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THE 
 
 PILGRIM'S Progress 
 
 FROM THIS WORLD 
 
 TO 
 
 THAT WHICH IS TO COME. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN BUNYAK 
 
 iWITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. D. WATSON AND OTHERS. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HURST & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 
 
 1^3 
 

 yrtJii^rtL^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 John Bunyan" has faithfully recorded his own spiritual 
 history. Had he dreamed of being "forever known," and 
 taking his place among those who may be called the im- 
 mortals of the earth, he would probably have introduced 
 more details of his temporal circumstances, and the events 
 of his life. But, glorious dreamer as he was, this never 
 entered into his imaginations. Less concerning him than 
 might have been expected has been preserved by, those of 
 his own sect; and it is now not likely that anything more 
 should be recovered from oblivion. The village of Elstow, 
 which is within a mile of Bedford, was his birthplace; 
 1628 the year of his birth ; and his descent, to use his 
 own words, "of a low, inconsiderable generation ; my 
 father's house,'' he says, "being of that rank that is meanest 
 and most despised of all the families in the land.'' It 
 is stated in a history of Bedfordshire, that he was bred 
 to the business of a brazier, and worked as a Journeyman 
 in Bedford; but the Braziers' Company would not deem 
 itself more honored now if it could show the name of John 
 Bunyan upon its rolls, than it would have felt disparaged 
 then by any such fellowship ; for he was, as his own state- 
 ment implies, of a generation of tinkers, born and bred 
 to that calling, as his father had been before him. Where- 
 fore this should have been so mean and despised a calling 
 is not however apparent, when it was not followed as a 
 vagabond emplo3^ment: but, as in this case, exercised bj 
 
4 LIFE OF JOHN' BUNYAN. 
 
 one who had a settled habitation, and who, mean as his con- 
 dition was, was nevertheless able to put his son to school^ 
 in an age when very few of the poor were tanght to read and 
 write. The boy learned both, "according to the rate of 
 other poor men's children," but soon lost what little he had 
 been taught, "'even,'' he says, "almost utterly." 
 
 Some pains, also, it may be presumed, his parents took in 
 impressing him with a sense of his religious duties; other- 
 Avise, when in his boyhood he became a proficient in curs- 
 ing and swearing above his fellows, he would not have been 
 visited by such dreams and such compunctuous feelings 
 as he has described. "Often," he says, "after I had spent 
 this and the other day in sin, I have in my bed been greatly 
 afflicted, while asleep, with the apprehensions of devils and 
 wicked spirits, who still, as I then thought, labored to draw 
 me away with them." His waking reflections were not less 
 terrible than these fearful visions of the night; and these, 
 he says, "when I was but a child, but nine or ten years 
 old, did so distress my soul, that then, in the midst of my 
 many sports and childish vanities, amidst my vain com- 
 panions, I was often much cast down, and afflicted in my 
 mind therewith ; yet could I not let go my sins. Yea, I was 
 also then so overcome with despair of life and heaven, 
 that I should often wish, either that there had been no hell, 
 or that I had been a devil, supposing they were only tor- 
 mentors; that if it must needs be that I went thither, I 
 might be rather a tormentor, than be tormented myself." 
 
 These feelings, when he approached toward manhood re- 
 curred, as might be expected, less frequently, and with less 
 force; but though he represents himself as having been 
 what he calls a town sinner, he was never so given over to 
 a reprobate mind, as to be wholly free from them. For 
 though he became so far hardened in profligacy that he 
 could "take pleasure in the vileness of his companions," 
 }c't the sense of right and wrong was not extinguished ia 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 6 
 
 him, and it shocked him if at any time he saw those who 
 pretended to be religious, act in a manner unworthy of their 
 profession. Some providential escapes, during this part of 
 his life, he looked back upon afterwards, as so many judg- 
 ments mixed with mercy. Once he fell into a creek of the 
 sea, once out of a boat into the river Ouse, near Bedford, 
 and each time was narrowly saved from drowning. One 
 day an adder crossed his path; he stunned it with a stick, 
 then forced open its mouth with the stick, and plucked 
 out the tongue, which he supposed to be the sting, with 
 his fingers, ^loj which act,'' he says, ^Tiad not God been 
 merciful unto me, I might by my desperateness have 
 brought myself to my end." If this indeed were an adder, 
 and not a harmless snake, his escape from the fangs was 
 more remarkable than he was himself aware of. A circum- 
 stance which was likely to impress him more deeply, oc- 
 curred in the eighteenth year of his age, when, being a 
 soldier in the Parliament's army, he was drawn out to 
 go to the siege of Leicester. One of the same company 
 wished to go in his stead; Bunyan consented to exchange 
 with him; and this volunteer substitute, standing sentinel 
 one day at the siege, was shot through the head with a 
 musket-ball. 
 
 Some serious thoughts this would have awakened in a 
 harder heart than Bunyan's; but his heart never was 
 hardened. The self-accusations of such a man are to be 
 received with some distrust, — not of his sincerity, but of 
 his sober judgment. It should seem that he ran headlong 
 into the boisterous vices which prove fatal to so many of 
 the ignorant and the brutal, for want of that necessary 
 and wholesome restrictive discipline which it is the duty 
 of a government to provide; but he was not led into those 
 habitual sins which infix a deeper stain. "Had not a mir- 
 acle of precious grace prevented, I had laid myself open," 
 he says, "even to the stroke of those laws which bring some 
 
6 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 to disgrace and open shame before the face of the world.** 
 That grace he had. He was no drunkard; for, if he had 
 been, he would loudly have proclaimed it : and, on another 
 point, we have his own solemn declaration, in one of the 
 most characteristic passages in his whole works, where he 
 replies to those who slandered him as leading a licentious 
 life with women. "I call on them," he says, "when they 
 have used to the utmost of their endeavors, and made the 
 fullest inquiry that they can, to prove against me, truly, 
 that there is any woman in heaven, or earth, or hell, that 
 can say I have, at any time^ in any place, by day or night, 
 so much as attempted to be naught with them. And speak 
 I thus to beg mine enemies into a good esteem of me? 
 No, not I! I will in this beg leave of no man. Believe 
 or disbelieve me in this, 'tis all a-ease to me. My foes have 
 missed their mark in this their shooting at me. I am 
 not the man. I wish that they themselves be guiltless. If 
 all the fornicators and adulterers in England were hanged 
 up by the neck till they be dead, John Bunyan, the object 
 of their envy, would be still alive and well. I know not 
 whether there be such a thing as a woman breathing 
 Tinder the copes of heaven, but by their apparel, their chil- 
 dren, or by common fame, except my wife." And "for a 
 wind-up in this matter," calling again, not only upon men, 
 but angels, to prove him guilty if he be, and upon God 
 for a record upon his soul, that in these things he was inno- 
 cent, he says, "not that I have been thus kept because of 
 any goodness in me more than any other, but God has 
 been merciful to me, and has kept me." 
 
 Bunyan married presently after his substitute had been 
 killed at the siege of Leicester, probably, therefore, before 
 he was nineteen. This he might have counted among his 
 mercies, as he has counted it that he was led "to light upon 
 a wife'' whose father, as she often told him, was a godly 
 man who had been used to reprove vice, both in his own 
 
UPE OP JOHN BUNYAN, 7 
 
 hsmse and among his neighbors, and had lived a strict and 
 holy life, both in word and deed. There was no impru- 
 dence in this early marriage, though they "came together 
 as poor as poor might be, not having so much household 
 stuff as a dish or spoon betwixt them both;" for Bunyan 
 bad a trade to which he could trust, and the young woman 
 had been trained up in the way she should go. She 
 brought him for her portion two books, which her father 
 had left her at his death. "The Plain Man's Pathway to 
 Heaven" was one; the other was Bayly, Bishop of Bangor's 
 "Practice of Piety,'' which has been translated into Welsh 
 (the author's native tongue), into Hungarian, and into 
 Polish, and of which more than fifty editions were pub- 
 lished in the course of a hundred years. These books he 
 sometimes read with her ; and though they did not, he says, 
 reach his heart to awaken it, yet they did beget within him 
 some desires to reform his vicious life, and made him fall 
 in eagerly with the religion of the times, go to church 
 twice a day with the foremost, and there very devoutly say 
 and sing as others did ; yet, according to his own account, 
 retaining his wicked life. 
 
 One day the minister preached against Sabbath-break- 
 ing, and Bunyan, who used especially to follow his sports 
 on Sundays, fell in conscience under that sermon, verily 
 believing it was intended for him, and feeling what guilt 
 was, which he could not remember that he had ever felt 
 before. Home he w^ent, with a great burthen upon his 
 spirit ; but dinner removed that burthen ; his animal spirits 
 recovered from their depression; he shook the sermon out 
 of his mind; and away he went, with great delight, to his 
 old sports. The Puritans' notwithstanding the outcry 
 which they had raised against what is called the Book of 
 Sports, found it necessary to tolerate such recreations on 
 the Sabbath ; bnt it is more remarkable to find a married 
 man engaged in games which are now only practised by 
 
g LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 boys- Dinner had for a time prevailed over that morning's 
 sermon, but it was only for a time; the dinner sat easy 
 ■upon him — the sermon did not; and, in the midst of a 
 game of cat, as he was about to strike the cat from the 
 hole, it seemed to him as if a voice from heaven suddenly 
 darted into his soul, and said, Wilt thou leave thy sins, and 
 go to heaven ? or have thy sins, and go to hell ? "At tliis," 
 he contiQues, "I was put to an exceeding maze; wherefore, 
 leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, 
 and was as if I had, with the eyes of my understanding, 
 seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon me, as being very 
 hotly displeased with me, and as if he did severely threaten 
 me with some grievous punishment for these and other 
 ungodly practices/^ 
 
 The voice he believed was from heaven; and it may be 
 inferred, from his relation, that though he was sensible the 
 vision was only seen with the mind's eye, he deemed il not 
 the less real. The effect was to fasten upon his spirit a sud- 
 den and dreadful conclusion, that it was too late for him 
 to turn away from his wickedness, for Christ would not 
 forgive him. He felt his heart sink in despair; and this 
 insane reasoning passed in his mind, "My state is surely 
 miserable, — miserable if I leave my sins, and but miserable 
 if I follow them. I can but be damned ; and if I must be 
 so, I had as good be damned for many sins, as be damned 
 for few." Thus he says, "I stood in the midst of my play, 
 before all that were present, but yet I told them nothing; 
 but having made this conclusion, I returned desperately 
 to my sport again. And I well remember that presently 
 this kind of despair did so possess my soul, that I was 
 persuaded I could never attain to other comfort than what 
 I should get in sin; for heaven was gone already, so that 
 on that I must not think. Wherefore I found within me 
 /^re^t dpsire to take my fill of sin, still studying what sin 
 was yet to be committed, that I might taste the sweetness of 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, & 
 
 it, — ^lest I should die before I had my desires. In these 
 things, I protest before God, I lie not; neither do I frame 
 this sort of speech: these were really, strongly, and with 
 all my heart, my desires. The good Lord, whose mercy 
 i& unsearchable, forgive me my transgressions !" 
 
 When thus faithfully describing the state of his feelings 
 at that time, Bunyan was not conscious that he exaggerated 
 the character of his oiiences. Yet, in another part of his 
 Writings, he qualifies those offences more truly, where he 
 gpeaks of himself as having been addicted to ^'^all manner 
 ^f youthful vanities;" and this relation itself is accom- 
 panied with a remark, that it is a usual temptation of the 
 devil, "to overrun the spirits with a scurvy and seared 
 frame of heart, and benumbing of conscience;" so that, 
 though there be not much guilt attending the poor crea- 
 tures who are thus tempted, "yet they continually have a 
 secret conclusion within them, that there is no hope for 
 them." This state lasted with him little more than a 
 month; it then happened, that as he stood at a neighbor's 
 shop-window, "cursing and swearing, and playing the mad- 
 man," after his wonted manner, the woman of the house 
 heard him; and though she was, he says, a very loose and 
 ungodly wretch, she told him that he made her tremble 
 to hear him ; "that he was the ungodliest fellow for swear- 
 ing that ever she had heard in all her life; and that, by 
 thus doing, he was able to spoil all the youth in the whole 
 town, if they came but in his company." The reproof came 
 with more effect than if it had come from a better person. 
 It silenced him, and put him to secret shame; and that, 
 too, as he thought, '*l3ef ore the God of heaven ; wherefore," 
 he says, "while I stood there, and hanging down my head, 
 I wished with all my heart that I might be a little child 
 again, that my father might learn me to speak without 
 this wicked way of swearing ; for, thought I, I am so accus- 
 tomed to it, that it is in vain for me to think of a ref orma- 
 
Iff LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 
 
 tion." From that hour, however, the reformation of this, 
 the only actual sin to which he was addicted, began. Even 
 to his own wonder it took place, and he who till then had 
 not known how to speak unless he put an oath before and 
 another behind to make his words have authority, dis- 
 covered that he could speak better and more pleasantly 
 without such expletives than he had ever done before. 
 
 Soon afterwards he fell in company witji a poor man 
 who talked to him concerning religion and the scriptures, 
 in a manner which took his attention, and sent him to his 
 Bible. He began to take pleasure in reading it, especially 
 the historical parts; the Epistles he says he '^could not 
 away with, being as yet ignorant both of the corruption of 
 our nature and of the want and worth of Christ to save 
 us." And this produced such a change in his whole de- 
 portment, that his neighbors took him to be a new man, 
 and were amazed at his conversion from prodigious pro- 
 faneness to a moral and religious life. They began to speak 
 well of him, both to his face and behind his back, and he 
 was well pleased at having obtained, and, as he thought, 
 deserved, their good opinion. And yet, he says, "I was 
 nothing but a poor, painted hypocrite, — I did all I did 
 either to be seen of, or to be well spoken of by men. I 
 knew not Christ, nor Grace, nor Faith, nor Hope; and 
 as I have well seen since, had I then died, my state had 
 been most fearful." 
 
 Bunyan had formerly taken great delight in bell-ring- 
 ing; but now that his conscience '"began to be tender," 
 he thought it "a vain practice," in other words, a sin; 
 yet he so hankered after this his old exercise, that though 
 he durst not pull a rope himself, he would go and look 
 at the ringers, not without a secret feeling that to do so 
 was unbecoming the religious character which he now pro- 
 fessed. A fear came upon him that one of the bells might 
 fall. To secure himself against such an aeicdent, he stood 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 11 
 
 Tinder a beam that lay athwart the steeple, from side to 
 side; but his apprehensions being once aAvakened, he then 
 considered that the bell might fall with a swing, hit the 
 wall first, rebound, and to strike him in its descent. Upon 
 this he retired to the steeple-door, thinking himself safe 
 enough there, for if the bell should fall he could slip out. 
 Further than the door he did not venture, nor did he 
 long continue to think himself secure there; for the next 
 fancy which possessed him was that the steeple itself might 
 fall ; and this so possessed him and so shook his mind, that 
 he dared not stand at the door longer but fled for fear the 
 tower should come down upon him, — to such a stsate 
 of nervous wealmess had a diseased feeling brought his 
 strong body and strong mind. The last amusement from 
 which he weaned himself was that of dancing. It was a 
 full year before he could quite leave that; but in so doing, 
 and in anything in which he thought he was performing 
 his duty, he had such a peace of mind, such satisfaction, 
 that — "to relate it," he says, "in mine own way, I thought 
 no man in England could please God better than I. Poor 
 wretch as I was, I was all this while ignorant of Jesus 
 Christ, and going about to establish my own righteousness, 
 and had perished therein, had not God in mercy showed me 
 more of my state of nature." 
 
 Some of the Ranters' books were put into Bunyan's 
 hands. Their effect was to perplex him. He read in them, 
 and thought upon them, and betook himself properly and 
 earnestly thus to prayer: "Lord, I am not able to know 
 the truth from error, leave me not to my own blindness, 
 either to approve of, or condemn, this doctrine. If it be 
 of God, let me not despise it; if it be of the Devil, let me 
 not embrace it. Lord, I lay my soul in this matter only 
 at thy feet ; let me not be deceived, I humbly beseech thee !" 
 And he was not deceived ; for though he fell in with many 
 persons, who, from a strict profession of religion, had 
 
12 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 persuaded themselves that having now attained to the per'* 
 fection of the Saints^ they were discharged from all obli- 
 gations of morality, and nothing which it might please 
 them them to do would be accounted to them as sin, — 
 neither their evil arguments nor their worse example in- 
 fected him. "Oh," he saj'S, "these temptations were suit- 
 able to my flesh, I being but a young man, and my nature 
 in its prime; but God, who had, as I hope, designed me 
 for better things, kept me in the fear of his name, and 
 did not suffer me to accept such cursed principles. And 
 blessed be God, who put it in my heart to cry to him to 
 be kept and directed, still distrusting mine own wisdom.'* 
 These people could neither corrupt his conscience not 
 impose upon his understanding; he had no sympathies 
 with them. But one day when he was tinkering in the 
 streets of Bedford, he overheard three or four poor women, 
 who, as they sat at a door in the sunshinp, were conversing 
 about their own spiritual state. He was himself "a brisk 
 talker in the matter of religion;'' but these persons were, 
 in their discourse, "far above his reach." Their talk was 
 about a new birth, — how they were convinced of their mis- 
 erable state by nature, — how God had visited their souls 
 with his love in the Lord Jesus, — with what words and 
 promises they had been refreshed and supported against 
 the temptations of the Devil, — how they had been afflicted 
 under the assaults of the enemy, and how they had been 
 borne up ; and of their own wretchedness of heart, and of 
 their unbelief, and the insuflRciency of their own righteous- 
 ness. "Methought," says Bunyan, "they spake, as if you 
 did make them speak. They spake with such pleasantness 
 of Scripture language, and with such appearance of grace 
 in all they said, that they were to me as if they had found 
 a new world, as if they were ^people that dwelt alone, and 
 were not to be reckoned among tlieir neighbors.' " He felt 
 his own heart shake as he heard tliem; and when he turned 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 13 
 
 away, and went about his employment again, their talk 
 went with him, for he had heard enough to convince him 
 that he "wanted the true tokens of a true godly man," 
 and to convince him also of the blessed condition of him 
 that was indeed one. 
 
 He made it his business, therefore, frequently to seek the 
 conversation of these women. They were members of a 
 small Baptist congregation which a Kentish man, John 
 Gilford by name, had formed at Bedford. The first effect 
 of his conversation with them was that he began to look 
 into the Bible with new eyes, and "indeed was never out 
 of it," either by reading or meditation. He now took de- 
 light in St. Paul's Epistles, which before he "could not 
 away with;" and the first strong impression which they 
 made upon him was that he wanted the gifts of wisdom 
 and knowledge of which the Apostle speaks, and was 
 doubtful whether he had faith or not; yet this was a doubt 
 which he could not bear, being certain that if he were with- 
 out faith, he must perish. Being "put to his plunge" about 
 this, and not as yet consulting with any one, he conceived 
 that the only means by which he could be certified was 
 by trying to work a miracle, a delusion which he says the 
 tempter enforced and strengthened by urging upon him 
 those texts of Scripture that seemed to look that way. One 
 day, as he was between Elstow and Bedford, the tempta- 
 tion was hot upon him that he should put this to the proof 
 by saying "to the puddles that were in the horse-pads, he 
 dry; and to the dry places, he ye puddles! And truly one 
 time I was going to say so, indeed; but just as I was about 
 to speak, this thought came in my mind, "but go under 
 yonder hedge, and pray first that God would make you 
 able.' But when I had concluded to pray, this came hot 
 upon me, that if I prayed and came again, and tried to 
 do it, and yet did nothing notwithstanding, then to be sure 
 I had no faith, but was a castaway, and lost. Nay, thought 
 
14 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 I, if it be so, I will not try yet, but will stay a little 
 longer." 
 
