  The very herbs and flowers here would\nconspire to hold him up.  Many a day, as He grew up, the carpenter's son\nsat in that same valley and sang that same song to His own humble and\nhappy heart.  He loved much to be here.  He loved also to walk these\nmeadows, for He found the air was pleasant.  Methinks, He often said with\nMercy, I am as well in this valley as I have been anywhere else in My\njourney.  The place, methinks, suits with My spirit.  I love to be in\nsuch places where there is no rattling with coaches nor rumbling with\nwheels.  Methinks, also, here one may without much molestation be\nthinking what he is, whence he came, and to what his King has called him.\n\n   He that is low, no pride.\n\nLow in his own eyes, that is.  For pride goeth before destruction, and a\nhaughty spirit before a fall.  Yes; but he who is low enough already--none\nof the sure destructions that pride always works shall ever come near to\nhim.  \"The proud man,\" says Sir Henry Taylor, \"is of all men the most\nvulnerable.  'Who calls?' asks the old shepherd in _As You Like It_.\n'Your betters,' is the insolent answer.  And what is the shepherd's\nrejoinder?  'Else are they very wretched.'  By what retort, reprisal, or\nrepartee could it have been made half so manifest that the insult had\nlighted upon armour of proof?  Such is the invincible independence and\ninvulnerability of humility.\"\n\n   He that is humble ever shall\n      Have God to be his guide.\n\nFor thus saith the high and holy One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name\nis Holy: I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a\ncontrite and humble spirit, to revive the heart of the humble, and to\nrevive the heart of the contrite ones . . . All those things hath Mine\nhand made, but to this man will I look, saith the Lord, even to him that\nis poor and of a contrite spirit, and who trembleth at My word . . .\nThough the Lord be high, yet hath He respect unto the lowly; but the\nproud He knoweth afar off . . . Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves\nunto the elder.  Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be\nclothed with humility; for God resisteth the proud and giveth grace to\nthe humble . . . Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty,\nneither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for\nme.  Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned\nof his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child . . . Take My yoke upon\nyou and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find\nrest unto your souls.  For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.\n\n   I am content with what I have,\n      Little be it, or much:\n   And, Lord, contentment still I crave,\n      Because thou savest such.\n\nThe only thing this sweet singer is discontented with is his own\ncontentment.  He will not be content as long as he has a shadow of\ndiscontent left in his heart.  And how blessed is such holy discontent!\nFor, would you know, asks Law, who is the greatest saint in all the\nworld?  Well, it is not he who prays most or fasts most; it is not he who\ngives most alms or is most eminent for temperance, chastity, or justice.\nBut it is he who is always thankful to God, who wills everything that God\nwilleth, who receives everything as an instance of God's goodness, and\nhas a heart always ready to praise God for it.  \"Perhaps the shepherd's\nboy,\" says Thomas Scott, \"may refer to the obscure and quiet stations of\nsome pastors over small congregations, who live almost unknown to their\nbrethren, but are in a measure useful and very comfortable.\"  Perhaps he\ndoes.  And, whether he does or no, at any rate such a song will suit some\nof our brethren very well as they go about among their few and far-off\nflocks.  They are not church leaders or popular preachers.  There is not\nmuch rattling with coaches or rumbling with wheels at their church door.\nBut, then, methinks, they have their compensation.  They are without much\nmolestation.  They can be all the more thinking what they are, whence\nthey came, and to what their King has called them.  Let them be happy in\ntheir shut-in valleys.  For I will dare to say that they wear more of\nthat herb called Heart's-ease in their bosom than those ministers do they\nare sometimes tempted to emulate.  I will add in this place that to the\nmen who live and trace these grounds the Lord hath left a yearly revenue\nto be faithfully paid them at certain seasons for their maintenance by\nthe way, and for their further encouragement to go on in their\npilgrimage.\n\n   Here little, and hereafter bliss,\n   Is best from age to age.\n\nBut, now, from the shepherd boy and from his valley and his song, let us\ngo on without any more poetry or parable to look our own selves full in\nthe face and to ask our own hearts whether they are the hearts of really\nhumble-minded and New Testament men or no.  Dr. Newman, \"that subtle,\ndevout man,\" as Dr. Duncan calls him, says that \"humility is one of the\nmost difficult of virtues both to attain and to ascertain.  It lies,\" he\nsays, \"close upon the heart itself, and its tests are exceedingly\ndelicate and subtle.  Its counterfeits abound.\"  Most true.  And yet\nhumility is not intended for experts in morals only, or for men of a rare\nreligious genius only.  The plainest of men, the least skilled and the\nmost unlettered of men, may not only excel in humility, but may also be\npermitted to know that they are indeed planted, and are growing slowly\nbut surely in that grace of all graces.  No doubt our Lord had, so to\ndescribe it, the most delicate and the most subtle of human minds; and,\nno doubt whatever, He had the most practised skill in reading off what\nlay closest to His own heart.  And, then, it was just His attainment of\nthe most perfect humility, and then His absolute ascertainment of the\nsame, that enabled Him to say: Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me.  At\nthe same time, divine as the grace is, and divine as the insight is that\nis able to trace it out in all its exquisite refinements of thought and\nfeeling in the sanctified soul, yet humility is a human virtue after all,\nand it is open to all men to attain to it and intelligently and lovingly\nto exercise it.  The simplest and the least philosophical soul now in\nthis house may apply to himself some of the subtlest and most sensitive\ntests of humility, as much as if he were Dr. Duncan or Dr. Newman\nthemselves; and may thus with all assurance of hope know whether he is a\ncounterfeit and a castaway or no.\n\nTake this test for one, then.  Explain this text to me: Phil. ii. 3--\"In\nlowliness of mind let each esteem other better than himself.\"  Explain\nand illustrate that.  Not from a commentary, but straight out from your\nown heart.  What does your heart make of that scripture?  Does your heart\nturn away from that scripture almost in anger at it?  Do you say you are\ncertain that there must be some other explanation of it than that?  Do\nyou hold that this is just another of Paul's perpetual hyperboles, and\nthat the New Testament is the last book in the world to be taken as it\nreads?  Yes; both bold and subtle father that he is: counterfeits abound!\n\nAnother much blunter test, but, perhaps, a sufficiently sharp test, is\nthis: How do you receive correction and instruction?  Does your heart\nmeekly and spontaneously and naturally take to correction and instruction\nas the most natural and proper thing possible to you?  And do you\nimmediately, and before all men, show forth and exhibit the correction\nand the instruction?  Or, does this rather take place?  Does your heart\nbeat, and swell, and boil, and boil over at him who dares to correct or\ncounsel you?  If this is a fair test to put our humility to, how little\nhumility there is among us!  How few men any of us could name among our\nfriends to whom we would risk telling all the things that behind their\nbacks we point out continually to others?  We are terrified to face their\npride.  We once did it, and we are not to do it again, if we can help it!\nLet a man not have too many irons in the fire; let him examine himself\njust by these two tests for the time--what he thinks of himself, and what\nhe thinks of those who attempt, and especially before other people, to\nset him right.  And after these two tests have been satisfied, others\nwill no doubt be supplied till that so humble man is made very humility\nitself.\n\nAnd now, in the hope that there may be one or two men here who are really\nand not counterfeitly in earnest to clothe themselves with humility\nbefore God and man, let them take these two looms to themselves out of\nwhich whole webs of such garments will be delivered to them every\nday--their past life, and their present heart.  With a past life like\nours, my brethren--and everyman knows his own--pride is surely the\nmaddest state of mind that any of us can allow ourselves in.  The first\nking of Bohemia kept his clouted old shoes ever in his sight, that he\nmight never forget that he had once been a ploughman.  And another wise\nking used to drink out of a coarse cup at table, and excused himself to\nhis guests that he had made the rude thing in his rude potter days.  Look\nwith Primislaus and Agathocles at the hole of the pit out of which you\nalso have been dug; look often enough, deep enough, and long enough, and\nyou will be found passing up through the Valley of Humiliation singing:\n\n   \"With us He dealt not as we sinn'd,\n   Nor did requite our ill!\"\n\nAnother excellent use of the past is, if you are equal to it, to call\nyourself aloud sometimes, or in writing, some of the names that other\npeople who know your past are certainly calling you.  It is a terrible\ndiscipline, but it is the terror of the Lord, and He will not let it hurt\nyou too much.  I was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and\ninjurious, says Paul.  And, to show Titus, his gospel-son, the way, he\nsaid to him: We ourselves were sometimes foolish, disobedient, deceived,\nserving divers lusts and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful,\nand hating one another.  And John Bunyan calls himself a blackguard, and\nmany other worse names; only he swears that neither with his soldiering\nnor with his tinkering hands did he ever plash down Beelzebub's orchard.\nBut if you have done that, or anything like that, call yourself aloud by\nyour true name on your knees to-night.  William Law testifies, after five-\nand-twenty years' experience of it, that he never heard of any harm that\nhe had done to any in his house by his habit of singing his secret psalms\naloud, and sometimes, ere ever he was aware, bursting out in his\npenitential prayers.\n\nAnd, then, how any man with a man's heart in his bosom for a single day\ncan escape being the chief of sinners, and consequently the humblest of\nmen for all the rest of his life on earth, passes my comprehension!  How\na spark of pride can live in such a hell as every human heart is would be\npast belief, did we not know that God avenges sin by more sin; avenges\nHimself on a wicked and a false heart by more wickedness and more\nfalsehood, all ending in Satanic pride.\n\nToo long as I have kept you in this valley to-night, I dare not let you\nout of it till I have shared with you a few sentences on evangelical\nhumiliation out of that other so subtle and devout man, Jonathan Edwards.\nBut what special kind of humiliation is evangelical humiliation? you will\nask.  Hear, then, what this master in Israel says.  \"Evangelical\nhumiliation is the sense that a Christian man has of his own utter\ninsufficiency, utter despicableness, and utter odiousness; with an always\nanswerable frame of heart.  This humiliation is peculiar to the true\nsaints.  It arises from the special influence of the Spirit of God\nimplanting and exercising supernatural and divine principles; and it is\naccompanied with a sense of the transcendent beauty of divine things.\nAnd, thus, God's true saints all more or less see their own odiousness on\naccount of sin, and the exceedingly hateful nature of all sin.  The very\nessence of evangelical humiliation consists in such humility as becomes a\nman in himself exceeding sinful but now under a dispensation of grace.  It\nconsists in a mean esteem of himself, as in himself nothing, and\naltogether contemptible and odious.  This, indeed, is the greatest and\nthe most essential thing in true religion.\"  And so on through a whole\nchapter of beaten gold.  To which noble chapter I shall only add that\nsuch teaching is as sweet, as strengthening, and as reassuring to the\ntruly Christian heart as it is bitter and hateful to the counterfeit\nheart.\n\n\n\n\nOLD HONEST\n\n\n   \"An honest heart.\"--_Our Lord_.\n\n   Next tell them of Old Honest, who you found\n   With his white hairs treading the pilgrim's ground;\n   Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was,\n   How after his good Lord he bare his cross:\n   Perhaps with some grey head this may prevail,\n   With Christ to fall in love, and sin bewail.\n\nYou would have said that no pilgrim to the Celestial City could possibly\nhave come from a worse place, or a more unlikely place, than was that\nplace from which Christian and Christiana and Matthew and Mercy had come.\nAnd yet so it was.  For Old Honest, this most excellent and every way\nmost delightful old saint, hailed from a far less likely place than even\nthe City of Destruction.  For he came, this rare old soul, of all places\nin the world, from the Town of Stupidity.  So he tells us himself.  And,\npartly to explain to us the humiliating name of his native town, and\npartly to exhibit himself as a wonder to many, the frank old gentleman\ngoes on to tell us that his birthplace actually lies four degrees further\naway from the sun than does the far-enough away City of Destruction\nitself.  So that you see this grey-haired saint is all that he always\nsaid he was--a living witness to the fact that his Lord is able to save\nto the uttermost, and to gather in His Father's elect from the utmost\ncorner of the land.  Men are mountains of ice in my country, said Old\nHonest.  I was one of the biggest of those icebergs myself, he said.  No\nman was ever more cold and senseless to divine things than I was, and\nstill sometimes am.  It takes the Sun of Righteousness all His might to\nmelt the men of my country.  But that He can do it when He rises to do\nit, and when He puts out His full strength to do it--Look at me! said the\ngenial old soul.\n\nWe have to construct this pilgrim's birth and boyhood and youth from his\nafter-character and conversation; and we have no difficulty at all in\ndoing that.  For, if the child is the father of the man, then the man\nmust be the outcome of the child, and we can have no hesitation in\npicturing to ourselves what kind of child and boy and young man dear Old\nHonest must always have been.  He never was a bright child, bright and\nbeaming old man as he is.  He was always slow and heavy at his lessons;\nindeed, I would not like to repeat to you all the bad names that his\nschoolmasters sometimes in their impatience called the stupid child.\nOnly, this was to be said of him, that dulness of uptake and\ndisappointment of his teachers were the worst things about this poor boy;\nhe was not so ill-behaved as many were who were made more of.  When his\nwits began to waken up after he had come some length he had no little\nleeway to make up in his learning; but that was the chief drawback to Old\nHonest's pilgrimage.  For one thing, no young man had a cleaner record\nbehind him than our Honest had; his youthful garments were as unspotted\nas ever any pilgrim's garments were.  Even as a young man he had had the\ngood sense to keep company with one Good-conscience; and that friend of\nhis youth kept true to Old Honest all his days, and even lent him his\nhand and helped him over the river at last.  In his own manly, hearty,\nblunt, breezy, cheery, and genial way Old Honest is a pilgrim we could\nill have spared.  Old Honest has a warm place all for himself in every\ngood and honest heart.\n\n\"Now, a little before the pilgrims stood an oak, and under it when they\ncame up to it they found an old pilgrim fast asleep; they knew that he\nwas a pilgrim by his clothes and his staff and his girdle.  So the guide,\nMr. Greatheart, awaked him, and the old gentleman, as he lifted up his\neyes, cried out: What's the matter?  Who are you?  And what is your\nbusiness here?  Come, man, said the guide, be not so hot; here is none\nbut friends!  Yet the old man gets up and stands upon his guard, and will\nknow of them what they are.\"  That weather-beaten oak-tree under which we\nfirst meet with Old Honest is an excellent emblem of the man.  When he\nsat down to rest his old bones that day he did not look out for a bank of\nsoft moss or for a bed of fragrant roses; that knotted oak-tree alone had\npower to draw down under its sturdy trunk this heart of human oak.  It\nwas a sight to see those thin grey haffets making a soft pillow of that\njutting knee of gnarled and knotty oak, and with his well-worn\nquarterstaff held close in a hand all wrinkled skin and scraggy bone.  And\nfrom that day till he waved his quarterstaff when half over the river and\nshouted, Grace reigns! there is no pilgrim of them all that affords us\nhalf the good humour, sagacity, continual entertainment, and brave\nencouragement we enjoy through this same old Christian gentleman.\n\n1.  Now, let us try to learn two or three lessons to-night from Old\nHonest, his history, his character, and his conversation.  And, to begin\nwith, let all those attend to Old Honest who are slow in the uptake in\nthe things of religion.  O fools and slow of heart! exclaimed our Lord at\nthe two travellers to Emmaus.  And this was Old Honest to the letter when\nhe first entered on the pilgrimage life; he was slow as sloth itself in\nthe things of the soul.  I have often wondered, said Greatheart, that any\nshould come from your place; for your town is worse than is the City of\nDestruction itself.  Yes, answered Honest, we lie more off from the sun,\nand so are more cold and senseless.  And his biographer here annotates on\nthe margin this reflection: \"Stupefied ones are worse than merely\ncarnal.\"  So they are; though it takes some insight to see that, and some\ncourage to carry that through.  Now, to be downright stupid in a man's\nnatural intellects is sad enough, but to be stupid in the intellects of\nthe soul and of the spirit is far more sad.  You will often see this if\nyou have any eyes in your head, and are not one of the stupid people\nyourself.  You will see very clever people in the intellects of the head\nwho are yet as stupid as the beasts in the stall in the far nobler\nintellects of the heart.  You will meet every day with men and women who\nhave received the best college education this city can give them, who are\nyet stark stupid in everything that belongs to true religion.  They are\nquick to find out the inefficiency of a university chair, or a\nschoolmaster's desk, but they know no more of what a New Testament pulpit\nhas been set up for than the stupidest sot in the city.  The Divine\nNature, human nature, sin, grace, redemption, salvation, holiness, heart-\ncorruption, spiritual life, prayer, communion with God, a conversation\nand a treasure in heaven,--to all these noblest of studies and divinest\nof exercises they are as a beast before God.  When you come upon a man\nwho is a sot in his senses and in his understanding, you expect him to be\nthe same in his spiritual life.  But to meet with an expert in science, a\nclassical scholar, an author or a critic in letters, a leader in\npolitical or ecclesiastical or municipal life, and yet to discover that\nhe is as stupid as any sot in the things of his own soul, is one of the\nsaddest and most disheartening sights you can see.  Much sadder and much\nmore disheartening than to see stairs and streets of people who can\nneither read nor write.  And yet our city is full of such stupid people.\nYou will find as utter spiritual stupidity among the rich and the\nlettered and the refined of this city as you will find among the ignorant\nand the vicious and the criminal classes.  Is stupidity a sin? asks\nThomas in his Forty-Sixth Question.  And the great schoolman answers\nhimself, \"Stupidity may come of natural incapacity, in which case it is\nnot a sin.  But it may come, on the other hand, of a man immersing his\nsoul in the things of this world so as to shut out all the things of God\nand of the world to come, in which case stupidity is a deadly sin.\"  Now,\nfrom all that, you must already see what you are to do in order to escape\nfrom your inborn and superinduced stupidity.  You are, like Old Honest,\nto open your gross, cold, senseless heart to the Sun of Righteousness,\nand you are to take care every day to walk abroad under His beams.  You\nare to emigrate south for your life, as our well-to-do invalids do, to\nwhere the sun shines in his strength all the day.  You are to choose such\na minister, buy and read such a literature, cultivate such an\nacquaintanceship, and follow out such a new life of habits and practices\nas shall bring you into the full sunshine, till your heart of ice is\nmelted, and your stupefied soul is filled with spiritual sensibility.\nFor, \"were a man a mountain of ice,\" said Old Honest, \"yet if the Sun of\nRighteousness will arise upon him his frozen heart shall feel a thaw; and\nthus hath it been with me.\"  Your poets and your philosophers have no\nresource against the stupidity that opposes them.  \"Even the gods,\" they\ncomplain, \"fight unvictorious against stupidity.\"  But your divines and\nyour preachers have hope beside the dullest and the stupidest and even\nthe most imbruted.  They point themselves and their slowest and dullest-\nwitted hearers to Old Honest, this rare old saint; and they set up their\npulpit with hope and boldness on the very causeway of the town of\nStupidity itself.\n\n2.  In the second place,--on this fine old pilgrim's birth and boyhood\nand youth.  The apostle says that there is no real difference between one\nof us and another; and what he says on that subject must be true.  No;\nthere is really no difference compared with the Celestial City whether a\npilgrim is born in Stupidity, in Destruction, in Vanity, or in Darkland.\nAt the same time, nature, as well as grace, is of God, and He maketh,\nwhen it pleaseth Him, one man to differ in some most important respects\nfrom another.  You see such differences every day.  Some children are\nnaturally, and from their very infancy, false and cruel, mean and greedy;\nwhile their brothers and sisters are open and frank and generous.  One\nson in a house is born a vulgar snob, and one daughter a shallow-hearted\nand shameless little flirt; while another brother is a born gentleman,\nand another sister a born saint.  Some children are tender-hearted,\neasily melted, and easily moulded; while others in the same family are\nhard as stone and cold as ice.  Sometimes a noble and a truly Christian\nfather will have all his days to weep and pray over a son who is his\nshame; and then, in the next generation, a grandson will be born to him\nwho will more than recover the lost image of his father's father.  And so\nis it sometimes with father Adam's family.  Here and there, in Darkland,\nin Destruction, and in Stupidity, a child will be born with a surprising\nlikeness to the first Adam in his first estate.  That happy child at his\nbest is but the relics and ruins of his first father; at the same time,\nin him the relics are more abundant and the ruins more easy to trace out.\nAnd little Honest was such a well-born child.  For, Stupidity and all,\nthere was a real inborn and inbred integrity, uprightness,\nstraightforwardness, and nobleness about this little and not over-clever\nman-child.  And, on the principle of \"to him that hath shall be given,\"\nthere was something like a special providence that hedged this boy about\nfrom the beginning.  \"I girded thee though thou hast not known Me\" was\nnever out of Old Honest's mouth as often as he remembered the days of his\nown youth and heard other pilgrims mourning over theirs.  \"I have\nsurnamed thee though thou hast not known Me,\" he would say to himself in\nhis sleep.  Slow-witted as he was, no one had been able to cheat young\nHonest out of his youthful integrity.  He had not been led, and he had\nled no one else, into the paths of the destroyer.  He could say about\nhimself all that John Bunyan so boldly and so bluntly said about himself\nwhen his enemies charged him with youthful immorality.  He left the town\nin nobody's debt.  He left the print of his heels on no man or woman or\nchild when he took his staff in his hand to be a pilgrim.  The upward\nwalk of too many pilgrims is less a walk than an escape and a flight.  The\navenger of men's blood and women's honour has hunted many men deep into\nheaven's innermost gate.  But Old Honest took his time.  He walked, if\never pilgrim walked, all the way with an easy mind.  He lay down to sleep\nunder the oaks on the wayside, and smiled like a child in his sleep.  And,\nwhen he was suddenly awaked, instead of crying out for mercy and starting\nto his heels, he grasped his staff and demanded even of an armed man what\nbusiness he had to break in on an honest pilgrim's midday repose!  The\nKing of the Celestial City had a few names even in Stupidity which had\nnot defiled their garments, and Old Honest was one of them.  And all his\ndays his strength was as the strength of ten, because his heart was pure.\n\n3.  At the same time, honesty is not holiness; and no one knew that\nbetter than did this honest old saint.  When any one spoke to Old Honest\nabout his blameless youth, the look in his eye made them keep at arm's-\nlength as he growled out that without holiness no man shall see God!\nWriting from Aberdeen to John Bell of Hentoun, Samuel Rutherford says: \"I\nbeseech you, in the Lord Jesus, to mind your country above; and now, when\nold age is come upon you, advise with Christ before you put your foot\ninto the last ship and turn your back on this life.  Many are beguiled\nwith this that they are free of scandalous sins.  But common honesty will\nnot take men to heaven.  Alas! that men should think that ever they met\nwith Christ who had never a sick night or a sore heart for sin.  I have\nknown a man turn a key in a door and lock it by.\"  \"I can,\" says John\nOwen, \"and I do, commend moral virtues and honesty as much as any man\nought to do, and I am sure there is no grace where they are not.  Yet to\nmake anything to be our holiness that is not derived from Jesus Christ,--I\nknow not what I do more abhor.\"  \"Are morally honest and sober men\nqualified for the Lord's Supper?\" asks John Flavel.  \"No; civility and\nmorality do not make a man a worthy communicant.  They are not the\nwedding garment; but regenerating grace and faith in the smallest measure\nare.\"  \"My outside may be honest,\" said this honest old pilgrim, \"while\nall the time my heart is most unholy.  My life is open to all men, but I\nmust hide my heart with Christ in God.\"\n\n4.  And then this racy-hearted old bachelor was as full of delight in\nchildren, and in children's parties, with all their sweetmeats and nuts\nand games and riddles,--quite as much so--as if he had been their very\ngrandfather himself.  Nay, this rosy-hearted old rogue was as inveterate\na matchmaker as if he had been a mother of the world with a houseful of\ndaughters on her hands and with the sons of the nobility dangling around.\nIt would make you wish you could kiss the two dear old souls, Gaius the\ninnkeeper and Old Honest his guest, if you would only read how they laid\ntheir grey heads together to help forward the love-making of Matthew and\nMercy.  Yes, it would be a great pity, said Old Honest,--thinking with a\nsigh of his own childless old age,--it would be a great pity if this\nexcellent family of our sainted brother should fail for want of children,\nand die out like mine.  And the two old plotters went together to the\nmother of the bridegroom, and told her with an aspect of authority that\nshe must put no obstacle in her son's way, but take Mercy as soon as\nconvenient into a closer relation to herself.  And Gaius said that he for\nhis part would give the marriage supper.  And I shall make no will, said\nHonest, but hand all I have over to Matthew my son.  This is the way,\nsaid Old Honest; and he skipped and smiled and kissed the cheek of the\naged mother and said, Then thy two children shall preserve thee and thy\nhusband a posterity in the earth!  Then he turned to the boys and he\nsaid, Matthew, be thou like Matthew the publican, not in vice, but in\nvirtue.  Samuel, he said, be thou like Samuel the prophet, a man of faith\nand of prayer.  Joseph, said he, be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house,\nchaste, and one that flees from temptation.  And James, be thou like\nJames the Just, and like James the brother of our Lord.  Mercy, he said,\nis thy name, and by mercy shalt thou be sustained and carried through all\nthy difficulties that shall assault thee in the way, till thou shalt come\nthither where thou shalt look the Fountain of Mercy in the face with\ncomfort.  And all this while the guide, Mr. Greatheart, was very much\npleased, and smiled upon the nimble old gentleman.\n\n5.  \"Then it came to pass a while after that there was a post in the town\nthat inquired for Mr. Honest.  So he came to his house where he was, and\ndelivered to his hands these lines, Thou art commanded to be ready\nagainst this day seven night, to present thyself before thy Lord at His\nFather's house.  And for a token that my message is true, all thy\ndaughters of music shall be brought low.  Then Mr. Honest called for his\nfriends and said unto them, I die, but shall make no will.  As for my\nhonesty, it shall go with me: let him that comes after me be told of\nthis.  When the day that he was to be gone was come he addressed himself\nto go over the river.  Now, the river at that time overflowed the banks\nat some places.  But Mr. Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one Good-\nconscience to meet him there, the which he also did, and lent him his\nhand, and so helped him over.  The last words of Mr. Honest were, Grace\nreigns!  So he left the world.\"  Look at that picture and now look at\nthis: \"They then addressed themselves to the water, and, entering,\nChristian began to sink, and crying out to his good friend Hopeful, he\nsaid, I sink in deep waves, the billows go over my head, all His waters\ngo over me.  Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother, I feel\nthe bottom, and it is good.  Then said Christian, Ah, my friend, the\nsorrows of death have compassed me about; I shall not see the land that\nflows with milk and honey.  And with that a great horror and darkness\nfell upon Christian, so that he could not see before him; and all the\nwords that he spoke still tended to discover that he had horror of mind\nlest he should die in that river and never obtain entrance in at the\ngate.  Here also, as they that stood by perceived, he was much in the\ntroublesome thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since and\nbefore he began to be a pilgrim.  'Twas also observed that he was\ntroubled with apparitions of hobgoblins and evil spirits.  Hopeful,\ntherefore, had much ado to keep his brother's head above water.  Yea,\nsometimes he would be quite gone down, and then ere a while he would rise\nup again half dead.\"  My brethren, all my brethren, be not deceived; God\nis not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap.  Whom\nthe Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth.\nThou, O God, wast a God that forgavest them, but Thou tookest vengeance\non their inventions.\n\n\n\n\nMR. FEARING\n\n\n   \"Happy is the man that feareth alway.\"--_Solomon_\n\nFor humour, for pathos, for tenderness, for acute and sympathetic insight\nat once into nature and grace, for absolutely artless literary skill, and\nfor the sweetest, most musical, and most exquisite English, show me\nanother passage in our whole literature to compare with John Bunyan's\nportrait of Mr. Fearing.  You cannot do it.  I defy you to do it.\nSpenser, who, like John Bunyan, wrote an elaborate allegory, says: It is\nnot in me.  Take all Mr. Fearing's features together, and even\nShakespeare himself has no such heart-touching and heart-comforting\ncharacter.  Addison may have some of the humour and Lamb some of the\ntenderness; but, then, they have not the religion.  Scott has the insight\ninto nature, but he has no eye at all for grace; while Thackeray, who, in\nsome respects, comes nearest to John Bunyan of them all, would be the\nforemost to confess that he is not worthy to touch the shoe-latchet of\nthe Bedford tinker.  As Dr. Duncan said in his class one day when telling\nus to read Augustine's Autobiography and Halyburton's:--\"But,\" he said,\n\"be prepared for this, that the tinker beats them all!\"  \"Methinks,\" says\nBrowning, \"in this God speaks, no tinker hath such powers.\"\n\nNow, as they walked along together, the guide asked the old gentleman if\nhe knew one Mr. Fearing that came on pilgrimage out of his parts.  \"Yes,\"\nsaid Mr. Honest, \"very well.  He was a man that had the root of the\nmatter in him; but he was one of the most troublesome pilgrims that ever\nI met with in all my days.\"  \"I perceive you knew him,\" said the guide,\n\"for you have given a very right character of him.\"  \"Knew him!\"\nexclaimed Honest, \"I was a great companion of his; I was with him most an\nend.  When he first began to think of what would come upon us hereafter,\nI was with him.\"  \"And I was his guide,\" said Greatheart, \"from my\nMaster's house to the gates of the Celestial City.\"  \"Then,\" said Mr.\nHonest, \"it seems he was well at last.\"  \"Yes, yes,\" answered the guide,\n\"I never had any doubt about him; he was a man of a choice spirit, only\nhe was always kept very low, and that made his life so burdensome to\nhimself and so troublesome to others.  He was, above many, tender of sin;\nhe was so afraid of doing injuries to others that he would often deny\nhimself of that which was lawful because he would not offend.\"  \"But\nwhat,\" asked Honest, \"should be the reason that such a good man should be\nall his days so much in the dark?