 About this time the happiness of his poor acquaintance 
 whom he believed to be in a sanctified state was presented 
 to him, he says, in a kind of vision, — that is, it became the 
 subject of a reverie, a waking dream, — in which the germ 
 of the "Pilgrim's Progress" may plainly be perceived. "I 
 saw," he says, "as if they were on the sunny side of some 
 high mountain, there refreshing themselves with the pleas- 
 ant beams of the sun, while I was shivering and shrinking 
 in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow, and dark clouds. 
 Methought, also, betwixt me and them I saw a wall that 
 did compass about this mountain. Now through this wall 
 my soul did greatly desire to pass; concluding that if I 
 could, I would even go into the very midst of them, and 
 there also comfort myself with the heat of their sun. About 
 this wall I thought myself to go again and again, still 
 praying as I went, to see if I could find some way or 
 passage, by which I might enter therein; but none could 
 I find for some time. At the last I saw, as it were, a 
 narrow gap, like a little doorway, in the wall, through 
 which I attempted to pass. Now the passage being very 
 strait and narrow, I made many offers to get in, but all in 
 vain, even until I was well nigh quite beat out by striving 
 to get in. At last, with great striving, methought I at first 
 did get in my head ; and after that, by a sideling striving, 
 my shoulders, and my whole body; then was I exceeding 
 glad, went and sat down in the midst of them, and so was 
 comforted with the light and heat of their sun. Now the 
 Mountain and Wall, etc., was thus made out to me. The 
 Mountain signified the Church of the Living God ; the Sun 
 that shone thereon, the comfortable shining of his merciful 
 Face on them that were within ; the Wall, I thought, was 
 the Word, that did make separation between the Christians 
 and the World: and the Gap which was in the Wall, I 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 15 
 
 thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the Way to God the 
 Father. But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful nar- 
 row, even so narrow that I could not but with great diffi- 
 culty enter in thereat, it showed me that none could enter 
 into life but those that were in downright earnest; and 
 unless, also, they left that wicked World behind them ; for 
 here was only room for Body and Soul, but not for Body 
 and Soul and Sin/' 
 
 But though he now prayed wherever he was, at home or 
 abroad, in the house or in the field, two doubts still as- 
 saulted him, — whether he was elected, and whether the day 
 of grace was not gone b}^ By the force and power of the 
 first he felt, even when he "was in a flame to find the way 
 to Heaven," as if the strength of his body were taken from 
 him; and he found a stumbling-block in this text, "it is 
 neither in him that willeth, nor in him that runneth, but in 
 God that showeth mercy.'^ (Romans, ix. 16; 2 Ecclesi- 
 asticus, ii. 10.) It seemed to him that though he should 
 desire and long and labor till his heart broke, no good could 
 come of it, unless he were a chosen vessel of mercy. 
 "Therefore," he says, "this would stick with me, ^how can 
 you tell that you are elected ? and what if you should not ?* 
 Oh, Lord, thought I, what if I should not, indeed ! It 
 may be you or not, said the tempter. It may be so, indeed, 
 thought I. Why, then, said Satan, you had as good leave 
 off, and strive no further." And then the text that dis- 
 turbed him came again into his mind ; and he knowing not 
 what to say or how to answer, was "driven to his wit's end, 
 little dreaming," he says, "that Satan had thus assaulted 
 him, but that it was his own prudence which had started 
 the question." In an evil hour were the doctrines of the 
 Gospel sophisticated with questions which should have been 
 left in the schools for those who are unwise enough to em- 
 ploy themselves in excogitations of useless subtility! 
 Many are the poor creatures whom such questions have 
 
~ie LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 "^ven lc despair and madness, and suicide; and no one 
 in^re narrowly escaped from such, a catastrophe than 
 Bunyan. 
 
 After many weeks, when he was even "giving up the 
 ghost i^ a'Pi his hopes," another text suddenly occurred to 
 him : "Look at the generations of old, and see, did any 
 ever trust in the Lord, and was confounded ?" He went, with 
 lightened heart, to his Bible, fully expecting to find it 
 there; but he found it not, and the "good people" whom 
 he asked where it was, told him they knew of no such place. 
 But in the Bible he was well assured it was, and the text 
 which had "seized upon his heart with such comfort and 
 strength," abode upon him for more than a year; when, 
 looking into the Apocrypha (Ecclesiasticus, ii. 10), there 
 he met with it ; and was at first, he says, somewhat daunted 
 at finding it there, not in the canonical books. "Yet," he 
 says, "forasmuch as this sentence was the sum and sub- 
 stance of many of the promises, it was my duty to take the 
 comfort of it; and I blessed God for that word, for it was 
 of good to me." But then the other doubt, which had lain 
 dormant, awoke again in strength. "How if the day of grace 
 be past? "What if the good people of Bedford who were al- 
 ready converted, were all that were to be saved in those 
 parts?" He then was too late, for they had got the bless- 
 ing before he came ! "Oh, that I had turned sooner," was 
 then his cry. "Oh, that I had turned seven years ago ! To 
 think that I should trifle away my time, till my Soul and 
 Heaven were lost !'* 
 
 From these fears the occurrence of another passage in 
 Scripture delivered him for a while, and he has remarked 
 that it came into his mind just in the same place where 
 he "received his other encouragement." The text was that 
 in which the servant who had been sent into the streets 
 and lanes to bring in the poor, and the maimed, and the 
 halt, and the blind, to the supper from which the bidden 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 17 
 
 guests absented themselves, returns and says to the mast^v 
 of the house, "Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded^ 
 and yet there is room!" (Luke, xiv. 22.) "These," say* 
 Bunyan, "were sweet words to me ! for truly I thought thai) 
 by them I saw there was place enough in Heaven for me; 
 and moreover that when the Lord Jesus did speak these 
 words. He then did think of me; and that He, knowing 
 the time would come when I should be afflicted with fear 
 that there was no place left for me in His bosom, did speak 
 this word, and leave it upon record, that I might find help 
 thereby against this vile temptation. This I then verily 
 believed." 
 
 Bnt then came another fear. None but those who are 
 called, can inherit the kingdom of Heaven; and this he 
 apprehended was not his case. With longings and 
 breathings in his soul which, he says, are not to be ex- 
 pressed, he cried on Christ to call him, being "all on a 
 flame" to be in a converted state. "Gold ! could it have 
 been gotten for gold, what would I have given for it! 
 Had I a whole world, it had all gone ten thousand times 
 over for this." Much as he had formerly respected and 
 venerated the ministers of the Church, with higher ad- 
 miration he now regarded those who, he thought, had at- 
 tained to the condition for which he was longing. They 
 were "lovely in his eyes; they shone, they walked, like a 
 people that carried the broad seal of Heaven about them." 
 When he read of those whom our Saviour called, when he 
 was upon earth, to be his diciples, the wishes which his 
 heart conceived were, "Would I had been Peter ; . . .would 
 I had been John : . . . or would I had been by and heard 
 Him when He called them ! How would I have cried, 
 Lord, call me also !" In this state of mind, but comfort* 
 ing himself with hoping that if he were not already con- 
 verted, the time might come when he should be so, he 
 imparted his feelings to those poor women whose conversa- 
 
18 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 tion had first brought him into these perplexities and 
 struggles. They reported his case to Mr. Gifford, and 
 Gifford took occasion to talk with him, and invited him to 
 his house, where he might hear him confer with others 
 "about the dealings of God with their souls." 
 
 This course was little likely to compose a mind so agi- 
 tated. What he heard in such conferences rather induced 
 fresh disquiet, and misery of another kind. The inward 
 wretchedness of his wicked heart, he says, began now to be 
 discovered to him, and to work as it had never done be- 
 fore. He was now conscious of sinful thoughts and de- 
 sires, which he had not till then regarded; and, in per- 
 suading him that his heart was innately and wholly wicked, 
 his spiritual physician had well nigh made him believe 
 that it was hopelessly and incurably so. In vain did those 
 to whom x^e applied for consolation tell him of the prom- 
 ises. They might as well have told him to reach the sun, as 
 to rely upon the promises, he says. Original and inward 
 pollution was the plague and affliction which made him 
 loathsome in his own eyes; and, as in his dreadful state 
 of mind, he believed, in the eyes of his Creator also! Sin 
 and Corruption, he thought, would as naturally bubble 
 out of his heart as water from a fountain. None but the 
 Devil, he was persuaded, could equal him for inward 
 wickedness ! "Sure,'' thought he, "I am forsaken of God ! 
 Sure I am given up to the Devil, and to a reprobate mind ! 
 I am sorry that God had made me man. I counted myself 
 alone, and, above the most of men, unblessed !" These were 
 not the torments of a guilty conscience; for he observes 
 that "the guilt of the sins of his ignorance was never much 
 charged upon him;" and as to the act of sinning, during 
 the years that he continufd in this pitiable state, no man 
 could more scrupulously avoid what seemed to him sinful 
 in thought, word or deed. "Oh,'' he says, "how gingerly 
 did I then go, in all I did or said. I found myself as i:^ 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 19 
 
 a miry bog that shook if I did but stir, and was as there 
 left both of God and Christ, and the Spirit, and all good 
 things/' False notions of that corruption of our nature 
 which it is almost as perilous to exaggerate as to dissemble, 
 had laid upon him a burthen heavy as that with which his 
 own Christian begins his pilgrimage. 
 
 The first comfort which he received, and which, had 
 there not been a mist before his understanding, he might 
 have found in every page of the Gospel, came to him in a 
 sermon, upon a strange text, strangely handled : "Behold, 
 thou art fair, my Love; behold, thou art fair!" (Solo- 
 mon's Song, iv. 1.) The Preacher made the words ''my 
 Love" his chief and subject matter ; and one sentence fas- 
 tened upon Bunyan's mind. "If," said the Preacher, "it 
 be so, that the saved Soul is Christ's Love when under 
 temptation and destruction, then, poor tempted Soul, when 
 thou art assaulted and afflicted with temptations, and the 
 hidings of God's face, yet think on these two word, 'My 
 Love; still !" VAiat shall I get by thinking on these two 
 words? said Bunyan to himself, as he returned home, ru- 
 minating upon this discourse. And then, twenty times to- 
 gether, "thou art my Love, thou art my Love," recurred 
 in mental repetition, kindling his spirit ; and still, he says, 
 ^'as they ran in my mind they waxed stronger and warmer, 
 and began to make me look up. But, being as yet be- 
 tween hope and fear, I still replied, in my heart, "but is 
 it true ! but it is true !' At which that sentence fell upon 
 me, 'He wist not that it was true which was come unto 
 him of the Angel.' (Acts, xii. 9.) Then I began to give 
 place to the Word,— and now I could believe that my sins 
 should be forgiven me; yea, I was now tpk^n w^'tj? the Io^p 
 and mercy of God, that, 1 remember, 1 could not tell now 
 to contain till I got home. I thought I could have spoken 
 of His love, and have told of His mercy to me, even to 
 the very crows that sat upon the ploughed lands before 
 
20 LIFE OF JOHN BUN Y AN. 
 
 me, had they been capable to have -understood me. Whei^ 
 fore I said in my soul, with much gladness. Well, I would 
 I had a pen and ink here, I would write this down before 
 I go any farther, for surely I will not forget this forty 
 years hence. But, alas! within less than forty days I be- 
 gan to question all again !" 
 
 Shaken continually thus by the hot and cold fits of a 
 spiritual ague, his imagination was brought to a state of 
 excitement in which its own shapings became vivid as 
 realities, and affected him more forcibly than impres- 
 sions from the external world. He heard sounds, as in a 
 dream; and, as in a dream, held conversations which were 
 inwardly audible though no sounds were uttered, and had 
 all the connection and coherency of an actual dialogue. 
 Eeal they were to him in the impression which they made, 
 and in their lasting effect; and even afterwards, when his 
 soul was at peace, he believed them, in cool a?id sober re- 
 flection, to have been more than natural. Some few days 
 after the sermon, he was much ^^followed," he says, by these 
 words of the Gospel: "Simon, Simon, behold Satan hath 
 desired to have you!" (Luke, xxii. 31.) He knew that it 
 was a voice from within, and yet it was so articulately 
 distinct, so loud, and called, as he says, so strongly after 
 him, that once in particular when the words, "Simon? 
 Simon !" rung in his ears, he verily thought some man had 
 called to him from a distance behind; and though it was 
 not his name supposed nevertheless that it was addressed 
 to him, and looked round suddenly to see by whom. As this 
 had been the loudest, so it was the last time that the call 
 sounded in his ears, and he imputes it to his ignorance and 
 foolishness at that time, that he knew not the reason of 
 it ; for soon, he says, he was feelingly convinced that it was 
 sent from Heaven as an alarm for him to provide against 
 the coming storm, — a storm which "handled him twenty 
 times worse than all he had met with before.^' 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 21 
 
 But while Bunyan suffered thus grievously under the be- 
 lief that these thoughts and fancies were the immediate 
 suggestions of the Evil Spirit, that belief made him at 
 times more passionate in prayer; and then his heart ^put 
 forth itself with inexpressible groanings," and his whole 
 soul was in every word. And although he had not been 
 taught in childhood to lay up the comfortable promises 
 of the Gospel in his heart and in his soul, that they might 
 be as a sign upon his hand and as a frontlet between his 
 eyes, yet he had not read the Bible so diligently without 
 some profit. When he mused upon these words in the 
 Prophet Jeremiah, "thou hast played the harlot with many 
 lovers, yet, return again to me, saith the Lord,'' (Jer. iii. 
 i.), he felt that they were some support to him, as apply- 
 ing to his case; and so, also, was that saying of the same 
 Prophet (Jer. v. 4), that though we have done and spoken 
 as evil things as we could, yet shall we cry unto God, "My 
 Father, thou art the guide of my youth !" and return unto 
 him. More consolation he derived from the Apostle, who 
 says, "He hath made Him to be sin for us, who knew no 
 sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in 
 Him." (2 Cor. 21.) And again, "For I am persuaded that 
 neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor 
 powers, nor things present, nor things to come ; nor height, 
 nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate 
 us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our 
 Lord." (Rom. 8: 38, 39.) This also was a help to him, 
 "Because I love, ye shall love also !" (John 14: 19.) These, 
 he says, were ^Tjut hints, touches, and short visits; very 
 sweet when present, only they lasted not." Yet after a while 
 he felt himself not only delivered from the guilt which 
 these things laid upon his conscience, ^^ut also from the 
 very filth thereof." The temptation was removed, and he 
 thought himself "put into his right mind again." 
 
 While Bunyan was in this state, a translation of Luther'a 
 
22 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 Cbmmentary on the Epistle to the Galatians fell into his 
 hands, — an old book, so tattered and thumb-worn, "that it 
 was ready to fall piece from piece if he did but turn it over." 
 Here, in the work of that passionate and mighty mind, he 
 saw his own soul reflected in a glass. "I had but a little 
 way perused it,'^ he says, "when I found my condition in 
 his experience so largely and profoundly handled as if his 
 book had been written out of my heart^^ And in later life 
 he thought it his duty to declare that he preferred this book 
 of Martin Luther before all the books he had ever seen 
 (the Bible alone excepted), as fittest for a wounded con- 
 science. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge has delineated, with his wonted and pe- 
 culiar ability, the strong resemblance between Luther and 
 Eousseau, — men who, to ordinary observers, would appear 
 in the constitution of their minds most unlike each other. 
 In different stages of his mental and spiritual growth, Bun-^ 
 yan had resembled both: like Rousseau, he had been 
 tempted to set the question of his salvation upon a cast; 
 like Luther, he had undergone the agonies of unbelief and 
 deadly fear, and, according to his own persuasion, wrestled 
 with the Enemy. I know not whether any parallel is to be 
 found for him in the next and strangest part of his history ; 
 for now, when he was fully convinced that his faith had 
 been confirmed by special evidence from Heaven, when his 
 desire was to die and be with Christ, an almost unimagin- 
 lable temptation, which he might well call more grievous 
 and dreadful than any with which he had before been af- 
 flicted, came upon him ; it was "to sell and part with Christ, , 
 — to exchange him for the things of this life, — for any- 
 thing." For the space of a year he was haunted by this 
 strange and hateful suggestion ; and so continually that he 
 was "not rid of it one day in a month, nor sometimes one 
 hour in many succeeding days," unless in his sleep. It in- 
 termixed itself with whatever he thought or did. "I could- 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 23 
 
 neither eat my food/^ he says, "stoop for a pin, chop a stick, 
 or cast mine eye to look on this or that, but still the tempta- 
 tion would come, ^sell Christ for this, or sell Christ for 
 that; sell Him, sell Him, sell Him!' Sometimes it would 
 run in my thoughts not so little as an hundred times to- 
 gether, ''sell Him, sell Him, sell Him, sell Him !' Against 
 which, I may say, for whole hours together, I have been 
 forced to stand as continually leaning and forcing my spirit 
 against it, lest haply, before I were aware, some wicked 
 thought might arise in my heart, that might consent 
 thereto : and sometimes the Tempter would make me believe 
 I had consented to it; but then should I be tortured upon 
 a rack for whole days together. This temptation did put 
 me to such scares, — that, by the very force of my mind, 
 in laboring to gainsay and resist this wickedness, my very 
 body would be put into action, — ^by way of pushing or 
 thrusting with my hands or elbows, still answering as fast 
 as the Destroyer said Ml Him,' *I will not! I will not! 
 I will not ! No, not for thousands, thousands, thousands of 
 worlds !' and thus did I scarce know where I was, or how to 
 be composed again/' 
 
 In this strange state of mind he had continued about a 
 year, when, one morning as he lay in bed, the wicked sug- 
 gestion still running in his mind, "sell Him, sell Him, sell 
 Him, sell Him,'' as fast as a man could speak, and he 
 answering as fast. "No, no, not for thousands, thousands, 
 thousands," till he was almost out of breath, he felt this 
 thought pass through his heart. "Let Him go if He will," 
 and it seemed to him that his heart freely consented thereto. 
 *'0h," he exclaims, "the diligence of Satan! Oh, the 
 desperateness of man's heart! Now was the battle won, 
 and down fell I, as a bird that is shot, from the top of a 
 tree, into great guilt and fearful despair. Thus getting 
 out of my bed, I went moping into the field, but God knows 
 with as heavy a heart as mortal man, I think, could bear; 
 
24 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 where, for the space of two hours, I was like a man bereft 
 of life; and as now past all recovery, and bound over to 
 eternal punishment." Then it occurred to him what is 
 said of Esau by the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews 
 (Heb. 12: 16, 17), now having sold his birthright, when 
 he would afterwards have inherited the blessing, he was 
 rejected; for ^Tie found no place of repentance, though he 
 sought it carefully with tears." At the recollection of a bet- 
 ter text (John 1:7), the words of that disciple (blessed 
 above all men), whom Jesus loved, he had for a while such 
 relief that he began to conceive peace in his soul again, "and 
 methought," says he, "I saw as if the Tempter did leer 
 and steal away from me as being ashamed of what he had 
 done." But this was only like a passing gleam of sunshine : 
 the sound of Esau's fate was always in his ears ; his case 
 was worse than Esau's, worse than David's; Peter's came 
 nigher to it; yet Peter's Avas only a denial of his master, 
 this a selling of his Saviour. He came nearer, therefore, 
 to Judas than to Peter! And though he was yet sane 
 enough to consider that the sin of Judas had been de- 
 liberately committed, whereas his, on the contrary, was 
 '^against his prayer and striving, — in a fearful hurry, on a 
 sudden," the relief which that consideration brought was 
 but little, and only for a while. The sentence concerning 
 Esau, literally taken and more unhappily applied, fell like 
 a hot thunderbolt upon his conscience; "then should I, for 
 whole days together, feel my very body, as well as my 
 mind, to shake and totter under the sense of this dreadful 
 judgment of God; — such a clogging and heat also at my 
 stomach, by reason of this my terror, that I was sometimes 
 as if my breastbone would split asunder." And then he 
 called to mind how Judas burst asunder; and feared that 
 a continual trembling like his was the very mark that had 
 been set on Cain; and thus did he "twist, and twine, and 
 shrink" under a burthen which so oppressed him that he 
 
'LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 25 
 
 could "neither stand, nor go, nor lie, either at rest or quiet." 
 This fatal sentence possessed him so strongly that when 
 thinking on the words in Isaiah, "I have blotted out as a 
 thick cloud thy transgressions, and as a cloud thy sins; 
 return unto me, for I have redeemed thee" (Isa. 44: 32) ; 
 and when it seemed to his diseased imagination that this 
 text called audibly and loudly after him, as if pursuing 
 him, so loudly as to make him, he says, look, as it were, 
 over his shoulder, behind him, to see if the God of Grace 
 were following him with a pardon in His hand, — the echo 
 of the same sentence still sounded in his conscience; and 
 when he heard, "Return unto me, for I have redeemed thee ; 
 return, return !'' articulated, as it seemed to him, with a 
 loud voice, it was overpowered by the inward echo, "he 
 found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully 
 with tears/^ 
 
 It was at a meeting with his fellow-believers, when his 
 fears again were prevailing, that the words for which he 
 longed, according to his own expression, "broke in" upon 
 him, "My Grace is sufficient for thee, my Grace is sufficient 
 for thee, my Grace is sufficient for thee," — ^three times to- 
 gether. He was then as though he had seen the Lord look 
 down from Heaven upon him, "through the tiles," and 
 direct these words to him. It sent him mourning home; 
 it broke his heart, and filled him full of joy, and laid him 
 low as the dust. And now he began to venture upon exam- 
 ining "those most fearful and terrible Scriptures," on 
 which, till now he dared scarcely cast his eyes, "yea, had 
 much ado an hundred times to forbear wishing them out of 
 the Bible." He began "to come close to them, to read them, 
 and consider them, and to weigh their scope and tendency." 
 The result was a clear perception that he had not fallen 
 quite away; that his sin, though devilish, had not been 
 consented to, and put in practice, and that after delibera- 
 tion, — not public and open; that the texts which had 
 
126 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 hitherto so appalled him were 3^et consistent with those 
 which proffered forgiveness and salvation. "And now re- 
 mained only the hinder part of the tempest, for the thun- 
 der was gone past ; only some drops did still remain." And 
 when one day, in the field, the words "Thy righteousness is 
 in Heaven'^ occurred to him, "methought, withal," he says, 
 ^'1 saw with the eyes of my soul, Jesus Christ at God's right 
 hand, — there, I say, is my righteousness, — for my right- 
 eousness was Christ himself, 'the same yesterday, and to- 
 day, and forever.'" (Heb. 13:8.) Then his chains fell 
 off in very deed ; he was loosed from his affliction, and his 
 temptation fled away. 
 
 This was after two years and a half of incessant agita- 
 tion and wretchedness. Bunyan thought he could trace the 
 cause of this long temptation to a sin which he had com- 
 mitted, and to a culpable omission. He had, during the 
 time when doubt and unbelief assailed him, tempted the 
 Lord by asking of him a sign whereby it might appear that 
 the secret thoughts of the heart were known to him ; and he 
 had omitted, when praying earnestly for the removal of 
 present troubles, and for assurances of faith, to pray that 
 he might be kept from temptation. "This," he says, "I 
 had not done, and therefore was thus suffered to sin and 
 fall. And truly this very thing is to this day of such 
 weight and awe upon me, that I dare not, when I come be- 
 fore the Lord, go off my knees, until I entreat Him for 
 help and mercy against the temptations that are to come: 
 and I do beseech thee, Eeader, that thou learn to beware 
 of my negligence, by the affliction that for this thing I 
 did, for days, and months, and years, with sorrow undergo." 
 Far more satisfactorily could he trace in himself the bene- 
 fits which he derived from this long and dreadful course of 
 suffering, under which a weaker body must have sunk, and 
 from which it is almost miraculous that any mind should 
 have escaped without passing into incurable insanity. Be- 
 
/ f f7 
 
 IFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 27 
 
 fore that trial, his soul had been '^perplexed with unbelief, 
 blasphemy, hardness of heart, questions about the Being 
 of God, Christ, the truth of the Word, and certainty of 
 the world to come." ^^Then," he says, "I was greatly as- 
 saulted and tormented with atheism ; but now the case was 
 otherwise; now was God and Christ continually before my 
 face, though not in a way of comfort, but in a way of 
 exceeding dread and terror. The glory of the holiness of 
 God did at this time break me to pieces ; and the bowels and 
 compassion of Christ did break me as on the wheel; for I 
 could not consider him but as a lost and rejected Christ, 
 the remembrance of which was as the continual breaking 
 of my bones. The Scriptures also were wonderful things 
 unto me. I saw that the truth and verity of them were the 
 keys of the kingdom of Heaven; those that the Scriptures 
 favor, they must inherit bliss; but those that they oppose 
 and condemn, must perish for evermore. Oh ! one sentence 
 of the Scripture did more afflict and terrify my mind — I 
 mean those sentences that stood against me (as sometimes 
 I thought they every one did) — more, I say, than an army 
 of forty thousand men that might come against me. Woe 
 be to him against whom the Scriptures bend themselves !" 
 But this led him to search the Bible and dwell upon it 
 with an earnestness and intensity which no determination 
 of a calmer mind could have commanded. "This made 
 me," he says, "with careful heart and watchful eye, with 
 great fearfulness, to turn over every leaf, and with much 
 diligence mixed with trembling to consider every sentence, 
 together with its natural force and attitude. By this, also, 
 I was greatly holden off my former foolish practice of 
 putting by the Word of Promise when it came into my 
 mind: for now, though I could not suck that comfort and 
 sweetness from the promise as I had done at other times, 
 yea, like to a man a-sinking, I should catch at all I saw; 
 formerly I thought I might not meddle with the Promise, 
 
28 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 unless I felt its comfort ; but now 'twas no time thus to do, 
 the Avenger of Blood too hardly did pursue me." If, in 
 the other writings of Bunyan, and especially in that which 
 has made his name immortal, we discover none of that fer- 
 vid language in which his confessions and self-examination 
 are recorded, — none of those "thoughts that breathe and 
 words that burn/' — ^none of that passion in which the 
 reader so far participates as to be disturbed and distressed 
 by it, — ^here we perceive how he acquired that thorough 
 and familiar acquaintance with the Scriptures which in 
 these works is manifested. "Now, therefore, I was glad," 
 he says, "to catch at that Word, which yet I had no ground 
 or right to own; and even to leap into the bosom of that 
 Promise that yet I feared did shut its heart against me. 
 Now, also, I should labor to take the Word as God hath laid 
 it down, without restraining the natural force of one syllable 
 thereof. Oh, what did I now see in that blessed sixth of 
 John, "and him that comes to me I will in no ivise cast out.'* 
 (John vi. 37.) Now I began to consider with myself that 
 God hath a bigger mouth to speak with than I had a heart 
 to conceive with. I thought also with myself that He 
 spake not His words in haste, or in an unadvised heat, but 
 with infinite wisdom and judgment, and in very truth and 
 faithfulness. I should in these days, often in my greatest 
 agonies, even flounce towards the Promise (as the horses do 
 towards sound ground, that yet stick in the mire), con- 
 cluding (though as one almost bereft of his wits through 
 fear) ^on this I will rest and stay, and leave the fulfilling 
 of it to the God of Heaven that made it!' Oh, many a 
 pull hath my heart had with Satan for that blessed sixth 
 of John ! I did not now, as at other times, look principally 
 for comfort (though, oh, how welcome would it have been 
 unto me !), but now, a Word, a Word to lean a weary soul 
 upon, that it might not sink for ever I 'twas that I hunted 
 for ! Yea, often when I have been making to the Promise, 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 29 
 
 I have seen as if the Lord would refuse my soul for ever. 
 I was often as if I had run upon the pikes, and as if the 
 Lord had thrust at me, to keep me from Him, as with a 
 flaming sword V 
 
 When Bunyan passed from this horrible condition into a 
 ntate of happy feeling, his mind was nearly overthrown by 
 the transition. "I had two or three times," he says, "at or 
 about my deliverance from this temptation, such strange 
 apprehensions of the Grace of God that I could hardly 
 bear up under it. It was so out of measure amazing when 
 I thought it could reach me, that I do not think if that sense 
 qI it had abode long upon me, it would have made me un- 
 capable of business." He had not, however, yet attained 
 to that self-control which belongs to a sane mind ; for, after 
 he had formally been admitted into fellowship with Gif- 
 ford's little congregation, and had been by him baptized ac- 
 cordingly, by immersion, probably in the river Ouse (for 
 the Baptists at that time sought rather than shunned pub- 
 licity on such occsaions), he was for nearly a year pestered 
 with strange and villainous thoughts whenever he communi- 
 cated at the meeting. These, however, left him. When threat- 
 ened with consumption at one time, he was delivered from 
 "he fear of dissolution, by faith, and the strong c?esire of 
 ^'ntering upon eternal life, and in another illness, when the 
 thought of approaching death for a while overcame him, 
 %ehold," he says, "as I was in the midst of those fears, 
 thii words of the Angels carrying Lazarus into Abraham^s 
 bosom, darted in upon me, as who should say, ''so shall it 
 be with thee when thou dost leave this world!' This did 
 sweetly revive my spirits, and help me to hope in God; 
 which, when I had with comfort mused on a while, that 
 Word fell with great weight upon my mind, 'Oh, Death, 
 where is thy sting? Oh, Grave, where is thy victory?' 
 At this I became both well in body and mind at once; 
 
30 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 for my sickness did presently vanish, and I walked com- 
 fortably in my work for God again." 
 
 But the wickedness of the Tinker has been greatly over- 
 charged; and it is taking the language of self -accusation 
 too literally to pronounce of John Bunyan that he was at 
 any time depraved. The worst of what he was in his worst 
 days is to be expressed in a single word, for which we have 
 no synonym, the full meaning of which no circumlocution 
 can convey, and which, though it may hardly be deemed 
 presentable in serious composition, I shall use, as Bunyan 
 himself (no mealy-mouthed writer) would have used it, 
 had it in his days borne the same acceptation in which it 
 is now universally understood. In that word, then, he had 
 been a hlaclcguard. 
 
 "The head and front of his offending 
 Hath this extent, no more." 
 
 Such he might have been expected to be by his birth, breed- 
 ing, and vocation. Scarcely, indeed, by possibility could 
 he have been otherwise; but he was never a vicious man. 
 It has been seen that the first reproof he shook off, at 
 once and forever, the practice of profane swearing, the 
 worst if not the only sin to which he was ever addicted. 
 He must have been still a very young man when that out- 
 ward reformation, took place, which, little as he afterwards 
 valued it, and insufficient as it may have been, gave evidence 
 at least of right intentions, under the direction of a strong 
 will ; and throughout his subsequent struggles of mind, the 
 force of a diseased imagination is not more manifest than 
 the earnestness of his religious feelings and aspirations. 
 His connection with the Baptists was eventually most bene- 
 ficial to him. Had it not been for the encouragement 
 which he received from them he might have lived and died 
 a tinker ; for, even when he cast off, like a slough, the coarse 
 habits of his early life, his latent powers could never, with- 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 31 
 
 out some such encouragement and impulse, have broken 
 through the thick ignorance with which they were incrusted. 
 The coarseness of that incrustation could hardly be con- 
 ceived, if proofs of it were not preserved in his own hand- 
 writing. There is no book except the Bible which he is 
 known to have perused so intently as the Acts and Monu- 
 ments of John Fox, the martyrologist, one of the best 
 of men, — a work more hastily than judiciously compiled, 
 in its earlier parts, but invaluable for that greater and far 
 more important portion which has obtained for it its popu- 
 lar name of "The Book of Martyrs." Bunyan's own copy 
 of this work is in existence, and valued of course as such 
 a relic of such a man ought to be. In each volume he has 
 written his name beneath the title page in a large and stout 
 print-hand, thus : — 
 
 JHN^B 
 
 And under some of the wood-cuts he has inserted a few 
 rhymes, which are undoubtedly his own composition; and 
 which, though much in the manner of the verses that were 
 printed under the illustrations to his own "Pilgrim's 
 Progress'^ when that work was first adorned with cuts 
 (verses worthy of such embellishments), are very much 
 worse than even the worst of those. Indeed, it would not 
 be possible to find specimens of more miserable doggerel. 
 But as it has been proper to lay before the reader the vivid 
 representation of Bunyan in his f?^'""ish state of en- 
 thusiasm, that the sobriety of mind into which he settled 
 may be the better appreciated and the more admired, so 
 for a like reason is it fitting that it should be seen from 
 how gross and deplorable a state of ignorance that intellect 
 
32 
 
 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 which produced the "Pilgrim's Progress" worked its way. 
 These, then, are the verses. 
 
 A specimen is here presented, as it appears in his own 
 rude handwriting under the martyrdom of Thomas Haukes : 
 
 Under the print of an Owl appearing to a Council held by 
 Pope John at Rome. (Acts and Monuments, vol. i. 78.L) 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 33 
 
 Both the owle to them apper 
 which putt them all into a fear 
 Will not the man & trubel crown 
 cast the owle unto the ground. 
 
 Under the martyrdom of John Hus. (Acts and Mon., 
 Tol. i. 221.) 
 
 heare is John hus that you may see 
 nesed in deed with all crulity. 
 But now leet us follow & look one him 
 Whear he is full field in deed to the brim. 
 
 Under the martyrdom of John Rogers, the Protomartyr 
 in the Marian Persecution. (lb., vol. iii., 133.) 
 
 It was the will of X (Christ) that thou should die 
 Mr. Eogers his body in the flames to fry. 
 Blessed man thou did lead this bloody way, 
 how wilt thou shien with X in the last day. 
 
 Under the martyrdom of Lawrence Sanders. (lb., vol, 
 iii., 139.) 
 
 Mr Sanders is the next blessed man in deed 
 And from all trubels he is made free 
 Farewell world & all hear be lo. 
 For to my dear Lord I must gooe. 
 
 There is yet one more of these Tinker's tetrastics, penned 
 in the margin (vol. iii., p. 527), beside the account of 
 Gardner's death. 
 
 the blood the blood that he did shed 
 is falling one his one head; 
 and dredfull it is for to see 
 the beginnes of his misere. 
 
 These curious inscriptions must have been Bunyan's first 
 attempts in verse. He had no doubt found difficulty enough 
 in tinkering them to make him proud of his work when iu 
 
34 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 was done; for otherwise he would not have written them 
 in a book which was the most valuable of all his goods 
 and chattels. In latter days he seems to have taken this 
 book for his art of poetry, and acquired from it at length 
 the tune and the phraseology of such verses as are there 
 inserted, — with a few rare exceptions, they are of Eobert 
 Wisdom's school, and something below the pitch of Stern- 
 hold and Hopkins. But if he learned there to make bad 
 verses, he entered fully into the spirit of its better parts, 
 and received that spirit into as resolute a heart as ever beat 
 in a martyr's bosom. From the examples which he found 
 there, and from the Scriptures, which he perused with such 
 intense devotion, he derived "a rapture,'' 
 
 "That raising him from ignorance. 
 Carried him up into the air of action 
 And knowledge of himself." 
 
 And when, the year after Gifford's death, a resolution was 
 passed by the meeting that "some of the brethren (one at a 
 time) to whom the Lord may have given a gift, be called 
 forth and encouraged to speak a word in the church for 
 mutual edification," Bunyan was one of the persons so 
 called upon. "Some," he says, "of the most able of the 
 Saints with us, — I say, the most able for judgment and 
 holiness of life, — as they conceived, did perceive that God 
 had counted me worthy to understand something of His 
 will in His holy and blessed Word; and had given me ut- 
 terance in some measure to express what I saw to others 
 for edification. Therefore they desired me, and that with 
 much earnestness, that I would be willing at some times 
 to take in hand in one of the meetings to speak a word of 
 exhortation unto them. The which, though at the first it 
 did much dash and abash my spirit, yet being still by them 
 desired and entreated, I consented to their request; and 
 did twice, at two several assemblies (but in private). 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 35 
 
 though with much weakness and infirmity, discover my 
 gift amongst them; at which they not only seemed to be, 
 but did solemnly protest, as in the sight of the great God, 
 they were both affected and comforted, and gave thanks to 
 the Father of Mercies for the grace bestowed on me." 
 
 In those days the supply of public news came so slowly, 
 and was so scanty when it came, that even the proceedings 
 of so humble an individual as Bunyan became matter of 
 considerable attention in the town of Bedford. His ex- 
 ample drew many ic the Baptist Meeting, from curiosity 
 to discover what had affected him there, and produced such 
 a change in his conversation. *'\Vhen I v^ent out to seek the 
 Bread of Life, some of them," he says, "would follow, and 
 the rest be put into a muse at home. Yea, almost all the 
 town, at first, at times would go out to hear at the place 
 where I found good. Yea, young and old for a while had 
 some reformation on them: also, some of them perceiving 
 that God had mercy upon me, came crying to Him for 
 mercy too." Bunyan was not one of those enthusiasts who 
 thrust themselves forward, in confident reliance upon what 
 they suppose to be an inward call. He entered upon his 
 probation with diffidence and fear, not daring "to make 
 use of his gift in a public way;" and gradually acquired a 
 trust in himself, and a consciousness of his own qualifica- 
 tions, when some of those who went into the country to dis- 
 seminate their principles and make converts, took him in 
 their company. Exercising himself thus as occasion offered, 
 he was encouraged by the approbation with which others 
 heard him ; and in no long time, "after some solemn prayer^ 
 with fasting," he was "more particularly called forth, and 
 appointed to a more ordinary and public preaching, not 
 only to and amongst them that believed, but also to offer the 
 Gospel to those who had not yet received the faith thereof." 
 
 The Bedford meeting had at this time its regular min- 
 ister, whose name was John Burton ; so that what Bunyan 
 
36 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 received was a roving commission to itinerate in the villages 
 round about, and in this he was so much employed, that 
 when in the ensuing year he was nominated for a deacon of 
 the congregation, they declined electing him to that office, 
 on the ground that he was too much engaged to attend to 
 it. Having in previous training overcome his first diffi- 
 dence, he now "felt in his mind a secret pricking forward'' 
 to this ministry ; not "for desire of vain glory," for he was 
 even at that time "sorely afflicted" concerning his own 
 eternal state, but because the Scriptures encouraged him, 
 by texts which ran continually in his mind, whereby "I 
 was made," he says, "to see that the Holy Ghost never in- 
 tended that men who have gifts and abilities should bury 
 them in the earth, but rather did command and stir up 
 such to the exercise of their gift, and also did command 
 those that were apt and ready, so to do." Those gifts he 
 had, and could not but be conscious of them. He had also 
 the reputation of possessing them, so that people came by 
 hundreds to hear him from all parts round about, though 
 "upon divers accounts," — some to marvel, and some per- 
 haps to mock; but some also to listen, and to be "touched 
 with a conviction that they needed a Saviour." "But I 
 first," he says, "could not believe that God should speak by 
 me to the heart of any man, still counting myself unworthy ; 
 yet those who were thus touched would love me and have a 
 particular respect for me: and though I did put it from 
 me that they should be awakened by me, still they would 
 confess it, and affirm it before the saints of God. They 
 would also bless God for me (unworthy wretch that I am !), 
 and count me God's instrument that showed to them the 
 way of salvation. Wherefore seeing them in both their 
 words and deeds to be so constant, but also in their hearts 
 so earnestly pressing after the knowledge of Jesus Christ, 
 rejoicing that ever God did send me, where they were ; then 
 I began to conclude it might be so that God had owned 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 37 
 
 in His work such a foolish one as I, and then came that 
 word of God to my heart with much sweet refreshment, 
 "the blessings of them that were ready to perish is come 
 upon me; yea, I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy/' 
 (Job xxix. 13.) 
 
 When he first began to preach, Bunyan endeavored to 
 work upon his hearers by alarming them. He dealt chiefly 
 in coniminations, and dwelt upon the dreadful doctrine 
 that the curse of God "lays hold on all men as they come 
 into the world, because of sin." "This part of my work,'* 
 says he, "I fulfilled with great sense : for the terrors of the 
 law, and guilt for my transgressions, lay heavy upon my 
 conscience. I preached what I felt, — what I smartingly 
 did feel, even that under which my poor soul did groan 
 and tremble to astonishment. Indeed, I have been as one 
 sent to them from the dead. I went myself in chains, to 
 preach to them in chains; and carried that fire in my own 
 conscience, that I persuaded them to be aware of. I can 
 truly say that when I have been to preach, I have gone full 
 of guilt and terror even to the pulpit-door; and there it 
 hath been taken off, and I have been at liberty in my mind 
 until I have done my work; and then immediately, even 
 before I could get down the pulpit-stairs, I have been as 
 bad as I was before. Yet God carried me on; but surely 
 with a strong hand, for neither guilt nor hell could take 
 me off my work." This is a case like that of the fiery old 
 soldier John Haime, who was one of Wesley's first lay 
 preachers. 
 
 When he was in a happier state of mind, he took a 
 different and better course, "still preaching what he saw 
 and felt." He then labored "to hold forth our Lord and 
 Saviour" in all His offices, relations, and benefits, unto the 
 world; and "to remove those false supports and props on 
 which the world doth lean, and by them fall and perish." 
 Preaching, however, was not his only employment; and 
 
38 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 though still working at his business for a maintenance, he 
 found time to compose a treatise against some of those 
 heresies which the first Quakers poured forth so profuaely 
 in their overflowing enthusiasm. In that age of theological 
 warfare, no other sectaries acted so eagerly upon the offen- 
 sive. It seems that they came into some of the meetings 
 which Bunyan attended, to bear testimony against the 
 doctrines which were taught there; and this induced him 
 to write his first work, entitled "Some Gospel Truths 
 opened according to the Scriptures: or, the Divine and 
 Human l^ature in Christ Jesus; His coming into the 
 world; His Eighteousness, Death, Resurrection, Ascension, 
 Intercession, and Second Coming to Judgment plainly 
 demonstrated and proved." Burton prefixed to this treatise 
 a commendatory epistle, bidding the reader not to be of- 
 fended because the treasure of the Gospel was held forth 
 to him in a poor earthen vessel by one who had neither 
 the greatness nor the wisdom of this world to commend 
 him. "Having had experience," he says, "with many other 
 saints, of this man's soundness in the faith, of his godly 
 conversation, and his ability to preach the Gospel, not by 
 human art, but by the Spirit of Christ, and that with 
 much success in the conversion of sinners, — I say, having 
 had experience of this, and judging this book may be profit- 
 able to many others, as well as to myself, I thought it my 
 duty upon this account to bear witness with my brother to 
 the plain and simple, and yet glorious truths of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 It may be asked, How is it possible that the man who 
 wrote such illiterate and senseless verses in the margin of 
 his "Book of Mart3rrs," could have composed a treatise like 
 this, about the same time, or shortly afterwards? To this 
 it may be replied that if the treatise were seen in its 
 original spelling, it might have at first sight as tinkerly 
 an appearance as the verses; but in those days persons of 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 39 
 
 mxLch higher station spelt quite as loosely, — perhaps all 
 who were not professionally scholars, — for it was before 
 the age of spelling-books; and it may be believed that in 
 most cases the care of orthography was left to the printers. 
 And it is not to be concluded from Bunyan's wretched 
 verses that he would write as wretchedly in prose : in versi- 
 fying he was attempting an art which he had never learnt, 
 and for which he had no aptitude; but in prose he wrote 
 as he conversed and as he preached^ using the plain 
 straightforward language of common life. Burton may 
 have corrected some vulgarisms, but other correction would 
 not be needed ; for frequent perusal of the Scriptures had 
 made Bunyan fully competent to state what those doctrines 
 were which the Quakers impugned. He was ready with 
 the Scriptural proofs; and, in a vigorous mind like his, 
 right reasoning naturally results from right premises. 
 