\"  \"There are two sorts of reasons for\nit,\" said the guide; \"one is, the wise God will have it so: some must\npipe and some must weep.  Now, Mr. Fearing was one that played upon this\nbase.  He and his fellows sound the sackbut, whose notes are more doleful\nthan the notes of other music are.  Though, indeed, some say that the\nbase is the ground of music.  And, for my part, I care not at all for\nthat profession that begins not with heaviness of mind.  The first string\nthat the musician usually touches is the base when he intends to put all\nin tune.  God also plays upon this string first when He sets the soul in\ntune for Himself.  Only, here was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing, that\nhe could play upon no other music but this till toward his latter end.\"\n\n1.  Take Mr. Fearing, then, to begin with, at the Slough of Despond.\nChristian and Pliable, they being heedless, did both fall into that bog.\nBut Mr. Fearing, whatever faults you may think he had--and faults, too,\nthat you think you could mend in him--at any rate, he was never heedless.\nEverybody has his fault to find with poor Mr. Fearing.  Everybody blames\npoor Mr. Fearing.  Everybody can improve upon poor Mr. Fearing.  But I\nwill say again for Mr. Fearing that he was never heedless.  Had Peter\nbeen on the road at that period he would have stood up for Mr. Fearing,\nand would have taken his judges and would have said to them, with some\nscorn--Go to, and pass the time of your sojourning here with something of\nthe same silence and the same fear!  Christian's excuse for falling into\nthe Slough was that fear so followed him that he fled the next way, and\nso fell in.  But Mr. Fearing had no such fear behind him in his city as\nChristian had in his.  All Mr. Fearing's fears were within himself.  If\nyou can take up the distinction between actual and indwelling sin,\nbetween guilt and corruption, you have already in that the whole key to\nMr. Fearing.  He was blamed and counselled and corrected and pitied and\npatronised by every morning-cloud and early-dew neophyte, while all the\ntime he lived far down from the strife of tongues where the root of the\nmatter strikes its deep roots still deeper every day.  \"It took him a\nwhole month,\" tells Greatheart, \"to face the Slough.  But he would not go\nback neither.  Till, one sunshiny morning, nobody ever knew how, he\nventured, and so got over.  But the fact of the matter is,\" said the\nshrewd-headed guide, \"Mr. Fearing had, I think, a slough of despond in\nhis own mind; and a slough that he carried everywhere with him.\"  Yes,\nthat was it.  Greatheart in that has hit the nail on the head.  With one\nhappy stroke he has given us the whole secret of poor Mr. Fearing's life-\nlong trouble.  Just so; it was the slough in himself that so kept poor\nMr. Fearing back.  This poor pilgrim, who had so little to fear in his\npast life, had yet so much scum and filth, spume and mire in his present\nheart, that how to get on the other side of that cost him not a month's\nroaring only, but all the months and all the years till he went over the\nRiver not much above wet-shod.  And, till then, not twenty million cart-\nloads of wholesome instructions, nor any number of good and substantial\nsteps, would lift poor Mr. Fearing over the ditch that ran so deep and so\nfoul continually within himself.  \"Yes, he had, I think, a slough of\ndespond in his mind, a slough that he carried everywhere with him, or\nelse he never could have been the man he was.\"  I, for one, thank the\ngreat-hearted guide for that fine sentence.\n\n2.  It was a sight to see poor Mr. Fearing at the wicket gate.  \"Knock,\nand it shall be opened unto you.\"  He read the inscription over the gate\na thousand times, but every time he read it his slough-filled heart said\nto him, Yes, but that is not for such as you.  Pilgrim after pilgrim came\nup the way, read the writing, knocked, and was taken in; but still Mr.\nFearing stood back, shaking and shrinking.  At last he ventured to take\nhold of the hammer that hung on the gate and gave with it a small rap\nsuch as a mouse might make.  But small as the sound was, the Gatekeeper\nhad had his eye on his man all the time out of his watch-window; and\nbefore Mr. Fearing had time to turn and run, Goodwill had him by the\ncollar.  But that sudden assault only made Mr. Fearing sink to the earth,\nfaint and half-dead.  \"Peace be to thee, O trembling man!\" said Goodwill.\n\"Come in, and welcome!\"  When he did venture in, Mr. Fearing's face was\nas white as a sheet.  You would have said that an officer had caught a\nthief if you had seen poor Mr. Fearing hiding his face, and the\nGatekeeper hauling him in.  And not all the entertainment for which the\nGate was famous, nor all the encouragement that Goodwill was able to\nspeak, could make terrified Mr. Fearing for once to smile.  A more hard-\nto-entertain pilgrim, all the Gate declared when he had gone, they had\nnever had in their hospitable house.\n\n3.  \"So he came,\" said the guide, \"till he came to our House; but as he\nbehaved himself at the Gate, so he did at my Master the Interpreter's\ndoor.  He lay about in the cold a good while before he would adventure to\ncall.  Yet he would not go back neither.  And the nights were cold and\nlong then.  At last I think I looked out of the window, and perceiving a\nman to be up and down about the door, I went out to him, and asked what\nhe was; but, poor man, the water stood in his eyes.  So I perceived what\nhe wanted.  I went in, therefore, and told it in the house, and we showed\nthe thing to our Lord.  So He sent me out again to entreat him to come\nin, but I dare say I had hard work to do it.  At last he came in, and I\nwill say that for my Lord, He carried it wonderful lovingly to Mr.\nFearing.  There were but a few good bits at the table, but some of it was\nlaid upon his trencher.\"  In this way the guide tells us his first\nintroduction to Mr. Fearing, and how Mr. Fearing behaved himself in the\nInterpreter's House.  For instance, in the parlour full of dust, when the\nInterpreter said that the dust is original sin and inward corruption, you\nwould have thought that the Interpreter had stabbed poor Mr. Fearing to\nthe heart, so did he break out and weep.  Before the damsel could come\nwith the pitcher, Mr. Fearing's eyes alone would have laid the dust, they\nwere such a fountain of tears.  When he saw Passion and Patience, each\none in his chair--\"I am that child in rags,\" said Mr. Fearing; \"I have\nalready received all my good things!\"  Also, at the wall where the fire\nburned because oil was poured into it from the other side, he perversely\nturned that fire also against himself.  And when they came to the man in\nthe iron cage, you could not have told whether the miserable man inside\nthe cage or the miserable man outside of it sighed the loudest.  And so\non, through all the significant rooms.  The spider-room overwhelmed him\naltogether, till his sobs and the beating of his breast were heard all\nover the house.  The robin also when gobbling up spiders he made an\nemblem of himself, and the tree that was rotten at the heart,--till the\nInterpreter's patience with this so perverse pilgrim was fairly worn out.\nSo the Interpreter shut up his significant rooms, and had this so\ntroublesome pilgrim into his own chamber, and there carried it so\ntenderly to Mr. Fearing that at last he did seem to have taken some\nlittle heart of grace.  \"And then we,\" said Greatheart, \"set forward, and\nI went before him; but the man was of few words, only he would often sigh\naloud.\"\n\n4.  \"Dumpish at the House Beautiful\" is his biographer's not very\nrespectful comment on the margin of the history.  There were too many\nmerry-hearted damsels running up and down that house for Mr. Fearing.  He\ncould not lift his eyes but one of those too-tripping maidens was looking\nat him.  He could not stir a foot but he suddenly ran against a talking\nand laughing bevy of them.  There was one thing he loved above\neverything, and that was to overhear the talk that went on at that season\nin that house about the City above, and about the King of that City, and\nabout His wonderful ways with pilgrims, and the entertainment they all\ngot who entered that City.  But to get a word out of Mr. Fearing upon any\nof these subjects,--all the king's horses could not have dragged it out\nof him.  Only, the screen was always seen to move during such\nconversations, till it soon came to be known to all the house who was\nbehind the screen.  And the talkers only talked a little louder as the\nscreen moved, and took up, with a smile to one another, another and a yet\nmore comforting topic.\n\nThe Rarity Rooms also were more to Mr. Fearing than his necessary food.\nHe would be up in the morning and waiting at the doors of those rooms\nbefore the keepers had come with their keys.  And they had to tell him\nthat the candles were to be put out at night before he would go away.  He\nwas always reading, as if he had never read it before, the pedigree of\nthe Lord of the Hill.  Moses' rod, Shamgar's goad, David's sling and\nstone, and what not--he laughed and danced and sang like a child around\nthese ancient tables.  The armoury-room also held him, where were the\nswords, and shields, and helmets, and breast-plates, and shoes that would\nnot wear out.  You would have thought you had your man all right as long\nas you had him alone among these old relics; but, let supper be ready,\nand the house gathered, and Mr. Fearing was as dumpish as ever.  Eat he\nwould not, drink he would not, nor would he sit at the same table with\nthose who ate and drank with such gladness.  I remembered Mr. Fearing at\nthe House Beautiful when I was present at a communion season some time\nback in Ross-shire.  The church was half full of Mr. Fearing's close\nkindred that communion morning.  For, all that the minister himself could\ndo, and all that the assisting minister could do--no! to the table those\nself-examined, self-condemned, fear-filled souls would not come.  The two\nministers, like Mr. Greatheart's Master, carried it wonderful lovingly\nwith those poor saints that day; but those who are in deed, and not in\nname only, passing the time of their sojourning here in fear--they cannot\nall at once be lifted above all their fears, even by the ablest action\nsermons, or by the most wise and tender table-addresses.  And, truth to\ntell, though you will rebuke me all the way home to-night for saying it,\nmy heart sat somewhat nearer to those old people who were perhaps a\nlittle too dumpish in their repentance and their faith and their hope\nthat morning, than it did to those who took to the table with a light\nheart.  I know all your flippant cant about gospel liberty and against\nHighland introspection, as you call it--as well as all your habitual\nneglect of a close and deep self-examination, as Paul called it; but I\ntell you all to-night that it would be the salvation of your soul if you\ntoo worked your way up to every returning Lord's table with much more\nfear and much more trembling.  Let a man examine himself, Saxon as well\nas Celt, in Edinburgh as well as in Ross-shire, and so let him eat of\nthat flesh and drink of that blood.  \"These pills,\" said Mr. Skill, \"are\nto be taken three at a time fasting in half a quarter of a pint of the\ntears of repentance; these pills are good to prevent diseases, as well as\nto cure when one is sick.  Yea, I dare say it, and stand to it, that if a\nman will but use this physic as he should, it will make him live for\never.  But thou must give these pills no other way but as I have\nprescribed; for, if you do, they will do no good.\"  \"Then he and I set\nforward,\" said the guide, \"and I went before; but my man was of but few\nwords, only he would often sigh aloud.\"\n\n5.  As to the Hill Difficulty, that was no stick at all to Mr. Fearing;\nand as for the lions, he pulled their whiskers and snapped his fingers in\ntheir dumfoundered faces.  For you must know that Mr. Fearing's trouble\nwas not about such things as these at all; his only fear was about his\nacceptance at last.  He beat Mr. Greatheart himself at getting down into\nthe Valley of Humiliation, till the guide was fain to confess that he\nwent down as well as he ever saw man go down in all his life.  This\npilgrim cared not how mean he was, so he might be but happy at last.  That\nis the reason why so many of God's best saints take so kindly and so\nquietly to things that drive other men mad.  You wonder sometimes when\nyou see an innocent man sit down quietly under accusations and insults\nand injuries that you spend all the rest of your life resenting and\nrepaying.  And that is the reason also that so many of God's best saints\nin other ages and other communions used to pursue evangelical humility\nand ascetic poverty and seclusion till they obliterated themselves out of\nall human remembrance, and buried themselves in retreats of silence and\nof prayer.  Yes, you are quite right.  A garment of sackcloth may cover\nan unsanctified heart; and the fathers of the desert did not all escape\nthe depths of Satan and the plague of their own heart.  Quite true.  A\ncontrite heart may be carried about an applauding city in a coach and\nsix; and a crucified heart may be clothed in purple and fine linen, and\nmay fare sumptuously every day.  A saint of God will sometimes sit on a\nthrone with a more weaned mind than that with which Elijah or the Baptist\nwill macerate themselves in the wilderness.  Every man who is really set\non heaven must find his own way thither; and he who is really intent on\nhis own way thither will neither have the time nor the heart to throw\nstones at his brother who thinks he has discovered his own best way.  All\nthe pilgrims who got to the City at last did not get down Difficulty and\nthrough Humiliation so well as Mr. Fearing did; nor was it absolutely\nnecessary that they should.  It was not to lay down an iron-fast rule for\nothers, but it was only to amuse the way with his account of Mr. Fearing,\nthat the guide went on to say: \"Yes, I think there was a kind of sympathy\nbetwixt that valley and my man.  For I never saw him better in all his\npilgrimage than when he was in that valley.  For here he would lie down,\nembrace the ground, and kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley.\nHe would now be up every morning by break of day, tracing and walking to\nand fro in that valley.\"\n\n6.  Now, do you think you could guess how Mr. Fearing conducted himself\nin Vanity Fair?  Your guess is important to us and to you to-night; for\nit will show whether or no John Bunyan and Mr. Greatheart have spent\ntheir strength for nought and in vain on you.  It will show whether or no\nyou have got inside of Mr. Fearing with all that has been said; and thus,\ninside of yourself.  Guess, then.  How did Mr. Fearing do in Vanity Fair,\ndo you think?  To give you a clue, recollect that he was the timidest of\nsouls.  And remember how you have often been afraid to look at things in\na shop window lest the shopkeeper should come out and hold you to the\nthing you were looking at.  Remember also that you are the life-long\nowners of some things just because they were thrown at your head.\nRemember how you sauntered into a sale on one occasion, and, out of sheer\nidleness and pure fun, made a bid, and to your consternation the\nencumbrance was knocked down to your name; and it fills up your house to-\nday till you would give ten times its value to some one to take it away\nfor ever out of your sight.  Well, what was it that those who were so\nshamelessly and so pesteringly cadging about places, and titles, and\npreferments, and wives, and gold, and silver, and such like--what was it\nthey prevailed on this poor stupid countryman to cheapen and buy?  Do you\nguess, or do you give it up?  Well, Greatheart himself was again and\nagain almost taken in; and would have been had not Mr. Fearing been\nbeside him.  But Mr. Fearing looked at all the jugglers, and cheats, and\nknaves, and apes, and fools as if he would have bitten a firebrand.  \"I\nthought he would have fought with all the men of the fair; I feared there\nwe should have both been knock'd o' th' head, so hot was he against their\nfooleries.\"  And then--for Greatheart was a bit of a philosopher, and\nliked to entertain and while the away with tracing things up to their\ncauses--\"it was all,\" he said, \"because Mr. Fearing was so tender of sin.\nHe was above many tender of sin.  He was so afraid, not for himself only,\nbut of doing injury to others, that he would deny himself the purchase\nand possession and enjoyment even of that which was lawful, because he\nwould not offend.\"  \"All this while,\" says Bunyan himself, in the eighty-\nsecond paragraph of _Grace Abounding_, \"as to the act of sinning I was\nnever more tender than now.  I durst not take a pin or a stick, though\nbut so big as a straw, for my conscience now was sore and would smart at\nevery touch.  I could not now tell how to speak my words for fear I\nshould misplace them.\"  \"The highest flames,\" says Jeremy Taylor in his\n_Life of Christ_, \"are the most tremulous.\"\n\n7.  \"But when he was come at the river where was no bridge, there, again,\nMr. Fearing was in a heavy case.  Now, he said, he should be drowned for\never, and so never see that Face with comfort that he had come so many\nmiles to behold.  And here also I took notice of what was very\nremarkable; the water of that river was lower at this time than ever I\nsaw it in all my life, so he went over at last not much above wet-shod.\"\nThen said Christiana, \"This relation of Mr. Fearing has done me good.  I\nthought nobody had been like me, but I see there was some semblance\nbetwixt this good man and I, only we differed in two things.  His\ntroubles were so great that they broke out, but mine I kept within.  His\nalso lay so hard upon him that he could not knock at the houses provided\nfor entertainment, but my trouble was always such that it made me knock\nthe louder.\"  \"If I might also speak my heart,\" said Mercy, \"I must say\nthat something of him has also dwelt in me.  For I have ever been more\nafraid of the lake, and the loss of a place in Paradise, than I have been\nof the loss of other things.  Oh! thought I, may I have the happiness to\nhave a habitation there: 'tis enough though I part with all the world to\nwin it.\"  Then said Matthew, \"Fear was one thing that made me think that\nI was far from having that within me that accompanies salvation; but if\nit was so with such a good man as he, why may it not also go well with\nme?\"  \"No fears, no grace,\" said James.  \"Though there is not always\ngrace where there is fear of hell; yet, to be sure, there is no grace\nwhere there is no fear of God.\"  \"Well said, James,\" said Greatheart;\n\"thou hast hit the mark, for the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom;\nand, to be sure, they that want the beginning have neither middle nor\nend.\"  But we shall here conclude our discourse of Mr. Fearing after we\nhave sent after him this farewell:--\n\n         \"It is because\n   Then thou didst fear, that now thou dost not fear.\n   Thou hast forestalled the agony, and so\n   For thee the bitterness of death is past.\n   Also, because already in thy soul\n   The judgment is begun.  That day of doom,\n   One and the same for this collected world--\n   That solemn consummation for all flesh,\n   Is, in the case of each, anticipate\n   Upon his death; and, as the last great day\n   In the particular judgment is rehearsed,\n   So now, too, ere thou comest to the Throne,\n   A presage falls upon thee, as a ray\n   Straight from the Judge, expressive of thy lot.\n   That calm and joy uprising in thy soul\n   Is first-fruit to thy recompense,\n   And heaven begun.\"\n\n\n\n\nFEEBLE-MIND\n\n\n   \"Comfort the feeble-minded.\"--_Paul_.\n\nFeeble-mind shall first tell you his own story in his own words, and then\nI shall perhaps venture a few observations upon his history and his\ncharacter.\n\n\"I am but a sickly man, as you see,\" said Feeble-mind to Greatheart, \"and\nbecause Death did usually knock once a day at my door, I thought I should\nnever be well at home.  So I betook myself to a pilgrim's life, and have\ntravelled hither from the town of Uncertain, where I and my father were\nborn.  I am a man of no strength at all of body, nor yet of mind; but\nwould, if I could, though I can but crawl, spend my life in the pilgrim's\nway.  When I came at the gate that is at the head of the way, the Lord of\nthat place did entertain me freely.  Neither objected he against my\nweakly looks, nor against my feeble mind; but gave me such things as were\nnecessary for my journey, and bade me hope to the end.  When I came to\nthe house of the Interpreter I received much kindness there; and, because\nthe Hill Difficulty was judged too hard for me, I was carried up that\nhill by one of his servants.  Indeed I have found much relief from\npilgrims, though none were willing to go so softly as I am forced to do.\nYet, still, as they came on, they bid me be of good cheer, and said that\nit was the will of their Lord that comfort should be given to the feeble-\nminded, and so went on their own pace.  I look for brunts by the way; but\nthis I have resolved on, to wit, to run when I can, to go when I cannot\nrun, and to creep when I cannot go.  As to the main, I thank Him that\nloves me, I am fixed.  My way is before me, my mind is beyond the river\nthat has no bridge, though I am, as you see, but of a feeble mind.\"\n\nThen said old Mr. Honest, \"Have you not some time ago been acquainted\nwith one Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim?\"  \"Acquainted with him! yes.  He came\nfrom the town of Stupidity, which lies four degrees to the northward of\nthe City of Destruction, and as many off where I was born.  Yet we were\nwell acquainted; for, indeed, he was mine uncle, my father's brother.  He\nand I have been much of a temper; he was a little shorter than I, but yet\nwe were much of a complexion.\"  \"I perceive that you know him,\" said Mr.\nHonest, \"and I am apt to believe also that you were related one to\nanother; for you have his whitely look, a cast like his with your eye,\nand your speech is much alike.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" Feeble-mind went on, \"I want a suitable companion.  You are all\nlusty and strong, but I, as you see, am weak.  I choose therefore rather\nto come behind, lest, by reason of my many infirmities, I should be both\na burden to myself and to you.  I am, as I said, a man of a weak and\nfeeble mind, and shall be offended and made weak at that which others can\nbear.  I shall like no laughing; I shall like no gay attire; I shall like\nno unprofitable questions.  Nay, I am so weak a man as to be offended\nwith what others have a liberty to do.  I do not yet know all the truth.\nI am a very ignorant Christian man.  Sometimes, if I hear some rejoice in\nthe Lord, it troubles me because I cannot do so too.  It is with me as\nwith a weak man among the strong, or as with a sickly man among the\nhealthy, or as a lamp despised.\"  \"But, brother,\" said Greatheart, \"I\nhave it in commission to comfort the feeble-minded and to support the\nweak.\"  Thus therefore, they went on--Mr. Greatheart and Mr. Honest went\nbefore; Christiana and her children went next; and Mr. Feeble-mind and\nMr. Ready-to-halt came behind with his crutches.\n\n1.  In the first place, a single word as to Feeble-mind's family tree.\n\nThackeray says that _The Peerage_ is the Family Bible of every true-born\nEnglishman.  Every genuine Englishman, he tells us, teaches that sacred\nbook diligently to his children.  He talks out of it to them when he sits\nin the house and when he walks by the way.  He binds it upon his\nchildren's hands, and it is as a frontlet between their eyes.  He writes\nits names upon the doorposts of his house, and makes pictures out of it\nupon his gates.  Now, John Bunyan was a born Englishman in his liking for\na family tree.  He had no such tree himself--scarcely so much as a\nbramble bush; but, all the same, let the tinker take his pen in hand, and\nthe pedigrees and genealogies of all his pilgrims are sure to be set\nforth as much as if they were to form the certificates that those\npilgrims were to hand in at the gate.\n\nFeeble-mind, then, was of an old, a well-rooted and a wide-spread race.\nThe county of Indecision was full of that ancient stock.  They had\nintermarried in-and-in also till their small stature, their whitely look,\nthe droop of their eye, and their weak leaky speech all made them to be\neasily recognised wherever they went.  It was Feeble-mind's salvation\nthat Death had knocked at his door every day from his youth up.  He was\nfeeble in body as well as in mind; only the feebleness of his body had\nput a certain strength into his mind; the only strength he ever showed,\nindeed, was the strength that had its roots in a weak constitution at\nwhich sickness and death struck their dissolving blows every day.  To\nescape death, both the first and the second death, any man with a\nparticle of strength left would run with all his might; and Feeble-mind\nhad strength enough somewhere among his weak joints to make him say, \"But\nthis I have resolved on, to wit, to run when I can, to go when I cannot\nrun, and to creep when I cannot go.  As to the main, I am fixed!\"\n\n2.  At the Wicket Gate pilgrim Feeble-mind met with nothing but the\nkindest and the most condescending entertainment.  It was the gatekeepers\nway to become all things to all men.  The gatekeeper's nature was all in\nhis name; for he was all Goodwill together.  No kind of pilgrim ever came\nwrong to Goodwill.  He never found fault with any.  Only let them knock\nand come in and he will see to all the rest.  The way is full of all the\ngatekeeper's kind words and still kinder actions.  Every several pilgrim\nhas his wager with all the rest that no one ever got such kindness at the\ngate as he got.  And even Feeble-mind gave the gatekeeper this\npraise--\"The Lord of the place,\" he said, \"did entertain me freely.\nNeither objected he against my weakly looks nor against my feeble mind.\nBut he gave me such things as were necessary for my journey, and bade me\nhope to the end.\"  All things considered, that is perhaps the best praise\nthat Goodwill and his house ever earned.  For, to receive and to secure\nFeeble-mind as a pilgrim--to make it impossible for Feeble-mind to\nentertain a scruple or a suspicion that was not removed beforehand--to\nmake it impossible for Feeble-mind to find in all the house and in all\nits grounds so much as a straw over which he could stumble--that was\nextraordinary attention, kindness, and condescension in Goodwill and all\nhis good-willed house.  \"Go on, go on, dear Mr. Feeble mind,\" said\nGoodwill giving his hand to Mr. Fearing's nephew, \"go on: keep your\nfeeble mind open to the truth, and still hope to the end!\"\n\n3.  \"As to the Interpreter's House, I received much kindness there.\"  That\nis all.  But in that short speech I think there must he hid no little\nshame and remorse.  No words could possibly be a severer condemnation of\nFeeble-mind than his own two or three so irrelevant words about the\nInterpreter's house.  No doubt at all, Feeble-mind received kindness\nthere; but that is not the point.  That noble house was not built at such\ncost, and fitted up, and kept open all the year round, and filled with\nfresh furniture from year to year, merely that those who passed through\nits significant rooms might report that they had received no rudeness at\nthe hands of the Interpreter.   \"'Come,' said the Interpreter to Feeble-\nmind, 'and I will show thee what will be profitable to thee.'  So he\ncommanded his man to light the candle and bid Feeble-mind follow him.  But\nit was all to no use.  Feeble-mind had neither the taste nor the capacity\nfor the significant rooms.  Nay, as one after another of those rich rooms\nwas opened to him, Feeble-mind took a positive dislike to them.  Nothing\ninterested him; nothing instructed him.  But many things stumbled and\nangered him.  The parlour full of dust, and how the dust was raised and\nlaid; Passion and Patience; the man in the iron cage; the spider-room;\nthe muck-rake room; the robin with its red breast and its pretty note,\nand yet with its coarse food; the tree, green outside but rotten at the\nheart,--all the thanks the Interpreter took that day for all that from\nFeeble-mind was in such speeches as these: You make me lose my head.  I\ndo not know where I am.  I did not leave the town of Uncertain to be\nconfused and perplexed in my mind with sights and sounds like these.  Let\nme out at the door I came in at, and I shall go back to the gate.\nGoodwill had none of these unhappy rooms in his sweet house!\"  Nothing\ncould exceed the kindness of the Interpreter himself; but his house was\nfull of annoyances and offences and obstructions to Mr. Feeble-mind.  He\ndid not like the Interpreter's house, and he got out of it as fast as he\ncould, with his mind as feeble as when he entered it; and, what was\nworse, with his temper not a little ruffled.\n\nAnd we see this very same intellectual laziness, this very same downright\ndislike at divine truth, in our own people every day.  There are in every\ncongregation people who take up their lodgings at the gate and refuse to\ngo one step farther on the way.  A visit to the Interpreter's House\nalways upsets them.  It turns their empty head.  They do not know where\nthey are.  They will not give what mind they have to divine truth, all\nyou can do to draw them on to it, till they die as feeble-minded, as\nignorant, and as inexperienced as they were born.  They never read a\nreligious book that has any brain or heart in it.  The feeble _Lives_ of\nfeeble-minded Christians, written by feeble-minded authors, and published\nby feeble-minded publishers,--we all know the spoon-meat that multitudes\nof our people go down to their second childhood upon.  Jonathan Edwards--a\nname they never hear at home, but one of the most masculine and seraphic\nof interpreters--has a noble discourse on The Importance and Advantage of\na thorough Knowledge of Divine Truth.  \"Consider yourselves,\" he says,\n\"as scholars or disciples put into the school of Christ, and therefore be\ndiligent to make proficiency in Christian knowledge.  Content not\nyourselves with this, that you have been taught your Catechism in your\nchildhood, and that you know as much of the principles of religion as is\nnecessary to salvation.  Let not your teachers have cause to complain\nthat while they spend and are spent to impart knowledge to you, you take\nlittle pains to learn.  Be assiduous in reading the Holy Scriptures.  And\nwhen you read, observe what you read.  Observe how things come in.\nCompare one scripture with another.  Procure and diligently use other\nbooks which may help you to grow in this knowledge.  There are many\nexcellent books extant which might greatly forward you in this knowledge.\nThere is a great defect in many, that through a lothness to be at a\nlittle expense, they provide themselves with no more helps of this\nnature.\"  Weighty, wise, and lamentably true words.\n\n\"Mundanus,\" says William Law, \"is a man of excellent parts, and clear\napprehension.  He is well advanced in age, and has made a great figure in\nbusiness.  He has aimed at the greatest perfection in everything.  The\nonly thing which has not fallen under his improvement, nor received any\nbenefit from his judicious mind, is his devotion; this is just in the\nsame poor state it was when he was six years of age, and the old man\nprays now in that little form of words which his mother used to hear him\nrepeat night and morning.  This Mundanus that hardly ever saw the poorest\nutensil without considering how it might be made or used to better\nadvantage, has gone on all his life long praying in the same manner as\nwhen he was a child; without ever considering how much better or oftener\nhe might pray; without considering how improvable the spirit of devotion\nis, how many helps a wise and reasonable man may call to his assistance,\nand how necessary it is that our prayers should be enlarged, varied, and\nsuited to the particular state and condition of our lives.  How poor and\npitiable is the conduct of this man of sense, who has so much judgment\nand understanding in everything but that which is the whole wisdom of\nman!\"  How true to every syllable is that!  How simple-looking, and yet\nhow manly, and able, and noble!  We close our young men's session with\nLaw and Butler to-night, and I cannot believe that our session with those\ntwo giants has left one feeble mind in the two classes; they were all\nweeded out after the first fortnight of the session; though, after all is\ndone, there are still plenty left both among old and young in the\ncongregation.  Even Homer sometimes nods; and I cannot but think that\nJohn Bunyan has made a slip in saying that Feeble-mind enjoyed the\nInterpreter's House.  At any rate, I wish I could say as much about all\nthe feeble minds known to me.\n\n4.  The Hill Difficulty, which might have helped to make a man of Feeble-\nmind, saw a laughable, if it had not been such a lamentable, spectacle.\nFor it saw this poor creature hanging as limp as wet linen on the back of\none of the Interpreter's sweating servants.  Your little boy will explain\nthe parable to you.  Shall I do this? or, shall I rather do that? asks\nFeeble-mind at every stop.  Would it be right? or, would it be wrong?\nShall I read that book?  Shall I go to that ball?  Shall I marry that\nman?  Tell me what to do.  Give me your hand.  Take me up upon your back,\nand carry me over this difficult hill.  \"I was carried up that,\" says\npoor Feeble-mind, \"by one of his servants.\"\n\n5.  \"The one calamity of Mr. Feeble-mind's history,\" says our ablest\ncommentator on Bunyan, \"was the finest mercy of his history.\"  That one\ncalamity was his falling into Giant Slay-good's hands, and his finest\nmercy was his rescue by Greatheart, and his consequent companionship with\nhis deliverer, with Mr. Honest, and with Christiana and her party till\nthey came to the river.  You constantly see the same thing in the life of\nthe Church and of the Christian Family.  