 Although, as he says, it pleased him much "to contend 
 with great earnestness for the word of faith and the re- 
 mission of sins by the death and sufferings of our Saviour," 
 he had no liking for controversy, and moreover saw that 
 "his work before him ran in another channel." His great 
 desire was to get into what he calls "the darkest places of 
 the countr}^,*^ and awaken the religious feelings of that 
 class of persons, who then, as now, in the midst of a 
 Christian nation, were like the beasts that perish. While 
 he was thus usefully employed, "the Doctor and Priests of 
 the country," he says, '^egan to open wide against him," 
 and in the year 1657 an indictment was preferred against 
 him at the assizes for preaching at Eaton ; for though this 
 was in the golden days of Oliver Cromwell, the same 
 writer who tells us that "in those days there was no perse- 
 cution," observes that "the Presbyterian ministers who 
 were then in possession of the livings, could not bear with 
 the preaching of an illiterate tinker and an unordained 
 minister." But the Presbyterians were not the only clergy 
 
40 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 who had intruded into the benefices of their loyal brethren, 
 or retained those which were lawfully their own by con- 
 forming to the times and deserting the Church in whose 
 service they were ordained. There was a full proportion 
 of Independents among these incumbent, and some Bap- 
 tists also. And that there was much more persecution dur- 
 ing the Protectorate than Cromwell would have allowed, if 
 he could have prevented it, may be seen by the history of 
 the Quakers, — to say nothing of the Papists, against whom 
 the penal laws remained in full force, — nor of the Church 
 of England. The simple truth is, all parties were agreed 
 in the one Catholic opinion that certain doctrines are not 
 to be tolerated. They differed as to what those doctrines 
 were ; and they differed also as to the degree in which they 
 held the principle of intolerance, and the extent to which 
 they practiced it. The Papists, true to their creed, pro- 
 claimed it without reserve or limit, and burnt all heretics 
 wherever they had power to do so. The Protestants, there- 
 fore, tolerated no Papists where they were strong enough 
 to maintain the ascendancy which they had won. The 
 Church of England would have silenced all sectaries. It 
 failed in the attempt, being betrayed by many of its own 
 members, and then the Sectaries overthrew the Church, 
 put the Primate to death, ejected all the Clergy who ad- 
 hered to their principles, imprisoned some, deported others, 
 and prohibited even the private and domestic use of the 
 Liturgy. The very Baptists of Bunyan's congregation, and 
 at a time too when Bunyan was their pastor, interdicted a 
 '^dearly beloved sister" from communicating with a church 
 of which her son-in-law was minister, because he was not 
 a Baptist ; and they excluded a brother "because in a great 
 assembly of the Church of England he was profanely 
 hishopt, after the antichristian order of that generation, to 
 the great profanation of God's order, and heart-breaking 
 of hifi Christian brethren.'' The Independents flogged and 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUN Y AN. 41 
 
 hanged the Quakers : and the Quakers prophesied in the 
 gall of bitterness against all other communities, and con- 
 demned them to the bottomless pit, in hearty belief and 
 jubilant expectation that the sentence would be carried into 
 full effect by the Devil and his Angels. 
 
 It is not known in what manner the attempt at silenc- 
 ing Bunyan was defeated. He tells us that the ignorant 
 and malicious were then stirred up to load him with slan- 
 ders; and that whatever the Devil could devise, and his 
 instruments invent, Avas "whirled up and down the coun- 
 try" against him, thinking that by that means they should 
 make his ministry to be abandoned. It was rumored that 
 he was a Witch, a Jesuit, a Highwayman : and now it was 
 that tha aspersions cast upon his moral character called 
 forth that characteristic vindication of himself which has 
 already been noticed. Equally characteristic is the appeal 
 which he made in his own manners and deportment. "And 
 in this," says he, "I admire the wisdom of God, that he 
 made me shy of women from my first conversion until now. 
 These know, and can also bear me witness, with whom I 
 have been most intimately concerned, that it is a rare thing 
 to see me carry it pleasant towards a woman. The common 
 salutation of women I abhor; ^tis odious to me in whomso- 
 ever I see it. Their company alone I can not away with! 
 I seldom so much as touch a woman's hand; for I think 
 these things are not so becoming me. When I have seen 
 ^ood men salute those women that they have visited, or that 
 nave visited them, I have at times made my objection 
 against it ; and when they have answered that it was but a 
 piece of civility, I have told them, it is not a comely sight. 
 Some, indeed, have urged the holy kiss; but then I have 
 asked why they made baulks? — why they did salute the 
 most handsome, and let the ill-favored go? Thus how 
 laudable soever such things have been in the eyes of others, 
 they have been unseemly in my sight.'' Dr. Doddridge 
 
4!8 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN 
 
 could not have tlins defended himself. But though this 
 passage might have been written by a saint of the mo- 
 nastic calendar^ Bunyan was no woman-hater. He had at 
 this time married a second wife; and that he "carried it 
 pleasant" towards her appears by her behavior towards him 
 in his troubles. 
 
 Those troubles came on a few months only after the 
 Eestoration,, Bunyan being one of the first persons after 
 that event who was punished for nonconformity. The 
 nation was in a most unquiet state. There was a restless, 
 rancorous, implacable party, who would have renewed the 
 civil war, for the sake of again trying the experiment of a 
 Commonwealth, which had so completely and miserably 
 failed when the power was in their hands. They looked to 
 Ludlow as their General; and Algernon Sydney took the 
 first opportunity of soliciting for them men from Holland 
 and money from France. Tlie political enthusiasts who 
 were engaged in such schemes counted upon the sectaries 
 for support. Even among the sober sects there were men 
 who, at the cost of a rebellion, would gladly have again 
 thrown do^Ti the Church Establishment, for the hope of 
 setting up their own system during the anarchy that must 
 ensue. Among the wilder, some were eager to proclaim 
 King Jesus, and take possession of the earth, as being the 
 Saints to whom it was promised: and some (a few years 
 later), less in hope of effecting their republican projects 
 than m despair and vengeance, conspired to burn London. 
 They were discovered, tried, convicted, and executed. They 
 confessed their intention; they named the day which had 
 been appointed for carrying it into effect, because an as- 
 trological scheme had shown it to be a lucky one for this 
 design ; and on that very day the fire of London broke out. 
 In such times the Government was rendered suspicious by 
 the constant sense of danger, and was led as much by fear 
 fts by resentment to severities which are explained by the 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAM. 48 
 
 necessity of self-defence,— not justified by it, when they 
 fall upon the innocent, or even upon the less guilty. 
 
 A warrant was issued against Bunyan, as if he had been 
 a dangerous person, because he went about preaching. This 
 office was deemed (and well it might be) incompatible with 
 his calling. He was known to be hostile to the restored 
 Church ; and probably it might be remembered that he had 
 served in the Parliament's army. Accordingly, he was ar- 
 rested at a place called Samsell, in Bedfordshire, at a meet- 
 ino* in a private house. He was aware of this intention, 
 but neither chose to put off the meeting, nor to escape, lest 
 such conduct on his part should make "an ill savor in the 
 country,'' and because he was resolved "to see the utmost of 
 what they could say or do to him." So he was taken before 
 the Justice, Wingate by name, who had issued the warrant. 
 Wingate asked him why he did not content himself with 
 following his calling, instead of breaking the law; and 
 Bunyan replied that he could both follow his calMng and 
 preach the Word too. He was then required to find sure- 
 ties. They were ready; and, being called in, were told 
 they were bound to keep him from preaching, otherwise 
 their bonds would be forfeited. Upon this Bunyan de- 
 clared that he would not desist from speaking the word of 
 God. While his mittimus was making, in consequence of 
 this determination, one whom he calls an old enemy of the 
 truth, entered into discourse with him, and said he had 
 read of one Alexander the coppersmith who troubled the 
 apostles,— "aiming 'tis like at me," says Bunyan, "be- 
 cause I was a tinker ; to which I answered that I also had 
 read of Priests and Pharisees that had their hands in the 
 blood of our Lord." Aye, was the rejoinder, and you are 
 one of those Pharisees, for you make long prayers to de- 
 vour widows' houses. "I answered," says Bunyan, "that if 
 he had got no more by preaching and praying than I had 
 done, he would not be so rich as now he was." This ended 
 
41 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 in his committal to Bedford jail, there to remain till the 
 quarter sessions. He was offered his liberty if he would 
 promise not to call the people together, but no such promise 
 would he make; and when he was told that none but poor, 
 simple, ignorant people came to hear him, he replied that 
 such had most need of teaching, and therefore it was his 
 duty to go on in that work. It appears^ however, that after 
 a few days he listened to his friends, and would have given 
 bond for his appearance at the sessions ; but the magistrate 
 to whom they applied was afraid to take it. "Whereat,'^ 
 says Bunyan, "I was not at all daunted, but rather glad, 
 and saw evidently that the Lord had heard me. For before 
 I went down to the justice, I begged of God that if I might 
 do more good by being at liberty than in prison, that then 
 I might be set at liberty ; but if not — His will be done ; for 
 I was not altogether without hope but that my imprison- 
 ment might be an awakening to the saints in the country. 
 Therefore, I could not tell which to choose; only I in that 
 manner did commit the thing to God. And verily, at my 
 return I did meet my God sweetly in the prison again, 
 comforting of me, and satisfying of me that it was His 
 will and mind that I should be there." 
 
 Some seven weeks after this the Sessions were held, and 
 John Bunyan was indicted as a person who ^*^devilishly 
 and perniciously abstained from coming to Church to hear 
 divine service, and who was a common upholder of several 
 unlawful meetings and conventicles, to the great disturb- 
 ance and distraction of the good subjects of this kingdom.'* 
 He answered that as to the first part of this, he was a com- 
 mon frequenter of the Church of God : but being demanded 
 whether he attended the parish Church, he replied that he 
 did not, and for this reason, that he was not commanded 
 so to do in the word of God. We were commanded there to 
 pray, but with the spirit, not by the common prayer-book, 
 the prayers in that book being made by other men, and not 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 45 
 
 by the motion of the Holy Spirit within our own hearts. 
 And as to the Lord's Prayer, said he, ^^there are very few 
 that can, in the spirit, say the two first -v^rds of that 
 prayer; that is, that can call God their father, as knowing 
 what it is to be born again, and as having experience that 
 they are begotten of the Spirit of God; which, if they do 
 not, all is but babbling." Having persuaded himself by 
 weak arguments, Bunyan used them as if they had been 
 strong ones. "Show me," he said, "the place in the Epistles 
 where the Common Prayer-Book is written, or one text of 
 Scripture that commands me to read it, and I will use it. 
 But yet, notwithstanding, they that have a mind to use it, 
 they have their liberty; that is, I would not keep them 
 from it. But for our parts, we can pray to God without 
 it. Blessed be His name !" But the Sectaries had kept 
 their countrymen from it, while they had the power; and 
 Bunyan himself in his sphere labored to dissuade them 
 from it. 
 
 Men who are called in question for their opinions, may 
 be expected to under or over estimate them at such times, 
 according as caution or temerity may predominate in their 
 dispositions. In none of Bunyan's writings does he appear 
 so little reasonable, or so little tolerant, as upon these ex- 
 aminations. He was a brave man, — a bold one, — and be- 
 lieved himself to be an injured one, — standing up against 
 persecution; for he knew that by his preaching, evident 
 and certain good was done ; but that there was any evil in 
 his way of doing it, or likely to arise from it, was a thought 
 which, if it had arisen in his own mind, he would im- 
 mediately have ascribed to the suggestion of Satan. Some 
 further disputation ensued. "We were told,^' he said, "to 
 exhort one another daily, while it is called to-day;" but 
 the Justice replied he ought not to preach. In rejoinder, 
 he offered to prove that it was lawful for him and such as 
 K*m to preach, and quoted the Apostle's words, "as every 
 
46 LIFE OF JOHN- BUNYAN. 
 
 man hath received that gift, even so let him minister the 
 same unto another." "Let me a little open that Scripture 
 to you/^ said the magistrate : ^'As every man hath received 
 his gift; that is, as every man hath received a trade, so let 
 him follow it. If any man have received a gift of tinker- 
 ing, as thou hast done, let him follow his tinkering. And 
 so other men their trades, and the divine his calling.'' But 
 John iaeisted that spiritual gifts were intended in this 
 passage. The magistrate said men might exhort if they 
 pleased in their families, but not otherwise. John an- 
 swered, "if it were lawful to do good to some, it was law- 
 ful to do good to more. If it were a good thing to exhort 
 our families, it was good to exhort others. And if it were 
 held a sin for them to meet together and seek the face of 
 God, and exhort one another to follow Christ, he would sin 
 still." They were now at a point. "You confess the in- 
 dictment, then?" said the magistrate. He made answer: 
 "This I confess: We have had many meetings together, 
 both to pray to God, and to exhort one another; and we 
 had the sweet comforting presence of the Lord among us 
 for our encouragement. Blessed be His name! There I 
 confess myself guilty, and no otherwise." Then said the 
 magistrate : "Hear your judgment. You must be had back 
 again to prison, and there lie for three months following; 
 and at three months' end, if you do not submit to go to 
 Church to hear divine service, and leave your preaching, 
 you must be banished the realm. And if after such a day 
 as shall be appointed you to be gone, you shall be found 
 in this realm, or be found to come over again without 
 special license from the king, 3^ou must stretch by the neck 
 for it. I tell you plainly." Bunyan resolutely answered 
 that "if he were out of prison to-day, he would preach the 
 Gospel again to-morrow, by the help of God !" 
 
 Back, therefore, he was taken ; "and I can truly say," he 
 says, "I bless the Lord for it; that my heart was sweetly 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 47 
 
 refreshed in the time of my examination, and also after- 
 wards at my returning to the prison, so that I found 
 Christ^s words more than bare trifles, where He saith, ^^He 
 will give you a mouth and wisdom which all your adver- 
 saries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist." (Luke xxi. 
 15.) Three months elapsed, and the Clerk of the Peace 
 then went to him, by desire of the magistrate, to see if he 
 could be persuaded to obedience. But Bunyan insisted that 
 the law being intended against those who designed to do 
 evil in their meetings, did not apply to him. He was told 
 that he might exhort his neighbors in private discourse, if 
 he did not call together an assembly of people. This he 
 might do, and do much good thereby, without breaking the 
 law. "But," said Bunyan, "if I may do good to one, why 
 not to two? — and if to two why not to four? — and so to 
 eight, and so on?" "Aye," said the Clerk, "and to a hun- 
 dred, I warrant you !" "Yes," Bunyan answered, "I think 
 I should not be forbidden to do as much good as I can." 
 They then began to discuss the question whether under 
 pretence of doing good, harm might not be done, by seduc- 
 ing the people; and Bunyan allowed that there might be 
 many who designed the destruction of the Government. 
 Let them, he said, be punished; and let him be punished, 
 also, should he do anything not becoming a man and a 
 Christian. If error or heresy could be proved upon him, 
 he would disown it, even in the market-place; but to the 
 truth he would stand to the last drop of his blood. Bound 
 in conscience he held himself to obey all righteous laws, 
 whether there were a king or not; and if he offended 
 against them, patiently to bear the penalty. And to cut 
 off all occasion of suspicion as touching the harmlessness 
 of his doctrines, he would willingly give any one the notes 
 of all his sermons, for he sincerely desired to live in peace, 
 and to submit to the present authority. "But there are 
 two ways of obeying," he observed; "the one to do that 
 
48 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 •which I in my conscience do believe that I am bound to 
 do, actively; and where I can not obey actively, there I 
 am willing to lie down, and to suffer what they shall do 
 unto me." And here the interview ended, Bunyan thank- 
 ing him for his ^'civil and meek discoursing,'' and breath- 
 ing a wish that they might meet in Heaven. 
 
 Shortly afterwards the Coronation took place, and the 
 iproclamation which allowed persons to sue out a pardon 
 during twelve months from that day, had the effect of 
 euspending the proceedings against him, if any further 
 "were intended. When the assizes came, his wife pre- 
 sented a petition to the Judges that they would impar- 
 tially take his case into consideration. Sir Matthew Hale 
 was one of these Judges, and expressed a wish to serve her 
 if he could, but a fear that he could do her no good; and 
 being assured by one of the Justices that Bunyan had been 
 convicted, and was a hot-spirited fellow, he waived the mat- 
 ter. But the High Sheriff encouraged the poor woman to 
 make another effort for her husband before they left the 
 town; and accordingly, "with abashed face and a tremb- 
 ling heart,'' she entered the Swan Chamber, where the two 
 Judges and many magistrates and gentry of the country 
 ■were in company together. Trembling, however, as she 
 was, Elizabeth Bunyan had imbibed something of her hus- 
 band's spirit. She had been to London to petition the 
 House of Lords in his behalf, and had been told by one 
 whom she calls Lord Barkwood, that they could do noth- 
 ing, but that his releasement was committed to the Judges 
 at these next assizes ; and now I am come to you, she said, 
 and you give neither releasement nor relief. And she com- 
 plained to Hale that he was kept unlawfully in prison, for 
 the indictment was false, and he was clapped up before 
 there were any proclamations against the meetings. One 
 of the Judges then said he had been lawfully convicted. 
 "It is false," replied the woman; "for when they said to 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 49 
 
 him, T)o you confess the indictment?' he said only this, 
 that he had been at several meetings, both when there was 
 preaching the Word and prayer, and that they had God^s 
 presence among them/' "Will your husband leave preach- 
 ing?" said Judge Twisden. "If he will do so, then send 
 for him." "My Lord," said she, "he dares not leave 
 preaching, as long as he can speak." 
 
 Sir Matthew himself was not likely to be favorably im- 
 pressed by this sort of pleading. But he listened sadly 
 when she told him that there were four small children by 
 the former wife, one of them blind; that they had nothing 
 to live upon while their father was in prison, but the 
 charity of good people; and that she herself "smayed" at 
 the news when her husband was apprehended, being but 
 young and unaccustomed to such things, fell in labor, and 
 continuing in it for eight days, was delivered of a dead 
 child. "Alas, poor woman!" said Hale. But Twisden 
 said poverty was her cloak, for he understood her husband 
 was better maintained by running up and down a-preach- 
 ing, than by following his calling. Sir Matthew asked 
 what was his calling, and was told he was a tinker. "Yes," 
 observed the wife, "and because he is a tinker and a poor 
 man, therefore he is despised and can not have justice." 
 The scene ended in Sir Matthew mildly telling her he was 
 sorry he could do her no good; that what her husband 
 had said was taken for a conviction; and that there was 
 no other course for her than either to apply to the king, 
 or sue out his pardon, or get a writ of error, which would 
 be the cheapest. She urged them to send for Bunyan, that 
 he might speak for himself. His appearance, however, 
 would rather have confirmed those in their opinions who 
 said there was not such another pestilent fellow in the 
 country, than have moved the Judges in his favor. Eliza- 
 beth Bunyan concludes her account by saying: "This I 
 remember, that though I was somewhat timorous at my. 
 
50 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 first entrance into the chamber, yet before I went out I 
 could not but break forth into tears; not so much because 
 they were so hard-hearted against me and my husband, 
 but to think what a sad account such poor creatures will 
 have to give at the coming of the Lord !" 
 
 No further steps for procuring his release were taken at 
 this time, either because the means for defraying the legal 
 expenses could not be raised, or, which is quite as probable, 
 because it was certain that Bunyan, thinking himself in 
 conscience bound to preach in defiance of the law, would 
 soon have made his case worse than it then was. For he 
 had fortunately a friend in the jailer, and was somewhat 
 like a prisoner at large, being allowed to go whither he 
 would, and return when he thought proper. He attended 
 the meetings of the congregation to which he belonged; he 
 was employed by them to visit disorderly members ; he was 
 often out in the night; and it is said that many of the 
 Baptist congregations in Bedfordshire owe their origin to 
 his midnight preaching. "I followed my wonted course,^' 
 he says, "taking all occasions to visit the people of God, 
 exhorting them to be steadfast in the faith of Jesus Christ, 
 and to take heed that they touched not the Common 
 Prayer, &c." — an "&c." more full of meaning than that 
 which occasioned the dishonest outcry against the "&c.^' 
 oath. So far did this liberty extend that he went '^to see 
 the Christians at London," — an indiscretion which cost the 
 I jailer a severe reproof, nnd had nearly cost him his place; 
 and which compelled him to withhold any further indul- 
 gence of this kind; "so," says Bunyan, "that I must not 
 now look out of the door." "They charged me," he adds, 
 "that I went thither to plot and raise divisions and make 
 insurrections, which, God knows, was a slander." 
 
 It was slanderous to charge him with plotting, or with 
 traitorous intentions; but in raising divisions he was, be- 
 yond all doubt, actively and heartily engaged. The man 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 51 
 
 who distinguislied a handful of Baptists in London as 
 the Christians of that great metropolis, and who, when let 
 out by favor from his prison, exhorted the people of God, 
 as he calls them, to take heed that they touched not the 
 Common Prayer, was not emplo3^ed in promoting unity, 
 nor in making good subjects, however good his intentions, 
 however orthodox his creed, however sincere and ferveni^ 
 his piety. Peace might be on his lips, and zeal for the 
 salvation of others in his heart; but he was certainly at 
 that time no preacher of good will, nor of Christian charity. 
 And without reference to human laws, it may be affirmed 
 that the circumstances which removed this high-minded 
 and hot-minded man from a course of dangerous activity, 
 in which he was as little likely to acquire a tolerant spirit 
 as to impart it, and placed him in confinement, where his 
 understanding had leisure to ripen and to cool, was not 
 less favorable for his moral and religious nature than it 
 has ultimately proved to his usefulness and his fame. 
 