Some calamity throws a weak,\nignorant, and immoral creature into close contact with a minister or an\nelder or a Christian visitor, who not only relieves him from his present\ndistress, but continues to keep his eye upon his new acquaintance,\nintroduces him to wise and good friends, invites him to his house, gives\nhim books to read, and keeps him under good influences, till, of a weak,\nfeeble, and sometimes vicious character, he is made a Christian man, till\nhe is able for himself to say, It was good for me to be afflicted; the\none calamity of my history has been my best mercy!\n\n6.  Feeble-mind, I am ashamed to have to admit, behaved himself in a\nperfectly scandalous manner at the house of Gaius mine host.  He went\nbeyond all bounds during those eventful weeks.  Those weeks were one long\ntemptation to Feeble-mind--and he went down in a pitiful way before his\ntemptation.  Two marriages and two honeymoons, with suppers and dances\nevery night, made the old hostelry like very Pandemonium itself to poor\nFeeble-mind.  He would have had Matthew's and James's marriages conducted\nnext door to a funeral.  Because he would not eat flesh himself, he\nprotested against Gaius killing a sheep.  \"Man,\" said old Honest, almost\nlaying his quarterstaff over Feeble-mind's shoulders--\"Man, dost thou\nthink because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?\"\n\"I shall like no laughing,\" said Feeble-mind; \"I shall like no gay\nattire; I shall like no unprofitable questions.\"  I think it took some\nself-conceit to refuse to sit at table beside Christiana because of her\ngay attire.  And I hope Mercy did not give up dressing well, even after\nshe was married, to please that weak-minded old churl.  And as to\nunprofitable questions--we are all tempted to think that question\nunprofitable which our incapacity or our ignorance keeps us silent upon\nat table.  We think that topic both ill-timed and impertinent and unsafe\nto which we are not invited to contribute anything.  \"I am a very\nignorant man,\" he went on to say; and, if that was said in any humility,\nFeeble-mind never said a truer word.  \"It is with me as it is with a weak\nman among the strong, or as with a sick man among the healthy, or as a\nlamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease.\"  All which only\nbrought Greatheart out in his very best colours.  \"But, brother,\" said\nthe guide, \"I have it in commission to comfort the feeble-minded, and to\nsupport the weak.  You must needs go along with us; we will wait for you,\nwe will lend you our help, we will deny ourselves of some things, both\nopinionative and practical, for your sake; we will not enter into\ndoubtful disputations before you; we will be made all things to you\nrather than that you shall be left behind.\"\n\n7.  The first thing that did Mr. Feeble-mind any real good was his being\nmade military guard over the women and the children while the men went\nout to demolish Doubting Castle.  _Quis custodiet_? you will smile and\nsay when you hear that.  Who shall protect the protector? you will say.\nBut wait a little.  Greatheart knew his business.  For not only did\nFeeble-mind rise to the occasion, when he was put to it; but, more than\nthat, he was the soul of good company at supper-time that night.  \"Jocund\nand merry\" are the very words.  Yes; give your feeble and fault-finding\nfolk something to do.  Send them to teach a class.  Send them down into a\nmission district.  Lay a sense of responsibility upon them.  Leave them\nto deal with this and that emergency themselves.  Cease carrying them on\nyour back, and lay weak and evil and self-willed people on their back.\nLet them feel that they are of some real use.  As Matthew Arnold says,\nLet the critic but try practice, and you will make a new man of him.  As\nGreatheart made of Feeble-mind by making him mount guard over the\nCelestial caravan while the fighting men were all up at Doubting Castle.\n\n8.  \"Mark this,\" says Mr. Feeble-mind's biographer on the early margin of\nhis history, lest we should be tempted to forget the good parts of this\ntroublesome and provoking pilgrim--\"Mark this.\"  This, namely, which\nFeeble-mind says to his guide.  \"As to the main, I thank Him that loves\nme, I am fixed.  My way is before me, my mind is beyond the river that\nhas no bridge, though I am, as you see, but of a feeble mind.\"  And that\nleads us with returning regard and love to turn to the end of his\nhistory, where we read: \"After this Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought\nhim that the post sounded his horn at his chamber door.  Then he came in\nand told him, saying, I am come to tell thee that thy Master hath need of\nthee, and that in very little time thou must behold His face in\nbrightness.  Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends, and told them\nwhat errand had been brought to him, and what token he had received of\nthe truth of the message.  As for my feeble mind he said, that I shall\nleave behind me, for I shall have no need of that in the place whither I\ngo.  Nor is it worth bestowing upon the poorest pilgrim.  Wherefore, when\nI am gone, I desire that you would bury it in a dung-hill.  This done,\nand the day being come in which he was about to depart, he entered the\nriver as the rest.  His last words were, Hold out, faith and patience!  So\nhe went over to the other side.\"\n\n\n\n\nGREAT-HEART\n\n\n   \"--when thou shalt enlarge my heart.\"--_David_.\n\nOn Sabbath, the 12th December 1886, I heard the late Canon Liddon preach\na sermon in St. Paul's Cathedral, in which he classed Oliver Cromwell\nwith Alexander the Sixth and with Richard the Third.  I had taken my\nestimate of the great Protector's character largely from Carlyle's famous\nbook, and you can judge with what feelings I heard the canon's\ncomparison.  And, besides, I had been wont to think of the Protector as\nhaving entered largely into John Bunyan's portrait of Greatheart, the\npilgrim guide.  And the researches and the judgments of Dr. Gardiner have\nonly gone to convince me, the eloquent canon notwithstanding, that Bunyan\ncould not have chosen a better contemporary groundwork for his Greatheart\nthan just the great Puritan soldier.  Cromwell's \"mental struggles before\nhis conversion,\" his life-long \"searchings of heart,\" his \"utter absence\nof vindictiveness,\" his unequalled capacity for \"seeing into the heart of\na situation,\" and his own \"all-embracing hospitality of heart\"--all have\ngone to reassure me that my first guess as to Bunyan's employment of the\nProtector's matchless personality and services had not been so far\nastray.  And the oftener I read the noble history of Greatheart, the\nbetter I seem to hear, beating behind his fine figure, by far the\ngreatest heart that ever ruled over the realm of England.\n\n1.  The first time that we catch a glimpse of Greatheart's weather-beaten\nand sword-seamed face is when he is taking a stolen look out of the\nwindow at Mr. Fearing, who is conducting himself more like a chicken than\na man around the Interpreter's door.  And from that moment till Mr.\nFearing shouted \"Grace reigns!\" as he cleared the last river, never\nsportsman surely stalked a startled deer so patiently and so skilfully\nand so successfully as Greatheart circumvented that chicken-hearted\npilgrim.  \"At last I looked out of the window, and perceiving a man to be\nup and down about the door, I went out to him and asked him what he was;\nbut, poor man, the water stood ill his eyes.  So I perceived what he\nwanted.  I went in, therefore, and told it in the house, and we showed\nthe thing to our Lord.  So He sent me out again to entreat him to come\nin; but I dare say I had hard work to do it.\"  Greatheart's whole account\nof Mr. Fearing always brings the water to my eyes also.  It is indeed a\ndelicious piece of English prose.  If I were a professor of _belles\nlettres_ instead of what I am, I would compel all my students, under pain\nof rustication, to get those three or four classical pages by heart till\nthey could neither perpetrate nor tolerate bad English any more.  This\ncamp-fire tale, told by an old soldier, about a troublesome young recruit\nand all his adventures, touches, surely, the high-water mark of sweet and\nundefiled English.  Greatheart was not the first soldier who could handle\nboth the sword and the pen, and he has not been the last.  But not Caesar\nand not Napier themselves ever handled those two instruments better.\n\n2.  Greatheart had just returned to his Master's house from having seen\nMr. Fearing safely through all his troubles and well over the river,\nwhen, behold, another caravan of pilgrims is ready for his convoy.  For\nGreatheart, you must know, was the Interpreter's armed servant.  When at\nany time Greatheart was off duty, which in those days was but seldom, he\ntook up his quarters again in the Interpreter's house.  As he says\nhimself, he came back from the river-side only to look out of the\nInterpreter's window to see if there was any more work on the way for him\nto do.  And, as good luck would have it, as has been said, the guide was\njust come back from his adventures with Mr. Fearing when a pilgrim party,\nthan which he had never seen one more to his mind, was introduced to him\nby his Master, the Interpreter.  \"The Interpreter,\" so we read at this\npoint, \"then called for a man-servant of his, one Greatheart, and bid him\ntake sword, and helmet, and shield, and take these, my daughters,\" said\nhe, \"and conduct them to the house called Beautiful, at which place they\nwill rest next.  So he took his weapons and went before them, and the\nInterpreter said, God-speed.\"\n\n3.  Now I saw in my dream that they went on, and Greatheart went before\nthem, so they came to the place where Christian's burden fell off his\nback and tumbled into a sepulchre.  Here, then, they made a pause, and\nhere also they blessed God.  \"Now,\" said Christiana, \"it comes to my mind\nwhat was said to us at the gate; to wit, that we should have pardon by\nword and by deed.  What it is to have pardon by deed, Mr. Greatheart, I\nsuppose you know; wherefore, if you please, let us hear your discourse\nthereof.\"  \"So then, to speak to the question,\" said Greatheart.  You\nhave all heard about the \"question-day\" at Highland communions.  That day\nis so called because questions that have arisen in the minds of \"the men\"\nin connection with doctrine and with experience are on that day set\nforth, debated out, and solved by much meditation and prayer; age,\nsaintliness, doctrinal and experimental reading, and personal experience\nall making their contribution to the solution of the question in hand.\nJust such a question, then, and handled in such a manner, was that\nquestion which whiled the way and cheated the toil till the pilgrims came\nto the House Beautiful.  The great doctrinal and experimental Puritans,\nwith Hooker at their head, put forth their full strength and laid out\ntheir finest work just on this same question that Christiana gave out at\nthe place, somewhat ascending, upon which stood a cross, and a little\nbelow, in the bottom, a sepulchre.  But not the great Comment on The\nGalatians itself, next to the Holy Bible as it is, as most fit for a\nwounded conscience; no, nor that perfect mass of purest gold, The Learned\nDiscourse of Justification, nor anything else of that kind known to me,\nis for one moment, to compare in beauty, in tenderness, in eloquence, in\nscriptural depth, and in scriptural simplicity with Greatheart's noble\nresolution of Christiana's question which he made on the way from the\nInterpreter's house to the House Beautiful.  \"This is brave!\" exclaimed\nthat mother in Israel, when the guide had come to an end.  \"Methinks it\nmakes my heart to bleed to think that He should bleed for me.  O Thou\nloving One!  O Thou blessed One!  Thou deservest to have me, for Thou\nhast bought me.  No marvel that this made the water to stand in my\nhusband's eyes, and that it made him trudge so nimbly on.  O Mercy, that\nthy father and thy mother were here; yea, and Mrs. Timorous too!  Nay, I\nwish now with all my heart that here was Madam Wanton too.  Surely,\nsurely their hearts would be affected here!\"  Promise me to read at home\nGreatheart's discourse on the Righteousness of Christ, and you will thank\nme for having exacted the promise.\n\nThe incongruity of a soldier handling such questions, and especially in\nsuch a style, has stumbled some of John Bunyan's fault-finding readers.\nThe same incongruity stumbled \"the Honourable Colonel Hacker, at Peebles\nor elsewhere,\" to whom Cromwell sent these from Edinburgh on the 25th\nDecember 1650--\"But indeed I was not satisfied with your last speech to\nme about Empson, that he was a better preacher than fighter or soldier--or\nwords to that effect.  Truly, I think that he that prays and preaches\nbest will fight best.  I know nothing that will give like courage and\nconfidence as the knowledge of God in Christ will; and I bless God to see\nany in this army able and willing to impart the knowledge they have for\nthe good of others.  I pray you receive Captain Empson lovingly: I dare\nassure you he is a good man and a good officer; I would we had no worse.\"\n\n4.  \"Will you not go in and stay till morning?\" said the porter to\nGreatheart, at the gate of the House Beautiful.  \"No,\" said the guide; \"I\nwill return to my lord to-night.\"  \"O sir!\" cried Christiana and Mercy,\n\"we know not how to be willing you should leave us in our pilgrimage.  Oh\nthat we might have your company till our journey's end.\"  Then said\nJames, the youngest of the boys, \"Pray be persuaded to go with us and\nhelp us, because we are so weak and the way so dangerous as it is.\"  \"I\nam at my lord's commandment,\" said Greatheart.  \"If he shall allow me to\nbe your guide quite through, I shall willingly wait upon you.  But here\nyou failed at first; for when he bid me come thus far with you, then you\nshould have begged me of him to have gone quite through with you, and he\nwould have granted your request.  However, at present, I must withdraw,\nand so, good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave children, adieu!\"  \"Help\nlost for want of asking for,\" is our author's condemnatory comment on the\nmargin at this point in the history.  And there is not a single page in\nmy history, or in yours, my brethren, on which the same marginal lament\nis not written.  What help we would have had on our Lord's promise if we\nhad but taken the trouble to ask for it!  And what help we once had, and\nhave now lost, just because when we had it we did not ask for a\ncontinuance of it!  \"No,\" said Greatheart to the porter, and to the two\nwomen, and to James--\"No.  I will return to my lord to-night.  I am at my\nlord's commandment; only, if he shall still allot me I shall willingly\nwait upon you.\"\n\nNow, what with the House Beautiful, so full of the most delightful\ncompany; what with music in the house and music in the heart; what with\nMr. Brisk's courtship of Mercy, Matthew's illness, Mr. Skill's cure of\nthe sick man, and what not--a whole month passed by like a day in that so\nhappy house.  But at last Christiana and Mercy signified it to those of\nthe house that it was time for them to be up and going.  Then said Joseph\nto his mother, \"It is convenient that you send back to the house of Mr.\nInterpreter to pray him to grant that Mr. Greatheart should be sent to us\nthat he may be our conductor the rest of our way.\"  \"Good boy,\" said she,\n\"I had almost forgot.\"  So she drew up a petition and prayed Mr. Watchful\nthe porter to send it by some fit man to her good friend, Mr.\nInterpreter; who, when it was come and he had seen the contents of the\npetition, said to the messenger, \"Go, tell them that I will send him.\" .\n. . Now, about this time one knocked at the door.  So the porter opened,\nand, behold, Mr. Greatheart was there!  But when he came in, what joy was\nthere!  Then said Mr. Greatheart to the two women, \"My lord has sent each\nof you a bottle of wine, and also some parched corn, together with a\ncouple of pomegranates.  He has also sent the boys some figs and raisins\nto refresh you on your way.\"  \"The weak may sometimes call the strong to\nprayers,\" I read again in the margin opposite the mention of Joseph's\nname.  Not that I am strong, and not that she is weak, but one of my\npeople I spent an hour with last afternoon whom you would to a certainty\nhave called weak had you seen her and her surrounding,--she so called me\nto prayer that I had to hurry home and go straight to it.  And all last\nnight and all this morning I have had as many pomegranates as I could eat\nand as much wine as I could drink.  Yes; you attend to what the weakest\nwill sometimes say to you, and they will often put you on the way to get\nGreatheart back again with a load of wines and fruits and corn on his\nshoulder to refresh you on your journey.  \"Good boy!\" said Christiana to\nJoseph her youngest son, \"Good boy!  I had almost forgot!\"\n\n5.  When old Mr. Honest began to nod after the good supper that Gaius\nmine host gave to the pilgrims, \"What, sir,\" cried Greatheart, \"you begin\nto be drowsy; come, rub up; now here's a riddle for you.\"  Then said Mr.\nHonest, \"Let's hear it.\"  Then said Mr. Greatheart,\n\n   \"He that will kill, must first be overcome;\n   Who live abroad would, first must die at home.\"\n\n\"Hah!\" said Mr. Honest, \"it is a hard one; hard to expound, and harder\nstill to practise.\"  Yes; this after-supper riddle of Mr. Greatheart is a\nhard one in both respects; and for this reason, because the learned and\nmuch experienced guide--learned with all that his life-long quarters in\nthe Interpreter's House could teach him, and experienced with a\nlifetime's accumulated experience of the pilgrim life--has put all his\nlearning and all his life into these two mysterious lines.  But old\nHonest, once he had sufficiently rubbed up his eyes and his intellects,\ngave the answer:\n\n   \"He first by grace must conquered be\n      That sin would mortify.\n   And who, that lives, would convince me,\n      Unto himself must die.\"\n\nExactly; shrewd old Honest; you have hit off both Greatheart and his\nriddle too.  You have dived into the deepest heart of the Interpreter's\nman-servant.  \"The magnanimous man\" was Aristotle's masterpiece.  That\ngreat teacher of mind and morals created for the Greek world their\nGreatheart.  But, \"thou must understand,\" says Bunyan to his readers,\n\"that I never went to school to Aristotle or Plato.  No; but to Paul, who\ntaught Bunyan that what Aristotle calls magnanimity is really\npride--taught him that, till there is far more of the Christian religion\nin those two doggerel lines at Gaius's supper-table than there is in all\nThe Ethics taken together.  And it is only from a personal experience of\nthe same life as that which the guide puts here into his riddle that any\nman's proud heart will become really humble and thus really great, really\nenlarged, and of an all-embracing hospitality like Cromwell's and\nGreatheart's and John Bunyan's own.  Would you, then, become a Greatheart\ntoo?  And would you be employed in your day as they were employed in\ntheir day?  Then expound to yourself, and practise, and follow out that\ndeep riddle with which Greatheart so woke up old Honest:\n\n   \"He that will kill, must first be overcome;\n   Who live abroad would, first must die at home.\n\n6.  Greatheart again and again at the river-side, Greatheart sending\npilgrim after pilgrim over the river with rapture, and he himself still\nsummoned to turn his back on the Celestial City, and to retrace his steps\nthrough the land of Beulah, through the Valley of the Shadow of Death,\nand through the Valley of Humiliation, and back to the Interpreter's\nhouse to take on another and another and another convoy of fresh\npilgrims, and his own abundant entrance still put off and never to\ncome,--our hearts bleed for poor Greatheart.  Back and forward, back and\nforward, year after year, this noble soul uncomplainingly goes.  And,\never as he waves his hand to another pilgrim entering with trumpets\nwithin the gates, he salutes his next pilgrim charge with the brave\nwords: \"Yet what I shall choose I wot not.  For I am in a strait betwixt\ntwo: having a desire to depart and to be with Christ.  Nevertheless to\nabide in the flesh is more needful for you, for your furtherance and joy\nof faith by my coming to you again.\"  If Greatheart could not \"usher\nhimself out of this life\" along with Christiana, and Mercy, and Mr.\nHonest, and Standfast, and Valiant-for-truth--if he had still to toil\nback and bleed his way up again at the head of another happy band of\npilgrims--well, after all is said, what had the Celestial City itself to\ngive to Greatheart better than such blessed work?  With every such\nreturning journey he got a more and more enlarged, detached, hospitable,\nand Christ-like heart, and the King's palace in very glory itself had\nnothing better in store for this soldier-guide than that.  A nobler\nheaven Greatheart could not taste than he had already in himself, as he\nchampioned another and another pilgrim company from his Master's earthly\ngate to his Master's heavenly gate.  Like Paul, his apostolic prototype,\nGreatheart sometimes vacillated just for a moment when he came a little\ntoo near heaven, and felt its magnificent and almost dissolving\nattractions full in his soul.  You will see Greatheart's mind staggering\nfor a moment between rest and labour, between war and peace, between\n\"Christ\" on earth and \"Christ\" in heaven--you will see all that set forth\nwith great sympathy and great ability in Principal Rainy's new book on\nPaul's Epistle to the Philippians, and in the chapter entitled, The\nApostle's Choice between Living and Dying.\n\nThen there came a summons for Mr. Standfast.  At which he called to him\nMr. Greatheart, and said unto him, \"Sir, although it was not my hap to be\nmuch in your good company in the days of my pilgrimage, yet, since the\ntime I knew you, you have been profitable to me.  When I came from home I\nleft behind me a wife and five small children.  Let me entreat you, at\nyour return (for I know that you will go and return to your master's\nhouse in hopes that you may be a conductor to more of the holy pilgrims),\nthat you send to my family and let them be acquainted with all that hath\nand shall happen to me.  Tell them, moreover, of my happy arrival to this\nplace, and of the present late blessed condition I am in, and so on for\nmany other messages and charges.\"  Yes, Mr. Standfast; very good.  But I\nwould have liked you on your deathbed much better if you had had a word\nto spare from yourself and your wife and your children for poor\nGreatheart himself, who had neither wife nor children, nor near hope of\nheaven, but only your trust and charge and many suchlike trusts and\ncharges to carry out when you are at home and free of all trust and all\ncharge and all care.  But yours is the way of all the pilgrims--so long,\nat least, as they are in this selfish life.  Let them and their children\nonly be well looked after, and they have not many thoughts or many words\nleft for those who sweat and bleed to death for them and theirs.  They\nlean on this and that Greatheart all their own way up, and then they\nleave their widows and children to lean on whatever Greatheart is sent to\nmeet them; but it is not one pilgrim in ten who takes the thought or has\nthe heart to send a message to Mr. Greatheart himself for his own\nconsolation and support.  I read that Mr. Ready-to-halt alone, good soul,\nhad the good feeling to do it.  He thanked Mr. Greatheart for his conduct\nand for his kindness, and so addressed himself to his journey.  All the\nsame, noble Greatheart! go on in thy magnanimous work.  Take back all\ntheir errands.  Seek out at any trouble all their wives and children.\nEmbark again and again on all thy former battles and hardships for the\ngood of other men.  But be assured that all this thy labour is not in\nvain in thy Lord.  Be well assured that not one drop of thy blood or thy\nsweat or thy tears shall fall to the ground on that day when they that be\nwise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn\nmany to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.  Go back, then,\nfrom thy well-earned rest, O brave Greatheart! go back to thy waiting\ntask.  Put on again thy whole armour.  Receive again, and again fulfil,\nthy Master's commission, till He has no more commissions left for thy\nbrave heart and thy bold hand to execute.  And, one glorious day, while\nthou art still returning to thy task, it shall suddenly sound in thy\ndutiful ears:--\"Well done! good and faithful servant!\"  And then thou too\n\n   \"Shalt hang thy trumpet in the hall\n   And study war no more.\"\n\n\n\n\nMR. READY-TO-HALT\n\n\n   \"For I am ready to halt.\"--_David_.\n\nMr. Ready-to-halt is the Mephibosheth of the pilgrimage.  While\nMephibosheth was still a child in arms, his nurse let the young prince\nfall, and from that day to the day of his death he was lame in both his\nfeet.  Mephibosheth's life-long lameness, and then David's extraordinary\ngrace to the disinherited cripple in commanding him to eat continually at\nthe king's table; in those two points we have all that we know about Mr.\nReady-to-halt also.  We have no proper portrait, as we say, of Mr. Ready-\nto-halt.  Mr. Ready-to-halt is but a name on John Bunyan's pages--a name\nset upon two crutches; but, then, his simple name is so suggestive and\nhis two crutches are so eloquent, that I feel as if we might venture to\ntake this life-long lameter and his so serviceable crutches for our\ncharacter-lecture to-night.\n\nJohn Bunyan, who could so easily and so delightfully have done it, has\ngiven us no information at all about Mr. Ready-to-halt's early days.  For\nonce his English passion for a pedigree has not compelled our author's\npen.  We would have liked immensely to have been told the name, and to\nhave seen displayed the whole family tree of young Ready-to-halt's\nfather; and, especially, of his mother.  Who was his nurse also?  And did\nshe ever forgive herself for the terrible injury she had done her young\nmaster?  What were his occupations and amusements as a little cripple\nboy?  Who made him his first crutch?  Of what wood was it made?  And at\nwhat age, and under whose kind and tender directions did he begin to use\nit?  And, then, with such an infirmity, what ever put it into Mr. Ready-\nto-halt's head to attempt the pilgrimage?  For the pilgrimage was a task\nand a toil that took all the limbs and all the lungs and all the labours\nand all the endurances that the strongest and the bravest of men could\nbring to bear upon it.  How did this complete cripple ever get through\nthe Slough, and first up and then down the Hill Difficulty, and past all\nthe lions, and over a thousand other obstacles and stumbling-blocks, till\nhe arrived at mine host's so hospitable door?  The first surprised sight\nwe get of this so handicapped pilgrim is when Greatheart and Feeble-mind\nare in the heat of their discourse at the hostelry door.  At that moment\nMr. Ready-to-halt came by with his crutches in his hand, and he also was\ngoing on pilgrimage.  Thus, therefore, they went on.  Mr. Greatheart and\nMr. Honest went on before, Christiana and her children went next, and Mr.\nFeeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt came behind with his crutches.\n\n   \"Put by the curtains, look within my veil,\n   Turn up my metaphors, and do not fail,\n   There, if thou seekest them, such things to find,\n   As will be helpful to an honest mind.\"\n\n1.  Well, then, when we put by the curtains and turn up the metaphors,\nwhat do we find?  What, but just this, that poor Mr. Ready-to-halt was,\nafter all, the greatest and the best believer, as the New Testament would\nhave called him, in all the pilgrimage.  We have not found so great faith\nas that of Mr. Ready-to-halt, no, not in the very best of the pilgrim\nbands.  Each several pilgrim had, no doubt, his own good qualities; but,\nat pure and downright believing--at taking God at His bare and simple\nword--Mr. Ready-to-halt beat them all.  All that flashes in upon us from\none shining word that stands on the margin of our so metaphorical author.\nThis single word, the \"promises,\" hangs like a key of gold beside the\nfirst mention of Mr. Ready-to-halt's crutches--a key such that in a\nmoment it throws open the whole of Mr. Ready-to-halt's otherwise lockfast\nand secret and inexplicable life.  There it all is, as plain as a pike-\nstaff now!  Yes; Mr. Ready-to-halt's crutches are just the divine\npromises.  I wonder I did not see that all the time.  Why, I could\ncompose all his past life myself now.  I have his father and his mother\nand his nurse at my finger-ends now.  This poor pilgrim--unless it would\nbe impertinence to call him poor any more--had no limbs to be called\nlimbs.  Such limbs as he had were only an encumbrance to this unique\npedestrian.  All the limbs he had were in his crutches.  He had not one\natom of strength to lean upon apart from his crutches.  A bone, a muscle,\na tendon, a sinew, may be ill-nourished, undeveloped, green, and unknit,\nbut, at the worst, they are inside of a man and they are his own.  But a\ncrutch, of however good wood it may be made, and however good a lame man\nmay be at using it--still, a crutch at its best is but an outside\nadditament; it is not really and originally a part of a man's very self\nat all.  And yet a lame man is not himself without his crutch.  Other men\ndo not need to give a moment's forethought when they wish to rise up to\nwalk, or to run, or to leap, or to dance.  But the lame man has to wait\ntill his crutches are brought to him; and then, after slowly and\npainfully hoisting himself up upon his crutches, with great labour, he at\nlast takes the road.  Mr. Ready-to-halt, then, is a man of God; but he is\none of those men of God who have no godliness within themselves.  He has\nno inward graces.  He has no past experiences.  He has no attainments\nthat he can for one safe moment take his stand upon, or even partly lean\nupon.  Mr. Ready-to-halt is absolutely and always dependent upon the\npromises.  The promises of God in Holy Scripture are this man's very\nlife.  All his religion stands in the promises.  Take away the promises,\nand Mr. Ready-to-halt is a heap of heaving rags on the roadside.  He\ncannot take a single step unless upon a promise.  But, at the same time,\ngive Mr. Ready-to-halt a promise in his hand and he will wade the Slough\nupon it, and scale up and slide down the Hill Difficulty upon it, and\nfight a lion, and even brain Beelzebub with it, till he will with a\ngrudge and a doubt exchange it even for the chariots and the horses that\nwait him at the river.  What a delight our Lord would have taken in Mr.\nReady-to-halt had He come across him on His way to the passover!  How He\nwould have given Mr. Ready-to-halt His arm; how He would have made\nHimself late by walking with him, and would still have waited for him!\nNay, had that been a day of chap-books in carpenters' shops and on the\nvillage stalls, how He would have had Mr. Ready-to-halt's story by heart\nhad any brass-worker in Galilee told the history!  Our Lord was within an\ninch of telling that story Himself, when He showed Thomas His hands and\nHis side.  And at another time and in another place we might well have\nhad Mr. Ready-to-halt as one more of our Lord's parables for the common\npeople.  Only, He left the delight and the reward of drawing out this\nparable to one He already saw and dearly loved in a far-off island of the\nsea, the Puritan tinker of Evangelical England.\n\n2.  And now, after all that, would you think it going too far if I were\nto say that in making Himself like unto all His brethren, our Lord made\nHimself like Mr. Ready-to-halt too?  Indeed He did.  And it was because\nhis Lord did this, that Mr. Ready-to-halt so loved his Lord as to follow\nHim upon crutches.  It would not be thought seemly, perhaps, to carry the\nfigure too close to our Lord.  But, figure apart, it is only orthodox and\nscriptural to say that our Lord accomplished His pilgrimage and finished\nHis work leaning all along upon His Father's promises.  Esaias is very\nbold about this also, for he tells his readers again and again that their\nMessiah, when He comes, will have to be held up.  He will have to be\nencouraged, comforted, and carried through by Jehovah.  And in one\nremarkable passage he lets us see Jehovah hooping Messiah's staff first\nwith brass, and then with silver, and then with gold.  Let Thomas\nGoodwin's genius set the heavenly scene full before us.  \"You have it\ndialoguewise set forth,\" says that great preacher.  \"First Christ shows\nHis commission, telling God how He had called Him and fitted Him for the\nwork of redemption, and He would know what reward He should receive of\nHim for so great an undertaking.  God at first offers low; only the elect\nof Israel.  Christ thinks these too few, and not worth so great a labour\nand work, because few of the Jews would come in; and therefore He says\nthat He would labour in vain if this were all His recompense; and yet\nwithal He tells God that seeing His heart is so much set on saving\nsinners, to satisfy Him, He will do it even for those few.  Upon this God\ncomes off more freely, and openeth His heart more largely to Him, as\nmeaning more amply to content Him for His pains in dying.  'It is a light\nthing,' says God to Him, 'that Thou shouldest be My servant to raise up\nthe tribes of Jacob--that is not worth Thy dying for.  I value Thy\nsufferings more than so.  I will give Thee for a salvation to the ends of\nthe earth.'  Upon this He made a promise to Christ, a promise which God,\nwho cannot lie, promised before the world began.  God cannot lie, and,\nmost of all, not to His Son.\"\n\nAnd, then, more even than that.  This same deep divine tells us that it\nis a certain rule in divinity that, whatsoever we receive from Christ,\nthat He Himself first receives in Himself for us.  All the promises of\nGod's word are made and fulfilled to Christ first, and so to us in and\nafter Him.  In other words, our Lord's life was so planned for Him in\nheaven and was so followed out and fulfilled by Him on earth, that, to\ntake up the metaphor again, He actually tried every crutch and every\nstaff with His own hands and with His own armpits; He actually leaned\nagain and again His own whole weight upon every several one of them.\nEvery single promise, the most unlikely for Him to lean upon and to\nplead, yet, be sure of it, He somehow made experiment upon them all, and\nmade sure that there was sufficient and serviceable grace within and\nunder every one of them.  So that, Mr. Ready-to-halt, there is no\npossible staff you can take into your hand that has not already been in\nthe hand of your Lord.  Think of that, O Mr. Ready-to-halt!  Reverence,\nthen, and almost worship thy staff!  Throw all thy weight upon thy staff.\nConfide all thy weakness to it.  Talk to it as thou walkest with it.  Make\nit talk to thee.  Worm out of it all its secrets about its first Owner.\nAnd let it instruct thee about how He walked with it and how He handled\nit.  The Bible is very bold with its Master.  It calls Him by the most\nstartling names sometimes.  There is no name that a penitent and a\nreturning sinner goes by that the Bible does not put somewhere upon the\nsinner's Saviour.  And in one place it as good as calls Him Ready-to-halt\nin as many words.  Nay, it lets us see Him halting altogether for a time;\nay, oftener than once; and only taking the road again, when a still\nstronger staff was put into his trembling hand.  And if John had but had\nroom in his crowded gospel he would have given us the very identical\npsalm with which our Lord took to the upward way again, strong in His new\nstaff.  \"For I am ready to halt,\" was His psalm in the house of His\npilgrimage, \"and My sorrow is continually before Me.  Mine enemies are\nlively, and they are strong; and they that hate Me wrongfully are\nmultiplied.  They also that render evil for good are Mine adversaries;\nbecause I follow the thing that good is.  Forsake Me not, O Lord; O My\nGod, be not far from Me.  Make haste to help Me, O Lord My salvation.\"\n\n3.  Among all the devout and beautiful fables of the \"dispensation of\npaganism,\" there is nothing finer than the fable of blind Tiresias and\nhis staff.  By some sad calamity this old prophet had lost the sight of\nhis eyes, and to compensate their servant for that great loss the gods\nendowed him with a staff with eyes.  As Aaron's rod budded before the\ntestimony and bloomed blossoms and yielded almonds, so Tiresias' staff\nbudded eyes, and divine eyes too, for the blind prophet's guidance and\ndirection.  Tiresias had but to take his heaven-given staff in his hand,\nwhen, straightway, such a divinity entered into the staff that it both\nsaw for him with divine eyes, and heard for him with divine ears, and\nthen led him and directed him, and never once in all his after journeys\nlet him go off the right way.  All other men about him, prophets and\npriests both, often lost their way, but Tiresias after his blindness,\nnever, till Tiresias and his staff became a proverb and a parable in the\nland.  And just such a staff, just such a crutch, just such a pair of\ncrutches, were the crutches of our own so homely Mr. Ready-to-halt.  With\nall their lusty limbs, all the other pilgrims often stumbled and went out\nof their way till they had to be helped up, led back, and their faces set\nright again.  But, last as Mr. Ready-to-halt always came in the\nprocession--behind even the women and the children as his crutches always\nkept him--you will seek in vain for the dot of those crutches on any by-\npath or on any wrong road.  No; the fact is, if you wish to go to the\nsame city, and are afraid you lose the way; as Evangelist said, \"Do you\nsee yon shining light?\" so I would say to you to-night, \"Do you see these\ncrutch-marks on the road?\"  Well, keep your feet in the prints of these\ncrutches, and as sure as you do that they will lead you straight to a\nchariot and horses, which, again, will carry you inside the city gates.\nFor Mr. Ready-to-halt's crutches have not only eyes like Tiresias' staff,\nthey have ears also, and hands and feet.  A lamp also burns on those\ncrutches; and wine and oil distil from their wonderful wood.  Happy\nblindness that brings such a staff!  Happy exchange! eyes full of earth\nand sin for eyes full of heaven and holiness!\n\n4.  \"They began to be merry,\" says our Lord, telling the story of the\nheart-broken father who had got back his younger son from a far country.\nAnd even Feeble-mind and Ready-to-halt begin to be merry on the green\nthat day after Doubting Castle has fallen to Greatheart's arms.  Now,\nChristiana, if need was, could play upon the viol, and her daughter Mercy\nupon the lute; and, since they were so merry disposed, she played them a\nlesson, and Mr. Ready-to-halt would dance.  So he paid a boy a penny to\nhold one of his crutches, and, taking Miss Much-afraid by the hand, to\ndancing they went.  And, I promise you he footed it well; the lame man\nleaped as an hart; also the girl was to be commended, for she answered\nthe music handsomely.  In spite of his life-long infirmity, there was\ndeep down in Mr. Ready-to-halt an unsuspected fund of good-humour.  There\nwas no heartier merriment on the green that day than was the merriment\nthat Mr. Ready-to-halt knocked out of his nimble crutch.  \"True, he could\nnot dance without one crutch in his hand.\"  True, dear and noble Bunyan,\nthou canst not write a single page at any time or on any subject without\nthy genius and thy tenderness and thy divine grace marking the page as\nthine own alone!\n\n5.  The next time we see Mr. Ready-to-halt he is coming in on his\ncrutches to see Christiana, for she has sent for him to see him.  So she\nsaid to him, \"Thy travel hither hath been with difficulty, but that will\nmake thy rest the sweeter.\"  And then in process of time there came a\npost to the town and his business this time was with Mr. Ready-to-halt.\n\"I am come to thee in the name of Him whom thou hast loved and followed,\nthough upon crutches.  And my message is to tell thee that He expects\nthee at His table to sup with Him in His kingdom the next day after\nEaster.\"  \"I am sent for,\" said Mr. Ready-to-halt to his fellow-pilgrims,\n\"and God shall surely visit you also.  These crutches,\" he said, \"I\nbequeath to my son that shall tread in my steps, with an hundred warm\nwishes that he may prove better than I have done.\"  Isaac was a child of\npromise, and Mr. Ready-to-halt had an Isaac also on whom his last\nthoughts turned.  Isaac had been born to Abraham by a special and\nextraordinary and supernatural interposition of the grace and the power\nof God; and Mr. Ready-to-halt had always looked on himself as a second\nAbraham in that respect.  A second Abraham, and more.  True, his son was\nnot yet a pilgrim; perhaps he was too young to be so called; but\nGreatheart will take back the old man's crutches--Greatheart was both man-\nof-war and beast-of-burden to the pilgrims and their wives and\nchildren--and will in spare hours teach young Ready-to-halt the use of\nthe crutch, till the son can use with the same effect as his father his\nfather's instrument.  Is your child a child of promise?  Is he to you a\nproduct of nature, or of grace?  Did you receive him and his brothers and\nsisters from God after you were as good as dead?  Did you ever steal in\nwhen his nurse was at supper and say over his young cradle, He hath not\ndealt with me after my sins, nor rewarded me according to my iniquities?\nIs it in your will laid up with Christ in God about your crutches and\nyour son what Mr. Ready-to-halt dictated on his deathbed?  And does God\nknow that there is no wish in your old heart a hundred times so warm for\nyour son as is this wish,--that he may prove better at handling God's\npromises than you have been?  Then, happy son, who has old Mr. Ready-to-\nhalt for his father!\n\n6.  \"He whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches, expects\nthee at His table the next day after Easter.\"  Take comfort, cripples!\nHad it been said that the King so expects Greatheart, or Standfast, or\nValiant-for-truth, that would have been after the manner of the kings of\nthis world.  But to insist on having Mr. Ready-to-halt beside Him by such\nand such a day; to send such a post to a pilgrim who has not a single\nsound bone in all his body; to a sinner without a single trustworthy\ngrace in all his heart; to a poor and simple believer who has nothing in\nhis hand but one of God's own promises--Who is a king like unto our King?\nSurely King David was never a better type of Christ than when he said to\nMephibosheth, lame in both his feet from his nurse's arms: \"Fear not,\nMephibosheth, for I will surely show thee kindness, and thou shalt eat\nbread at my table continually.\"  And Mephibosheth shall always be our\nspokesman when he bows himself and says in return: \"What is thy servant,\nthat thou shouldst look upon such a dead dog as I am?\"\n\n\n\n\nVALIANT-FOR-TRUTH\n\n\n   \"--They are not valiant for the truth.\"--_Jeremiah_\n\n   \"--Ye should contend earnestly for the faith.\"--_Jude_.\n\n   \"Forget not Master Valiant-for-the-Truth,\n   That man of courage, tho' a very youth.\n   Tell every one his spirit was so stout,\n   No man could ever make him face about.\"\n   _Bunyan_.\n\n\"I am of Dark-land, for there was I born, and there my father and mother\nare still.\"  \"Dark-land,\" said the guide; \"doth not that lie upon the\nsame coast as the City of Destruction?\"  \"Yes, it doth,\" replied Valiant-\nfor-truth.  \"And had I not found incommodity there, I had not forsaken it\nat all; but finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable\nfor me, I forsook it for this way.  Now, that which caused me to come on\npilgrimage was this.  We had one Mr. Tell-true came into our parts, and\nhe told it about what Christian had done, that went from the City of\nDestruction.  That man so told the story of Christian and his travels\nthat my heart fell into a burning haste to be gone after him, nor could\nmy father and mother stay me, so I got from them, and am come thus far on\nmy way.\"\n\n1.  A very plain and practical lesson is already read to us all in\nValiant-for-truth's explanation of his own pilgrimage.  He tells the\nguide that he was made a pilgrim just by having the story of The Pilgrim\ntold to him.  All that Tell-true did was just to recite the story of the\npilgrim, when young Valiant's heart fell into a burning haste to be a\npilgrim too.  My brethren, could any lesson be plainer?  Read the\n_Pilgrim's Progress_ with your children.  And, after a time, read it\nagain till they call it beautiful, and till you see the same burning\nhaste in their hearts that young Valiant felt in his heart.  Circulate\nthe _Pilgrim's Progress_.  Make opportunities to give the _Pilgrim's\nProgress_ to the telegraph boys and errand boys at your door.  Never go\non a holiday without taking a dozen cheap and tasteful copies of _The\nPilgrim_ to give to boys and girls in the country.  Make sure that no\none, old or young, of your acquaintance, in town or country, is without a\ngood copy of _The Pilgrim_.  And the darker their house is, make all the\nmore sure that John Bunyan is in it.\n\n   \"Now may this little book a blessing be,\n   To those that love this little book and me\n   And may its buyer have no cause to say\n   His money is but lost or thrown away.\"\n\n2.  But the great lesson of Valiant's so impressive life lies in the\ntremendous fight he had with three ruffians who all set upon him at once\nand well-nigh made an end of him.  For, when we put by the curtains here\nagain, and turn up the metaphors, what do we find?  What, but a lesson of\nfirst-rate importance for many men among ourselves; for many public men,\nmany ministers, and many other much-in-earnest men.  For Valiant, as his\nname tells us, was set to contend for the truth.  He had the truth.  The\ntruth was put into his keeping, and he was bound to defend it.  He was\nthrown into a life of controversy, and thus into all the terrible\ntemptations--worse than the temptations to whoredom or wine--that\naccompany a life of controversy.  The three scoundrels that fell upon\nValiant at the mouth of the lane were Wildhead, Inconsiderate, and\nPragmatic.  In other words, the besetting temptations of many men who are\nset as defenders of the truth in religion, as well as in other matters,\nis to be wild-headed, inconsiderate, self-conceited, and intolerably\narrogant.  The bloody battle that Valiant fought, you must know, was not\nfought at the mouth of any dark lane in the midnight city, nor on the\nside of any lonely road in the moonless country.  This terrible fight was\nfought in Valiant's own heart.  For Valiant was none of your calculating\nand cold-blooded friends of the truth.  He did not wait till he saw the\ntruth walking in silver slippers.  Let any man lay a finger on the truth,\nor wag a tongue against the truth, and he will have to settle it with\nValiant.  His love for the truth was a passion.  There was a fierceness\nin his love for the truth that frightened ordinary men even when they\nwere on his own side.  Valiant would have died for the truth without a\nmurmur.  But, with all that, Valiant had to learn a hard and a cruel\nlesson.  He had to learn that he, the best friend of truth as he thought\nhe was, was at the same time, as a matter of fact, the greatest enemy\nthat the truth had.  He had to take home the terrible discovery that no\nman had hurt the truth so much as he had done.  Save me from my friend!\nthe truth was heard to say, as often as she saw him taking up his weapons\nin her behalf.  We see all that every day.  We see Wildhead at his\ndisservice of the truth every day.  Sometimes above his own name, and\nsometimes with grace enough to be ashamed to give his name, in the\nnewspapers.  Sometimes on the platform; sometimes in the pulpit; and\nsometimes at the dinner-table.  But always to the detriment of the truth.\nIn blind fury he rushes at the character and the good name of men who\nwere servants of the truth before he was born, and whose shield he is not\nworthy to bear.  How shall Wildhead be got to see that he and the like of\nhim are really the worst friends the truth can possibly have?  Will he\nnever learn that in his wild-bull gorings at men and at movements, he is\nboth hurting himself and hurting the truth as no sworn enemy of his and\nof the truth can do?  Will he never see what an insolent fool he is to go\non imputing bad motives to other men, when he ought to be prostrate\nbefore God on account of his own?  More than one wild-headed student of\nWilliam Law has told me what a blessing they have got from that great\nman's teaching on the subject of controversy.  Will the Wildheads here to-\nnight take a line or two out of that peace-making author and lay them to\nheart?  \"My dear L-, take notice of this, that no truths, however solid\nand well-grounded, will help you to any divine life, but only so far as\nthey are taught, nourished, and strengthened by an unction from above;\nand that nothing more dries and extinguishes this heavenly unction than a\ntalkative reasoning temper that is always catching at every opportunity\nof hearing or telling some religious matters.  Stop your ears and shut\nyour eyes to all religious tales . . . I would no more bring a false\ncharge against a deist than I would bear false witness against an\napostle.  And if I knew how to do the deists more justice in debate I\nwould gladly do it . . . And as the gospel requires me to be as glad to\nsee piety, equity, strict sobriety, and extensive charity in a Jew or a\nGentile as in a Christian; as it obliges me to look with pleasure upon\ntheir virtues, and to be thankful to God that such persons have so much\nof true and sound Christianity in them; so it cannot be an unchristian\nspirit to be as glad to see truths in one party of Christians as in\nanother, and to look with pleasure upon any good doctrines that are held\nby any sect of Christian people, and to be thankful to God that they have\nso much of the genuine saving truths of the gospel among them . . .\nSelfishness and partiality are very inhuman and base qualities even in\nthe things of this world, but in the doctrines of religion they are of a\nfar baser nature.  In the present divided state of the Church, truth\nitself is torn and divided asunder; and, therefore, he is the only true\nCatholic who has more of truth and less of error than is hedged in by any\ndivided part.  To see this will enable us to live in a divided part\nunhurt by its division, and keep us in a true liberty and fitness to be\nedified and assisted by all the good that we hear or see in any other\npart of the Church.  And thus, uniting in heart and spirit with all that\nis holy and good in all Churches, we enter into the true communion of\nsaints, and become real members of the Holy Catholic Church, though we\nare confined to the outward worship of only one particular part of it.\nAnd thus we will like no truth the less because Ignatius Loyola or John\nBunyan were very jealous for it, nor have the less aversion to any error\nbecause Dr. Trapp or George Fox had brought it forth.\"  If Wildhead would\ntake a winter of William Law, it would sweeten his temper, and civilise\nhis manners, and renew his heart.\n\n3.  Inconsiderate, again, is the shallow creature he is, and does the\nendless mischief that he does, largely for lack of imagination.  He never\nthinks--neither before he speaks nor after he has spoken.  He never put\nhimself in another man's place all his days.  He is incapable of doing\nthat.  He has neither the head nor the heart to do that.  He never once\nsaid, How would I like that said about me? or, How would I like that done\nto me? or, How would that look and taste and feel to me if I were in So-\nand-so's place?  It needs genius to change places with other men; it\nneeds a grace beyond all genius; and this poor headless and heartless\ncreature does not know what genius is.  It needs imagination, the noblest\ngift of the mind, and it needs love, the noblest grace of the heart, to\nconsider the case of other people, and to see, as Butler says, that we\ndiffer as much from other people as they differ from us.  And it is by\nfar the noblest use of the imagination, far nobler than carving a\nLaocoon, or painting a Last Judgment, or writing a \"Paradiso\" or a\n\"Paradise Lost,\" to put ourselves into the places of other men so as to\nsee with their eyes, and feel with their hearts, and sympathise with\ntheir principles, and even with their prejudices.  Now, the inconsiderate\nman has so little imagination and so little love that he is sitting here\nand does not know what I am saying; and what suspicion he has of what I\nam saying is just enough to make him dislike both me and what I am saying\ntoo.  But his dull suspicion and his blind dislike are more than made up\nfor by the love and appreciation of those lovers and defenders of the\ntruth who painfully feel how wild and inconsiderate, how hot-headed, how\nthoughtless, and how reckless their past service even of God's truth has\nbeen.\n\n   \"The King is full of grace and fair regard.\n   Consideration, like an angel, came\n   And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him.\"\n\n4.  And as to Pragmatic, I would not call you a stupid person even though\nyou confided to me that you had never heard this footpad's name till to-\nnight.  John Bunyan has been borrowing Latin again, and not to the\nimprovement of his style, or to the advantage of his readers.  It would\nbe insufferably pragmatic in me to begin to set John Bunyan right in his\nEnglish; but I had rather offend the shades of a hundred John Bunyans\nthan leave my most unlettered hearer without his full and proper Sabbath-\nnight lesson.  The third armed thief, then, that fell upon Valiant was,\nunder other names, Impertinence, Meddlesomeness, Officiousness,\nOver-Interference.  Pragmatic,--by whatever name he calls himself, there\nis no mistaking him.  He is never satisfied.  He is never pleased.  He is\nnever thankful.  He is always setting his superiors right.  He is like\nthe Psalmist in one thing, he has more understanding than all his\nteachers.  And he enjoys nothing more than in letting them know that.\nThere is nothing he will not correct you in--from cutting for the stone\nto commanding the Channel Fleet.  Now, if all that has put any visual\nimage of Pragmatic into your mind, you will see at once what an enemy he\ntoo is fitted to be to the truth.  For the truth does not stand in\npoints, but in principles.  The truth does not dwell in the letter but in\nthe spirit.  The truth is not served by setting other people right, but\nby seeing every day and in every thing how far wrong we are ourselves.\nThe truth is like charity in this, that it begins at home.  It is like\ncharity in this also, that it never behaves itself unseemly.  A\npragmatical man, taken along with an inconsiderate man, and then a wild-\nheaded man added on to them, are three about as fatal hands as any truth\ncould fall into.  The worst enemy of the truth must pity the truth, and\nfeel his hatred at the truth relenting, when he sees her under the\nchampionship of Wildhead, Inconsiderate, and Pragmatic.\n\n5.  The first time we see Valiant-for-truth he is standing at the mouth\nof Dead-man's-lane with his sword in his hand and with his face all\nbloody.  \"They have left upon me, as you see,\" said the bleeding man,\n\"some of the marks of their valour, and have also carried away with them\nsome of mine.\"  And, in like manner, we see Paul with the blood of\nBarnabas still upon him when he is writing the thirteenth of First\nCorinthians; and John with the blood of the Samaritans still upon him\ndown to his old age when he is writing his First Epistle; and John Bunyan\nwith the blood of the Quakers upon him when he is covertly writing this\npage of his autobiography under the veil of Valiant-for-truth; and\nWilliam Law with the blood of Bishop Hoadly and John Wesley dropping on\nthe paper as he pens that golden passage which ends with Dr. Trapp and\nGeorge Fox.  Where did you think Paul got that splendid passage about\ncharity?  Where did you think William Law got that companion passage\nabout Church divisions, and about the Church Catholic?  Where are such\npassages ever got by inspired apostles, or by any other men, but out of\ntheir own bloody battles with their own wild-headedness, intolerance,\ndislike, and resentment?  Where do you suppose I got the true key to the\nveiled metaphor of Valiant-for-truth?  It does not exactly hang on the\ndoorpost of his history.  Where, then, could I get it but off the inside\nwall of my own place of repentance?  Just as you understand what I am now\nlabouring to say, not from my success in saying it, but from your own\ntrespasses against humility and love, your unadvised speeches, and your\nwild and whirling words.  Without shame and remorse, without\nself-condemnation and self-contempt, none of those great passages of\nPaul, or John, or Bunyan, or Law were ever written; and without a like\nshame, remorse, self-condemnation, and self-contempt they are not rightly\nread.\n\n   \"Oh! who shall dare in this frail scene\n   On holiest, happiest thoughts to lean,\n   On Friendship, Kindred, or on Love?\n   Since not Apostles' hands can clasp\n   Each other in so firm a grasp,\n   But they shall change and variance prove.\n\n   \"But sometimes even beneath the moon\n   The Saviour gives a gracious boon,\n   When reconciled Christians meet,\n   And face to face, and heart to heart,\n   High thoughts of Holy love impart\n   In silence meek, or converse sweet.\n\n   \"Oh then the glory and the bliss\n   When all that pained or seemed amiss\n   Shall melt with earth and sin away!\n   When saints beneath their Saviour's eye,\n   Filled with each other's company,\n   Shall spend in love the eternal day!\"\n\n6.  Then said Greatheart to Mr. Valiant-for-truth, \"Thou hast worthily\nbehaved thyself; let me see thy sword.\"  So he showed it him.  When he\nhad taken it in his hand and had looked thereon a while, the guide said:\n\"Ha! it is a right Jerusalem blade!\"  \"It is so,\" replied its owner.  \"Let\na man have one of these blades with a hand to wield it, and skill to use\nit, and he may venture upon an angel with it.  Its edges will never\nblunt.  It will cut flesh, and bones, and soul, and spirit, and all.\"\nBoth Damascus and Toledo blades were famous in former days for their\ntenacity and flexibility, and for the beauty and the edge of their steel.\nBut even a Damascus blade would be worthless in a weak, cowardly, or\nunskilled hand; while even a poor sword in the hand of a good swordsman\nwill do excellent execution.  And much more so when you have both a first-\nrate sword and a first-rate swordsman, such as both Valiant and his\nJerusalem blade were.  Ha! yes.  This is a right wonderful blade we have\nnow in our hand.  For this sword was forged in no earthly fire; and it\nwas whetted to its unapproachable sharpness on no earthly whetstone.  But,\nbest of all for us, when a good soldier of Jesus Christ has this sword\ngirt on his thigh he is able then to go forth against himself with it;\nagainst his own only and worst enemy--that is, against himself.  As here,\nagainst his own wildness of head and pride of heart.  Against his own\nwant of consideration also.  \"My people do not consider.\"  As also\nagainst himself as a lawless invader of other men's freedom of judgment,\nfollowing of truth, public honour, and good name.  As the Arabian\nwarriors see themselves and dress themselves in their swords as in a\nglass, so did Valiant-for-truth see the thoughts and intents, the joints\nand the marrow of his own disordered soul in his Jerusalem blade.  In the\nsheen of it he could see himself even when the darkness covered him; and\nwith its two edges all his after-life he slew both all real error in\nother men and all real evil in himself.  \"Thou hast done well,\" said\nGreatheart the guide.  \"Thou hast resisted unto blood, striving against\nsin.  Thou shalt abide by us, come in and go out with us, for we are thy\ncompanions.\"\n\n7.  \"Sir,\" said the widow indeed to Valiant-for-truth, \"sir, you have in\nall places shown yourself true-hearted.\"  The first time she ever saw\nthis man that she is now seeing for the last time on this side the river,\nhis own mother would not have known him, he was so hacked to pieces with\nthe swords of his three assailants.  But as she washed the blood off the\nmangled man's head and face and hands, she soon saw beneath all his\nbloody wounds a true, a brave, and a generous-hearted soldier of the\nCross.  The heart is always the man.  And this woman had lived long\nenough with men to have discovered that.  And with all his sears she saw\nthat it was at bottom the truth of his heart that had cast him into so\nmany bloody encounters.  There were men in that company, and men near the\nriver too, with far fewer marks of battle, and even of defeat, upon them,\nwho did not get this noble certificate and its accompanying charge and\ntrust from this clear-eyed widow.  And, then, she had never forgot--how\ncould she?--his exclamation, and almost embrace of her as of his own\nmother, when he burst out with his eyes full of blood, \"Why, is this\nChristian's wife?  What! and going on pilgrimage too?  It glads my heart!\nGood man!  How joyful will he be when he shall see her and her children\nenter after him in at the gates into the city!\"  He would have been\nhacked a hundred times worse than he was before the widow of Christian,\nand the mother of his children, would have seen anything but the manliest\nbeauty in a young soldier who could salute an old woman in that way.  It\ngladdened her heart to hear him, you may be sure, as much as it gladdened\nhis heart to see her.  And that was the reason that she actually set\nGreatheart himself aside, and left her children under this young man's\nsword and shield.  \"I would also entreat you to have an eye to my\nchildren,\" she said.  Young men, has any dying mother committed her\nchildren, if you at any time see them faint, to you?  Have you ever\nspoken so comfortably to any poor widow about her sainted husband that\nshe has passed by some of our foremost citizens, and has astonished and\noffended her lawyers by putting a stripling like you into the\ntrusteeship?  Did ever any dying mother say to you that she had seen you\nto be so true-hearted at all times that she entreated you to have an eye\nto her children?  Speaking at this point for myself, I would rather see\nmy son so trusted at such an hour by such a woman than I would see him\nthe Chancellor of Her Majesty's Exchequer, or the Governor of the Bank of\nEngland.  And so to-night would you.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDFAST\n\n\n   \"So stand fast in the Lord, my dearly beloved.\"--_Paul_.\n\nIn his supplementary picture of Standfast John Bunyan is seen at his very\nbest, both as a religious teacher and as an English author.  On the\nEnchanted Ground Standfast is set before us with extraordinary insight,\nsagacity, and wisdom; and then in the terrible river he is set before us\nwith an equally extraordinary rapture and transport; while, in all that,\nBunyan composes in English of a strength and a beauty and a music in\nwhich he positively surpasses himself.  Just before he closes his great\nbook John Bunyan rises up and once more puts forth his very fullest\nstrength, both as a minister of religion and as a classical writer, when\nhe takes Standfast down into that river which that pilgrim tells us has\nbeen such a terror to so many, and the thought of which has so often\naffrighted himself.\n\nWhen Greatheart and his charge were almost at the end of the Enchanted\nGround, so we read, they perceived that a little before them was a solemn\nnoise as of one that was much concerned.  So they went on and looked\nbefore them.  And behold, they saw, as they thought, a man upon his\nknees, with hands and eyes lift up, and speaking, as they thought,\nearnestly to one that was above.  They drew nigh, but could not tell what\nhe said; so they went softly till he had done.  When he had done, he got\nup and began to run towards the Celestial City.  \"So-ho, friend, let us\nhave your company,\" called out the guide.  At that the man stopped, and\nthey came up to him.  \"I know this man,\" said Mr. Honest; \"his name, I\nknow, is Standfast, and he is certainly a right good pilgrim.\"  Then\nfollows a conversation between Mr. Honest and Mr. Standfast, in which\nsome compliments and courtesies are exchanged, such as are worthy of such\nmen, met at such a time and in such a place.  \"Well, but, brother,\" said\nValiant-for-truth, \"tell us, I pray thee, what was it that was the cause\nof thy being upon thy knees even now?  Was it for that some special mercy\nlaid obligations upon thee, or how?\"  And then Standfast tells how as he\nwas coming along musing with himself, Madam Bubble presented herself to\nhim and offered him three things.  \"I was both aweary and sleepy and also\nas poor as a howlet, and all that the wicked witch knew.  And still she\nfollowed me with her enticements.  Then I betook me, as you saw, to my\nknees, and with hands lift up and cries, I prayed to Him who had said\nthat He would help.  So just as you came up the gentlewoman went her way.\nThen I continued to give thanks for my great deliverance; for I verify\nbelieve she intended me no good, but rather sought to make stop of me in\nmy journey.  What a mercy is it that I did resist her, for whither might\nshe not have drawn me?\"  And then, after all this discourse, there was a\nmixture of joy and trembling among the pilgrims, but at last they broke\nout and sang:\n\n   \"What danger is the pilgrim in,\n   How many are his foes,\n   How many ways there are to sin,\n   No living mortal knows!\"\n\n1.  \"Well, as I was coming along I was musing with myself,\" said\nStandfast.  You understand what it is to come along musing with yourself,\ndo you not, my brethren?  \"I will muse on the work of Thy hands,\" says\nthe Psalmist.  And again, \"While I was musing the fire burned.\"  Well,\nStandfast was much given to musing, just as David was.  Each several\npilgrim has his own way of occupying himself on the road; but Standfast\ncould never get his fill just of musing.  Standfast loved solitude.\nStandfast liked nothing better than to walk long stretches at a time all\nby himself alone.  Standfast was like the apostle when he preferred to\ntake the twenty miles from Troas to Assos on foot and alone, rather than\nto round the cape on shipboard in a crowd.  \"Minding himself to go\nafoot,\" says the apostle's companion.  It would have made a precious\nchapter in the Acts of the Apostles had the author of that book been able\nto give his readers some of Paul's musings as he crossed the Troad on\nfoot that day.  But in the absence of Paul's musings we have here the\nmusings of a man whom Paul would not have shaken off had he foregathered\nwith him on that lonely road.  For Standfast was in a deep and serious\nmuse mile after mile, when, who should step into the middle of his path\nright before him but Madam Bubble with her body and her purse and her\nbed?  Now, had this hungry howlet of a pilgrim been at that moment in any\nother but a musing mood of mind, he had to a certainty sold himself, soul\nand body, Celestial City and all, to that impudent slut.  But, as He\nwould have it who overrules Madam Bubble's descents, and all things,\nStandfast was at that moment in one of his most musing moods, and all her\nsmiles and all her offers fell flat and poor upon him.  Cultivate\nStandfast's mood of mind, my brethren.  Walk a good deal alone.  Strike\nacross country from time to time alone and have good long walks and talks\nwith yourself.  And when you know that you are passing places of\ntemptation see that your thoughts, and even your imaginations, are well\noccupied with solemn considerations about the certain issue of such and\nsuch temptations; and then, to you, as to Standfast,\n\n   \"The arrow seen beforehand slacks its flight.\"\n\n2.  But, musing alone, the arrow seen beforehand, and all, Standfast\nwould have been a lost man on that lonely road that day had he not\ninstantly betaken himself to his knees.  And it was while Standfast was\nstill on his knees that the ascending pilgrims heard that concerned and\nsolemn noise a little ahead of them.  Did you ever suddenly come across a\nman on his knees?  Did you ever surprise a man at prayer as Greatheart\nand his companions surprised Standfast?  I do not ask, Did you ever enter\na room and find a family around their morning or evening altar?  We have\nall done that.  