 Nothing is more certain than that the gratification 
 which a resolute spirit feels in satisfying its conscience 
 exceeds all others. This feeling is altogether distinct from 
 that peace of mind which under all afflictions abides in 
 the regenerate heart; nor is it so safe a feeling, for it 
 depends too much upon excitement, and the exultation 
 and triumph which it produces are akin to pride. Bun- 
 yan's heart had been kindled by the Book of Martyrs. 
 Cold and insensible, indeed, must any heart be which could 
 dwell without emotion upon those precious records of re- 
 ligious heroism ! He had read in those records, with per- 
 fect sympathy, the passionate epistle which the Italian 
 Martyr, Pomponius Algerius, addressed from prison to his 
 friends. That martyr was a student of Padua; and in 
 what, in one sense, may be called the golden age of litera- 
 ture, had been devoted to study from his childhood with 
 ambitious diligence and the most hopeful success. 
 
52 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 Bunyan had thoroughly conformed his own frame of 
 mind to that which he admired; but there is not a more 
 characteristic passage in his works than that in which he 
 describes his apprehensions, and inward conflict, and final 
 determination. ^'1 will tell you a pretty business/' he says. 
 ^'1 was in a very sad and low condition for many weeks; 
 at which time, also, being but a young prisoner and not 
 acquainted with the laws, I had this lying much upon my 
 spirits, that my imprisonment might end at the gallows, 
 for aught that I could tell. Now, therefore, Satan laid 
 hard at me, to beat me out of heart, by suggesting this 
 unto me: n3ut how, if when you come indeed to die, you 
 should be in this condition; that is, as not to savor the 
 things of God, nor to have any evidence upon your soul 
 for a better state hereafter?' (for, indeed, at that time 
 all the things of God were hid from my soul.) Where- 
 fore, when I at first began to think of this, it was a great 
 trouble to me; for I thought with myself, that in the con- 
 dition I now was, I was not fit to die; neither, indeed, 
 did I think I could, if I should be called to it. Besides, 
 I thought with myself, if I should make a scrambling 
 shift to clamber up the ladder, yet I should, either with 
 quaking, or other symptoms of fainting, give occasion to 
 the enemy to reproach the way of God, and his people for 
 their timorousness. This, therefore, lay with great trouble 
 upon me; for methought I was ashamed to die with a pale 
 face and tottering knees, in such a case as this. Wherefore 
 I prayed to God tkat He would comfort me, and give me 
 strength to do and suffer what He should call me to; yet 
 no comfort appeared^ but all continued hid. I was also 
 at this time so really possessed with the thought of death, 
 that oft I was as if I was on the ladder with a rope 
 about my neck. Only this was some encouragement to 
 me : I thought I might now have an opportuity to speak my 
 last words unto a multitude, which I thought would come 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 53 
 
 to see me die ; and, thought I, if it must be so, if God will 
 but convert one soul by my last words, I shall not count my 
 life thrown away, nor lost. 
 
 ^'But yet all the things of God were kept out of my sight ; 
 and still the Tempter followed me with, ^ut whither must 
 you go when you die ? What will become of you ? Where 
 will you be found in another world? What evidence have 
 you for Heaven and glory, and an inheritance among 
 them that are sanctified?' Thus was I tossed for many 
 weeks, and knew not what to do. At last this consideration 
 fell with weight upon me, that it was for the word and way 
 of God that I was in this condition, wherefore I was en- 
 gaged not to flinch an hair's breadth from it. I thought 
 also that God might choose whether He would give me com- 
 fort now, or at the hour of death; but I might not there- 
 fore choose whether I would hold my profession or not. I 
 was bound, but He was free. Yea, it was my duty to stand 
 to His Word, whether He would ever look upon me or save 
 me at the last ; wherefore, thought I, the point being thus, 
 I am for going on, and venturing my eternal state with 
 Christ, whether I have comfort here or no. If God doth 
 not come in, thought I, I will leap off the ladder even blind- 
 fold into eternity ; sink or swim, — come Heaven, come hell ; 
 — Lord Jesus, if Thou wilt catch me, do: — if not, I will 
 venture for Thy name !" 
 
 John Bunyan did not ask himself how far the case of 
 those martyrs, whose example he was prepared to follow, re- 
 sembled the situation in which he was placed. Such a ques- 
 tion, had he been cool enough to entertain it, might have 
 shown him that they had no other alternative than idolatry 
 or the stake : but that he was neither called upon to renounce 
 anything that he did believe, nor to profess anything that 
 he did not ; that the congregation to which he belonged held 
 at that time their meetings unmolested, that he might 
 have worshipped when he pleased, where he pleased^ and 
 
54 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 how he pleased ; that he was only required not to go about 
 the country holding conventicles ; and that the cause of that 
 interdiction was — not that persons were admonished in such 
 conventicles to labor for salvation, but that they were ex- 
 horted there to regard with abhorrence that Protestant 
 Church which is essentially part of the constitution of 
 ' England, from the doctrines of which church, except in the 
 point of infant baptism, he did not differ a hair's breadth. 
 This I am bound to observe, because Bunyan has been, and 
 no doubt will continue to be, most wrongfully represented 
 as having been the victim of intolerant laws and prelatical 
 oppression. 
 
 But greater strength of will and strength of heart could 
 not have been manifested, if a plain duty wherewith there 
 may be no compromise had called for that sacrifice which 
 he was ready to have made. It would be wronging him 
 here were the touching expression of his feelings under 
 these circumstances to be withheld. "I found myself," 
 he says, "a man encompassed with infirmities. The part- 
 ing with my wife and poor children, hath often been to 
 me, in this place, as the pulling the flesh from the bones; 
 and that not only because I am somewhat too fond of these 
 great mercies, but also because I should have often brought 
 to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, that 
 my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken 
 from them ; especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer 
 my heart than all besides. Oh, the thoughts of the hard- 
 ships I thought my poor blind one might go under would 
 break my heart to pieces ! Poor child ! thought I, what 
 sorrow art thou like to have for thy portion in this world ! 
 Thou must be beaten ; must beg ; suffer hunger, cold, naked- 
 ness, and a thousand calamities, though I can not now en- 
 dure the wind should blow upon me! But yet, recalling 
 myself, thought I, I must venture you all with God, though 
 it goeth to the quick to leave you ! Oh, I saw in this con- 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 55 
 
 dition I was as a man who was pulling down his house 
 upon the heads of his wife and children: yet, thought I, I 
 must do it, I must do it ! And now I thought on those two 
 milch-kine that were to carry the Ark of God into another 
 country, and to leave their calves behind them/' (1 Sam. 
 vi. 10.) 
 
 These fears passed away when he found that no further 
 proceedings were intended against him. But his worldly 
 occupation was gone, for there was an end of tinkering as 
 well as of his ministerial itinerancy. "He was as effectu- 
 ally called away from his pots and kettles," says Mr. 
 Ivimey, in his "History of the Baptists," "as the Apostles 
 were from mending their nets/' He learned, therefore, to 
 make tagged thread-laces, and by this means supported 
 his family. They lost the comfort of his presence; but in 
 other respects their condition was not worsened by his im- 
 prisonment, which indeed was likely to render them ob- 
 jects of kindness as well as of compassion to their neigh- 
 bors. In an age when the state of English prisons was dis- 
 graceful to a Christian people, and the treatment of pris- 
 oners not unfrequently most inhuman, Bunyan was fortu- 
 nate in the place of his confinement and in the disposi- 
 tion of his jailer, who is said to have committed the man- 
 agement of the prison to his care, knowing how entirely 
 he might be trusted. He had the society there of some who 
 were suffering for the same cause ; he had his Bible and his 
 Book of Martyrs ; and he had leisure to brood over his own 
 thoughts. The fever of his enthusiasm had spent itself; 
 the asperity of his opinions was softened as his mind en- 
 larged ; and the "Pilgrim's Progress," was one of the fruits 
 of his imprisonment. But before that work is spoken of 
 more particular^, it will be convenient to pursue the story 
 of his life to its close. 
 
 He remained a prisoner twelve years. But it appears 
 that during the last four of those years he regularly at- 
 
56 LIPE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 tended the Baptist Meeting, his name being always in the 
 records; and in the eleventh year the congregation chose 
 him for their pastor ; 'Tie at the same time accepted the invi- 
 tation, and gave himself up to serve Christ and His Church 
 in that charge, and received of the Elders the right hand of 
 fellowship." ITie more recent historian of the Baptists 
 says, 'Tiow he could exercise his pastoral office in preach- 
 ing among them, while he continued a prisoner in jail, we 
 are at a loss to conceive." Unquestionably only by being 
 a prisoner at large, and having the liberty of the town 
 while he was lodged in the prison. There is a print in 
 which he is represented as pursued by a rabble to his own 
 door; but there is no allusion to any such outrage in any 
 part of his works. In his own neighborhood, where he 
 had always lived, it is most unlikely to have happened; 
 and if Bunyan had any enemies latterly, they were among 
 the bigots of his own persuasion. His character had by 
 this time obtained respect, his books had attracted notice, 
 and Dr. Barlow, then Bishop of Lincoln, and other Church- 
 men, are said to have pitied 'Tiis hard and unreasonable 
 sufferings, so far as to stand very much his friends in pro- 
 curing his enlargement." How this was effected is not 
 known. 
 
 This is the statement given in the continuation of his life, 
 appended to his own account of himself, and supposed to 
 have been written by Charles Doe, a Baptist minister, who 
 was intimately acquainted with him. Mr. Ivimey, how- 
 ever, to invalidate this, produces a passage from the preface 
 to one of Owen's sermons. This passage says, that "Bun- 
 yan was confined upon an excommunication for non-con- 
 formity; that there was a law that if any two persons 
 would go to the Bishop of the diocese, and offer a caution- 
 ary bond that tbe prisoner should conform in half a year, 
 the Bishop might release him upon that bond; that Barlow 
 was applied to to do this, by Owen, whose tutor he had been; 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 57 
 
 that Barlow refused, unless the Lord Chancellor would issue 
 out an order to him to take the cautionary bond, and release 
 the prisoner; and this, though very chargeable, was done, 
 and that Bunyan was then set at liberty, "but little thanks 
 to the Bishop.'^ "From this account," says Mr. Ivimey, "it 
 should seem the honor given to Dr. Barlow has been ill 
 bestowed." Upon this statement it will be sufficient to ob- 
 serve that Bunyan was not imprisoned upon a sentence 
 of excommunication ; and that he would not have been im- 
 prisoned at all, if he would have allowed his friends to 
 enter into a bond for him, far less objectionable on his part 
 than the fraudulent one upon which it is here pretended 
 he was released at last. 
 
 From this time his life appears to have passed smoothly. 
 His congregation and his other friends bought ground and 
 built a Meeting-House for him, and there he continued 
 to preach before large audiences. Every year he used to 
 visit London, where his reputation was so great that if a 
 day's notice were given, the Meeting-House in Southwark, 
 at which he generally preached, would not hold half the 
 people that attended. Three thousand persons have been 
 gathered together there; and not less than twelve hundred 
 on week days, and dark winter mornings at seven o'clock. 
 He used also to preach in the surrounding counties. The 
 Baptist congregation at Hitchen is supposed to have been 
 founded by him. Their meetings were held at first about 
 three miles from that town, in a wood near the village of 
 Preston, Bunyan standing in a pit, or hollow, and the 
 people round about on the sloping sides. "A chimney- 
 corner at a house in the same wood is still looked upon 
 with veneration, as having been the place of his refresh- 
 ment." About five miles from Hitchen was a famous Puri- 
 tan preaching-place called Bendish. It had been a malt- 
 house, was very low, and thatched, and ran in two direc- 
 tions, a large square pulpit standing in the angles ; and ad- 
 joining the pulpit was a high pew, in which ministers 
 sat out of sight of informers, and from which, in case of 
 alarm, they could escape into an adjacent lane. The build- 
 ing being much decayed, this meeting was removed in ITS'Jf 
 to a place called Coleman Green ; and the pulpit, which was 
 there held to be the only remaining one in which Bun- 
 yan had preached, was with a commendable feeling care- 
 
58 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 fully removed thither. But another "true pulpit" is shown 
 in London, in the Jewin Street Meeting. It is said that 
 Owen greatly admired his preaching ; and that being asked 
 by Charles II. "how a learned man, such as he was, could 
 sit and listen to an illiterate tinker,^' he replied, "May it 
 please your majesty, ceuld I possess that tinkers abilities 
 for preaching, I would most gladly relinquish all my learn- 
 ing." 
 
 This opinion would be discreditable to Owen's judgment, 
 if he really entertained it, and the anecdote were entitled 
 to belief. For great part of Bunyan's tracts are supposed to 
 contain the substance of his sermons, which it is said he 
 commonly committed to writing, after he had preached 
 them; and certainly if he had left no other proofs of his 
 genius, these would not have perpetuated his name. But the 
 best sermons are not always those which produce most effect 
 in delivery. A reader may be lulled to sleep by the dead 
 letter of a printed discourse, who w^ould have roused and 
 thrilled if the same discourse had come to him in a stream 
 of living oratory, enforced by the tones, and eye, and coun- 
 tenance, and gestures of the preacher. One who is as much 
 in earnest as he was, even if his matter should be worse, 
 and his manner feeble, will seldom fail to move hearers, 
 when they see that he is moved himself. But Bunyan may 
 be supposed to have been always vehement and vigorous in 
 delivery, as he frequently is in his language. One day 
 when he had preached "with peculiar warmth and enlarge- 
 ment," some of his friends came to shake hands with him 
 after the service, and observed to him what "a sweet ser- 
 mon," he had delivered. "Aye," he replied, "you need not 
 remind me of that ; for the Devil told me of it before I was 
 out of the pulpit." This anecdote authenticates itself. 
 
 He became a voluminous writer, and published about 
 three score tracts or books. They have been collected into 
 two folio volumes, but indiscriminately arranged, and with- 
 out any notice of their respective dates. This is a great 
 fault; for, by a proper arrangement, or such notices, the 
 progress of his mind might more satisfactorily be traced. 
 Some passages occur in them which may make us shudder. 
 These are very few, and in what may probably be deemed 
 his earlier works, because suc'n passages are found in them. 
 A very few, also, there are in which the smut of his ol4 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 59 
 
 occupation has been left upon the paper. The strongest 
 prejudice which he retained — and precisely for this rea- 
 son, that it was the most unreasonable — was his dislike of 
 the Liturgy, the Book of Common Prayer being, like "the 
 common salutation of women," what he "could not away 
 with." But the general tenor of his writings is mild, and 
 tolerant, and charitable; and if Calvinism had never worn 
 a blacker appearance than in Bunyan's works, it could 
 never have become a term of reproach, nor have driven so 
 many pious minds, in horror of it, to an opposite extreme. 
 Bunyan looked for a Millennium, though he did not par- 
 take the madness of the Fifth-Monarchy men, nor dream 
 of living to see it. He agreed with the Particular or stricter 
 Baptists that Church communion was to be held with those 
 only who are "visible Saints by calling ;" that is, with those 
 who make a profession of faith and repentance and holi- 
 ness, and who are now called Professors in their own 
 circle, but in those days took to themselves complacently 
 in the appellation of Saints. He dared not hold commu- 
 nion with others, he said, because the Scriptures so often 
 command that all the congregation should be holy; and 
 because so to do, would be plowing with an ox and an ass 
 together; and because God has threatened to plague the 
 "mingled people" with dreadful punishments. "It is all 
 one," he says, "to communicate with the profane, and to sac- 
 rifice to the Devil." But he held that difference of opinion 
 concerning baptism should be no bar to communion; and 
 for this he was attacked by Kiffin and Jessey, two of the 
 most eminent among the Baptists. The more particular 
 Particulars had long been displeased with his tolerance 
 upon this point, and had drawn away some of his congrega- 
 tion; and Bunyan complained of this "Church-rending" 
 spirit. "Yourself," he says to Kiffin, "could you but get the 
 opportunity, under pretence of this innocent ordinance, as 
 you term it, of water-baptism^ would not stick to make in- 
 roads, and outroads, too, in all the churches that suit not 
 your fancy in the land ! For you have already been bold 
 to affirm that all those that have baptized infants ought to 
 be ashamed and repent, before they be showed the pattern 
 of the House; and what is this but to threaten that, could 
 you have your will of them, you would quickly take from 
 them their present church privileges?" He complains of 
 
60 LIFE OF J:^HN BUNYAN. 
 
 ^T^rethren of the baptized way wlio would not pray with 
 men as good as themselves, because they were not baptized 
 (that is, re-baptized), but would either, like Quakers, stand 
 with their hats on their heads, or else withdraw till they 
 had done." 
 
 One of his opponents had said upon this subject, that 
 *^if it be preposterous and wicked for a man and woman 
 to cohabit together, and to enjoy the privileges of a married 
 estate" without the solemnity of public marriage, "so it is 
 no less disorderly, upon a spiritual account, for any one 
 to claim the privileges of a Church, or to be admitted to 
 the same, till they had been under the solemnity of re- 
 baptism." "These words,"' said Bunyan, "are very black. 
 I wot that through ignorance and a preposterous zeal he 
 said it. God give him repentance V They neither judged 
 nor spoke so charitably of him. They called him a Mach- 
 iavelian, a man devilish, proud, insolent, and presump- 
 tuous. Some compared him to the Devil ; others to a Bed- 
 lamite ; others to a sot ; and they sneered at his low origin 
 and the base occupation from which he had risen. ^^Such 
 insults," said he, "I freely bind unto me, as an ornament 
 among the rest of my reproaches, till the Lord shall wipe 
 them off at His coming." They reproached him for declin- 
 ing a public conference with them in London upon the mat- 
 ter in dispute. To this he answered thus : "the reason 
 why I came not among you, was partly because I con- 
 sulted mine own weakness, and counted not myself, being a 
 dull-headed man, able to engage so many of the chief of 
 you as I was then informed intended to meet me. I also 
 feared, in personal disputes, heats and bitter contentions 
 might arise, a thing my spirit hath not pleasure in. I 
 feared, also, that both myself and words would be mis- 
 represented; for if they that answer a book will alter and 
 ecrew arguments out of their places, and make my sentences 
 stand in their own words, not mine, — when, I say, my words 
 are in a book to be seen, — ^what would you have done had 
 I in the least, either in matter or manner, though but 
 seemingly, miscarried among you?" 
 
 Throughout this controversy Bunyan appears to great 
 advantage as a meek, good man, beyond the general spirit 
 of his age in toleration, and far beyond that of his fellow 
 eectarians. He was, indeed, of such catholic spirit that 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 61 
 
 though circumstances had made him a sectarian, he liked 
 not to be called by the denomination of his sect. "I know 
 none," says he, "to whom that title is so proper as to the 
 disciples of John. And since you would know by what 
 name I would be distinguished from others, I tell you I 
 would be, and hope I am, a Christian; and choose, if God 
 should count me worthy, to be called a Christian, a Believer, 
 or such other name which is approved by the Holy Ghost. 
 And as for those factitious titles of Anabaptists, Inde- 
 pendents, Presbyterians, or the like, I conclude that they 
 come neither from Jerusalem nor from Antioch, but rather 
 from Hell and Babylon, for they naturally tend to divi- 
 sions. You may know them by their fruits.^^ 
 
 In another of his treatises, he says, "jars and divisions, 
 wranglings and prejudices, eat out the growth, if not the 
 life, of religion. These are those waters of Mar ah that em- 
 bitter our spirits, and quench the spirit of God. Unity and 
 Peace is said to be like the dew of Hermon (Psalm cxxxiii. 
 3), and as a dew that descended upon Zion, when the Lord 
 promised His blessing. Divisions run religion into briars 
 and thorns, contentions and parties. Divisions are to 
 churches like wars to countries; where war is, the ground 
 lieth waste and untilled; none takes care of it. It is love 
 that edifieth, but division pulleth down. Divisions are as 
 the northeast wind to the fruits, which causeth them to 
 dwindle away to nothing; but when the storms are over, 
 everything begins to grow. When men are divided they sel- 
 dom speak the truth in love ; and then no marvel, they grow 
 not up to Him in all things which is the Head. It is a 
 sad presage of an approaching famine (as one well ob- 
 serves), not of bread, nor water, but of hearing the Word 
 of God, when the thin ears of corn devour the plump, full 
 ones; when our controversies about doubtful things, and 
 things of less moment, eat up our zeal for the more indis- 
 putable and practical things in religion, — ^which may give 
 us cause to fear that this will be the character by which 
 our age will be known to posterity, that it was the age 
 which talked of religion most, and loved it least.^' It is of 
 the divisions among those who could as little conform with 
 one another as with the Church of England, that he is here 
 speaking. And when his Mr. Bedman says that "no sin 
 reigneth more in the world than pride among Professors/' 
 
$2 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 and asks ''^who is prouder inan your Professors? Scarcely 
 the Devil himself:" Bunyan assents to this condemnation 
 in the character of Mr. Wiseman, saying, "Who can con- 
 tradict him? The thing is too apparent for any man to 
 kdeny." In his last sermon he complains of the many pray- 
 hrless Professors in London. "Coffee-houses/' he says, "will 
 not let you pray ; trades will not let you pray ; looking-glasses 
 will not let you pray; but if you was born of God you 
 would." In another place his censure is directed against 
 the prayerful ones. "The Pharisee, saith the text, stood and 
 prayed with himi^elf. It is at this day," says Bunj^an, 
 "wonderful common for men to pray extempore, also. To 
 pray by a book, by a premeditated set form, is now out of 
 fashion. He is counted nobody, now, that can not at any 
 time, at a minute's warning, make a prayer of half an hour 
 long. I am not against extempore prayer, for I believe it 
 to be the best kind of praying; but yet I am jealous that 
 there are a great many such prayers made, especially in 
 pulpits and public meetings, without the breathing of the 
 Holy Ghost in them; for if a Pharisee of old could do so, 
 why may not a Pharisee now do the same? Great is the 
 formality of religion this day, and little the power there- 
 of. How proud, how covetous, how like the world in garb 
 and guise, in words and actions, are most of the great 
 Professors of this our day ! But when they come to divine 
 worship, especially to pray, by their words and carriage 
 there, one would almost judge them to be Angels in 
 Heaven." Thus it appears Bunyan, like Wesley, lived to 
 perceive that "often where there is most profession, there 
 is least piety." 
 