And it left its own impression upon us.  But did you ever\nspring a surprise upon a man on his knees alone and in broad daylight?  I\ndid the other day.  It was between eleven and twelve o'clock in the\nforenoon when I asked a clerk if his master was in.  Yes, he said, and\nopened his master's door.  When, before I was aware, I had almost fallen\nover a man on his knees and with his face in his hands.  \"I pray thee,\"\nsaid Valiant-for-truth, \"tell us what it was that drew thee to thy knees\neven now.  Was it that some special mercy laid its obligations on thee,\nor how?\"  I did not say that exactly to my kneeling friend, though it was\non the point of my tongue to say it.  My dear friend, I knew, had his own\ndifficulties, though he was not exactly as poor as a howlet.  And it\nmight have been about some of his investments that had gone out of joint\nthat he went that forenoon to Him who had said that He would help.  Or,\nlike the author of the _Christian Perfection_ and _The Spirit of Prayer_,\nit was the sixth hour of the day, and he may have gone to his knees for\nhis clerks, or for his boys at school, or for himself and for the man in\nthe same business with himself right across the street.  I knew that my\nfriend had the charming book at home in which such counsels as these\noccur: \"If masters were thus to remember their servants, beseeching God\nto bless them, letting no day pass without a full performance of this\ndevotion, the benefit would be as great to themselves as to their\nservants.\"  And perhaps my friend, after setting his clerks their several\ntasks for the day, was now asking grace of God for each one of them that\nthey might not be eye-servants and men-pleasers, but the servants of\nChrist doing the will of God from the heart.  Or, again, he may have read\nin that noble book this passage: \"If a father were daily to make some\nparticular prayer to God that He would please to inspire his children\nwith true piety, great humility, and strict temperance, what could be\nmore likely to make the father himself become exemplary in these\nvirtues?\"  Now, my friend (who can tell?) may just that morning have lost\nhis temper with his son; or he may last night have indulged himself too\nmuch in eating, or in drinking, or in debate, or in detraction; and that\nmay have made it impossible for him to fix his whole mind on his office\nwork that morning.  Or, just to make another guess, when he opened the\nbook I had asked him to buy and read, he may have lighted on this\nheavenly passage: \"Lastly, if all people when they feel the first\napproaches of resentment or envy or contempt towards others; or if in all\nlittle disagreements and misunderstandings whatever they should have\nrecourse at such times to a more particular and extraordinary\nintercession with God for such persons as had roused their envy,\nresentment, or discontent--this would be a certain way to prevent the\ngrowth of all uncharitable tempers.\"  You may think that I am taking a\nroundabout way of accounting for my friend's so concerned attitude at\ntwelve o'clock that business day; but the whole thing seemed to me so\nunusual at such a time and in such a place that I was led to such guesses\nas these to account for it.  In so guessing I see now that I was\nintruding myself into matters I had no business with; but all that day I\ncould not keep my mind off my blushing friend.  For, like Mr. Standfast,\nmy dear friend blushed as he stood up and offered me the chair he had\nbeen kneeling at.  \"But, why, did you see me?\" said Mr. Standfast.  \"Yes,\nI did,\" quoth the other, \"and with all my heart I was glad at the sight.\"\n\"And what did you think?\" said Mr. Standfast.\n\n3.  \"Was it,\" asked Valiant-for-truth, in a holy curiosity, \"was it some\nspecial mercy that brought thee to thy knees even now?\"  Yes; Valiant-for-\ntruth had exactly hit it.  Gracious wits, like great wits, jump together.\n\"Yes,\" confessed Standfast, \"I continue to give thanks for my great\ndeliverance.\"  My brethren, you all pray importunately in your time of\nsore trouble.  Everybody does that.  But do you feel an obligation, like\nStandfast, to abide still on your knees long after your trouble is past?\nNature herself will teach us to pray; but it needs grace, and great grace\ncontinually renewed, to teach us to praise, and to continue all our days\nto praise.  How we once prayed, ay, as earnestly, and as concernedly, and\nas careless as to who should see or hear us as Standfast himself!  How\nsome of us here to-night used to walk across a whole country all the time\npraying!  How we hoodwinked people in order to get away from them to pray\nfor twenty miles at a time all by ourselves!  Under that bush--it still\nstands to mark the spot; in that wood, long since cut down into ploughed\nland--we could show our children the spot to this day where we prayed,\ntill a miracle was wrought in our behalf.  Yes, till God sent from above\nand took us as He never took a psalmist, and set our feet upon a still\nmore wonderful rock.  How He, yes, HE, with His own hand cut the cords,\nbroke the net, and set us free!  Come, all ye that fear God! we then\nsaid, and said it with all sincerity too.  And yet, how have we forgotten\nwhat He did for our soul?  We start like a guilty thing surprised when we\nthink how long it is since we had a spell of thanksgiving.  Shame on us!\nWhat treacherous hearts we have!  What short memories we have!  How soon\nwe forgive ourselves, and so forget the forgiveness of our God!  Brethren,\nlet us still lay plans for praise as we used to do for prayer.  If our\nfriends will go out with us, let us at least insist on walking home\nalone.  Let us say with Paul that we get sick at sea; and, besides, that\nwe have some calls to make and some small accounts to settle before we\nleave the country.  Tell them not to wait dinner for us.  And then let us\ntake plenty of time.  Let us stop at all our old stations and call back\nall our old terrors; let us repeat aloud our old psalms--the\ntwenty-fifth, the fifty-first, the hundred and third, and the hundred and\nthirtieth.  We used to terrify people with our prayers as Standfast\nterrified the young pilgrims that day; let us surprise and delight them\nnow with our psalms of thanksgiving.  For, with all our disgraceful\ningratitude in the past, if William Law is right, we are even yet not far\nfrom being great saints, if he is not wrong when he asks: \"Would you know\nwho is the greatest saint in the world?  It is not he who prays most or\nfasts most; it is not he who gives most alms, or is most eminent for\ntemperance, chastity, or justice.  But it is he who is most thankful to\nGod, and who has a heart always ready to praise God.  This is the\nperfection of all virtues.  Joy in God and thankfulness to God is the\nhighest perfection of a divine and holy life.\"  Well, then, what an\nendless cause of joy and thankfulness have we!  Let us acknowledge it,\nand henceforth employ it; and we shall, please God, even yet be counted\nas not low down but high up among the saints and the servants of God.\n\n4.  Christiana said many kind and wise and beautiful things to all the\nother pilgrims before she entered the river, but it was observed that\nthough she sent for Mr. Standfast, she said not one word to him when he\ncame; she just gave him her ring.  \"The touch is human and affecting,\"\nsays Mr. Louis Stevenson, in his delightful paper on Bagster's \"Bunyan,\"\nin the _Magazine of Art_.  By the way, do you who are lovers of Bunyan\nliterature know that remarkable and delicious paper?  The Messrs. Bagster\nshould secure that paper and should issue an _edition de luxe_ of their\nneglected \"Bunyan,\" with Mr. Stevenson's paper for a preface and\nintroduction.  Bagster's \"Illustrated Bunyan,\" with an introduction on\nthe illustrations by Mr. Louis Stevenson, if I am not much mistaken,\nwould sell by the thousand.\n\n5.  Lord Rosebery knows books and loves books, and he has called\nattention to the surpassing beauty of the English in the deathbed scenes\nof the _Pilgrim's Progress_.  And every lover of pure, tender, and noble\nEnglish must, like the Foreign Secretary, have all those precious pages\nby heart.  Were it not that we all have a cowardly fear at death\nourselves, and think it wicked and cruel even to hint at his approaching\ndeath even to a fast-dying man, we would never let any of our friends lie\ndown on his sick-bed without having a reassuring and victorious page of\nthe _Pilgrim_ read to him every day.  If the doctors would allow me, I\nwould have these heavenly pages reprinted in sick-bed type for all my\npeople.  But I am afraid at the doctors.  And thus one after another of\nmy people passes away without the fortification and the foretaste that\nthe deathbeds of Christian, and Christiana, and Hopeful, and Mr. Fearing,\nand Mr. Feeble-mind, and Mr. Honest, and Mr. Standfast would most surely\nhave given to them.  Especially the deathbed, if I must so call it, of\nMr. Standfast.  But as Christiana said nothing that could be heard to Mr.\nStandfast about his or her latter end, but just looked into his eyes and\ngave him her ring, so I may not be able to say all that is in my heart\nwhen your doctor is standing close by.  But you will understand what I\nwould fain say, will you not?  You will remember, and will have this\nheavenly book read to you alternately with your Bible, will you not?  Even\nthe most godless doctor will give way to you when you tell him that you\nknow as well as he does just how it is with you, and that you are to have\nyour own way for the last time.  I know a doctor who first forbade her\nminister and her family to tell his patient that she was dying, and at\nthe same time told them to take away from her bedside all such alarming\nbooks as the _Pilgrim's Progress_ and the _Saint's Rest_, and to read to\nher a reassuring chapter out of _Old Mortality_ and _Pickwick_.\n\nIt will, no doubt, put the best-prepared of us into a deep muse, as it\nput Standfast, when we are first told that we must at once prepare\nourselves for a change of life.  But I for one would not for worlds miss\nthat solemn warning, and that last musing-time.  It will all be just as\nmy Master pleases; but if it is within His will I shall till then\ncontinue to petition Him that I may have a passage over the river like\nthe passage of Standfast.  Or, if that may not now be, then, at least, a\nmusing-time like his.  The post from the Celestial City brought Mr.\nStandfast's summons \"open\" in his hand.  And thus it was that Standfast's\ntranslation did not take him by surprise.  Standfast was not plunged\nsuddenly and without warning into the terrible river.  He took the open\nsummons into big own hand and read it out like a man.  After which he\nwent, as his manner was, for a good while into a deep and undisturbed\nmuse.  As soon as he came out of his muse he would have Greatheart to be\nsent for.  And then their last conversation together proceeded.  And no\none interfered with the two brave-hearted men.  No one interposed, or\nsaid that Greatheart would exhaust or alarm Standfast, or would\ninjuriously hasten his end.  Not only so, but all the way till he was\nhalf over the river, Standfast kept up his own side of the noble\nconversation.  And it is his side of that half-earthly, whole-heavenly\nconversation that I would like to have put into suitable type and\nscattered broadcast over all our sick-beds.\n\n6.  \"Tell me,\" says Valdes to Julia in his _Christian Alphabet_, \"have\nyou ever crossed a deep river by a ford?\"  \"Yes,\" says Julia, \"I have,\nmany times.\"  \"And have you remarked how that by looking upon the water\nit seemed as though your head swam, so that, if you had not assisted\nyourself, either by closing your eyes, or by fixing them on the opposite\nshore, you would have fallen into the water in great danger of drowning?\"\n\"Yes, I have noticed that.\"  \"And have you seen how by keeping always for\nyour object the view of the land that lies on the other side, you have\nnot felt that swimming of the head, and so have suffered no danger of\ndrowning?\"  \"I have noticed that too,\" replied Julia.  Now, it was\nexactly this same way of looking, not at the black and swirling river,\nbut at the angelic conduct waiting for him at the further bank, and then\nat the open gate of the Celestial City,--it was this that kept\nStandfast's head so steady and his heart like a glowing coal while he\nstood and talked in the middle of the giddy stream.  You would have\nthought it was Paul himself talking to himself on the road to Assos.  For\nI defy even the apostle himself to have talked better or more boldly to\nhimself even on the solid midday road than Standfast talked to himself in\nthe bridgeless river.  \"I see myself,\" he said, \"at the end of my journey\nnow.  My toilsome days are all ended.  I am going now to see that head\nthat was crowned with thorns, and that face that was spat upon for me.  I\nloved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever I have seen the print of\nHis shoe in the earth I have coveted to set my foot also.  His name has\nbeen to me as a civet-box; yea, sweeter than all perfumes.  His word I\ndid use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against my faintings.  He\nhas held me, and I have kept me from my iniquities.  Yea, my steps He has\nstrengthened in my way.\"  Now, while Standfast was thus in discourse his\ncountenance changed, his strong man bowed down under him, and after he\nhad said \"Take me!\" he ceased to be seen of them.  But how glorious it\nwas to see how the open region was now filled with horses and chariots,\nwith trumpeters and pipers, and with singers and players on stringed\ninstruments, all to welcome the pilgrims as they went up and followed one\nanother in at the beautiful gate of the city!\n\n\n\n\nMADAM BUBBLE\n\n\n   \"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.\"--_Solomon_.\n\n   \"I have overcome the world.\"--_Our Lord_.\n\n   \"Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world.  For\n   all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes,\n   and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.  And\n   the world passeth away, and the lust thereof.\"--_John_.\n\n   \"This bubble world.\"--_Quarles_.\n\nMadam Bubble's portrait was first painted by the Preacher.  And he\npainted her portrait with extraordinary insight, boldness, and\ntruthfulness.  There is that in the Preacher's portrait of Madam Bubble\nwhich only comes of the artist having mixed his colours, as Milman says\nthat Tacitus mixed his ink, with resentment and with remorse.  Out of His\nreading of Solomon and Moses and the Prophets on this same subject, as\nwell as out of His own observation and experience, conflict and conquest,\nour Lord added some strong and deep and inward touches of His own to that\nwell-known picture, and then named it by the New Testament name of the\nWorld.  And then, after Him, His longest-lived disciple set forth the\nsame mother and her three daughters under the three names that still\nstick to them to this day,--the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes,\nand the pride of life.  But it was reserved for John Bunyan to fill up\nand to finish those outlines of Scripture and to pour over the whole work\nhis own depth and strength of colour, till, altogether, Madam Bubble\nstands out as yet another masterpiece of our dreamer's astonishing\ngenius.  Let us take our stand before this heaving canvas, then, till we\nhave taken attentive note of some of John Bunyan's inimitable touches and\nstrokes and triumphs of truth and art.  \"One in very pleasant attire, but\nold . . . This woman is a witch . . . I am the mistress of the world, she\nsaid, and men are made happy by me . . . A tall, comely dame, something\nof a swarthy complexion.\"  In the newly discovered portrait of a woman,\nby Albert Durer, one of the marks of its genuineness is the way that the\ngreat artist's initials A. D. are pencilled in on the embroidery of the\nlady's bodice.  And you will note in this gentlewoman's open dress also\nhow J. B. is inextricably woven in.  \"She wears a great purse by her side\nalso, and her hand is often in her purse fingering her money.  Yea, this\nis she that has bought off many a man from a pilgrim's life after he had\nfairly begun it.  She is a bold and an impudent slut also, for she will\ntalk with any man.  If there be one cunning to make money in any place,\nshe will speak well of him from house to house . . . She has given it out\nin some places also that she is a goddess, and therefore some do actually\nworship her . . . She has her times and open places of cheating, and she\nwill say and avow it that none can show a good comparable to hers.  And\nthus she has brought many to the halter, and ten thousand times more to\nhell.  None can tell of the mischief that she does.  She makes variance\nbetwixt rulers and subjects, betwixt parents and children, 'twixt\nneighbour and neighbour, 'twixt a man and his wife, 'twixt a man and\nhimself, 'twixt the flesh and the heart.\"  And so on in the great\noriginal.  \"Had she stood by all this while,\" said Standfast, whose eyes\nwere still full of her, \"you could not have set Madam Bubble more amply\nbefore me, nor have better described her features.\"  \"He that drew her\npicture was a good limner,\" said Mr. Honest, \"and he that so wrote of her\nsaid true\".\n\n1.  \"I am the mistress of this world,\" says Madam Bubble.  And though all\nthe time she is a bold and impudent slut, yet it is the simple truth that\nshe does sit as a queen over this world and over the men of this world.\nFor Madam Bubble has a royal family like all other sovereigns.  She has a\ncourt of her own, too, with its ball-room presentations and its birthday\nhonours.  She has a cabinet council also, and a bar and a bench with\ntheir pleadings and their decisions.  Far more than all that, she has a\nchurch which she has established and of which she is the head; and a\nfaith also of which she is the defender.  She has a standing army also\nfor the extension and the protection of her dominions.  She levies taxes,\ntoo, and sends out ambassadors, and makes treaties, and forms offensive\nand defensive alliances.  But what a bubble all this World is to him\nwhose eyes have at last been opened to see the hollowness and the\nheartlessness of it all!  For all its pursuits and all its possessions,\nfrom a child's rattle to a king's sceptre, all is one great bubble.\nWealth, fame, place, power; art, science, letters; politics, churches,\nsacraments, and scriptures--all are so many bubbles in Madam Bubble's\nWorld.  This wicked enchantress, if she does not find all these things\nbubbles already, by one touch of her evil wand she makes them so.  She\nturns gold into dross, God into an idle name, and His Word into words\nonly; unless when in her malice she turns it into a fruitful ground of\ndebate and contention; a ground of malice and hatred and ill-will.  Vanity\nof vanities; all is vanity and vexation of spirit.  Still, she sits a\nqueen and a goddess to a great multitude: to all men, to begin with.  And,\nlike a goddess, she sheds abroad her spirit in her people's hearts and\nlifts up upon them for a time the light of her countenance.\n\n2.  \"I am the mistress of the world,\" she says, \"and men are made happy\nby me.\"--I would like to see one of them.  I have seen many men to whom\nMadam Bubble had said that if they would be ruled by her she would make\nthem great and happy.  But though I have seen not a few who have believed\nher and let themselves be ruled by her, I have never yet seen one happy\nman among them.--The truth is, Madam Bubble is not able to make men happy\neven if she wished to do it.  She is not happy herself, and she cannot\ndispense to others what she does not possess.  And, yet, such are her\nsorceries that, while her old dupes die in thousands every day, new dupes\nare born to her every day in still greater numbers.  New dupes who run to\nthe same excess of folly with her that their fathers ran; new dupes led\nin the same mad dance after Madam Bubble and her three daughters.  But,\nalways, and to all men, what a bubble both the mother and all her\ndaughters are!  How they all make promises like their lying mother, and\nhow, like her, they all lead men, if not to the halter and to hell, as\nGreatheart said, yet to a life of vanity and to a death of disappointment\nand despair!  What bubbles of empty hopes both she and her three children\nblow up in the brains of men!  What pictures of untold happiness they\npaint in the imaginations of men!  What pleasures, what successes in\nlife, what honours and what rewards she pledges herself to see bestowed!\n\"She has her times and open places of cheating,\" said one who knew her\nand all her ways well.  And when men and women are still young and\ninexperienced, that is one of her great cheating times.  At some seasons\nof the year, and in some waters, to the fisherman's surprise and\nconfusion, the fish will sometimes take his bare hook; a bit of a red rag\nis a deadly bait.  And Madam Bubble's poorest and most perfunctory\nbusking is quite enough for the foolish fish she angles for.  And not in\nour salad days only, when we are still green in judgment, but even to\ngrey hairs, this wicked witch continues to entrap us to our ruin.  Love,\nin all its phases and in all its mixtures, first deludes the very young;\nand then place, and power, and fame, and money are the bait she busks for\nthe middle-aged and the old; and always with the same bubble end.  The\nwhole truth is that without God, the living and ever-present God, in all\nages of it and in all parts and experiences of it, our human life is one\nhuge bubble.  A far-shining, high-soaring bubble; but sooner or later\nseen and tasted to be a bubble--a deceit-filled, poison-filled\nbubble.--Happy by her!  All men happy by her!  The impudent slut!\n\n3.  Another thing about this slut is this, that \"she will talk with any\nman.\"  She makes up to us and makes eyes at us just as if we were free to\naccept and return her three offers.  And still she talks to us and offers\nus the same things she offered to Standfast till, to escape her and her\noffers, he betook himself to his knees.  Nay, truth to tell, after she\nhad deceived us and ensnared us till we lay in her net cursing both her\nand ourselves, so bold and so impudent and so persistent is this\ntemptress slut, and such fools and idiots are we, that we soon lay our\neyes on her painted beauty again and our heads in her loathsome lap; our\nheads on that block over which the axe hangs by an angry hair.  \"She will\ntalk with any man.\"  No doubt; but, then, it takes two to make a talk,\nand the sad thing is that there are few men among us so wise, so\nsteadfast, and so experienced in her ways that they will not on occasion\nlet Madam Bubble talk her talk to them, and talk back again to her.  The\noldest saint, the oftenest sold and most dearly redeemed sinner, needs to\nsuspect himself to the end, till he is clear out of Madam Bubble's\nenchanted ground and for ever over that river of deliverance which shall\nsweep Madam Bubble and all her daughters into the dead sea for ever.\n\n   \"The grey-haired saint may fail at last,\n      The surest guide a wanderer prove;\n   Death only binds us fast\n      To the bright shore of love.\"\n\n4.  \"She highly commends the rich,\" the guide goes on about Madam Bubble,\n\"and if there be one cunning to get money in any place she will speak\nwell of him from house to house.\"  \"The world,\" says Faber, \"is not\naltogether matter, nor yet altogether spirit.  It is not man only, nor\nSatan only, nor is it exactly sin.  It is an infection, an inspiration,\nan atmosphere, a life, a colouring matter, a pageantry, a fashion, a\ntaste, a witchery.  None of all these names suit it, and all of them suit\nit.  Meanwhile its power over the human creation is terrific, its\npresence ubiquitous, its deceitfulness incredible.  It can find a home\nunder every heart beneath the poles.  It is wider than the catholic\nchurch, and it is masterful, lawless, and intrusive within it.  We are\nall living in it, breathing it, acting under its influence, being cheated\nby its appearances, and unwarily admitting its principles.\"  Let young\nministers who wish to preach to their people on the World--after studying\nwhat the Preacher, and the Saviour, and John, and John Bunyan say about\nthe World,--still read Faber's powerful chapter in his _Creator and\nCreature_.  Yes; Madam Bubble finds a home for herself in every heart\nbeneath the poles.  The truth is Madam Bubble has no home, as she has no\nexistence, but in human hearts.  And all that Solomon, and our Saviour,\nand John, and John Bunyan, and Frederick Faber say about the world and\nabout Madam Bubble they really say about the heart of man.  It is we, you\nand I, my brethren, who so highly commend the rich.  It is we ourselves\nhere who speak well from house to house of him whose father or whose self\nhas been cunning to get money.  We either speak well or ill of them.  We\neither are sick with envy at them, or we fawn upon them and fall down\nbefore them.  How men rise in our esteem in the degree that their money\nincreases!  With what reverence and holy awe we look up at them as if\nthey were gods and the sons of gods!  They become more than mortal men to\nour reverent imaginations.  How happy, how all but blessed they must be!\nwe say to ourselves.  Within those park gates, under those high towers,\nin that silver-mounted carriage, surrounded with all those liveried\nservants, and loved and honoured by all those arriving and leaving\nguests--what happiness that rich man must have!  We are either eaten up\nof lean-eyed envy of this and that rich man, or we positively worship\nthem as other men worship God and His saints.  Yes; Madam Bubble is our\nvery mother.  She conceived us and she suckled us.  We were brought up in\nher nurture and admonition.  We learned her Catechism, and her shrine is\nin our heart to-night.  Like her, if only a pilgrim is poor, we scorn\nhim.  We will not know him.  But if there be any one, pilgrim or no,\ncunning to get money, we honour him, and we claim him as our kindred and\nrelation, our acquaintance and our friend.  We will speak often of him as\nsuch from house to house.  Just see if we will not.  There is room in our\nhearts, Madam Bubble, there is room in our hearts for thee!\n\n5.  \"She loves them most that think best of her.\"  But, surely, surely,\nthe guide goes quite too far in blaming and being hard upon poor Madam\nBubble for that?  For, to give her fair play, she is not at all alone in\nthat.  Is the guide himself wholly above that?  Do we not all do that?  Is\nthere one in ten, is there one in a thousand, who hates and humiliates\nhimself because his love of men and women goes up or down just as they\nthink of him?  Yes; Greatheart is true to his great name in his whole\nportrait of Madam Bubble also, and nowhere more true than in this present\nfeature.  For when any man comes to have any true greatness in his\nheart--how he despises and detests himself as he finds himself out in not\nonly claiming kindred and acquaintance with the rich and despising and\ndenying the poor; but, still more, in loving or hating other men just as\nthey love or hate him!  The world loves her own.  Yes; but he who has\nbeen taken out of the world, and who has had the world taken out of him,\nhe loves--he strives to love, he goes to his knees every day he lives to\nlove--those who not only do not think well of him, but who both think ill\nof him and speak ill of him.  \"Humility,\" says William Law, \"does not\nconsist in having a worse opinion of ourselves than we deserve, or in\nabasing ourselves lower than we really are.  But as all virtue is founded\nin truth, so humility is founded in a true and just sense of our\nweakness, misery, and sin.  He who rightly feels and lives in this sense\nof his condition lives in humility.  And, it may be added, when our\nhearts are wholly clothed with humility we shall be prompt to approve the\njudgment and to endorse the sentence of those who think and speak the\nleast good of us and the most evil.\"\n\n6.  \"'Twas she,\" so the guide at last wound up, \"that set Absalom against\nhis father, and Jeroboam against his master.  'Twas she that persuaded\nJudas to sell his Lord, and that prevailed with Demas to forsake the\ngodly pilgrim's life.  None can tell all the mischief that Madam Bubble\ndoes.  She makes variance between rulers and subjects, between parents\nand children, 'twixt neighbour and neighbour, 'twixt a man and his wife,\n'twixt a man and himself, 'twixt the flesh and the heart.\"  Now, I shall\nleave that last indictment and its lessons and its applications to\nyourselves, my brethren.  You will get far more good out of this\naccumulated count against Madam Bubble if you explain it, and open it up,\nand prove it, and illustrate it to yourselves.  Explain, then, in what\nway this sorceress set Absalom against his father and Jeroboam against\nhis master.  Point out in what way she makes variance between a ruler and\nhis subjects, and give illustrations.  Put your finger on a parent and on\na child between whom there is variance at this moment on her account.\nAnd, if you are that parent or that child, what have you done to remove\nthat variance?  Name two neighbours that to your knowledge Madam Bubble\nhas come between; and say what you have done to be a peacemaker there.\nSet down what you would say to a man and his wife so as to put them on\ntheir guard against Madam Bubble ever coming in between them.  And, last\nand best of all, point out to yourself at what times and in what ways\nthis wicked witch tries to make variance between God's Holy Spirit\nstriving within you and your own evil heart still strong within you.  When\nyou are weary and sleepy and hungry as a howlet, and, Madam Bubble and\nher three daughters make a ring round you, what do you do?  Do you ever\ntake to your knees?  Really and honestly, do you?  When you find yourself\nout looking with holy fear on a rich and lofty relation, and with\ninsufferable contempt on a poor and intrusive relation, by what name do\nyou call yourself?  Write it down.  And when she would fain put variance\nbetween you and those who do not think well of you, what steps do you\ntake to foil her?  Where and how do you get strength at that supreme\nmoment to think of others as you would have them think of you?  \"Oh,\"\nsaid Standfast, \"what a mercy it is that I did resist her! for to what\nmight she not have drawn me?\"\n\n\n\n\nGAIUS\n\n\n   \"Gaius, mine host.\"--_Paul_.\n\nGoodman Gaius was the head of a hostel that stood on the side of the\nhighway well on to the Celestial City.  The hostess of the hostel was no\nmore, and the old hostel-keeper did all her once well-done work and his\nown proper work into the bargain.  Every day he inspected the whole house\nwith his own eyes, down even to the kitchen and the scullery.  The good\nwoman had left our host an only daughter; but, \"Keep her as much out of\nsight as is possible,\" she said, and so fell asleep.  And Gaius\nremembered his wife's last testament every day, till none of the hostel\ncustomers knew that there was so much as a young hostess in all the\nhouse.  \"Yes, gentlemen,\" replied the old innkeeper.  \"Yes, come in.  It\nis late, but I take you for true men, for you must know that my house is\nkept open only for such.\"  So he took the large pilgrim party to their\nseveral apartments with his own eyes, and then set about a supper for\nthose so late arrivals.  Stamping with his foot, he brought up the cook\nwith the euphonious and eupeptic name, and that quick-witted domestic\nsoon had a supper on the table that would have made a full man's mouth\nwater.  \"The sight of all this,\" said Matthew, as the under-cook laid the\ncloth and the trenchers, and set the salt and the bread in order--\"the\nsight of this cloth and of this forerunner of a supper begetteth in me a\ngreater appetite to my food than I thought I had before.\"  So supper came\nup; and first a heave-shoulder and a wave-breast were set on the table\nbefore them, in order to show that they must begin their meal with prayer\nand praise to God.  These two dishes were very fresh and good, and all\nthe travellers did eat heartily well thereof.  The next was a bottle of\nwine red as blood.  So Gaius said to them, \"Drink freely; this is the\njuice of the true vine that makes glad the heart of God and man.\"  And\nthey did drink and were very merry.  The next was a dish of milk well\ncrumbed.  At the sight of which Gaius said, \"Let the boys have that, that\nthey may grow thereby.\"  And so on, dish after dish, till the nuts came\nwith the recitations and the riddles and the saws and the stories over\nthe nuts.  Thus the happy party sat talking till the break of day.\n\n1.  Now, it is natural to remark that the first thing about a host is his\nhospitality.  And that, too, whether our host is but the head of a hostel\nlike Goodman Gaius, or the head of a well-appointed private house like\nGaius's neighbour, Mr. Mnason.  The first and the last thing about a host\nis his hospitality.  \"Say little and do much\" is the example and the\ninjunction to all our housekeepers that Rabban Shammai draws out of the\neighteenth of Genesis.  \"Be like your father Abraham,\" he says, \"on the\nplains of Mamre, who only promised bread and water, but straightway set\nSarah to knead three measures of her finest meal, while he ran to the\nherd and fetched a calf tender and good, and stood by the three men while\nthey did eat butter and milk under the tree.  Make thy Thorah an\nordinance: say little and do much: and receive every man with a pleasant\nexpression of countenance.\"  Now, this was exactly what Gaius our goodman\ndid that night, with one exception, which we shall be constrained to\nattend to afterwards.  \"It is late,\" he said, \"so we cannot conveniently\ngo out to seek food; but such as we have you shall be welcome to, if that\nwill content.\"  At the same time Taste-that-which-is-good soon had a\nsupper sent up to the table fit for a prince: a supper of six courses at\nthat time in the morning, so that the sun was already in the sky when Old\nHonest closed his casement.\n\n\"Dining in company is a divine institution,\" says Mr. Edward White, in\nhis delightful _Minor Moralities of Life_.  \"Let Soyer's art be honoured\namong all men,\" he goes on.  \"Cookery distinguishes mankind from the\nbeasts that perish.  Happy is the woman whose daily table is the result\nof forethought.  Her husband shall rise up and call her blessed.  It is\npiteous when the culinary art is neglected in our young women's\neducation.  Let them, as St. Peter says, imitate Sarah.  Let them see how\nthat venerable princess went quickly to her kneading-trough and oven and\nprepared an extempore collation of cakes and pilau for the angels.  How\nfew ladies, whether Gentiles or Jewesses, could do the like in the\npresent day!\"\n\n2.  The wistful and punctilious attention that Goodman Gaius paid to each\nindividual guest of his was a fine feature in his munificent hospitality.\nHe made every one who crossed his doorstep, down even to Mr. Fearing,\nfeel at once at home, such was his exquisite as well as his munificent\nhospitality.  \"Come, sir,\" he said, clapping that white-faced and\ntrembling pilgrim on the shoulder, \"come, sir, be of good cheer, you are\nwelcome to me and to my house; and what thou hast a mind to, that call\nfor freely: for what thou wouldst have my servants will do for thee, and\nthey will do it for thee with a ready mind.\"  All the same, for a long\ntime Mr. Fearing was mortally afraid of the servants.  He would as soon\nhave thought of stamping his foot for a duchess to come up as for any of\nGaius's serving-maids.  He was afraid to make any noise in his room lest\nall the house should hear it.  He was afraid to touch anything in the\nroom lest it should fall and be broken.  We ourselves, with all our\nassumed ease and elaborate abandon, are often afraid to ring our bell\neven in an inn.  Mr. Fearing would as soon have pulled the tail of a\nrattlesnake.  But before their sojourn was over, the Guide was amazed at\nMr. Fearing, for that hare-hearted pilgrim would be doing things in the\nhouse that he himself would scarcely do who had been in the house a\nthousand times.  It was Gaius's exuberant heartiness that had demoralised\nMr. Fearing and made him almost too forward even for a wayside inn.  In\nlittle things also Gaius, mine host, showed his sensitive and solicitous\nhospitality.  We all know housekeepers, not to say innkeepers, and not\notherwise ungenerous housekeepers either who will grudge us a\nsixpennyworth of sticks and coals in a cold night, and that, too, in a\nroom furnished to overflowing by Morton Brothers or the Messrs. Maple.  We\ntake a candlestick and a dozen candles with us in the boot of the\ncarriage when we wish to read or write late into the night in that great\nhouse.  Another housekeeper, who would give you her only daughter with\nher wealthy dowry, will sometimes be seen by all in her house to grudge\nyou a fresh cup of afternoon tea when you drop in to see her and her\ndaughter.  She says to herself that it is to spare the servants the\nstairs; but, all the time, under the stairs, the servants are blushing\nfor the sometimes unaccountable stinginess of their unusually munificent\nmistress.  I shall give you \"line upon line, precept upon precept, here a\nlittle and there a little\" of Aristotle upon munificence in little things\ntill you come up to his pagan standard.  \"There is a real greatness,\" he\nsays, \"even in the way that some men will buy a toy to a child.  Even in\nthe smallest matters the munificent man will act munificently!\"  As\nGaius, mine host, munificently did.\n\n3.  Speaking of children, what a night of entertainment good old Gaius\ngave the children of the pilgrim party!  \"Let the boys have the crumbed\nmilk,\" he gave orders.  \"Butter and honey shall they eat,\" he exclaimed\nover them as that brimming dish came up.  \"This was our Lord's dish when\nHe was a child,\" he said to the mother of the boys, \"that He might know\nto refuse the evil and to choose the good.\"  Then they brought up a dish\nof apples, and they were very good-tasted fruit.  Then said Matthew, \"May\nwe eat apples, since they were such by and with which the serpent\nbeguiled our first mother?\"  Then said Gaius,\n\n   \"Apples were they by which we were beguiled,\n   Yet sin, not apples, hath our souls defiled.\n   Apples forbid, if eat, corrupt the blood.\n   To eat such, when commanded, does us good.\n   Drink of His flagons then, thou Church, His Dove,\n   And eat His apples who are sick of love.\"\n\nThen said Matthew, \"I make the scruple because I awhile since was sick\nwith eating of fruit.\"  \"Forbidden fruit,\" said the host, \"will make you\nsick, but not what our Lord hath tolerated.\"  While they were thus\ntalking they were presented with another dish, and it was a dish of nuts.\nThen said some at the table, \"Nuts spoil tender teeth, especially the\nteeth of children,\" which when Gaius heard, he said,\n\n   \"Hard texts are nuts (I will not call them cheaters)\n   Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters;\n   Ope then the shells and you shall have the meat;\n   They here are brought for you to crack and eat.\"\n\nThen Samuel whispered to his mother and said, \"Mother, this is a very\ngood man's house; let us stay here a good while before we go any\nfarther.\"  The which Gaius the host overhearing, said, \"With a very good\nwill, my child.\"\n\n4.  Widower as old Gaius was, and never for a single hour forgot that he\nwas, there was a certain sweet and stately gallantry awakened in his\nwithered old heart at the sight of Christiana and Mercy, and especially\nat the sight of Matthew and Mercy when they were seen together.  He seems\nto have fallen almost in love with that aged matron, as he called her,\nand the days of his youth came back to him as he studied the young\ndamsel, who was to her as a daughter.  And this set the loquacious old\ninnkeeper upon that famous oration about women which every man who has a\nmother, or a wife, or a sister, or a daughter has by heart.  And from\nthat he went on to discourse on the great advantages of an early\nmarriage.  He was not the man, nor was he speaking to a mother who was\nthe woman, ever to become a vulgar and coarse-minded matchmaker; at the\nsame time, he liked to see Matthew and Mercy sent out on a message\ntogether, leaving it to nature and to grace to do the rest.  The pros and\ncons of early marriage were often up at his hearty table, but he always\ndebated, and Gaius was a great debater, that true hospitality largely\nconsisted in throwing open the family circle to let young people get well\nacquainted with one another in its peace and sweetness.  And Gaius both\npractised what he preached, and at the same time endorsed his watchful\nwife's last testament, when he gave his daughter Phebe to James,\nChristiana's second son, and thus was left alone, poor old Gaius, when\nthe happy honeymoon party started upward from his hostel door.\n\n5.  Their next host was one Mr. Mnason, a Cyprusian by nation, and an old\ndisciple.  \"How far have you come to-day?\" he asked.  \"From the house of\nGaius our friend,\" they said.  \"I promise you,\" said he, \"you have gone a\ngood stitch; you may well be weary; sit down.\"  So they sat down.  \"Our\ngreat want a while since,\" said Old Honest, \"was harbour and good\ncompany, and now I hope we have both.\"  \"For harbour,\" said the host,\n\"you see what it is, but for good company that will appear in the trial.\"\nAfter they were a little rested Old Honest again asked his host if there\nwere any store of good people in that town; and, \"How,\" he said, \"shall\nwe do to see some of them?  For the sight of good men to them that are\ngoing on pilgrimage is like to the appearing of the moon and stars to\nthem that are sailing upon the seas.\"  Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his\nfoot and his daughter Grace came up, when he sent her out for five of his\nfriends in the town, saying that he had a guest or two in his house at\npresent to whom he would like to introduce them.\n\nNow, this is another of the good qualities of a good host, to know the\nbest and the most suitable people in the town, and to be on such terms\nwith them that on short notice they will step across to help to entertain\nsuch travellers as had come to Mr. Mnason's table.  And it is an\nexcellent thing to be sure that when we are so invited we shall not only\nget a good dinner, but also, as good \"kitchen\" with our dinner, good\ncompany and good conversation.  It is nothing short of a fine art to\ngather together and to seat suitably beside one another good and suitable\npeople as Mr. and Miss Mnason did in their hospitable house that\nafternoon.  And then, as to the talk: let the host and the hostess\nintroduce the guests, and then let the guests introduce their own topics.\nAnd as far as possible, in a city and a day like this, let our topics be\nbooks rather than people.  And let the books be the books that the guests\nhave read rather than those that the host and the hostess have read.\nBooks are a fine subject for a talk at table.  Only, let great readers\norder their learned and literary talk so as not to lead the less learned\ninto temptation.  There is no finer exercise of fine feeling than to be\nable to carry on a conversation about matters that other people present\nare ignorant of, and at the same time to interest them, to set them at\nease, and to make them forget both you and themselves.  I had a letter\nthe other day from an English Church clergyman, in which he tells me that\nhis bishop is coming this month to his vicarage for a kind of visitation\nand retreat, and that they are to have William Law's _Characters and\nCharacteristics_ read aloud to them when the bishop and the assembled\nclergy are at their meals.  For my part, I would rather hear a good all-\nround talk on that book by the bishop and his clergy after they had all\nread the book over and over again at home.  But such readings at\nassembled meals have all along been a feature of the best fraternal life\nin the Church of England and in some of the sister churches.\n\n6.  Now, after dining and supping repeatedly with garrulous old Gaius,\nand with the all-but-silent Mr. Mnason, I have come home ruminating again\nand again on this--that a good host, the best host, lets his guests talk\nwhile he attends to the table.  If the truth may even be whispered to\none's-self about a table that one has just left, Gaius did his best to\nspoil his good supper by his own over-garrulity.  It was good talk that\nhe entertained his waiting guests with, but we may have too much of a\ngood thing.  His oration in praise of women was an excellent oration, had\nit been delivered in another house than his own; and, say, when he was\nasked to give the health of Christiana, or of Matthew the bridegroom and\nMercy the bride, it would then have been perfect; but not in his own\nhouse, and not when his guests were waiting for their supper.  On the\nother hand, you should have seen that perfect gentleman, Mr. Mnason.  For\nthat true old Christian and old English gentleman never once opened his\nmouth after he had set his guests a-talking.  He was too busy watching\nwhen any man's dish was again empty.  He was too much delighted to see\nthat every one of his guests was having his punctual share of the supper,\nand at the same time his full share of the talk.  Mr. Fearing's small\nvoice was far more pleasant to Mr. Mnason than his own voice was in his\nown best story.  As I opened my own door the other night after supping\nwith Mr. and Miss Mnason, I said to myself--One thing I have again seen\nand learned to-night, and that is, that a host, and still more a hostess,\nshould talk less at their own table than their most silent, most bashful,\nand most backward guest.  \"Make this an ordinance for thee,\" said Rabban\nShammai to his sons in the law; \"receive all thy guests with a pleasant\nexpression of countenance, and then say little and do much.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN\n\n\n   \"The disciples were called Christians first at Antioch.\"--_Luke_.\n\n   \"Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.\"--_King Agrippa_.\n\n   \"Let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from\n   iniquity.\"--_Paul_.\n\nAll the other personages in the Pilgrim's Progress come and go; they all\nascend the stage for a longer or shorter time, and then pass off the\nstage and so pass out of our sight; but Christian in the First Part, and\nChristiana in the Second Part, are never for a single moment out of our\nsight.  And, accordingly, we have had repeated occasion and opportunity\nto learn many excellent lessons from the chief pilgrim's upward walk and\nheavenly conversation.  But so full and so rich are his life and his\ncharacter, that some very important things still remain to be collected\nbefore we finally close his history.  \"Gather up the fragments that\nnothing be lost,\" said our Lord, after His miraculous meal of multiplied\nloaves and fishes with His disciples.  And in like manner I shall now\nproceed to gather up some of the remaining fragments of Christian's life\nand character and experience.  And I shall collect these fragments into\nthe three baskets of his book, his burden, and his sealed roll and\ncertificate.\n\n1.  And first, a few things as to his book.  \"As I slept I dreamed, and\nbehold I saw a man clothed in rags standing in a certain place, with his\nface from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his\nback.  I looked and saw him open the book and read therein; and as he\nread he wept and trembled; and not being able longer to contain he broke\nout with a lamentable cry, saying, What shall I do?\"  We hear a great\ndeal in these advertising days, and not one word too much, about the\nbooks that have influenced and gone largely to the making of our great\nmen; but Graceless, like John Bunyan, his biographer, was a man of but\none book.  But, then, that book was the most influential of all books; it\nwas the Book of books; it was God's very own and peculiar Book.  And\nthose of us who, like this man, have passed out of a graceless into a\ngracious state will for ever remember how that same Book at that time\ninfluenced us till it made us what we are and shall yet be.  We read many\nother good books at that epoch in our life, but it was the pure Bible\nthat we read and prayed over out of sight the most.  We needed no\ncommentators or exegetes on our simple Bible in those days.  The great\ntexts stood out to our eyes in those days as if they had been written\nwith a sunbeam; while all other books (and we read nothing but the best\nbooks in those days) looked like twilight and rushlight beside our Bible.\nIn those immediate, direct, and intense days we would have satisfied\nWordsworth and Matthew Arnold themselves in the way we read our Bible\nwith our eye never off the object.  The Four Last Things were ever before\nus--death and judgment, heaven and hell.  \"O my dear wife,\" said\nGraceless, \"and you the children of my bowels, I your dear friend am in\nmyself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me; moreover, I\nam for certain informed that this our city will be burned with fire from\nheaven, in which fearful overthrow both myself, with thee my wife, and\nyou my sweet babes, shall miserably come to ruin, except (the which yet I\nsee not) some way of escape can be found whereby we may be delivered.\"  He\nwould walk also solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading and sometimes\npraying; and thus for some days he spent his time.  Graceless at that\ntime and at that stage would have satisfied the exigent author of the\n_Practical Treatise upon Christian Perfection_ where he says that \"we are\ntoo apt also to think that we have sufficiently read a book when we have\nso read it as to know what it contains.  This reading may be quite\nsufficient as to many books; but as to the Bible we are not to think that\nwe have read it enough because we have often read and heard what it\nteaches.  We must read our Bible, not to know what it contains, but to\nfill our hearts with the spirit of it.\"  And, again, and on this same\npoint, \"There is this unerring key to the right use of the Bible.  The\nBible has only one intent, and that is to make a man know, resist, and\nabhor the working of his fallen earthly nature, and to turn the faith,\nhope, and longing desire of his heart to God; and therefore we are only\nto read our Bibles with this view and to learn this one lesson from it .\n. . The critic looks into his books to see how Latin and Greek authors\nhave used the words 'stranger' and 'pilgrim,' but the Christian, who\nknows that man lives in labour and toil, in sickness and pain, in hunger\nand thirst, in heat and cold among the beasts of the field, where evil\nspirits like roaring lions seek to devour him--he only knows in what\ntruth and reality man is a poor stranger and a distressed pilgrim upon\nthe earth.\"  John Bunyan read neither Plato nor Aristotle, but he read\nDavid and Paul till he was the chief of sinners, and till he was first\nthe Graceless and then the Christian of his own next-to-the-Bible book.\n\n2.  In the second place, and as to his burden.  We are supplied with no\nparticulars as to the first beginnings, the gradual make-up, and at last\nthe terrible size of Christian's burden.  What this pilgrim's youthful\nlife must have been in such a city as his native city was, and while he\nwas still a young man of such a name and such a character in such a city,\nwe are left to ourselves to think and consider.  Graceless was his name\nby nature, and his life was as his name and his nature were.  Still, as I\nhave said, we have no detailed and particular account of his early life\nwhen his burden was still day and night in the making up.  How long into\nyour life were you graceless, my brother?  And what kind of life did you\nlead day and night before you were persuaded or alarmed, as the case may\nhave been with you, into being a Christian?  What burdens do you carry on\nyour broken back to this day that were made up in the daylight or in the\ndarkness by your own hands in your early days?  Were you early or were\nyou too late in your conversion?  Or are you truly converted to God and\nto salvation even yet?  And are you at this moment still binding a burden\non your back that you shall never lay down on this side your grave--it\nmay be, not on this side your burning bed in hell?  Ask yourselves all\nthat before God and before your own conscience, and make yourselves\nabsolutely sure that God at any rate is not mocked; and, therefore that\nyou, too, shall in the end reap exactly as you from the beginning have\nsown.  \"How camest thou by thy burden at first?\" asked Mr.\nWorldly-Wiseman at the trembling pilgrim.  \"By reading this book in my\nhand,\" he answered.  And, in the long run, it is always the Bible that\nbest creates a sinner's burden, binds it on his back, and makes it so\nterribly heavy to bear.  Fear of death and judgment will sometimes make\nup and bind on a sinner's burden; and sometimes the fear of man's\njudgment on this side of death will do it.  Fear of being found out in\nsome cases will make a man's secret sin far too heavy for him to bear.\nThe throne of public opinion is not a very white throne; at the same\ntime, it is a coarse forecast and a rough foretaste of the last judgment;\nand the fear of it not seldom makes a man's burden simply intolerable to\nhim.  Sometimes a great sinner's burden leads him to flight and outlawry;\nsometimes to madness and self-murder; and sometimes, by the timeous and\nsufficient grace of God, to the way of escape that our pilgrim took.\nTenderness of conscience, also, simple softness of heart and conscience,\nwill sometimes make a terrible burden out of what other men would call a\nvery light matter.  Bind a burden on that iron pillar standing there, and\nit will feel nothing and say nothing.  But, bind the same burden on that\nman in whose seat that dead pillar takes up a sitter's room, and he will\nmake all that are in the house hear his sighs and his groans.  And lay an\nact of sin--an evil word or evil work or evil thought--on one man among\nus, and he will walk about the streets with as erect a head and as\nsmiling a countenance and as light a step as if he were an innocent\nchild; while, lay half as much on his neighbour, and it will so bruise\nhim to the earth that all men will take knowledge of him that he is a\nmiserable man.  Our Lord could no doubt have carried His cross from the\nhall of judgment to the hill-top without help had His back not been wet\nwith blood.  What with a whole and an unwealed body, a well-rested and\nwell-nourished body, He could easily have carried, with His broken body\nand broken heart He quite sank under.  And so it is with His people.  One\nof His heart-broken, heart-bleeding people will sink down to death and\nhell under a burden of sin and corruption that another of them will\nscarcely feel or know or believe that it is there.  Some sins again in\nthemselves, and by reason of several aggravations, are far more heavy to\nbear than others, and by some sinners than others.  I was reading Bishop\nAndrewes to myself last night and came upon this pertinent passage.  \"Sin:\nits measure, its harm, its scandal.  Its quality: how often--how long.\nThe person by whom: his age, condition, state, enlightenment.  Its\nmanner, motive, time, and place.  The folly of it, the ingratitude of it,\nthe hardness of it, the presumptuousness of it.  By heart, by mouth, by\ndeed.  Against God, my neighbours, my own body.  By knowledge, by\nignorance.  Willingly and unwillingly.  Of old and of late.  In boyhood\nand youth, in mature and old age.  Things done once, repeated often,\nhidden and open.  Things done in anger, and from the lust of the flesh\nand of the world.  Before and after my call.  Asleep by night and awake\nby day.  Things remembered and things forgotten.  Through the fiery darts\nof the enemy, through the unclean desires of the flesh--I have sinned\nagainst Thee.  Have mercy on me, O God, and forgive me!\"  That is the way\nsome men's burdens are made up to such gigantic proportions and then\nbound on by such acute cords.  That is the way that Lancelot Andrewes and\nJohn Bunyan walked solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading and\nsometimes praying, till the one of them put himself into his immortal\n_Devotions_, and the other into his immortal _Grace Abounding_ and\n_Pilgrim's Progress_.\n\n\"Then I saw in my dream that Christian asked the Gatekeeper further if he\ncould not help him off with his burden that was upon his back, for as yet\nhe had not got rid of it, nor could he by any means get it off without\nhelp.  He told him, 'As to thy burden, be content to bear it until thou\ncomest to the place of deliverance, for there it will fall from off thy\nback itself.'  Now I saw in my dream that the highway up which Christian\nwas to go was fenced on either side with a wall, and that wall is\nSalvation.  Up this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not\nwithout great difficulty, because of the load on his back.  He ran thus\ntill he came to a place somewhat ascending, and upon that place stood a\ncross, and a little below in the bottom a sepulchre.  So I saw in my\ndream that just as Christian came up with the cross his burden loosed\nfrom off his back, and began to tumble and so continued to do till it\ncame to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell in and I saw it no\nmore.  Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said with a merry\nheart, 'He hath given me rest by His sorrow, and life by His death!'\"\n\n   \"Blest Cross! blest Sepulchre!  Blest rather be\n   The Man that there was put to shame for me.\"\n\nBut, then, how it could be that this so happy man was scarcely a stone-\ncast past the cross when he had begun again to burden himself with fresh\nsin, and thus to disinter all his former sin?  How a true pilgrim comes\nto have so many burdens to bear, and that till he ceases to be any longer\na pilgrim,--a burden of guilt, a burden of corruption, and a burden of\nbare creaturehood,--I must leave all that, and all the questions\nconnected with all that, for you all to think out and work out for\nyourselves; and you will not say any morning on this earth, like Mrs.\nTimorous, that you have little to do.\n\n3.  The third of the three Shining Ones who saluted Christian at the\ncross set a mark on his forehead, and put a roll with a seal set upon it\ninto his hand.  A roll and a seal which he bid him look on as he ran, and\nthat he should give that roll in at the Celestial Gate.  Bunyan does not\nin all places come up to his usual clearness in what he says about the\nsealed roll.  We must believe that he understood his own meaning and\nintention in all that he says, first and last, about the roll, but he has\nnot always made his meaning clear, at least to one of his readers.\nTheological students, and, indeed, all thoughtful Christian men, are\ninvited to read Dr. Cunningham's powerful paper on Assurance in his\n_Reformers_.  The whole literature of Assurance is there taken up and\nweighed and sifted with all that great writer's incomparable learning and\npower and judgment.  Our Larger Catechism, also, is excellent on this\nsubject; and this subject is a favourite commonplace with all our best\nCalvinistic, Puritan, and Evangelical authors.  Let us take two or three\npassages out of those authors just as a specimen, and so close.\n\n\"Can true believers\"--Larger Catechism, Question 80--\"Can true believers\nbe infallibly assured that they are in an estate of grace, and that they\nshall persevere therein to the end?  _Answer_: Such as truly believe in\nChrist, and endeavour to walk in all good conscience before Him may,\nwithout extraordinary revelation, by faith grounded upon the truth of\nGod's promise, and by the Spirit enabling them to discern in themselves\nthose graces to which the promises of eternal life are made, and bearing\nwitness with their spirits that they are the children of God, they may be\ninfallibly assured that they are in the estate of grace, and shall\npersevere therein unto salvation.\"  Question 81: \"Are all true believers\nat all times assured of their present being in a state of grace, and that\nthey shall be saved?  _Answer_: Assurance of grace and salvation not\nbeing of the essence of faith, true believers may wait long before they\nobtain it, and, after the enjoyment thereof, may have it weakened and\nintermitted through manifold distempers, sins, temptations, and\ndesertions; yet are they never left without such a presence and support\nof the Spirit of God as keeps them from sinking into utter despair.\"  \"A\nChristian's assurance,\" says Fraser of Brea, \"though it does not firstly\nflow from his holiness, yet is ever after proportionable to his holy\nwalking.  Faith is kept in a pure conscience.  Sin is like a blot of ink\nfallen upon our evidence.  This I found to be a truth.\"  \"It was the\nspeech of one to me,\" says Thomas Shepard of New England, \"next to the\ndonation of Christ, no mercy like this, to deny assurance long; and why?\nFor if the Lord had not, I should have given way to a loose heart and\nlife.  And this is a rule I have long held--long denial of assurance is\nlike fire to burn out some sin and then the Lord will speak peace.\"\n\"Serve your God day and night faithfully,\" says Dr. Goodwin.  \"Walk\nhumbly; and there is a promise of the Holy Ghost to come and fill your\nhearts with joy unspeakable and glorious to rear you up to the day of\nredemption.  Sue this promise out, wait for it, rest not in believing\nonly, rest not in assurance by graces only; there is a further assurance\nto be had.\"  \"I would not give a straw for that assurance,\" says John\nNewton, \"which sin will not damp.  If David had come from his adultery\nand still have talked of his assurance, I should have despised his\nspeech.\"  \"When we want the faith of assurance,\" says Matthew Henry, \"let\nus live by the faith of adherence.\"  And then the whole truth is in a\nnutshell in Isaiah and in John: \"The effect of righteousness shall be\nquietness and assurance for ever,\" and \"My little children, let us not\nlove in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth.  And hereby we\nshall know that we are of the truth, and so shall assure our hearts\nbefore Him.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIANA\n\n\n   \"Honour widows that are widows indeed.\"--_Paul_.\n\nWe know next to nothing of Christiana till after she is a widow indeed.\nThe names of her parents, and what kind of parents they were, the schools\nand the boarding-schools to which they sent their daughter, her school\ncompanions, the books she read, if she ever read any books at all, the\namusements she was indulged in and indulged herself in--on all that her\notherwise full and minute biographer is wholly silent.  He does not go\nback beyond her married life; he does not even go back to the beginning\nof that.  The only thing we are sure of about Christiana's early days is\nthat she was an utterly ungodly woman and that she married an utterly\nungodly man.  \"Have you a family?  Are you a married man?\" asked Charity\nof Christian in the House Beautiful.  \"I have a wife and four small\nchildren,\" he replied.  \"And why did you not bring them along with you?\"\nThen Christian wept, and said: \"Oh, how willingly would I have done it;\nbut they were all utterly averse to my going on pilgrimage.\"  \"But you\nshould have talked to them,\" said Charity, \"and have endeavoured to have\nshown them the danger of being behind.\"  \"So I did,\" answered Christian.\n\"And did you pray to God that He would bless your counsel to them?\"  \"Yes,\nand with much affection; for you must think that my wife and poor\nchildren were very dear unto me.\"  \"But what could they say for\nthemselves why they came not?\"  \"Why, my wife was afraid of losing the\nworld, and my children were given over to the foolish delights of youth;\nso what with one thing and what with another, they left me to wander in\nthis manner alone.\"\n\nBut what her husband's conversion, good example, and most earnest\nentreaties could not all do for his worldly wife, that his sudden death\nspeedily did.  And thus it is that both Christiana's best life, all our\ninterest in her, and all our information about her, dates, sad to say,\nnot from her espousal, nor from her marriage day, nor from any part of\nher married life, but from her husband's death.  Her maidenhood has no\ninterest for us; all our interest is fixed on her widowhood.  This work\nof fiction now in our hands begins where all other works of fiction end;\nfor in the life of religion, you must know, our best is always before us.\nWell, scarcely was her husband dead when Christiana began to accuse\nherself of having killed him.  To take her own bitter words for it, the\nmost agonising and remorseful thoughts about her conduct to her husband\nstung her heart like so many wasps.  Ah yes!  A wasp's sting is but a\nblade of innocent grass compared with the thoughts that have stung us all\nas we recalled what we said and did to those who are now no more.  There\nare graves in the churchyard we dare not go near.  \"I have sinned away\nyour father!\" she cried, as she threw herself on the earth at the feet of\nher astounded children.  \"I have sinned away your father and he is gone!\"\nAnd yet there was no mark of a bullet and no gash of a knife on his dead\nbody, and no chemistry could have extracted one grain of arsenic or of\nstrychnine out of his blood.  But there are many ways of taking a man's\nlife besides those of poison or a knife or a gunshot.  Constant fault-\nfinding, constant correction and studied contempt before strangers, total\nwant of sympathy and encouragement, gloomy looks, rough remarks, all\nblame and never a word of praise, things like these between man and wife\nwill kill as silently and as surely as poison or suffocation.  Look at\nhome, my brethren, and ask yourselves what you will think of much of your\npresent conduct when it has borne its proper fruit.  \"Upon this came into\nher mind by swarms all her unkind, unnatural, and ungodly carriages to\nher dear friend, which also clogged her conscience and did load her with\nguilt.  It all returned upon her like a flash of lightning, and rent the\ncaul of her heart asunder.\"  \"That which troubleth me most,\" she would\ncry out, \"is my churlish carriages to him when he was under distress.  I\nam that woman,\" she would cry out and would not be appeased--\"I am that\nwoman that was so hardhearted as to slight my husband's troubles, and\nthat left him to go on his journey alone.  How like a churl I carried\nmyself to him in all that!  And so guilt took hold of my mind,\" she said\nto the Interpreter, \"and would have drawn me to the pond!\"\n\nA minister's widow once told me that she had gone home after hearing a\nsermon of mine on the text, \"What profit is there in my blood?\" and had\ndestroyed a paper of poison she had purchased in her despair on the\nprevious Saturday night.  It was not a sermon from her unconscious\nminister, but it was far better; it was a conversation that Christiana\nheld with her four boys that fairly and for ever put all thought of the\npond out of their mother's remorseful mind.  \"So Christiana,\" as we read\nin the opening of her history--\"so Christiana called her sons together\nand began thus to address herself unto them: My sons, I have, as you may\nperceive, been of late under much exercise in my soul about the death of\nyour father.  My carriages to your father in his distress are a great\nload on my conscience.  Come, my children, let us pack up and be gone to\nthe gate, that we may see your father and be with him, according to the\nlaws of that land.\"  I like that passage, I think, the best in all\nChristiana's delightful history--that passage which begins with these\nwords: \"So she called her children together.\"  For when she called her\nchildren together she opened to them both her heart and her conscience;\nand from that day there was but one heart and one conscience in all that\nhappy house.  I was walking alone on a country road the other day, and as\nI was walking I was thinking about my pastoral work and about my people\nand their children, when all at once I met one of my people.  My second\nsentence to him was: \"This very moment I was thinking about your sons.\nHow are they getting on?\"  He quite well understood me.  