 This is manifest, also, in another passage, which is, more- 
 over, worthy of notice, because it is in Bishop Latimer's 
 vein. It is in his "Heavenly Footman, or description of the 
 man that gets to Heaven, together with the way he runs 
 in, the marks he goes by, also, seme directions how to run 
 so as to obtain." No doubt it contains the substance of some 
 of his sermons; and to sermons in such a strain, however 
 hearers might differ in taste and in opinions, there are none 
 who would not listen. "They that will have Heaven, they 
 must run for it, because the Devil, the Law, Sin, Death, 
 and Hell follow them. There is never a poor Soul that ia 
 going to Heaven^ but tbe Devil, the Law, Sin, Death^ and 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 6a 
 
 Hell, make after that Soul. 'The Devil, your adversary, 
 as a roaring Lion, goeth about seeking whom he may de- 
 vour.' And I will assure you the Devil is nimble ! he can 
 run apace; he is light of foot; he hath overtaken many; 
 he hath turned up their heels, and hath given them an ever- 
 lasting fall. Also the Law ! that can shoot a great way : 
 have a care thou keep out of the reach of those great guns 
 the Ten Commandments! Hell also hath a wide mouth; 
 and can stretch itself farther than you are aware of. And 
 as the Angel said to Lot, 'take heed, look not behind thee, 
 neither tarry thou in all the plain (that is, anywhere be- 
 tween this and Heaven), lest thou be consumed/ so say I 
 to thee, take heed, tarry not, lest either the Devil, Hell, 
 Death, or the fearful curses of the Law of God do over- 
 take thee, and throw thee down in the midst of thy sins, so 
 as never to rise and recover again. If this were well con- 
 sidered, then thou, as well as I, wouldst say, they that will 
 have Heaven must run for it ! 
 
 "But, if thou wouldst so run as to obtain the king- 
 dom of Heaven, then, be sure that thou get into the way 
 that leadeth thither; for it is a vain thing to think that 
 ever thou shalt have the prize, though thou runnest never 
 so fast, unless thou art in the way that leads to it. Set 
 the case, that there should be a man in London that was 
 to run to York for a wager. Now, though he run ever so 
 swiftly, yet if he run full south, he might run himself 
 quickly out of breath, and be never the nearer the prize, 
 but rather the farther off. Just so it is here: it is not 
 simply the runner, nor yet the hasty runner, that winneth 
 the crown, unless he be in the way that leadeth thereto. 
 I have observed, that little time that I have been a Pro- 
 fessor, that there is a great running to and fro, some this 
 way, and some that way, yet it is to be feared most of them, 
 are out of the way; and then, though they run as swift' 
 as the eagle can fly, they are benefited nothing at all ! Here 
 is one run a Qmihing, another a Banting; one again runs 
 after the Baptism, and another after the Independency. 
 Here's one for Freewill, and another for Fresbytery; and 
 yet possibly most of these sects run quite the wrong way ; 
 and yet every one is for his life, his soul,— either for 
 Heaven or Hell ! Mistrust thy own strength, and throw it 
 away ! Down on thy knees in prayer to the Lord for the 
 
64 LIFE OF JOHN BUN VAN. 
 
 Spirit of Truth ! Keep company with the soundest Chris- 
 tians that have most experience of Christ; and be sure 
 thou have a care of Quakers, Ranters, Freewillers: also, 
 do not have too much company with some Anabaptists, 
 though I go under that name myself/' 
 
 Little has been recorded of Bunyan during the sixteen 
 years between the enlargement and his death. It appears 
 that besides his yearly visit to London, he made stated 
 circuits into other parts of England; and that he exerted 
 himself to relieve the temporal wants of those who were 
 sufferings as non-conformists under oppressive laws ; that he 
 administered diligently to the sick and afflicted, and suc- 
 cessfully employed his influence in reconciling differences 
 among "professors of the Gospel," and thus prevented 
 "many disgraceful and burdensome litigations/' One of 
 his biographers thinks it highly probable that he did not 
 escape trouble in the latter part of Charles the Second's 
 reign, "as the justices of Bedford were so zealous in the 
 cause of persecution;" but it is much more probable that 
 in a place where so much indulgence had been shown him 
 during the latter years of his imprisonment, he was let 
 alone; and there can be little doubt but that if he had 
 undergone any further vexation for the same causes, a full 
 account of it would be exposed to the same risk as other 
 nonconforming preachers ; and there is a tradition among 
 the Baptists at Reading that he sometimes went through 
 that town dressed like a carter, and with a long whip in 
 his hand to avoid detection. Reading was a place where 
 he was well known. The house in which the Baptists 
 met for worship was in a lane there; and from the back- 
 door they had a bridge over a branch of the river Kennett, 
 whereby in case of alarm they might escape. In a visit 
 to that place he contracted the disease which brought hira 
 to the grave. A friend of his who resided there had re- 
 solved to disinherit his son; the young man requested 
 Bunyan to interfere in his behalf ; he did so with good suc- 
 cess, and it was his last labor of love; for, returning to 
 Tjondon on horseback through heavy rain, a fever ensued, 
 which, after ten days, proved fatal. 
 
 He died at the house of his friend, Mr. Stradwick, 
 a grocer, at the sign of the Star, on Snow Hill; and was 
 !)\iri©d in that friend's vault in Bunhill Fields burial- 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 6b 
 
 ground, which the Dissenters regard as their Campo Santo, 
 — and especially for his sake. It is said that many have 
 made it their desire to be interred as near as possible to the 
 his spot where his remains are deposited. His age and the 
 date of his decease are thus i-ecorded in his epitaph: — 
 
 Mk. John Bun-yan". 
 
 Author of Pilgrim's Progress, 
 
 ob. 12 Aug. 1688, get. 60. 
 
 The Pilgrim's Progress now is finished. 
 And Death has laid him in his earthly bed. 
 
 It appears that at the time of his death, the Lord Mayor, 
 Sir John Shorter, was one of his London flock. But though 
 he had obtained favor among the magistracy, he was not 
 one of those nonconformists who were duped by the in- 
 sidious liberality of the Government at that time, and lent 
 their aid to measures which were intended for the de- 
 struction of the Protestant faith. "It is said that he clearly 
 saw through the designs of the Court in favor of Popery," 
 (blind, indeed, must they have been who did not!) when 
 James granted his indulgence to the Dissenters; and that 
 "he advised his brethren to avail themselves of the sun- 
 shine by diligent endeavors to spread the Gospel, and to 
 prepare for an approaching storm of fasting and prayer." 
 "He foresaw," says the Baptist Minister who added a sup- 
 plement to his account of his own life," all the advantages 
 that could redound to the Dissenters would have been no 
 more than what Polyphemus, the monstrous giant of Sicily, 
 would have allowed Ulysses, to wit, ^that he would eat 
 his men first, and do him the favor of being eaten last.' " 
 — "When Eegulators went into all cities and towns corpor- 
 ate to new-model the magistracy, by turning out some and 
 putting in others," Bunyan labored zealously with his con- 
 gregation "to prevent their being imposed on in that kind. 
 And when a great man in those days coming to Bedford 
 upon some such errand, sent for him (as was supposed), 
 to give him a place of public trust, he would by no means 
 come to him, but sent his excuse." 
 
 His earliest biographer says, also, that "though by rea- 
 son of the many losses he sustained by imprisonment 
 and spoil, his chargeable sickness, etc., his earthly treasure 
 swelled not to excess, yet he always had sufficient to live 
 
66 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 decently and creditably." But all that Bunyan had to lose 
 by "spoil'' was his occupation as a tinker, which, fortu- 
 nately for him and the world, was put an end to earlier 
 than in the course of his Preacher's progress he could 
 otherwise have cast it off. That progress raised him to 
 a station of respectability and comfort; and he was too 
 wise and too religious a man to desire riches either for 
 himself or his children. When a wealthy London citizen 
 offered to take one of his sons as an apprentice without a 
 premium, he declined the friendly and advantageous offer, 
 saying "God did not send me to advance my family, but 
 to preach the Gospel." No doubt he saw something in the 
 business itself, or in the way of life to which it led, un- 
 favorable to the moral character. 
 
 His widow put forth an advertisement stating her in- 
 ability to print the writings which he left unpublished. 
 They are probably included in the folio edition of his works 
 which was published in 1693, the year of her decease, by 
 Bunyan's successor at Bedford, Ebenezer Chandler, and 
 John Wilson, a brother minister of the same sect, whp went 
 in Bunyan's lifetime from the Bedford congregation to be 
 the first pastor of a Baptist flock at Hitchen. 
 
 Three children survived him; there were none by the 
 second marriage ; and the blind daughter, the only one 
 whom it might have troubled him to leave with a scanty 
 provision, happily died before him. He is said to have 
 kept up "a very strict discipline in his family, in pmyer 
 and exhortations." Such a discipline did not in this case 
 produce its usual ill effect ; for, according to what little is 
 known of his children, they went on in the way they had 
 been trained. His eldest son was forty-five years a mem- 
 ber of the Bedford Meeting : he preached there occasionally, 
 and was employed in visiting the disorderly members; he 
 was therefore in good repute for discretion, as well as for 
 his religious character. The names of other descendants 
 are in the books of the same meeting. In the burial ground 
 belonging to it his great-grandmother Hannah Bunyan 
 was interred in 1770, at the age of 76; and with her all 
 that is related of his posterity ends. 
 
 A description of his character and person was drawn by 
 his first biographer. "He appeared, in countenance," says 
 that friend, "to be of stern and rough temper; but in his 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 67 
 
 conversation mild and affable; not given to loquacity or 
 much discourse in company, unless some urgent occasion 
 required it; observing never to boast of himself or his 
 parts, but rather seem low in his own eyes, and submit 
 himself to the judgment of others; abhorring lying and 
 swearing; being just in all that lay in his power to his 
 word ; not seeming to revenge injuries ; loving to reconcile 
 differences, and make friendship with all. He had a sharp, 
 quick eye, accomplished with an excellent discerning of 
 persons, being of good judgment and quick wit. As for 
 his person, he was tall of stature ; strong-boned, though not 
 corpulent; somewhat of a ruddy face, with sparkling eyes; 
 wearing his hair on his upper lip, after the old British 
 fashion; his hair reddish, but in his later days time had 
 sprinkled it with gray; his nose well set, but not decline 
 ing or bending, and his mouth moderate large; his fore- 
 head something high, and his habit always plain and mod- 
 est. And thus have we impartially described the internal 
 and external parts of a person who had tried the smiles 
 and frowns of Time, not puffed up in prosperity, nor shaken 
 in adversity, always holding the golden mean.^^ 
 
 It remains now to speak of that work w^hich has made 
 the name of Bunyan famous. 
 
 It is not known in what year the Pilgrim's Progress was 
 first published, no copy of the first edition having as yet 
 been discovered. The second is in the British Museum ; it 
 is ^Svith additions,'^ and its date is 1678; but as the book 
 is known to have been written during Buuyan's imprison- 
 ment, which terminated in 1672, it was probably published 
 before his release, or at least immediately after it. The 
 earliest with which Mr. Major has been able to supply me, 
 either by means of his own diligent inquiries, or the kind- 
 ness of his friends, is that "eighth e-di-ti-on," so humor- 
 ously introduced by Gay, and printed, — not for Ni-cho- 
 las Bod-ding-ton,* but for Nathaniel Ponder, at the Pea- 
 cock in the Poultry, near the Church, 1682 ; for whom also 
 the ninth was published in 1684, and the tenth in 1685. 
 All these, no doubt, were large impressions. 
 
 *This immortal name appears to the sixth edition of the sec- 
 ond part, '•Printed for Robert Ponder, and sold by Nicholas 
 Boddingtou in Duck Lane, 1693." 
 
68 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 This noted eighth edition is "with additions;" but there 
 is no reason to suppose that they were ^'new ones, never 
 made before/' for the nintli and tenth bear the same 
 promise, and contain no alteration whatever. One pass- 
 age of considerable length was added after the second edi- 
 tion, — the whole scene between Mr. Bj^ends and his three 
 friends, and their subsequent discourse with Christian and 
 Faithful. It appears to have been written with reference 
 to some particular case; and in Bunyan's circle the name 
 of the person intended was probably well known. Per- 
 haps it was first inserted in the fourth impression, "which 
 had many additions more than any preceding.'' This is 
 stated in an advertisement on the back of the frontis- 
 piece of the eighth; where it is also said, "the publisher 
 observing that many persons desired to have it illustrated 
 with pictures, hath endeavoured to gratify them therein; 
 and besides those that are ordinarily printed to the fifth 
 impression, hath provided thirteen copper cuts curiously 
 engraven for such as desire them." This notice is repeated 
 in the next edition, with this alteration, that the seventh 
 instead of the fourth is named as having the additions, and 
 the eighth is that which had the ordinary prints. I can 
 only say with certainty that no additions have been made 
 subsequently to the eighth; and no other alterations than 
 such verbal ones as an editor has sometimes thought proper 
 to make, or as creep into all books which are reprinted with- 
 out a careful collation of the text. 
 
 The rapidity with which these editions succeeded one 
 another, and the demand for pictures to illustrate them, are 
 not the only proofs of the popularity which the Pilgrim's 
 Progress obtained before the second part was published. 
 In the verses prefixed to that part, Bunyan complains of 
 dishonest imitators. 
 
 * * * "Some have, of late, to counterfeit 
 
 My Pilgrim, to their own, my title set; 
 
 Yea, others, half my name, and title too, 
 
 Have stitched to their books, to make them do." 
 
 Only one of these has fallen in m}^ way, — for it is by 
 accident only that books of this perishable kind, which 
 have no merit of their own to preserve them, are to be met 
 with: and this, though entitled "the Second Part of the 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 69 
 
 Pilgrim's Progress/'* has no other relation to the first 
 than in its title, which was probabiy a trick of the pub- 
 lishers. These interlopers may very likely have given Bun- 
 yan an additional inducement to prepare a second part 
 himself. It appeared in 1684, with this notice on the back 
 of the title-page: "I appoint Mr. Nathaniel Ponder, but 
 no other, to print this book. John Bunyan. January 1, 
 1684." No additions or alterations were made in this part, 
 though the author lived more than four years after its 
 publication. 
 
 A collation of the first part with the earliest attainable 
 copies has enabled me in many places to restore good old 
 vernacular English, which had been injudiciously altered, 
 or carelessly corrupted. This has also been done in the 
 second part; but there I had the first edition before me; 
 and this, it is evident, had not been inspected, either in 
 manuscript or while passing through the press, by any 
 person capable of correcting it. It is plain that Bunyan 
 had willingly availed himself of such corrections in the 
 first part; and therefore it would have been improper to 
 
 * 'from this Present World of Wickedness and Misery to axj> 
 Eternity of Holiness and Felicity, exactly described under tiie 
 similitude of a dream, relating the manner and occasion of hie 
 setting out from, and difficult and dangerous journey through 
 the world, and safe arrival at last to Eternal Happiness. 
 
 "They were Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, but they desired 
 a better Country, that is an Heavenly." (Hebrews, xi. 1.3. 16.> 
 
 "Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin that doth go 
 easily beset us, and run with patience the race that is set be- 
 fore us." (Hebrews, xii. 1.) 
 
 Loudon: Printed for Thomas Malthus, at the Sun, in th^ 
 Poultry, 1683. 
 
 The author, who signs himself T. S., dedicates this book "to 
 Him that is higher than the Highest; the Almighty and Ever- 
 lasting Jehovah, who is the terror and confusion of the hard- 
 ened and inpenitent world, and the hope and happiness of all 
 converted and returning sinners." At the conclusion is ax> 
 Apology for his Book, wherein he says that the hope of de- 
 livering plain truth in a familiar manner, which should at th*'^ 
 same time satisfy the judicious, and yet be understood by the 
 meanest capacities and the most illiterate persons, was the motiv^^ 
 *'which put the author of the First Part of the Pilgrim's Progress 
 upon composing and publishing that necessary and useful traci, 
 which hath deservedly obtained such an universal esteem and 
 commendation. And this consideration likewise, together with 
 the importunity of others, was the motive that prevailed witK 
 me to compose and publish the following meditations in such a 
 method as might serve as a supplement, or a second part to it; 
 wherein I have endeavoured to supply a four fold defect, which. 
 I observe, the brevity of that discourse necessitated the autho/ 
 
70 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 have restored a certain vulgarism* of diction in the second, 
 which the editor of the folio edition had amended. Had 
 it not been for this consideration, I should perhaps have 
 restored his own text. For Bunyan was confident in his 
 own powers of expression. He says : — 
 
 ***** "thine only way, 
 Before them all, is to say out thy say 
 In thine own native language, which no man 
 Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can." 
 
 When Bunyan's success had raised a brood of imitators, 
 he was accused of being an imitator himself. He replied 
 to this charge in some of his most characteristic rhymes, 
 which were added to his "Holy War," as an Advertisement 
 to the Eeader. 
 
 Some say the Pilgrim's Progress is not mine, 
 Insinuating as if I would shine 
 In name and fame by the worth of another. 
 Like some made rich by robbing of their brother. 
 
 into: First, there is nothing said of the State of Man in his 
 first creation; nor secondly, of the misery of Man in his lapsed 
 estate, before conversion: thirdly, a too brief passing over the 
 methods of divine goodness in the convincing, converting, and 
 reconciling of sinners to himself; and fourthly, I have en- 
 deavoured to deliver the whole in such serious and spiritual 
 phrases that may prevent that lightness and laughter which 
 the reading some passages therein occasions in some vain and 
 frothy minds. And now that it may answer my design, and be 
 universally useful, I commend both it and thee to the bless- 
 ing of Him whose wisdom and power, grace and goodness, it 
 is that is only able to make it so. And withal I heartily wish 
 that what hath been formerly proposed by some well-minded 
 persons, might be more generally and universally practiced, 
 viz., the giving of books of this nature at funerals, instead of 
 rings, gloves, wine, or biscuit; assuring myself that reading, 
 meditation, and several holy and heavenly discourses which 
 may probably be raised upon the occasion of such presents 
 as these, would mightily tend to the making people serious; 
 and furnish not only the person who discourses, but the rest 
 who are present, and who would otherwise be employing their 
 thoughts and tongues too in such foolish, vain, and frothy dis- 
 course, as is too commonly used at such times with such frames 
 of spirits as may be suitable to the greatness and solemnity of 
 that occasion which then calls them together. Among those 
 few who have practiced this, abundance of good hath been ob*' 
 served to have been done by that means; and who knows, were 
 it more generally used and become a custom amongst us at ouf 
 burials, what good might be effected thereby?" 
 
 * The vulgarism alluded to consists in the almost uniform 
 use of a for have, — never marked as a contraction; as, for 
 example, "might a made me take heed," "like to a beea 
 pmothered," &c. 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. ^1 
 
 Or that so fond I am of being Sire, , 
 I'll father bastards: or if need require, 
 I'll tell a lye in print, to get applause. 
 I scorn it; John such, dirt-heap never waa 
 Since God converted him. Let this suffice 
 To show why I my Pilgrim patronize. 
 
 It came from mine own heart, so to my head. 
 And thence into my fingers trickled, 
 Then to my pen, from whence immediately 
 On paper I did dribble it daintily. 
 
 Manner and matter too was all mine own; 
 
 Nor was it unto any mortal known, 
 
 Till I had done it. Nor did any then 
 
 By books, by wits, by tongues or hand, or pen, 
 
 Add five words to it, or write half a line 
 
 Thereof: the whole and every whit is mine. 
 
 Also for This thine eye is now upon, 
 The matter in this manner came from none 
 But t^e same heart and head, fingers and pen. 
 As did the other. Witness all good men, 
 For none in all the world, without a lye. 
 Can say that "this is mine," exceptmg L 
 
 T wrote not this of any ostentation; 
 
 NoT 'cause I seek of men their commendation: 
 
 T do it to keep them from such surmize. 
 
 As tempt them will my name to scandalize. 
 