He knew that I\nwas not indifferent as to how they were getting on in business, but he\nknew that I was alluding more to the life of godliness and virtue in\ntheir hearts and in their characters.  \"O sir,\" he said, \"you may give\nyour sons the skin off your back, but they will not give you their\nconfidence!\"  So had it been with Christian and his sons.  He had never\nmanaged, even in his religion, to get into the confidence of his sons;\nbut when their mother took them into her agonised confidence, from that\nday she was in all their confidences, good and bad.  You who are in your\nchildren's confidences will pray in secret for my lonely friend with the\nskin off his back, will you not? that he may soon be able to call his\nsons together so as to start together on a new life of family love, and\nfamily trust, and family religion.  That was a fine sight.  Who will make\na picture of it?  This widow indeed at the head of her family council-\ntable, and Matthew at the foot, and James and Joseph and Samuel all in\ntheir places.  \"Come, my children, let us pack up that we may see your\nfather!\"  Then did her children burst into tears for joy that the heart\nof their mother was so inclined.\n\nFrom that first family council let us pass on to Christiana's last\ninterview with her family and her other friends.  Her biographer\nintroduces her triumphant translation with this happy comment on the\nmargin: \"How welcome is death to them that have nothing to do but die!\"\nWell, that was exactly Christiana's case.  She had so packed up at the\nbeginning of her journey; she had so got and had so kept the confidences\nof all her sons; she had seen them all so married in the Lord, and thus\nso settled in a life of godliness and virtue; she had, in short, lived\nthe life of a widow indeed, till, when the post came for her, she had\nnothing left to do but just to rise up and follow him.  His token to her\nwas an arrow with a point sharpened with love, let easily into her heart,\nwhich by degrees wrought so effectually with her that at the time\nappointed she must be gone.  We have read of arrows of death sharpened\nsometimes with steel and sometimes with poison; but this arrow, shot from\nheaven, was sharpened to a point with love.  Indeed, that arrow, or the\nvery fellow of it, had been shot into Christiana's heart long ago when\nshe stood at that spot somewhat ascending where was a cross and a\nsepulchre; and, especially, ever since the close of Greatheart's great\ndiscourse on pardon by deed.  For the hearing of that famous discourse\nhad made her exclaim: \"Oh!  Thou loving One, it makes my heart bleed to\nthink that Thou shouldest bleed for me!  Oh!  Thou blessed One, Thou\ndeservest to have me, for Thou hast bought me!  Thou deservest to have me\nall, for Thou hast paid for me ten thousand times more than I am worth!\"\nNow it was with all that love working effectually in her heart that\nChristiana called for her children to give them her blessing.  And what a\ncomfort it was to her to see them all around her with the mark of the\nkingdom on their foreheads, and with their garments white.  \"My sons and\nmy daughters,\" she said, \"be you all ready against the time His post\ncalls for you.\"  Then she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and entreated\nhim to have an eye on her children, and to speak comfortably to them if\nat any time he saw them faint.  And then she gave Mr. Standfast her ring.\n\"Behold,\" she said, as Mr. Honest came in--\"Behold an Israelite indeed,\nin whom is no guile!\"  Then Mr. Ready-to-halt came in, and then Mr.\nDespondency and his daughter Much-afraid, and then Mr. Feeble-mind.  Now\nthe day drew on that Christiana must be gone.  So the road was full of\npeople to see her take her journey.  But, behold! all the banks beyond\nthe river were full of horses and chariots which were come down from\nabove to accompany her to the City gates, so she came forth and entered\nthe river with a beckon of farewell to those that followed her to the\nriver-side.  The last word she was heard to say here was, \"I come, Lord,\nto be with Thee, and to bless Thee.\"\n\nBut with all this, you must not suppose that this good woman, this mother\nin Israel, had forgotten her grandchildren.  She would sooner have\nforgotten her own children.  But she was too good a woman to forget\neither.  For long ago, away back at the river on this side the Delectable\nMountains, she had said to her four daughters--I must tell you exactly\nwhat she has said: \"Here,\" she said, \"in this meadow there are cotes and\nfolds for sheep, and an house is built here also for the nourishing and\nbringing up of those lambs, even the babes of those women that go on\npilgrimage.  Also there is One here who can have compassion and that can\ngather these lambs with His arm and carry them in His bosom.  This Man,\nshe said, will house and harbour and succour the little ones, so that\nnone of them shall be lacking in time to come.  This Man, if any of them\ngo astray or be lost, He will bring them again, He will bind up that\nwhich was broken, and will strengthen them that are sick.  So they were\ncontent to commit their little ones to that Man, and all this was to be\nat the charge of the King, and so it was as a hospital to young children\nand orphans.\"\n\nAnd now I shall sum up my chief impressions of Christiana under the three\nheads of her mind, her heart, and her widowhood indeed.\n\n1.  The mother of Christian's four sons was a woman of real mind, as so\nmany of the maidens, and wives, and widows of Puritan England and\nCovenanting Scotland were.  You gradually gather that impression just\nfrom being beside her as the journey goes on.  She does not speak much;\nbut, then, there is always something individual, remarkable, and\nmemorable in what she says.  I have a notion of my own that Christiana\nmust have been a reader of that princely Puritan, John Milton.  And if\nthat was so, that of itself would be certificate enough as to her\npossession of mind.  There is always a dignity and a strength about her\nutterances that make us feel sure that she had always had a mind far\nabove her neighbours, Mrs. Bat's-eyes, Mrs. Light-mind, and Mrs. Know-\nnothing.  The first time she opens her mouth in our hearing she lets fall\nan expression that Milton had just made famous in his _Samson_--\n\n   \"Ease to the body some, none to the mind\n   From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm\n   Of hornets armed no sooner found alone,\n   But rush upon me thronging, and present\n   Times past, what once I was, and what am now.\"\n\nNor can I leave this point without asserting it to you that no church and\nno school of theology has ever developed the mind as well as sanctified\nthe heart of the common people like the preaching of the Puritan pulpit.\nMatthew Arnold was not likely to over-estimate the good that Puritanism\nhad done to England.  Indeed, in his earlier writings he sometimes went\nout of his way to lament the hurt that the Puritan spirit had done to\nliberality of life and mind in his native land.  But in his riper years\nwe find him saying: \"Certainly,\" he says, \"I am not blind to the faults\nof the Puritan discipline, but it has been an invaluable discipline for\nthat poor, inattentive, and immoral creature, man.  And the more I read\nhistory and the more I see of mankind, the more I recognise the value of\nthe Puritan discipline.\"  And in that same Address he \"founded his best\nhopes for that so enviable and unbounded country in which he was\nspeaking, America, on the fact that so many of its millions had passed\nthrough the Puritan discipline.\"  John Milton was a product of that\ndiscipline on the one hand, as John Bunyan was on the other.  Christiana\nwas another of its products in the sphere of the family, just as Matthew\nArnold himself had some of his best qualities out of the same fruitful\nschool.\n\n2.  Her heart, her deep, strong, tender heart, is present on every page\nof Christiana's noble history.  Her heart keeps her often silent when the\nwater in her eyes becomes all the more eloquent.  When she does let her\nheart utter itself in words, her words are fine and memorable.  As, for\none instance, after Greatheart's discourse on redemption.  \"O Mercy, that\nthy father and mother were here; yea, and Mrs. Timorous also.  Nay, I\nwish with all my heart now that here was Madam Wanton, too.  Surely,\nsurely, their hearts would be affected, nor could the fear of the one,\nnor the powerful lusts of the other, prevail with them to go home again,\nand to refuse to become good pilgrims.\"  But it was not so much what she\nsaid herself that brought out the depth and tenderness of Christiana's\nheart, it was rather the way her heart loosened other people's tongues.\nYou must all have felt how some people's presence straitens your heart\nand sews up your mouth.  While there are other people, again, whose\nsimple presence unseals your heart and makes you eloquent.  We ministers\nkeenly feel that both in our public and in our private ministrations.\nThere are people in whose hard and chilling presence we cannot even say\ngrace as we should say it.  Whereas, we all know other people, people of\na heart, that is, whose presence somehow so touches our lips that we\nalways when near them rise far above ourselves.  Christiana did not speak\nmuch to her guides and instructors and companions, but they always spoke\ntheir best to her, and it was her heart that did it.\n\n3.  And then a widow indeed is just a true and genuine widow; a widow not\nin her name and in her weeds only, but still more in her deep heart, in\nher whole life, and in her garnered experience.  \"Honour widows that are\nwidows indeed.  Now, she that is a widow indeed and desolate, trusteth in\nGod, and continueth in supplications and in prayers night and day.  Well\nreported of for good works; if she have brought up children, if she have\nlodged strangers, if she have washed the saints' feet, if she have\nrelieved the afflicted, if she have diligently followed every good work.\"\nThese are the true marks and seals and occupations of a widow indeed.  And\nif she has had unparalleled trials and irreparable losses, she has her\ncorresponding consolations and compensations.  For she has a freedom to\ngo about and do good, a liberty and an experience that neither the\nunmarried maiden nor the married wife can possibly have.  She can do\nmultitudes of things that in the nature of things neither of them can\nattempt to do.  Things that would be both unseemly and impossible for\nother women to say or to do are both perfectly seemly and wholly open for\nher to say and to do.  Her widowhood is a sacred shield to her.  Her\nsorrow is a crown of honour and a sceptre of authority to her.  She is\nconsulted by the young and the inexperienced, by the forsaken and by the\nforlorn, as no other human being ever is.  She has come through this\nlife, and by a long experience she knows this world and the hearts that\nfill it and make it what it is.  A widow indeed can show a sympathy, and\ngive a counsel, and speak with a weight of wisdom that one's own mother\ncannot always do.  All you who by God's sad dispensation are now clothed\nin the \"white and wimpled folds\" of widowhood, let your prayer and your\nendeavour day and night be that God would guide and enable you to be\nwidows indeed.  And, if you do, you shall want neither your occupation\nnor your honour.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ENCHANTED GROUND\n\n\n   \"Surely there is no enchantment against Jacob, neither is there any\n   divination against Israel.\"--_Balaam_.\n\n\"I saw then in my dream that they went till they came into a certain\ncountry whose air naturally tended to make one drowsy if he came a\nstranger to it.  And here Hopeful began to be very dull and heavy of\nsleep, wherefore he said unto Christian, I do now begin to grow so drowsy\nthat I can scarcely hold up mine eyes; let us lie down here and take one\nnap.\"  And then when we turn to the same place in the Second Part we read\nthus: \"By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, where the air\nnaturally tended to make one drowsy.  And that place was all grown over\nwith briars and thorns, excepting here and there, where was an enchanted\narbour, upon which, if a man sits, or in which if a man sleeps, 'tis a\nquestion, say some, whether they shall ever rise or wake again in this\nworld.  Now, they had not gone far, but a great mist and darkness fell\nupon them all, so that they could scarce, for a great while, see the one\nthe other.  Wherefore they were forced for some time to feel for one\nanother by words, for they walked not by sight.  Nor was there on all\nthis ground so much as one inn or victualling-house wherein to refresh\nthe feebler sort.  Then they came to an arbour, warm, and promising much\nrefreshing to the pilgrims, for it was finely wrought above head,\nbeautified with greens, and furnished with couches and settles.  It also\nhad a soft couch on which the weary might lean.  This arbour was called\nThe Slothful Man's Friend, on purpose to allure, if it might be, some of\nthe pilgrims there to take up their rest when weary.  This, you must\nthink, all things considered, was tempting.  I saw in my dream also that\nthey went on in this their solitary way till they came to a place at\nwhich a man is very apt to lose his way.  Now, though when it was light,\ntheir guide could well enough tell how to miss those ways that led wrong,\nyet in the dark he was put to a stand.  But he had in his pocket a map of\nall ways leading to or from the Celestial City, wherefore he struck a\nlight (for he never goes also without his tinder-box), and takes a view\nof his book or map, which bids him be careful in that place to turn to\nthe right-hand way.  Then I thought with myself, who that goeth on\npilgrimage but would have one of those maps about him, that he may look\nwhen he is at a stand, which is the way to take?\"\n\n1.  \"But what is the meaning of all this?\" asked Christiana of the guide.\n\"This Enchanted Ground,\"--her able and experienced friend answered her,\n\"this is one of the last refuges that the enemy to pilgrims has;\nwherefore it is, as you see, placed almost at the end of the way, and so\nit standeth against us with the more advantage.  For when, thinks the\nenemy, will these fools be so desirous to sit down as when they are\nweary, and when so like to be weary as when almost at their journey's\nend?  Therefore it is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is placed so nigh\nto the land Beulah and so near the end of their race; wherefore let\npilgrims look to themselves lest they fall asleep till none can waken\nthem.\"  \"That masterpiece of Bunyan's insight into life, the Enchanted\nGround,\" says Mr. Louis Stevenson, \"where his allegory cuts so deep to\npeople looking seriously on life.\"  Yes, indeed, Bunyan's insight into\nlife!  And his allegory that cuts so deep!  For a neophyte, and one with\nlittle insight into life, or into himself, would go to look for this land\nof darkness and thorns and pitfalls, alternated with arbours and settles\nand soft couches--one new to life and to himself, I say, would naturally\nexpect to see all that confined to the region between the City of\nDestruction and the Slough of Despond; or, at the worst, long before, and\nnever after, the House Beautiful.  But Bunyan looked too straight at life\nand too unflinchingly into his own heart to lay down his sub-Celestial\nlands in that way; and when we begin to look with a like seriousness on\nthe religious life, and especially when we begin to look bold enough and\ndeep enough into our own heart, then we too shall freely acknowledge the\nsplendid master-stroke of Bunyan in the Enchanted Ground.  That this so\nterrible experience is laid down almost at the end of the Celestial\nway--the blaze of light that pours upon our heads fairly startles us,\nwhile at the same time it comforts us and assures us.  That this\nEnchanted Ground, which has proved so fatal to so many false pilgrims,\nand so all but fatal to so many true pilgrims, should lie around the very\nborders of Beulah, and should be within all but eye-shot of the Celestial\nCity itself,--that is something to be thankful for, and something to lay\nup in the deepest and the most secret place in our heart.  That these\npilgrims, after all their feastings and entertainments--after the\nDelectable Mountains and the House Beautiful--should all be plunged upon\na land where there was not so much as a roadside inn, where the ways were\nso dark and so long that the pilgrims had to shout aloud in order to keep\ntogether, where, instead of moon or stars, they had to walk in the spark\nof a small tinder-box--what an encouragement and assurance to us is all\nthat!  That is no strange thing, then, that is now happening to us, when,\nafter our fine communion season, we have suddenly fallen back into this\ndeep darkness, and are cast into these terrible temptations, and feel as\nif all our past experiences and attainments and enjoyments had been but a\nself-delusion and a snare.  That we should all but have fallen fast\nasleep, and all but have ceased both from watching against sin and from\nwaiting upon God--well, that is nothing more than Hopeful himself would\nhave done had he not had a wary old companion to watch over him, and to\nhold his eyes open.  Let all God's people present who feel that they are\nnothing better of all they have enjoyed of Scriptures and sacraments, but\nrather worse; let all those who feel sure that they have wandered into a\ncastaway land, so dark, so thorny, so miry, and so lonely is their\nlife--let them read this masterpiece of John Bunyan again and again and\ntake heart of hope.\n\n   \"When Saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither\n   And hear how these two pilgrims talk together;\n   Yea, let them hear of them, in any wise,\n   Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumb'ring eyes;\n   Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well,\n   Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell.\"\n\n2.  But far worse than all its briars and thorns, far more fatal than all\nits ditches and pitfalls, were the enchanted arbours they came on here\nand there planted up and down that evil land.  For those arbours are all\nof this fatal nature, that if a man falls asleep in any of them it arises\na question whether he shall ever come to himself again in this world.\nNow, where there are no inns nor victualling-houses, no Gaius and no Mr.\nMnason, what a danger all those ill-intended arbours scattered all up and\ndown that country become!  Well, then, the first enchanted arbour that\nthe pilgrims came to was built just inside the borders of the land, and\nit was called The Stranger's Arbour--so many new-comers had lain down in\nit never to rise again.  The young and the inexperienced, with those who\nwere naturally of a believing, buoyant, easy mind, lay down in hundreds\nhere.  Hopeful's mind was naturally a mind of a soft and easy and self-\nindulgent cast; and had he been alone that day, or had he had for a\ncompanion a man of a less wary, less anxious, and less urgent mind than\nChristian was, Hopeful had taken a nap, as he so confidingly called it--a\nfatal nap in that arbour built by the enemy of pilgrims, just on purpose\nfor the young and the ignorant, the inexperienced and the self-indulgent.\n\n3.  The Slothful Man's Arbour has been already described.  It was a warm\narbour, and it promised much refreshing to the pilgrims.  It also had in\nit a soft couch on which the weary might lean.  \"Let us lie down here and\ntake just one nap; we shall be refreshed if we take a nap!\"  \"Do you not\nremember,\" said the other, \"that one of the shepherds bid us beware of\nthe Enchanted Ground?  And he meant by that that we should beware of\nsleeping; wherefore let us not sleep as do others, but let us watch and\nbe sober.\"  Now, what is a nap?  And what is it to take a nap in our\nreligion?  The New Testament is full of warnings to those who read it and\ngo by it--most solemn and most fearful warnings--against _sleep_.  Now,\nhave you any clear idea in your minds as to what this divinely denounced\nsleep is?  Sleep is good and necessary in our bodily life.  We would not\nlive long if we did not sleep; we would soon go out of our mind; we would\nsoon lose our senses if we did not sleep.  Insomnia is one of the worst\nsymptoms of our eager, restless, over-worked age.  \"He giveth His beloved\nsleep\"; and while they sleep their corn grows they know not how.  But\nsleep in the great exhortation-passages of the Holy Scriptures does not\nmean rest and restoration; it means in all those passages insensibility,\nstupidity, danger, and death.  In our nightly sleep, and in the measure\nof its soundness, we are utterly dead to the world around us.  Men may\ncome into our house and rob us of our most precious possessions; they may\neven come up to our bed and murder us; our whole house may be in a blaze\nabout us; we may only awaken to leap out of sleep into eternity.  Now, we\nare all in a sleep like that in our souls.  There is above us, and around\nus, and beneath us, and within us the eternal world, and we are all sound\nasleep; we are all stone-dead in the midst of it.  Devils and wicked men\nare stealing our treasures for eternity, and we are sound asleep; hell is\nalready kindling our bed beneath us, but we smell not its flames, or we\nonly catch the first gasp of them before we make our everlasting bed\namong them.  Therefore let us not sleep as do others, but let us watch\nand be sober.  What meanest thou, O sleeper? arise and call upon thy God!\nWhen the guide shook Heedless and Too-bold off their settles in that\nslothful arbour, the one of them said with his eyes still shut, \"I will\npay you when I take my money,\" and the other said, \"I will fight so long\nas I can hold my sword in my hand.\"  At that one of the children laughed.\n\"What is the meaning of that?\" asked Christiana.  The guide said: \"They\ntalk in their sleep.\"  So they did, and so do all men.  For this whole\nworld is full of settles on which men sleep and talk in their sleep.  The\nnewspapers to-morrow morning will all be full to overflowing of what men\nhave said and written to-day and yesterday in their sleep.  The shops and\nthe banks and the exchanges will all be full of men making promises and\nsettling accounts in their sleep.  They will finger their purses, and\ngrasp their swords, and all in their sleep.  And not children but devils\nwill laugh as they hear the folly that falls from men's lips who are\nbesotted with spiritual sleep and drugged with spiritual and fleshly sin.\nA dream cometh through the multitude of business.  I had just got this\nlength in this lecture the other night when I went to sleep.  And in my\nsleep one of my people came to me and asked me if I could make it quite\nclear and plain to him what it would be for a man like him after a\ncommunion-time to begin to walk with God.  And I just wish I could make\nthe things of the Enchanted Ground as plain to myself and to you to-night\nas I was able to make a walk with God plain to myself and to my visitor\nthat night in my ministerial dream.  I often wish that my business mind\nworked as well in my study chair and in my pulpit as it sometimes does in\nmy bed and in my sleep.  \"Now, I beheld in my dream that they talked more\nin their sleep at this time than ever they did in all their journey.  And\nbeing in a muse thereabout, the gardener said even to me: Wherefore\nmusest thou at the matter?  It is the nature of the fruit of the grapes\nof those vineyards to go down so sweetly as to cause the lips of them\nthat are asleep to speak.\"  The reason my poor lips spake so sweetly\nabout a walk with God that night most have been because I spent all the\nsummer evening before walking with God and with you in the vineyards of\nBeulah.\n\n4.  Listen to Samson, shorn of his locks, as he shakes himself off a soft\nand sweetly-worked couch in The Sensual Man's Arbour:\n\n         \"No, no;\n   It fits not; thou and I long since are twain;\n   Nor think me so unwary or accurst\n   To bring my feet again into the snare\n   Where once I have been caught; I know thy trains,\n   Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils;\n   Thy fair enchanted cup and warbling charms\n   No more on me have power, their force is null'd;\n   So much of adder's wisdom have I learnt\n   To fence my ear against thy sorceries.\n   If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men\n   Loved, honour'd, fear'd me, thou alone couldst hate me,\n   Thy husband, slight me, sell me, and forego me;\n   How wouldst thou use me now, blind, and thereby\n   Deceivable, in most things as a child,\n   Helpless, thence easily contemn'd, and scorn'd,\n   And last neglected?  How wouldst thou insult,\n   When I must live uxorious to thy will\n   In perfect thraldom!  How again betray me,\n   Bearing my words and doings to the lords\n   To gloss upon, and censuring, frown or smile!\n   This jail I count the house of liberty\n   To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter.\"\n\n5.  The love of money to some men is the root of all evil.  There came\nonce a youth to St. Philip Neri and, flushed with joy, told him that his\nparents after much entreaty had at length allowed him to study law.  St.\nPhilip was not a man of many words.  \"What then?\" the saint simply asked\nthe shining youth.  \"Then I shall become a lawyer!\"  \"And then?\" pursued\nPhilip.  \"Then,\" said the young man, \"I shall earn a nice sum of money,\nand I shall purchase a fine country house, procure a carriage and horses,\nmarry a handsome and rich wife, and lead a delightful life!\"  \"And then?\"\n\"Then,\"--the youth reflected as death and eternity arose before his eyes,\nand from that day he began to take care of his immortal soul.  Philip\nwith one word snatched that young man's soul off The Rich Man's Settle.\n\n6.  The Vain Man's Settle draws down many men to shame and everlasting\ncontempt.  Praise a vain man or a vain woman aright and enough and you\nwill get them to do anything you like.  Give a vain man sufficient\npublicity in your paper or on your platform and he will become a spy, a\ntraitor, and cut-throat in your service.  The sorcerer's cup of\npraise--keep it full enough in a vain man's hand, and he will sleep in\nthe arbour of vanity till he wakens in hell.  Madam Bubble, the\narch-enchantress, knows her own, and she has, with her purse, her\npromotion, and her praise, bought off many a promising pilgrim.\n\n7.  And then she, by virtue of whose sorceries this whole land is drugged\nand enchanted, is such a bold slut that she will build a Sacred Arbour\neven, and will fill it full of religious enchantment for you rather than\nlose hold of you.  She will consecrate places and persons and periods for\nyou if your taste lies that way; she will build costly and stately\nchurches for you; she will weave rich vestments and carve rich vessels;\nshe will employ all the arts; she will even sanctify and set apart and\nseat aloft her holy men--what will she not do to please you, to take you,\nto intoxicate and enchant you?  She will juggle for your soul equally\nwell whether you are a country clown in a feeing-market or a fine lady of\naesthetic tastes and religious sensibilities in the capital and the\ncourt.  But I shall let Father Faber speak, who can speak on this subject\nboth with authority and with attraction.  \"She can open churches, and\nlight candles on the altar, and intone _Te Deums_ to the Majesty on high.\nShe can pass into the beauty of art, into the splendour of dress, and\ninto the magnificence of furniture.  She can sit with high principles on\nher lips discussing a religious vocation and praising God and sanctity.\nOn the benches of bishops and in the pages of good books you will find\nher, and yet she is all the while the same huge evil creature.\"  Yes; she\nis all the time the same Madam Bubble who offered to Standfast her body,\nher purse, and her bed.\n\nNow, would you know for yourself, like the communicant who came to me in\nmy sleep, how you are ever to get past all those arbours, and settles,\nand seats, and couches, with all their sweet sorceries and intoxicating\nenchantments--would you in earnest know that?  Then study well the case\nof one Standfast.  Especially the time when she who enchants this whole\nground hereabouts set so upon that pilgrim.  In one word, it was this: he\nremembered his Lord; and, like his Lord, he fell on his face; and as his\nLord would have it, His servant's lips as they touched the ground touched\nalso the healing plant harmony and he was saved.\n\n         \"A small unsightly root,\n   But of divine effect.\n   Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain\n   Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon;\n   And yet more med'cinal is it than that moly\n   That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;\n   He call'd it haemony, and gave it me,\n   And bade me keep it as of sovran use\n   'Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or damp,\n   Or ghastly furies' apparition.\n   And now I find it true; for by this means\n   I knew the foul enchantress, though disguised,\n   Enter'd the very lime-twigs of her spells,\n   And yet came off.  If you have this about you\n   (As I will give you when you go) you may\n   Boldly assault the necromancer's hall:\n   Where if she be, with dauntless hardihood,\n   And brandished blade, rush on her, break her glass,\n   And shed her luscious liquor on the ground,\n   And seize her wand.\"\n\nPrayer, my sin-beset brethren, standfast prayer, is the otherwise\nunidentified haemony whose best habitat was the Garden of Gethsemane; and\nwith that holy root in your heart and in your mouth, there is \"no\nenchantment against Jacob, neither is there any divination against\nIsrael.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAND OF BEULAH\n\n\n   \"Thou shalt be called Hephzibah, and thy land Beulah.\"--_Isaiah_.\n\nThe first thing that John Bunyan tells us about the land of Beulah is\nthis--that the shortest and the best way to the Celestial City lies\ndirectly through that land.  The land of Beulah has its own indigenous\ninhabitants indeed.  Old men dwell in the streets of Beulah, and every\nman with his staff in his hand for very age.  The streets of the city\nalso are full of boys and girls playing in the streets thereof.  The land\nof Beulah has its frequent visitors also, and its welcome guests from the\nregions above.  Some of the shining ones come down from time to time and\nmake a short sojourn in Beulah.  The angels in heaven have such a desire\nto see the lands from which God's saints come up that at certain seasons\nall the suburbs of the Celestial City are full of those shining servants\nof God and of the Lamb.\n\nBut what made the dreamer to smile and to talk so in his sleep was when\nhe saw that all the upward ways to the Celestial City ran through the\nland of Beulah.  He saw also in his dream how all the pilgrims blamed\nthemselves so bitterly now because they had misspent so much of their\ntime and strength in the ways below, and so had not come sooner to see\nand to taste this blessed land.  But, at the same time, as it was, they\nall rejoiced with a great joy because that, after all their delays and\nall their wanderings, their way still led them through the borders of\nBeulah.  Now, my dear fellow-communicants, how shall we find our way at\nonce, and without any more wanderings, into that so desirable land?  How\nshall we attain to walk its streets all the rest of our days with our\nstaff in our hand?  How shall we hope to see our boys and our girls\nplaying in the streets of Beulah, and eating all their days of its sweet\nand its healing fruits?  How shall we and our children with us henceforth\nescape the Slough of Despond, and Giant Despair's dungeon, and the Valley\nof the Shadow of Death?  The word, my brethren, the answer to all that,\nis nigh unto us, even in our mouth and in our heart.  For faith, simple\nfaith, will do all that both for us and for our children beside us.  A\nheart-feeding faith in God, in the word of God, and in the Son of God,\nwill do it.  Faith, and then obedience.  For obedience, my brethren, is\nBeulah.  All obedience is already Beulah.  Holy obedience will bring the\nwhole of Beulah into your heart and into mine at any moment.  It is\ndisobedience that makes so many of those who otherwise are true pilgrims\nto miss so much of the land of Beulah.  Ask any affable old man with his\nstaff in his hand for very age, and he will tell you that it was his\ndisobedience that kept him so long out of the land of Beulah.  While, let\nany man, and above all, let any young man, begin early to live a life of\nbelieving obedience, and he will grow up and grow old and see his\nchildren's children playing around his staff in the streets of Beulah.\nLet any young man make the experiment for himself upon obedience and upon\nBeulah.  Let him not too easily believe any dreamer or even any seer\nabout obedience and about the land of Beulah.  It is his own matter and\nnot theirs; and let him make experiment upon it all for his own\nsatisfaction and assurance.  Let any young man, then, try prayer as his\nfirst step into obedience, and especially secret prayer.  Let him shut\nhis door to-night, and let him see if he is not already inside one of the\ngates of Beulah.  Let him deny himself every day also, if it is only in a\nvery little thing.  Let him say sternly to his own heart every hour of\ntemptation, No! never! and on the spot a sweet waft of Beulah's finest\nspices will fall upon his face.  \"The ineffable joy of renouncing joy\"\nwill every day make the lonely wilderness of this world a constant Beulah\nto such a man.  For, to live at all times, in all places, and in all\nthings for other men, and never and in nothing for yourself--that is the\ndeepest secret of Beulah.  To say it, if need be, three times to-night on\nyour face and in a sweat of blood, \"Not my will, but Thine be done!\"--that\nwill to-night turn the garden of Gethsemane itself into the very garden\nof Glory.  Do you doubt it?  Are you not yet able to believe it?  Then\nhear about it from One who has Himself come through it.  Hear His word\nupon the whole matter who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  \"Come\nunto Me,\" says the King of Beulah, \"all ye that labour and are heavy\nladen, and I will give you rest.  Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me,\nfor I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.\nFor My yoke is easy and My burden is light.\"  So after He had washed\ntheir feet, and had taken His garments and was set down again, He said\nunto them, \"Know ye what I have done to you?  For I have given you an\nexample, that ye should do as I have done to you.  If ye know these\nthings, happy are ye if ye do them.  If ye love Me, keep My commandments.\nAnd I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that\nHe may abide with you for ever.  If a man love Me, he will keep My words;\nand My Father will love him, and We will come unto him and will make Our\nabode with him.  Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you: not as\nthe world giveth, give I unto you.  These things have I spoken unto you\nthat My joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.\nHitherto ye have asked nothing in My name; ask, and ye shall receive,\nthat your joy may be full.  Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast\ngiven Me, be with Me where I am.\"  And thus I saw in my dream that their\nway lay right through the land of Beulah, in which land they solaced\nthemselves for a season.\n\n2.  \"They solaced themselves.\"  Now, solace is just the Latin _solatium_,\nwhich, again, is just a soothing, an assuaging, a compensation, an\nindemnification.  Well, that land into which the pilgrims had now come\nwas very soothing to their ruffled spirits and to their weary hearts.  It\nassuaged their many and sore griefs also.  It more than compensated them\nfor all their labours and all their afflictions.  And it was a full\nindemnification to them for all that they had forsaken and lost both in\nbeginning to be pilgrims and in enduring to the end.  The children of\nIsrael had their first solace in their pilgrimage at Elim, where there\nwere twelve wells of water and threescore and ten palm-trees; and they\nencamped there by the waters.  And then they had their last and crowning\nsolace when the spies came back from Eshcol with a cluster of grapes that\nthey bare between two upon a staff, with pomegranates and figs.  And\nMoses kept solacing his charge all the way through the weary wilderness\nwith such strong consolations as these: \"For the Lord thy God bringeth\nthee into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths\nthat spring out of valleys and hills; a land of wheat, and barley, and\nvines, and fig-trees; a land of oil-olive and honey; a land wherein thou\nshalt eat bread without scarceness, thou shalt not lack anything in it; a\nland whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest dig\nbrass.\"  Our Lord spake solace to His doubting and fainting disciples\nalso in many such words as these: \"Verily, I say unto you, there is no\nman that hath left house, or parents, or brethren, or wife, or children\nfor the kingdom of God's sake, who shall not receive manifold more in\nthis present time, and in the world to come life everlasting.\"  The Mount\nof Transfiguration also was His own Beulah-solace; and the Last Supper\nand the prayer with which it wound up were given to our Lord and to His\ndisciples as a very Eshcol-cluster from the Paradise above.  Now, I saw\nin my dream that they solaced themselves in the land of Beulah for a\nseason.  Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds.  (The\nLatin poets called the birds _solatia ruris_, because they refreshed and\ncheered the rustic labourers with their sweet singing.)  And every day\nthe flowers appeared in the earth, and the voice of the turtle was heard\nin the land.  In this country the sun shineth night and day, for there is\nno night there.\n\n3.  \"In this country the sun shineth night and day.\"  How much Standfast\nmust have enjoyed that land of light you may guess when you recollect\nthat he came from Darkland, which lies in the hemisphere right opposite\nto the land of Beulah.  In Darkland the sun never shines to be called\nsunshine at all.  All the days of his youth, Standfast told his\ncompanions, he had sat beside his father and his mother in that obscure\nland where to his sorrow his father and his mother still sat.  But in\nBeulah \"the rose of evening becomes silently and suddenly the rose of\ndawn.\"  This land lies beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death, neither\ncould they from this place so much as see Doubting Castle.  Now, Doubting\nCastle is a dismal place for any soul of man to be shut up into.  And in\nthat dark hold there are dungeons dug for all kinds of doubting souls.\nThere are dungeons dug for the souls of men whose doubts are in their\nintellects, as well as for those also whose doubts arise out of their\nhearts.  Some men read themselves into Doubting Castle, and some men sin\nand sell themselves to its giant.  God casts some of His own children all\ntheir days into those dungeons as a punishment for their life of\ndisobedience; He casts others down into chains of darkness because of\ntheir idleness and unfruitfulness.  But Beulah is far away from Doubting\nCastle.  Beulah is a splendid spot for a studious man to lodge in.  For\nwhat a clear light shines night and day in Beulah!  To what far horizons\na man's eye will carry him in Beulah!  What large speculations rise\nbefore him who walks abroad in Beulah!  How clear the air is in Beulah,\nhow clean the heart and how unclouded the eye of its inhabitants!  The\nKing's walks are in Beulah, and the arbours where He delighteth to be.\nBlessed are the pure in heart, for they shall be admitted to see God in\nthe land of Beulah.  In the land of Beulah the sun shall no more be thy\nlight by day, neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee;\nbut the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and thy God thy glory!\n\n4.  \"In this land also the contract between the bride and the bridegroom\nis renewed.\"  Now, there is no other day so bitter in any man's life as\nthat day is on which his bridal contract is broken off.  And it is the\nvery perfection and last extremity of bitterness when his contract is\nbroken off because of his own past life.  Let all those, then, who would\nfain enter into that sweet contract think well about it beforehand.  Let\nthem look back into all their past life.  For all their past life will be\nsure to find them out on the day of their espousals.  If they have their\nenemies--as all espoused men have--this is the hour and the power of\ntheir enemies.  The day on which any man's espousals are published is a\nsmall and local judgment-day to him.  For all the men, and, especially,\nall the women, who have ever been injured by him, or who have injured\nthemselves upon him; all the men and all the women who for any reason,\nand for no reason, hate both him and his happiness,--their tongues and\ntheir pens will take no sleep till they have got his contract if they\ncan, broken off.  And even when the bridegroom is too innocent, or the\nbride too true, or God too good to let the contract continue long to be\nbroken off, that great goodness of God and that great trust of his\ncontracted bride will only make the bridegroom walk henceforth more\nsoftly and rejoice with more trembling.  And that is a most excellent\nmind.  I know no better mind in which any man, guilty or innocent, can\nenter on a married life.  I sometimes tell the bridegrooms that I can\ntake a liberty with to keep saying to themselves all the way up to the\nmarriage altar the tenth verse of the 103rd psalm; as well as when they\ncome up afterwards to the baptismal font: \"He hath not dealt with us\nafter our sins nor rewarded us after our iniquities.\"  And it is surely\nBeulah itself, at its very best, it is surely Beulah above itself, when a\nhappy bridegroom is full of that humble and happy mind, and when he is in\none and the same moment reconciled both to his bride on earth and to his\nGod and Father in heaven.  In this land, therefore, in the land of\nBeulah, the contract between the bride and the bridegroom is renewed;\nyea, as the bridegroom rejoiceth over his bride, so shall thy God rejoice\nover thee.\n\n5.  The salaams and salutations also that they were met with as often as\nthey went out to walk in the streets thereof were a constant surprise,\nsatisfaction, and sweetness to the fearful pilgrims.  No passer-by ever\nonce frowned or scowled upon them because their faces were Zionward, as\nthey do in our cities.  No one ever treated them with scorn or contempt\nbecause they were poor or unlettered.  No man's face either turned dark\nat them or was turned away from them as they passed up the street.  They\nnever, all the time they abode in Beulah, took to the lanes of the city\nto escape the unkind looks of any of its citizens.  Greatheart's hand was\nnever away from his helmet.  His helmet was never well on his head.  His\nalways bare and unhelmeted head said to all the men of Beulah, I love and\nhonour and trust you.  You would not hurt a hair of my head.  And so on,\ntill all the streets of Beulah were one buzz of salutation,\ncongratulation, and benediction.  Here they heard voices from out of the\ncity, loud voices, saying, Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy\nsalvation cometh; behold, his reward is with him.  Here all the\ninhabitants of the country called them the holy people, the redeemed of\nthe Lord, sought out, a city not forsaken.\n\n6.  Now, as they walked in this land they had more rejoicing than in\nparts more remote from the kingdom to which they were bound.  And still\ndrawing nigh to that city they had yet a more perfect view thereof.  It\nwas builded of pearls and precious stones, also the street thereof was\npaved with gold, so that by reason of the natural glory of the city and\nthe reflection of the sunbeams upon it, Christian with desire fell sick.\nHopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease.  Wherefore here they\nlay by it awhile, crying out because of their pangs, If you see my\nbeloved, tell him that I am sick of love.  There are in all good cases of\nrecovery three successive stages of soul-sickness.  True, soul-sickness\nalways runs its own course, and it always runs its own course in its own\norder.  This special sickness first shows itself when the soul becomes\nsick with sin.  We have that sickness set forth in many a psalm, notably\nin the thirty-eighth psalm; and in a multitude of other scriptures, both\nold and new, this evil disease is dealt with if we had only the eyes and\nthe heart to read such scriptures.  The second stage of this sickness is\nwhen a sinner is not so much sick with the sin that dwelleth in him as\nsick of himself.  Sinfulness in its second stage becomes so incorporate\nwith the sinner's whole life--sin so becomes the sinner's very nature,\nand, indeed, himself,--that all his former loathing of sin passes over\nhenceforth into loathing of himself.  This is the most desperate stage in\nany man's sickness; but, bad as it is, incurable as it is, it must be\npassed into before the third stage of the healing process can either be\nexperienced or understood.  In the case in hand, by the time the pilgrims\nhad come to Beulah they had all had their full share of sin and of\nthemselves till they here entered on an altogether new experience.\n\"Christian with desire fell sick,\" we read, \"and Hopeful also had a fit\nor two of the same disease.  Wherefore here they lay by it a while,\ncrying out because of their pangs, If you see my beloved, tell him that I\nam sick of love.\"  David, Paul, Bernard, Bunyan himself, Rutherford,\nBrainerd, M'Cheyne, and many others crowd in upon the mind.  I shall but\ninstance John Flavel and Mrs. Jonathan Edwards, and so close.  John\nFlavel being once on a journey set himself to improve the time by\nmeditation, when his mind grew intent, till at length he had such\nravishing tastes of heavenly joys, and such a full assurance of his\ninterest therein, that he utterly lost the sight and sense of this world\nand all its concerns, so that for hours he knew not where he was.  At\nlast, perceiving himself to be faint, he sat down at a spring, where he\nrefreshed himself, earnestly desiring, if it were the will of God, that\nhe might there leave the world.  His spirit reviving, he finished his\njourney in the same delightful frame, and all that night the joy of the\nLord still overflowed him so that he seemed an inhabitant of the other\nworld.  The only other case of love-sickness I shall touch on to-night I\ntake from under the pen of a sin-sick and love-sick author, who has been\ntruthfully described as \"one of the first, if not the very first, of the\nmasters of human reason,\" and, again, as \"one of the greatest of the sons\nof men.\"  \"There is a young lady in New-haven,\" says Edwards, \"who is so\nloved of that Great Being who made and rules the world, that there are\ncertain seasons in which this Great Being in some way or other invisible\ncomes to her and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, so that she\nhardly cares for anything but to meditate upon Him.  She looks soon to\ndwell wholly with Him, and to be ravished with His love and delight for\never.  Therefore, if you present all this world before her, with the\nrichest of its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for it, and is\nunmindful of any pain or affliction.  She has a strange sweetness in her\nmind, and a singular piety in her affections; is most just and\nconscientious in all her conduct; and you could not persuade her to do\nanything wrong or sinful, if you would give her the whole world.  She\nloves to be alone, walking in the fields and groves, and seems to have\nsome one invisible always communing with her.\"  And so on, all through\nher seraphic history.  \"Now, if such things are too enthusiastic,\" says\nthe author of _A Careful and a Strict Enquiry into the Freedom of the\nWill_, \"if such things are the offspring of a distempered brain, let my\nbrain be possessed evermore of that blessed distemper!  If this be\ndistraction, I pray God that the whole world of mankind may all be seized\nwith this benign, meek, beneficent, beatific, glorious distraction!  The\npeace of God that passeth all understanding; rejoicing with joy\nunspeakable and full of glory; God shining in our hearts, to give the\nlight of the knowledge of God in the face of Jesus Christ; with open face\nbeholding as in a glass the glory of God, and being changed into the same\nimage from glory to glory, even as by the spirit of the Lord; being\ncalled out of darkness into marvellous light, and having the day-star\narise in our hearts!  What a sweet distraction is that!  And out of what\na heavenly distemper and out of what a sane enthusiasm has all that come\nto us!\"\n\n   \"More I would speak: but all my words are faint;\n   Celestial Love, what eloquence can paint?\n   No more, by mortal words, can be expressed,\n   But all Eternity shall tell the rest.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE SWELLING OF JORDAN\n\n\n   \"The swelling of Jordan.\"--_Jeremiah_.\n\n\"Fore-fancy your deathbed,\" says Samuel Rutherford.  \"Take an essay,\" he\nsays in his greatest book, that perfect mine of gold and jewels, _Christ\nDying and Drawing Sinners to Himself_--\"Take an essay and a lift at your\ndeath, and look at it before it actually comes to your door.\"  And so we\nshall.  Since it is appointed to all men once to die, and after death the\njudgment; and since our death and our judgment are the only two things\nthat we are absolutely sure about in our whole future, we shall\nhenceforth fore-fancy those two events much more than we have done in the\npast.  And to assist us in that; to quicken our fancy, to kindle it, to\ncaptivate it, and to turn our fancy wholly to our salvation, we have all\nthe entrancing river-scenes in the _Pilgrim's Progress_ set before us; a\nsuccession of scenes in which Bunyan positively revels in his exquisite\nfancies, clothing them as he does, all the time, in language of the\nutmost beauty, tenderness, pathos, power, and dignity.  Let us take our\nstand, then, on the bank of the river and watch how pilgrim after pilgrim\nbehaves himself in those terrible waters.  We are all voluntary\nspectators to-night, but we shall all be compulsory performers before we\nknow where we are.\n\n1.  On entering the river even Christian suddenly began to sink.  Fore-\nfancy that.  All the words he spake still tended to discover that he had\ngreat horror of mind and hearty fears that he would die in that river;\nhere also he was much in the troublesome thoughts of the sins he had\ncommitted both since and before he began to be a pilgrim.  Fore-fancy\nthat also, all you converted young men.  Hopeful, therefore, had much to\ndo to keep his brother's head above water; yea, sometimes he would be\nquite gone down, and then in a while he would rise up again half-dead.\nThen I saw in my dream that Christian was in a muse a while; to whom also\nHopeful added this word, \"Be of good cheer; Jesus Christ maketh thee\nwhole.\"  And with that Christian broke out with a loud voice, \"When thou\npassest through the waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers\nthey shall not overflow thee.\"  Then they both took courage and the enemy\nwas after that as still as a stone till they were gone over.  Fore-fancy\nthat also.  There is one other thing out of that crossing that I hope I\nshall remember when I am in the river: \"Be of good cheer,\" said Hopeful\nto his sinking fellow--\"Be of good cheer, my brother, I feel the bottom,\nand it is good.\"  \"Hold His hand fast,\" wrote Samuel Rutherford to Lady\nKenmure.  \"He knows all the fords.  You may be ducked in His company but\nnever drowned.  Put in your foot, then, and wade after Him.  And be sure\nyou set your feet always upon the stepping-stones.\"  Yes; fore-fancy\nthose stepping-stones, and often practise your feet upon them before the\ntime.\n\n2.  \"Good woman,\" said the post to Christiana, the wife of Christian the\npilgrim; \"Hail, good woman, I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth\nfor thee, and expecteth thee to stand in His presence in clothes of\nimmortality within this ten days.\"  Fore-fancy that also.  Now the day\nwas come that she must be gone.  And so the road was full of people to\nsee her take her journey.  But, behold, all the banks beyond the river\nwere full of horses and chariots which were come down from above to\naccompany her to the city gate.  So she came forth and entered the river\nwith a beckon of farewell to those that followed her to the river-side.\nAnd thus she went and entered in at the gate with all the ceremonies of\njoy that her husband had done before her.  Fore-fancy, if you can, some\nof those ceremonies of joy.\n\n3.  When Mr. Fearing came to the river where was no bridge, there again\nhe was in a heavy case.  Now, he said, he should be drowned for ever and\nnever see that Face with comfort he had come so many miles to behold.  And\nhere also I took notice of what was very remarkable; the water of that\nriver was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life.  So he\nwent over at last not much above wet-shod.  Fore-fancy and fore-arrange,\nif it be possible, for a passage like that.  When he was going tip to the\ngate Mr. Greatheart began to take his leave of him, and to wish him a\ngood reception above.  \"I shall,\" he said, \"I shall.\"  Be fore-assured,\nalso, of a reception like that.\n\n4.  In process of time there came a post to the town again, and his\nbusiness was this time with Mr. Ready-to-halt.  So he inquired him out\nand said to him, \"I am come to thee in the name of Him whom thou hast\nloved and followed, though upon crutches.  And my message is to tell thee\nthat He expects thee at His table to sup with Him in His kingdom the next\nday after Easter.\"  After this Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow-\npilgrims and told them, saying, \"I am sent for, and God shall surely\nvisit you also.  These crutches,\" he said, \"I bequeath to my son that he\nmay tread in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may prove\nbetter than I have done.\"  When he came to the brink of the river, he\nsaid, \"Now I shall have no more need of these crutches, since yonder are\nhorses and chariots for me to ride on.\"  The last words he was heard to\nsay were, \"Welcome life!\"  Let all ready-to-halt hearts fore-fancy all\nthat.\n\n5.  Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends and told them what errand\nhad been brought to him, and what token he had received of the truth of\nthe message.  \"As for my feeble mind,\" he said, \"that I shall leave\nbehind me, for I shall have no need of that in the place whither I go.\nWhen I am gone, Mr. Valiant, I desire that you would bury it in a dung-\nhill.\"  This done, and the day being come in which he was to depart, he\nentered the river as the rest.  His last words were, \"Hold out faith and\npatience.\"  Fore-fancy such an end as that to your feeble mind also.\n\n6.  Did you ever know a family, or, rather, the relics of a family, where\nthere was just a decrepit old father and a lone daughter left to nurse\nhim through his second childhood?  All his other children are either\nmarried or dead; but both marriage and death have spared Miss Much-afraid\nto watch over the dotage-days of Mr. Despondency; till one summer\nafternoon the old man fell asleep in his chair to waken where old men are\nfor ever young.  And in a day or two there were two new graves side by\nside in the old churchyard.  Even death could not divide this old father\nand his trusty child.  And so when the time was come for them to depart,\nthey went down together to the brink of the river.  The last words of Mr.\nDespondency were, \"Farewell night and welcome day.\"  His daughter went\nthrough the river singing, but none could understand what it was she\nsaid.  Fore-fancy that, all you godly old men, with a daughter who has\nmade a husband and children to herself of her old father.\n\n7.  As I hear Old Honest shouting \"Grace reigns!\" I always remember what\na lady told me about a saying of her poor Irish scullery-girl.  The\nmistress and the servant were reading George Eliot's Life together in the\nkitchen, and when they came to her deathbed, on the pillow of which\nThomas A'Kempis lay open, \"Mem,\" said the girl, \"I used to read that old\nbook in the convent; but it is a better book to live upon than to die\nupon.\"  Now, that was exactly Old Honest's mind.  He lived upon one book,\nand then he died upon another.  He lived according to the commandments of\nGod, but he died according to the comforts of the Gospel.  Now, we read\nin his history how that the river at that time overflowed its banks in\nsome places.  But Mr. Honest had in his lifetime spoken to one\nGood-conscience to meet him at the river, the which he also did, and lent\nhim his hand, and so helped him over.  All the same, the last words of\nMr. Honest still were, \"Grace reigns!\"  And so he left the world.  Fore-\nfancy whether or no you are making, as one has said, \"an assignation with\nterror\" at that same river-side.\n\n8.  Standfast was the last of the pilgrims to go over the river.\nStandfast was left longest on this side the river because his Master\ncould best trust him here.  His Master had to take away many of His other\nservants from the evil to come, but He could trust Standfast.  You can\nsafely trust a man who takes to his knees in every hour of temptation, as\nStandfast was wont to do.  \"This river,\" he said, \"has been a terror to\nmany.  Yea, the thoughts of it have often frighted me also.  The waters,\nindeed, are to the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold; yet the\nthoughts of what I am going to, and of the conduct that awaits me on the\nother side, doth lie as a glowing coal at my heart.  I see myself now at\nthe end of my journey, and my toilsome days are all ended.  I am going\nnow to see that head that was crowned with thorns, and that face that was\nspit upon for me.  His name has been to me as a civet-box, yea, sweeter\nthan all perfumes.  His word I did use to gather for my food, and for\nantidotes against my faintings.  He has held me up, and I have kept\nmyself from mine iniquities.  Yea, my steps hath He strengthened in the\nway.\"  Now, while he was thus in discourse his countenance changed, his\nstrong man bowed down under him, and after he had said, \"Take me, for I\ncome to Thee,\" he ceased to be seen of them.  Fore-fancy, if you have the\nface, an end like that for yourself.\n\nThis, then, is how Christian and Hopeful and Christiana and Old Honest\nand all the rest did in the swelling river.  But the important point is,\nHOW WILL YOU DO?  Have you ever fore-fancied how you will do?  Have you\never, among all your many imaginings, imagined yourself on your deathbed?\nHave you ever thought you heard the doctor whisper, \"To-night\"?  Have you\never lain low in your bed and listened to the death-rattle in your own\nthroat?  And have you still listened to the awful silence in the house\nafter all was over?  Have you ever shot in imagination the dreadful gulf\nthat stands fixed between life and death, and between time and eternity?\nHave you ever tried to get a glimpse beforehand of your own place where\nyou will be an hour after your death, when they are putting the grave-\nclothes on your still warm body, and when they are measuring your corpse\nfor your coffin?  Where will you be by that time?  Have you any idea?  Can\nyou fancy it?  Did you ever try?  And if not, why not?  \"My lord,\" wrote\nJeremy Taylor to the Earl of Carbery, when sending him the first copy of\nthe _Holy Dying_,--\"My lord, it is a great art to die well, and that art\nis to be learnt by men in health; for he that prepares not for death\nbefore his last sickness is like him that begins to study philosophy when\nhe is going to dispute publicly in the faculty.  The precepts of dying\nwell must be part of the studies of them that live in health, because in\nother notices an imperfect study may be supplied by a frequent exercise\nand a renewed experience; but here, if we practise imperfectly once, we\nshall never recover the error, for we die but once; and therefore it is\nnecessary that our skill be more exact since it cannot be mended by\nanother trial.\"  How wise, then, how far-seeing, how practical, and how\nurgent is the prophet's challenge and demand.  \"How wilt thou do in the\nswelling of Jordan?\"\n\n1.  Well, then, let us be practical before we close, and let us descend\nto particulars.  Let us take the prophet's question and run it through\nsome parts and some practices of our daily life as already dying men.\nAnd, to begin with, I have such a great faith in good books, whether we\nare to live or die, that I am impelled to ask you all at this point, and\nunder shelter of this plain-spoken prophet, What books have you laid in\nfor your deathbed, and for the weeks and months and even years before\nyour death bed?  What do you look forward to be reading when Jordan is\nbeginning to swell and roll for you and to leap up toward your doorstep?\nIf you get good from good books--everybody does not--but supposing you\nare one of those who do, what books can you absolutely count upon,\nwithout fail, to put you in the best possible frame for the river, and\nfor the convoy across, and for the ceremonies of joy on the other side?\nWhat special Scriptures will you have read every day to you?  \"Read,\"\nsaid John Knox to his weeping wife, \"read where I first cast my anchor.\"\nAn old lady I once knew used to say to me at every visit, \"The\nFifty-first Psalm.\"  She was the daughter of a Highland minister, and the\nwife of a Highland minister, and the mother of a Highland minister, and\nof an elder to boot.  \"The Fifty-first Psalm,\" she said, and sometimes,\n\"One of Hart's hymns also.\"  What is your favourite psalm and hymn?  Mr.\nJames Taylor of Castle Street has several large-type libraries in his\ncatalogue.  Mr. Taylor might start a much worse paying speculation than a\nlarge-type library for the river-side; or, some select booklets for\ndeathbeds.  The series might well open with \"The Ninetieth Psalm\" in\nletters an inch deep.  Scholars die as well as illiterates, and there\nmight be provided for them, among other things, _The Phaedo_ in two\nlanguages, Plato's and Jowett's.  Then _The Seven Sayings from the\nCross_.  Bellarmine's _Art of Dying Well_ would stand well beside John\nBunyan's _Dying Sayings_.  And, were I the editor, I would put in Bishop\nAndrewes' _Private Devotions_, if only for my own last use.  Then Richard\nBaxter's _Saint's Rest_, and John Howe's Platonico-Puritan book,\n_Blessedness of the Righteous_.  Then Bernard's \"New Jerusalem,\" \"The\nSands of Time are sinking,\" \"Rock of Ages,\" and such like.  These are\nsome of the little books I have within reach of my bed against the hour\nwhen the post blows his first horn for me.  You might tell me some of\nyour deathbed favourites.\n\n2.  Who will be your most welcome minister during your last days on\nearth?  For whom would you send to-night if the post were suddenly to\nsound his horn at your side on your way home from church?  I can well\nbelieve it would not be your own minister.  I have known fathers and\nmothers in this congregation to send for other ministers than their own\nminister when terrible trouble came upon them, and both my conscience and\nmy common sense absolutely approved of the step they took.  Five students\nwere once sitting and talking together in a city in which there was to be\nan execution to-morrow morning.  They were talking about the murderer who\nwas to be executed in the morning, and about the minister he had sent for\nto come to see him.  And, like students, they began to put it to one\nanother--Suppose you were to be executed to-morrow, for what minister in\nthe city, or even in the whole land, would you send?  And, like students\nagain, they said--Let each one write down on a piece of paper the name of\nthe minister he would choose to be beside him at the last, and we shall\nsee each man's last choice.  They did so, when to their astonishment it\nwas discovered that they had all written the same minister's name!  I do\nnot know that they all went to his church every Sabbath while they were\nyoung and, well, and not yet under sentence of death.  I do not think\nthey did.  For when I was in his church there was only a handful of old\nand decayed-looking people in it.  The chief part of the congregation\nseemed to me to be a charity school.  And I gathered from all that a\nlesson--several lessons, and this among the rest--that crowded passages\ndo not always wait upon the best pastors; and this also, that a waft of\ndeath soon discovers to us a true minister from an incompetent and a\ncounterfeit minister.\n\n3.  Writing to one of his correspondents about his correspondent's long-\ndrawn-out deathbed, Samuel Rutherford said to him, \"It is long-drawn-out\nthat you may have ample time to go over all your old letters and all your\nstill unsettled accounts before you take ship.\"  Have you any such old\nletters lying still unanswered?  Have you any such old accounts lying\nstill unsettled?  Have you made full reparation and restitution for all\nthat you and yours have done amiss?  Fore-fancy that you will soon be\nsummoned into His presence who has said: \"herefore, if thou bring thy\ngift before the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught\nagainst thee, leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way;\nfirst be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.\nAgree with thine adversary quickly, whiles thou art in the way with him.\"\nYou know all about Zacchaeus.  I need not tell his story over again.  But\nas I write these lines I take up a London newspaper and my eyes light on\nthese lines: \"William Avary was a man of remarkable gifts, both of mind\nand character.  He dedicated the residue of his strength wholly to works\nof piety.  In middle age he failed in business, and in his old age, when\nbetter days came, he looked up such of his old creditors as could be\nfound and divided among them a sum of several thousand pounds.\"  Look up\nsuch of your old creditors as you can find, and that not in matters of\nmoney alone.  And, be sure you begin to do it now, before the horn blows.\nFor, as sure as you take your keys and open your old repositories, you\nwill come on things you had completely forgotten that will take more time\nand more strength, ay, and more resources, than will then be at your\ndisposal.  Even after you have begun at once and done all that you can\ndo, you will have to do at last as Samuel Rutherford told George\nGillespie to do: \"Hand over all your bills, paid and unpaid, to your\nSurety.  Give Him the keys of the drawer, and let Him clear it out for\nHimself after you are gone.\"\n\n4.  And then, pray often to God for a clear mind between Him and you, and\nfor a quick, warm, and heaven-hungry heart at the last.  And take a\npromise from those who watch beside your bed that they will not drug and\nstupefy you even though you should ask for it.  Whatever your pain, and\nit is all in God's hand, make up your mind, if it be possible, to bear\nit.  It cannot be greater than the pain of the cross, and your Saviour\nwould not touch their drugs, however well-intended.  He determined to\nface the swelling of Jordan and to enter His Father's house with an\nunclouded mind.  Try your very uttermost to do the same.  I cannot\nbelieve that the thief even would have let the gall so much as touch his\nlips after Christ had said to him, \"To-day thou shalt be with Me in\nParadise!\"  Well, if your mind was ever clear and keen, let it be at its\nclearest and its keenest at the last.  Let your mind and your heart be\nfull of repentance, and faith, and love, and hope, and all such saying\ngraces, and let them all be at their fullest and brightest exercise, at\nthat moment.  Be on the very tip-toe of expectation as the end draws\nnear.  Another pang, another gasp, one more unutterable sinking of heart\nand flesh as if you were going down into the dreadful pit--and then the\nabundant entrance, and the beatific vision!  What wilt thou do then?  What\nwilt thou say then?  Hast thou thy salutation and thy song ready?  And\nwhat will it be?\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n{1}  Delivered November 27th, 1892.\n\n{2}  January 1st, 1893.","title":"Bunyan Characters (2nd Series)","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":85985}