 Witness my name; if anagramm'd to thee, 
 
 The letters make Nu hony %n a B. ^^^^ BUNYAN. 
 
 A passage has already been quoted from his account of a 
 dream, which evidently contains the germ of he "Pilgrim s 
 Progress.^' The same obvions allegory had oeen rendered 
 iamniar to his mind by the letter of the Italian Martyr 
 Pnmnoniiis Alfferins. "In this world/' says that high- 
 Sed a"d t&hant Witness for the Truth, "there is 
 S^ mansion firm tS me; and therefore I will travel up to 
 the New Jerusalem, which is m Heaven, and which offereth 
 itself to me, without paying any fine or income. Behold 
 I have entered already on my journey, where my house 
 standeth for me prepared, and where I shall have riches, 
 kinsfolks, delights, honors never failing. 
 
 But original as Bunyan believed his own work to be, 
 and as in the main undoubtedly it is, the same allegory 
 had often been treated before him,-so often, indeed, that 
 to notice all preceding works of this kmd would far ex- 
 ceed aU reasonable limits here. Some of these may have 
 
Yg LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 fallen m Bunyan's way, and modified his own conception 
 when he was not aware of any such influence. Mont- 
 gomery, in his very able introductory Essay to the "Pil- 
 grim's^ Progress," observes, that "a Poem entitled "The 
 Pilgrimage/ " in "Whitney's Emblems," and the emblem 
 which accompanies it, may have suggested to him the idea 
 of his story. Indeed, he says "if he had Whitney's picture 
 before him he could not more accurately have copied it in 
 words," than in the passage where Evangelist directs Chris- 
 tian to the Wicket-Gate. 
 
 Another book in which a general resemblance to the 
 "Pilgrim's Progress" has been observed, is the "Voyage of 
 the Wandering Knight," of which a translation from the 
 French of the Carmelite Jean de Carthenay, was printed 
 in the reign of Elizabeth, the Carmelite himself having 
 imitated a French poem (once very popular), composed 
 A. D. 1310, by Guill. de Guilleville, a monk of Chanliz, 
 and entitled the "Pelerin de la Vie Humaine." There is 
 a vague general resemblance in the subject of this work, 
 and some occasional resemblance in the details; but the 
 coincidences are such as the subject would naturally lead 
 to, and the "Pilgrim's Progress" might have been exactly 
 what it is, whether Bunyan had ever seen this book or not. 
 But he had certainly seen Bernard's "Isle of Man, or the 
 Legal Proceedings in Manshire against Sin; wherein, by 
 way of a continued allegory, the Chief Malefactors disturb- 
 ing both Church and Commonwealth are detected and at- 
 tached; with their arraignment and judicial trial, accord- 
 ing to the Laws of England." This was a popular book 
 m Bunyan's time, printed in a cheap form for popular 
 sale, and "to be sold by most booksellers." There is as 
 much wit in it as in the "Pilgrim's Progress," and it is 
 that vein of wit which Bunyan has worked with such good 
 success. It wants the charm of story, and has nothing of 
 that romantic interest which "holds children from sleep;'* 
 and therefore its popularity has passed away. But it is 
 written with great spirit and ability, and for its own merit, 
 as well as for the traits of the times with which it abounds, 
 well deserves to be reprinted.* 
 
 * In that -vein Bernard has also been followed by Bishop 
 Womack,— unless, indeed, that excellent Divine intended, in his 
 "Porpria quae maribusj' to satirize the absurd names given 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 73 
 
 ^0 one who reads this little book can doubt that it had 
 a considerable effect upon the style of Bunyan's invention. 
 The Bee had been shown by this elder one where honey of 
 a peculiar flavor might be extracted, but the new honey 
 was of our Bee's own gathering. 
 
 Lately, however, a charge has been brought against John 
 the Bee, of direct and knavish plagiarism. The following 
 paragraph appeared in a London journal, and was gener- 
 ally copied into the provincial newspapers : — 
 
 "The friends of John Bunyan will be much surprised 
 to hear that he is not the author of the Tilgrim's Prog- 
 ress,' but the mere translator ^ It is, however, an act of 
 plagiarism to publish it in such a way as to mislead his 
 readers; but it is never too late to call things by their 
 right names. The truth is, that the work was even pub- 
 lished in French, Spanish, and Dutch, besides other lan- 
 guages, before John Bunyan saw it; and we have ourselves 
 seen a copy in the Dutch language, with numerous plates, 
 printed long previous to Bunyan's time." 
 
 "It is very difficult," says Montgomery, "to imagine for 
 what purpose such a falsehood (if it be one) should be 
 framed; or how such a fact (if it be a fact) could have 
 been so long concealed; or, when declared thus publicly, 
 why it should never have been established by the production 
 of this Dutch copy, with its numerous plates. Be this as 
 it may, till the story is authenticated it must be regarded 
 as utterly unworthy of credit." 
 
 I also, upon reading this notable paragraph in a news- 
 paper, felt as Montgomery had done, and as "it is never 
 too soon to call things by their right names," bestowed upon 
 it at once its proper qualification. It would, indeed, be as 
 impossible for me to believe that Bunyan did not write the 
 "Tilgrim's Progress," as that Porson did write a certain 
 
 by the Puritans to their children: this, however, he might in- 
 tend, and yet have imitated Bernard. The names of the Triers, 
 in his "Examination of Tilenus," are Dr. Absohite, Mr. Fa- 
 tality, Mr. Preterition, Mr. Efficax, Mr. Indefectible, Dr. Con- 
 fidence, Mr. Meanwell, Mr. Stimulant, Mr, Take-o'-Trust, Mr. 
 Impertinent, Mr. Narrowgrace, in whom Philip Nye was per- 
 sonated; Mr. Knowlittle, who stood for Hugh Peters; Dr. Du- 
 bious, whom nobody doubts to be the representation of Bax- 
 ter; and Dr. Damiman, a name which was that of one of the 
 Secretaries at the Dort Synod, and which to an English ear 
 perfectly designated his rigid principles. 
 
74 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 copy of verses entitled the ^^Devil's Thoughts." There 
 must have been a grievous want of common sense in the 
 person who wrote the paragraph, to suppose that such a 
 plagiarism could have escaped detection till he discovered 
 it, — Bunyan^s book having been translated into those lan- 
 guages (and current in them), in one of which, according 
 to him, the original, and in the others, earlier versions of 
 that original than the English "Pilgrim's Progress," were 
 existing! But tliere must have been a more grievous want 
 of fidelity in his assertions. If he had been able to read 
 the book which he saw, this gross accusation could never 
 iiave been brought against John Bunyan. The book in 
 question I have had an opportunity of perusing, through 
 the kindness of its possessor, Mr. Offor. A person look- 
 ing (like Bunyan's accuser) at the prints, and not under- 
 standing the language in which the book is written, might 
 have supposed that hints had been taken from them for the 
 adventures at the Slough of Despond, and at Vanity Fair ; 
 but that the "Pilgrim's Progress" was not a translation 
 from the work he must have known, for the Pilgrims in 
 the prints are women; and it required no knowledge of 
 Dutch to perceive that the book is written not as a narra- 
 tive, but in a series of Dialogues. 
 
 Bolswert, the engraver, is the author of this book, which 
 is entitled "The Pilgrimage of Dovekin and Willekin to 
 their Beloved in Jerusalem." The author was a true lover 
 of his mother tongue, and more than once laments over 
 the fashion of corrupting it with words borrowed from 
 other languages. All the examples which he adduces of 
 such adulterations are French. The book, though totally, 
 neglected now, was once very popular ; my venerable friend 
 Bilderdijk tells me that "it was one of the delights of his 
 childhood." I am obliged to Mr. Major for a French 
 translation of it, in which some intermediate possessor has 
 drawn his pen through the name of Kousseau, that name 
 appearing, upon comparing it with a fac-simile in Rees's 
 Cyclopedia, and with an autograph also, to be in the hand- 
 writing of Jean Jacques. The French translator, as might 
 be expected, has carefully got rid of everything which re- 
 lates to Flemish manners and feelings, and the raciness of 
 the original is completely lost in his version. 
 
 The two sisters.. Dovekin and Willekin, are invited in a 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUN VAN. 75 
 
 dream by the Beloved, in the language of the Canticles, 
 to arise and come away. Willekin, who is for a little more 
 sleep a little more slumber, is not inclmed to accept the 
 invitation, and disparages her lover, saymg that he is no 
 better than Joseph the Carpenter and Peter the Fisherman, 
 with whom he used to keep company. Dovekm, however, 
 persuades her to rise, and set off npon their pilgrimage 
 to him. It is but a day's journey. They wash, at their 
 outset, in a river of clear water which has its source m 
 Kome, and (taking the Netherlands" in its way) flows to 
 Jerusalem; and by this river they are to keep or they will 
 lose themselves. They gather flowers also at the beginning 
 of their iourney for the purpose of presenting them to the 
 Bridegroom and his mother, whose favor Dovekm says it 
 is of the utmost importance to obtain, and who, she as- 
 sures her sister, dearly loves the Netherlanders. The wil- 
 ful sister collects her flowers without any choice or care, 
 loses them, over-eats herself, and is obliged to go to the 
 river to wash herself after eating. She then finds her 
 flowers again, and they proceed till they come to a village, 
 where it happens to be fair time, and Willekm will not be 
 dissuaded bv her prudent sister from stopping to look at 
 some mountebanks. The print annexed is what was supposed 
 to represent Vanity Fair, whereof the story relates merely to 
 a Flemish Kermes, and the only adventure which belalls 
 the idle sister there, is, that she brings away from it cer- 
 tain living and loathsome parasites of humanity, who pass 
 under a generic appellation in the French version, but m 
 the honest Dutch original are called by their own name. 
 
 Going out of her way to admire a peacock, Willekm steps 
 in the dirt. Presently she must go see some calves at play, 
 a cow bemires her with a whisk of her tail, and she must 
 repair to the river to cleanse herself again. Thank (k)cI 
 for this river, says Dovekin. Poor thoughtless, incorrigible 
 Willekin, thus goes on from one mishap to another, and 
 taking a by-path falls into a ditch, which the detector ot 
 Bunyan's plagiarism immediately supposed to be his 
 Slough of Despond. She goes on committing lollies at 
 every occasion, and some crimes; and the end (for it must 
 be needless to pursue the story) is that when they come 
 within sight of Jerusalem, she climbs a steep and dangerous 
 place, notwithstanding her sister's entreaties, m order to 
 
76 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 obtain a better prospect. The wind blows her down; she 
 falls iuto a deep pit, full of noxious creatures, where no 
 help can be given her, and there she is left with broken 
 bones, to her fate. Dovekin proceeds, reaches the suburbs 
 of Jerusalem, undergoes a purification in a tub, then makes 
 a triumphant entrance into the city of Jerusalem in a lofty 
 chariot, and is there with all honor and solemnity espoused 
 to the Bridegroom. And this is tlie book from which 
 Bunyan was said to have stolen the "Pilgrim's Progress'' ! 
 If ever there was a work which carried with it the stamp 
 of originality in all its parts, it is that of John Bunyan ! 
 
 Disraeli, from whose works the best-informed reader 
 may learn much, and who, in the temper of his writings, as 
 well as in the research which they display, may be a useful 
 model for succeeding authors, calls Bunyan "the Spenser 
 of the people. He is, indeed, the Prince of allegorists in 
 prose. The allegory is never lost sight of in the first part : 
 in the second it is not so uniformly preserved ; parties who 
 begin their pilgrimage in childhood, grow up upon the way, 
 pass through the stage of courtship, marry and are given in 
 marriage, have children and dispose of their children. Yet 
 to most readers this second part is as delightful as the first; 
 and Bunyan had perhaps more pleasure in composing it, 
 not only because he was chewing the cud of his old inven- 
 tions, but because there can be no doubt that he compli- 
 mented the friends whom he delighted to honor, by giving 
 them a place among the persons of his tale. We may be 
 sure that Mr. Valiant-for-the-Truth, Old Honest of the 
 Town of Stupidity, Mr. Despondency and his daughter 
 Muchafraid, and their companions, were well known in 
 "Bishop Bunyan's" diocese ; and if no real characters were 
 designed by him in those who are less favorably introduced 
 as turning back on their journey, striking into by-paths, or 
 slumbering by the way, likenesses would be discovered 
 where none were intended. 
 
 None but those who have acquired th© ill habit of always 
 reading critically, can wish the Second Part had not been 
 written, or feel it as a clog upon the first. There is a pleas- 
 ure in traveling with another company over the same 
 ground, a pleasure of reminiscence neither inferior in kind 
 nor in degree to that which is derived from a first impres- 
 sion. The author evidently felt this, and we are indebted 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 77 
 
 to it for some beautiful passages of repose, such as that in 
 the Valley of Humiliation. The manner in which Chris- 
 tian's battle is referred to, and the traces of it pointed out, 
 reminds one of what is perhaps the best imagined scene in 
 Palmerin of England, where Palmerin enters a chapel, and 
 is shown the tombs of some of the knights of King Lisu- 
 arte's court. 
 
 Bunyan concludes with something like a promise of a 
 third part. There appeared one after his death, by some 
 unknown hand, and it has had the fortune to be included 
 in many editions of the original work. It is impossible 
 to state through how many editions that work has passed; 
 probably no other book in the English language has ob- 
 tained so constant and so wide a sale. The prints which 
 have been engraved to illustrate it would form a collection, 
 not so extensive, indeed, but almost as curious, as that 
 which Duppa saw a^fe Vallambrosa, where a monk had got 
 together about eight thousand different engravings of the 
 Virgin Mar}^ The worst specimens, both in wood and 
 copper, would be found among them; as now some of the 
 best are to be added. When the reader has seen Giant 
 Slaygood with Mr. Feeblemind in his hand, he will, I 
 think, agree with me that if a nation of Anakim existed 
 at this day, the artist by whom that print was designed 
 and executed, would deserve to be appointed historical 
 painter to his highness the Prince of the Giants. 
 
 The "Pilgrim's Progress" has more than once been 
 "done into verse," but I have seen only one version, and 
 that of only the First Part. It was printed by R. Tookey, 
 and to be sold by the booksellers of London and Westmin- 
 ster ; but if there be a date to this version, it has been torn 
 off with the corner of the title-page from this well-thumbed 
 and well-worn copy, for the use of which (as of other rare 
 books that have been most useful on the present occasion) 
 I am obliged to Mr. Alexander Chalmers. The versifica- 
 tion is in the lowest Witherish strain, one degree only 
 above Bunyan's own; yet here and there with indications 
 of more power than the writer has thought proper to put 
 forth. In general, the version keeps close to the original. 
 In one place a stroke of satire is put into Apollyon's mouth, 
 against the occasional conformists : — 
 
78 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 "Come and go with me occasionally back, 
 Rather than a preferment lose or lack." 
 
 And after the Pilgrims have crossed the river, this singu- 
 lar illustration occurs: — 
 
 'Then on all sides the heavenly host enclose, 
 As through the upper regions all arose; 
 With mighty shouts and louder harmonies, 
 Heaven's Opera seem'd as glorious to rtie eyes 
 As if they had drawn up the curtain of the skies." 
 
 Though the story certainly is not improved by versifying 
 it, it is less injured than might have been supposed in the 
 process; and perhaps most readers would read it with as 
 much interest in the one dress as in the other. 
 
 A stranger experiment was tried upon the "Pilgrim's 
 Progress,^' in translating it into other words, altering the 
 names, and publishing it under the title of "The Progress 
 of the Pilgrim," without any intimation that this version 
 is not an original work. Evangelist is here called Good- 
 news; Worldly Wiseman, Mr. Politic Worldly; Legality, 
 Mr. Lawdo ; the Interpreter, Director ; the Palace Beauti- 
 ful, Graces Hall ; Vanity town is Mundus ; the Giant, is 
 Giant Desperation of Diffident Castle, and the prisoners 
 released from it, instead of Mr. Despondency and his 
 daughter, Muchafraid, are "one Muchcastdown, and his 
 kinsman Almost Overcome." This would appear to have 
 been merely the device of some knavish bookseller for 
 evading the laws which protect literary property; but the 
 person employed in disguising the stolen goods must have 
 been a Eoman Catholic, for he has omitted all mention of 
 Giant Pope, and Fidelius suffers martyrdom by being 
 hanged, drawn, and quartered. The dialogues are much 
 curtailed, and the book, as might be expected, very much 
 worsened throughout; except that better verses are in- 
 serted. 
 
 Bunyan could little have supposed that his book would 
 ever be adapted for sale among the Romanists. Whether 
 this was done in the earliest French translation I do not 
 know; but in the second there is no Giant Pope; and lest 
 the circumstances of the author should operate unfavorably 
 for the reception of his work, he is designated as un Min- 
 istre Anglais, nomme Jean Bunian, Pasteur d'une Eglise 
 dam la Ville de Bedfort en Angleterre. This contains only 
 
LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 79 
 
 the first part, but promises the second should it be well re- 
 ceived. The first part, under the title of le Pelerinage d'un 
 nomme Chretien, forms one of the volumes of the Petite 
 Bibliotheque du Catholique, and bears in the title-page 
 a glorified head of the Virgin. A Portuguese translation 
 (of the first part, also), and in like manner cut down to 
 the opinions of the public for which it was designed, was 
 published in 1782. Indeed, I believe there is no European 
 language into which the "Pilgrim's Progress" has not been 
 translated. "The Holy War" has been little less popular; 
 and if "The Life and Death of Mr. Badman" has not been 
 as generally read, it is because the subject is less agreeable, 
 not that it has been treated with inferior ability. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY 
 
 FOB 
 
 HIS BOOK. 
 
 When at the first I took my pen in hand, 
 Thus for to write, I did not understand 
 That I at all should make a little book 
 In such a mode : nay, I had undertook 
 To make another ; which, when almost done. 
 Before I was aware, I this begun. 
 
 And thus it was : I, writing of the way 
 And race of saints in this our gospel-day. 
 Fell suddenly into an allegory 
 About their journe}', and the way to glory. 
 In more than twenty things, which I set down. 
 This done, I twenty more had in my crown ; 
 And they again began to multiply. 
 Like sparfe that from the coals of fire do fly. 
 ISTay, then, thought I, if that you breed so fast 
 I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last 
 Should prove ad infiniUim* and eat out 
 The book that I already am about. 
 
 Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think 
 To show to all the world my pen and ink 
 In such a mode : I only thought to make 
 I knew not what: nor did I undertake 
 Thereby to please my neighbor ; no, not I, 
 I did it my own self to gratify. 
 
 Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
 In this my scribble ; nor did I intend 
 But to divert mj^self in doing this, 
 From worser thoughts, which make me do amisSp 
 
 * Witlior.t end- 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY. 81 
 
 Thus I set pen to paper with delight, 
 And quickly had my thoughts in black and white. 
 For having now my method by the end, 
 Still as I pulFd, it came ; and so I penn'd 
 It down; until at last it came to be, 
 For leng-th and breadth, the bigness which you see. 
 
 Well, when I had thus put mine ends together, 
 I show'd them others, that I might see whether 
 They would condemn them, or them justify. 
 And some said, Let them live; some, Let them die, 
 Some said, John, print it; others said, N'ot so: 
 Some said, It might do good ; others said, No. 
 
 Now was I in a strait, and did not see 
 Which was the best thing to be done by me. 
 At last I thought. Since ye are thus divided, 
 I print it will ; and so the case decided. 
 
 For, thought I, some I see would have it done. 
 Though others in that channel do not run : 
 To piove then, who advised for the best, 
 I further thought, if now I did deny 
 Those that would have it, thus to gratify; 
 I did not know, but hinder them I might ^ 
 Of that which would to them be great delight. 
 For those which were not for its coming forth, 
 I said to them, Offend you, I am loath; 
 Yet since your brethren pleased with it be. 
 Forbear to judge, till you do further see. 
 
 If that thou wilt not read, let it alone ; 
 Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone; 
 Yea, that I might them better moderate 
 I did too with them thus expostulate 
 
 May I not write in such a style as this ? 
 In such a method, too, and yet not miss 
 ]V[y end— thy good? Why may it not be done? 
 Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none. 
 Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops 
 Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops. 
 
82 THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY, 
 
 Gives praise to both, and oarpeth not at either, 
 But treasures up the fruit they yield together; 
 Yea, so commixes both, that in their fruit 
 None can distinguish this from that ; they suit 
 Her well when hungry; but, if she be full, 
 She spews out both, and makes their blessing nulL 
 
 You see the ways the fisherman doth take 
 To catch the fish; what engines doth he make; 
 Behold how he engageth all his wits; 
 Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets: 
 Yet fish there be, that neither hook nor line, 
 Nor snare, nor net, nor engine, can make shine: 
 They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too, 
 Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do. 
 
 How does the fowler seek to catch his game? 
 By divers means, all which one can not name; 
 His guns, his nets, his lime- twigs, light, and bell 
 He creeps, he goes, he stands ; yea, who can tell 
 Of all his postures? Yet there's none of these 
 Will make him master of what fowls he please. 
 Yea, he must pipe and whistle, to catch this; 
 Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss. 
 
 If that a pearl may in toad's head dwell. 
 And may be found, too, in an oyster-shell. 
 If things that promise nothing, do contain 
 What better is than gold ; who will disdain. 
 That have an inkling* of it, there to look. 
 That they may find it? Now, my little book 
 (Though void of all these paintings that may make 
 It with this or the other man to take). 
 Is not without those things that do excel 
 What do in brave but empty notions dwell. 
 
 99 
 
 ''Well, yet I am not fully satisfied 
 That this your book will stand, when soundly tried. 
 
 Why, what's the matter? ''It is dark." What thought 
 ''But it is feigned." What of that? I trow 
 
 * Hint, whisper, insinuation. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY, 83 
 
 Some men by feigned words^ as dark as mine. 
 Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine ! 
 ^*But they want solidness/' Speak, man, thy mind, 
 ''They drown the weak ; metaphors make us blind/' 
 
 Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen 
 Of him who writeth things divine to men ; 
 But must I needs want solidness, because 
 By metaphors I speak? Were not God's laws. 
 His gospel laws, in olden time held forth 
 By shadows, types, and metaphors ? Yet loath 
 Will any sober man be to find fault 
 With them, lest he be found for to assault 
 The highest wisdom ! No, he rather stoops. 
 And seeks to find out what, by pins and loops. 
 By claves and sheep, by heifers and by rams. 
 By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs, 
 God speaketh to him; and happy is he 
 That finds the light and grace that in them be. 
 
 Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude 
 That I want solidness — that I am rude; 
 All things solid in show, not solid be; 
 All things in parable, despise not we. 
 Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive. 
 And things that good are, of our souls bereaye 
 My dark and cloudy words, they do but hold 
 The truth, as cabinets inclose the gold. 
 
 The prophets used much by metaphors 
 To set forth truth : yea, who so considers 
 Christ, his apostles too, shall plainly see 
 That truths to this day in such mantles be- 
 
 Am I afraid to say, that holy writ. 
 Which for its style and phrase puts down all ¥rit^ 
 Is everywhere so full of all these things. 
 Dark figures, allegories? Yet there springs 
 From that same book, that lustre, and those rays 
 Of light, that turn our darkest nights to days. 
 
84 THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY. 
 
 Come, let my carper to his life now look, 
 And find there darker lines than in my book. 
 He findeth any, yea, and let him know, 
 That in his best things there are worse lines, too. 
 
 May we but stand before impartial men, 
 To his poor one I dare adventure ten. 
 That they will take my meaning in these lines 
 Far better than his lies in silver shrines. 
 Come, Trnth, althongh in sAvaddling-clothes, I find 
 Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind; 
 Pleases the understanding, makes the will 
 Submit, the memory, too, it doth fill 
 With what doth our imagination please; 
 Likewise it tends our troubles to appease. 
 
 Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use 
 And old wives' fables he is to refuse; 
 But yet grave Paul him nowhere doth forbid 
 The use of parables, in which lay hid 
 That gold, those pearls, and precious stones that weie 
 Worth digging for, and that with greatest care. 
 
 Let me add one word more. Oh, man of God, 
 Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had 
 Put forth my matter in another dress? 
 Or that I had in things been more express? 
 To those that are my betters, as is fit. 
 Three things let me propound, then I submit. 
 
 1. I find not that I am denied the use 
 Of this my method, so I no abuse. 
 Put on the words, things, readers, or be rude 
 In handling figure or similitude. 
 In application; but all that I may 
 Seek the advance of truth this or that way. 
 Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave, 
 (Examples, too, and that from them that have 
 God better pleased, by their words or ways. 
 Than any man that breatheth now-a-days,) 
 Thus to express my mind, thus to declare 
 Things unto thee that excellentest are. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY, 85 
 
 2. I find that men as high as trees will write 
 Dialogue-wise ; yet no man doth them slight 
 For writing so. Indeed, if they abuse 
 Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use 
 To that intent ; but yet let truth be free 
 
 To make her sallies upon thee and me, 
 Which way it pleases God : for who knows how. 
 Better than he that taught us first to plough. 
 To guide our minds and pens for his design? 
 And he makes base things usher in divine. 
 
 3. I find that holy writ, in many places, 
 
 Hath semblance with this method, where the cases 
 Do call for one thing to set forth another : 
 Use it I may, then, and yet nothing smother 
 Truth's golden beams : nay, by this method may 
 Make it cast forth its rays as light as day. 
 
 And now, before I do put up my pen, 
 I'll show the profit of my book ; and then 
 Commit both thee and it unto that hand 
 That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand. 
 
 This book, it chalketh out before thine eyes 
 The man that seeks the everlasting prize : 
 It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes ; 
 What he leaves undone ; also, what he does : 
 It also shows you how he runs, and runs, 
 Till he unto the gate of glory comes. 
 It shows, too, who set out for life amain, 
 As if the lasting crown they would obtain; 
 Here, also, you may see the reason why 
 They lose their labor, and like fools do die. 
 
 This book will make a traveler of thee. 
 If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be ; 
 It will direct thee to the Holy Land, 
 If thou wilt its directions understand. 
 Yea, it will make the slothful active be; 
 The blind also delightful things to see. 
 
B6 THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY. 
 
 Art thou for something rare and profitable; 
 Or would'st thou see a truth within a fable? 
 Art thou forgetful? Wouldest thou remember 
 From New- Year's day to the last of December? 
 Then read my fancies; they will stick like burrs. 
 And may be to the helpless comforters. 
 
 This book is writ in such a dialect 
 As may the minds of listless men affect. 
 It seems a novelty, and yet contains 
 Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains. 
 
 Would'st thou divert thyself from melancholy? 
 Would' st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly? 
 Would'st thou read riddles, and their explanation? 
 Or else be drowned in thy contemplation? 
 I)ost thou love picking meat? Or would'st thou set 
 A man i' the clouds^ and hear him speak to thee? 
 Would'st thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep ? 
 Or would'st thou in a moment laugh and weep? 
 Would'st thou lose thyself and catch no harm. 
 And find thyself again, without a charm? 
 Would'st read thyself, and read thou knoVst not when 
 And yet know whether thou art blest or not, 
 By reading the same lines? Oh, then come hither. 
 And lay my book, thy head, and heart together. 
 
 JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
THE 
 
 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 THE FIKST STAGE. 
 
 As I walked through the wilderness of this world, 
 I lighted on a certain place where was a den,* and laid 
 me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I 
 dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man 
 clothed with rags standing in a certain place, with his 
 face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great 
 burden upon his back. (Isa. 64: : Q] Luke 14 : 33; Psalm 
 38: 4.) I looked and saw him open the book, and 
 read therein; and as he read he wept and trembled; 
 and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with 
 a lamentable cry, saying, "What shall I do?" (Acts 
 2: 37; 16: 30; Habak. 1: 2, 3.) 
 
 In this plight, therefore, he went home, and re- 
 strained himself as long as he could, that his wife and 
 children should not perceive his distress: but he could 
 not be silent long, because that his trouble increased. 
 Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and 
 children, and thus he began to talk to them . " Oj my 
 dear wife," said he, " and you the children of my bow* 
 
 BedfiomS Jailt in wktsik the aotJior waa a pnsocer for cofisdeotoe sili* 
 
$0 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 els, I, your dear friend, am in mjself undone by reason 
 of a burden that lieth hard upon me ; moreover, I am cer- 
 tainly informed that this our city will be burnt with fire 
 from heaven ; in which fearful overthrow, both myself, 
 with thee my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miser^ 
 ably come to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some 
 way c^ escape can be found whereby we may be deliv* 
 ered." At this his relations were sore amazed ; not for 
 that they believed that what he had said to them was 
 true, but because they thought that some frenzy dis- 
 temper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing to. 
 wards night, and they hoping that sleep might settle 
 his brains, with all haste they got him to bed. But the 
 night was as troublesome to him as the day ; where- 
 fore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. 
 So when the morning was come, they would know bow 
 he did. He told them, " Worse and worse ; " he also 
 set to talking to them again ; but they began to \»e 
 hardened. They also thought to drive away his distem- 
 per by harsh and surly carriage to him; sometimes they 
 would deride, sometimes they would chide, and some- 
 times they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he 
 began to retire himself to his chamber to pray for and 
 pity them, and also to condole his own misery; he 
 would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes read- 
 ing, and sometimes praying ; and thus for some days 
 he spent his time. 
 
 Now I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in 
 the fields, that he was (as he was wont) reading in his 
 book, and greatly distressed in his mind ; and as hfe 
 read, he burst out, as he had done before, crying, " What 
 shall I do to be saved? " (Acts 16 : 30, 31.) 
 
 I saw also that he looked this way, and that way, as 
 if he would run ; yet he stood still because (as I per- 
 ceived) he could not tell which ^aj to g?. ^ iook<5oi 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 89 
 
 then, and saw a man named Evangelist coming to him, 
 and he asked, " Wherefore dost thou cry ? " 
 
 He answered, " Sir, I perceive, by the book in my 
 hand, that I am condemned to die, and after that to 
 come to judgment (Heb. 9 : 27) ; and I find that I am 
 not willing to do the first (Job 10 : 21, 22), nor able to 
 do the second." (Ezek. 22: 14.) 
 
 Then said Evangelist, "Why not willing to die, 
 since this life is attended with so many evils ? " The 
 man answered, " Because I fear that this burden that 
 is upon my back will sink me lower than the grave, and 
 I shall fall into Tophet, (Isa. 30 : 33.) And sir, if I 
 be not fit to go to prison, I am not fit to go to judg- 
 ment, and from thence to execution ; and the thoughts 
 of these things make me cry." 
 
 Then said Evangelist, "If this be thy condition, 
 why standest thou still ? " He answered, " Because I 
 know not whither to go." Then he gave him a parch- 
 ment roll, and there was written within, " Fly from the 
 wrath to come." (Matt. 3 : 7.) 
 
 The man therefore read it, and, looking upon Evan- 
 gelist very carefully, said, " Whither must I fly ? '* 
 Then said Evangelist (pointing with his finger over a 
 very wide field), " Do you see yonder wicket gate? " 
 (Matt. 7 : 13, 14.) The man said, " No." Then said 
 the other, " Do you see yonder shining light? " (Psalm 
 119 : 105 ; 2 Pet. 1 : 19.) He said, " I think I do." 
 Then said Evangelist, " Keep that light in your eye, 
 and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate ; 
 at which, when thou knockest, it shall be told thee 
 what thou shalt do. ' So I saw in my dream that the 
 man began to run. Now he had not run far from his 
 own door when his wife and children, perceiving it, be* 
 gan to cry after him to return ; but the man put his 
 , fingers in his ears and ran on, crying, " Life ! life I eter- 
 
O^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 nal life ! '* (Luke 14 : 26.) So he looked not behind hinj 
 (Gen. 19 : 17), but fled towards the middle of the plain. 
 
 The neighbors also came out to see him run (Jer. 
 20 : 10) ; and as he ran, some mocked, others threatened, 
 and some cried after him to return ; and among those 
 that did so, there were two tnat resolved to fetch him 
 back by force. The name of the one was Obstinate, 
 and the name of the other Pliable. Now by this time 
 the man was got a good distance from them , but, how^ 
 ever, they were resolved to pursue him, which they did, 
 and in a little time they overtook him. Then said the 
 man, "Neighbors, wherefore are ye come?" They 
 said, " To persuade you to go back with us." But he 
 said, " That can by no means be : you dwell," said he, 
 * in the city of Destruction, the place also where I was 
 born : 1 see it to be so ; and dying there sooner, or later 
 you will sink lower than the grave, into a place that 
 burns with fire and brimstone ; be content, good neigh- 
 bors, and go along with me.'* 
 
 Obst. What, said Obstinate, and leave our friends 
 and our comforts behind us ! 
 
 Chr. Yes, said Christian (for that was his name), 
 because that all which you forsake is not worthy to be 
 compared with a little of that I am seeking to enjoy 
 (2 Cor. 4 : 18) ; and if you will go along with me, and 
 hold it, you shall fare as I myself ; for there, where I 
 go, is enough and to spare. (Luke 15 : 17.) Come 
 away, and prove my words. 
 
 Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave 
 all the world to find them ? 
 
 Chr. I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, 
 and that fadeth not away (1 Peter 1:4); and it is laid 
 up in heaven, and safe there (Heb. 11 : 16), to be be- 
 stowed, at the time appointed, on them that diligently 
 seek it. Read it so, if yoi\ will, in * V^k. 
 
THE PILGRIAr^S PROGRESS. m 
 
 Obst. Tush, said Obstinate, away with your book • 
 will you go back with us or no ? 
 
 Chr. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid 
 my hand to the plough. (Luke 9 : 62.) 
 
 Obst. Come then, neighbor Pliable, let us turn 
 again, and go home without him : there is a company 
 of these crazy-headed coxcombs, that when they take a 
 fancy by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven 
 men that can render a reason. 
 
 Pli. Then said Pliable, Don't revile ; if what good 
 Christian says is true, the things he looks after are 
 better than ours ; sl't aeart inclines to go with my 
 neighbor. 
 
 Obst. What, more fools still ! Be ruled by me, and 
 go back ; who knows whither such a brain-sick fellow 
 will lead you ? Go back, go back, and be wise. 
 
 Chr. Nay, but do thou come with thy neighbor 
 Pliable; there are such things to be had which I spoke 
 of, and many more glories besides. If you believe not 
 me, read iierd in this book ; and for the truth of what 
 is expressed therein, behold, all is confirmed by the 
 blood of Him that made it. (Heb. 9 : 17-21.) 
 
 Pli. Well, neighbor Obstinate, said Pliable, I be- 
 gin to come to a point ; I intend to go along with this 
 good man, and to cast in my lot with him ; but, my 
 good companion, do you know the way to this desired 
 place ? 
 
 Chr. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evan* 
 gelist, to speed me to a little gate that is before us, 
 where we shall receive instructions about the way. 
 
 Pli. Come then, good neighbor, let us be going. 
 Then they went both together. 
 
 Obst. And I will go back to my place, said Obsti- 
 nate : I will be no companion of such misled, fantast> 
 cal fellows. 
 
g2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Now I saw in mj dream, that when Obstinate was 
 gone back, Christian and Pliable went talking over the 
 plain ; and thus they began their discourse. 
 
 Chr. Come, neighbor Pliable, how do you do ? 1 
 am glad you are persuaded to go along with me. Had 
 even Obstinate himself but felt what I have felt of the 
 powers and terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not 
 thus lightly have given us the back. 
 
 Pli. Come, neighbor Christian, since there are 
 none but us two here, tell me now further, what the 
 things are, and how to be enjoyed, whither we are 
 going. 
 
 Chr. I can better conceive of them with my mind, 
 than speak of them with my tongue: but yet, since 
 you are desirous to know, I will read of them in my 
 book. 
 
 Pli. And do you think that the words of your book 
 are certainly true? 
 
 Chr. Yes, verily ; lor it was made by him that can* 
 not lie. (Tit. 1 : 2.) 
 
 Pli. Well said ; what things are they ? 
 
 Chb. There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, 
 end everlasting life to be given us, that we may in- 
 habit that kingdom forever. (Isa. ^b\ 17; John 10: 
 27-29.) 
 
 Pli. Well said ; and what else ? 
 
 Chr. There are crowns of glory to be given us ; 
 and garments that will make us shine like the sun in 
 the firmament of heaven. (2 Tim. 4:8; Rev. 22 : 5 ; 
 Matt. 13 : 43.) 
 
 Pli. This is very pleasant ; and what else ? 
 
 Chr. There shall be no more crying, nor sorrow; 
 for he that is owner of the place will wipe all tears 
 from our eyes. (Isa. 25 : 8 ; Rev. 7 : 16, 17 ; 21 : 4.) 
 
 Pli. And what company shall we have there t 
 
TffE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 93 
 
 Che. There we shall be with seraphims and cheru- 
 Oims (Isaiah 6 : 2 ; 1 Thess. 4 : 16, 17 ; Rev. 5 : 11) : 
 creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them. 
 There also you shall meet with thousands and ten thou- 
 sands that have gone before us to that place ; none of 
 them are hurtful, but loving and holy ; every one walk- 
 ing in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with 
 acceptance forever. In a word, there we shall see the 
 elders with their golden crowns (Rev. 4:4); there we 
 shall see the holy virgins with their golden harps (Rev. 
 14 : 1-5) ; there we shall see men, that by the world 
 were cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, 
 drowned in the seas, for the love they bare to the Lord 
 of the place (John 12 : 25) ; all well, and clothed with 
 immortality as with a garment. (2 Cor. 5 : 2.) 
 
 Pli. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's 
 heart. But are these things to be enjoyed ? How shall 
 we get to be sharers thereof? 
 
 Che. The Lord, the governor of the country, hath 
 recorded that in this book (Isaiah 55 : 1, 2 ; John 6 : 
 37 ; 7 : 37 ; Rev. 21 ; 6 ; 22 : 17) ; the substance of 
 which is, If we be truly willing to have it, he will be- 
 stow it upon us freely. 
 
 Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear 
 %t these things : come on, let us iiiend onr pace. 
 
 Chk. I cannot go as fast as I would, by reason of 
 this burden that is on my back. 
 
 Kow I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended 
 this talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough that 
 was in the midst of the plain : and they being heedless, 
 did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the 
 slough was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed 
 for a time, being grievously bedaubed w'th dirt; and 
 Christian, because of the burden that was on h!'? baek, 
 began to sink in the miro. 
 
1^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Pli. Then said Pliable, Ah, neighbor Christiai^ 
 where are you now ? 
 
 Chr. Truly, said Christian, I do not know. 
 
 Pli. At this Pliable began to be offended, and an- 
 grily said to his fellow. Is this the happiness you have 
 told me all this while of? If we have such ill speed at 
 our first setting out, what may we expect between thip 
 and our journey's end ? May I get out again with my 
 life, you shall possess the brave country alone for me. 
 And with that he gave a desperate struggle or two, and 
 got out of the mire on that side of the slough which 
 was next to his own house: so away he went, and 
 Christian saw him no more. 
 
 Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough 
 of Despond alone ; but still he endeavored to struggle 
 to that side of the slough that was farthest from his 
 own house, and next to the wicket gate ; the which he 
 did, but could not get out because of the burden that 
 was upon his back : but I beheld in my dream, that a 
 man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked 
 him what he did there. 
 
 Chr. Sir, said Christian, I was bid to go this way 
 by a man called Evangelist, who directed me also to 
 yonder gate, that I might escape the wrath to come* 
 And as I was going thither, I fell in here. 
 
 Help. But why did not you look for the steps ? 
 
 Chr. Fear followed me so hard that I fled the next 
 way, and fell in. 
 
 Help. Then said he. Give me thine hand : so he gave 
 him his hand, and he drew him out (Psalm 40 ; 2), and 
 he set him upon sound ground, and bid him go on his 
 way. 
 
 Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and 
 said, " Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way 
 from the city of Destruction to yonder gate, is it, thaf 
 
THE FILGRiM J" PROGj<iiSS, 9g 
 
 this plat is not mended, that poor travellers might go 
 thither with more security ? " And he said unto r»e, 
 *' This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended : 
 it is the descent whither the scum and filth that at* 
 tends conviction for sin doth continually run, and 
 therefore it is called the Slough of Despond ; foi still, 
 as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, 
 there arise in his soul many fears and doubts, and dis- 
 couraging apprehensions, which all of them get to- 
 gether, and settle in this place : and this is the reason 
 of the badness of this ground. 
 
 " It is not the pleasure of the Xing chat this place 
 should remain so bad. (Isa. 35 : 3, 4.) His laborers 
 also have, by the direction of his Majesty's surveyors, 
 been for above these sixteen h^mdred years employed 
 about this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have 
 been mended • yea, and to my knowledge," said he, 
 " there have been swallowed up at least twenty thou- 
 sand cartloads, yea, millions of wholesome instructions, 
 that have afe all seasons been brought from all places of 
 the King's dominions (and they that can tell, say, they 
 are the best materials to make good ground of the 
 place), if so be it might have been mended ; but it is 
 the Slough of Despond still, and so will be when they 
 have done what they can. 
 
 " True, there are, by the direction of the Lawgiver, 
 certain good and substantial steps, placed even through 
 the very midst of this slough ; but at such time as this 
 place doth much spew out its filth, as it doth against 
 change of weather, these steps are hardly seen ; or if 
 they be, men, through the dizziness of their heads, step 
 beside, and then they are bemired to purpose, notwith- 
 standing the steps be there : but the ground is good 
 when they are once got in at the gate." (1 Saift 
 
96 
 
 THE PILGRLWS PROGRESS, 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that by this time Pliable 
 was got home to his house. So his neighbors came to 
 yisit him; and some oi them called him wise man for 
 coming back, and some called him fool for hazarding 
 himself with Christian: others again did mock at his 
 cowardliness, saying, " Surely, since you began to ven- 
 ture, I would not have been so base as to have given 
 out for a few difficulties." So Pliable sat sneaking 
 among them. But at last he got more coufidence, and 
 then they all turned their tales, and began ko deride 
 poor Christian behind his back. And this much con- 
 cerninar Pliable. 
 
 Now as Christian was walking solitarily by himself 
 he espied one afar off come crossing over the field to 
 meet him; and their hap was to meet just as they were 
 crossing the way of each other. The gentleman's name 
 that met him was Mr. Worldly Wiseman: he dwelt in 
 the town of Carnal Policy, a very "reat town, and also 
 hard by from whence Christian came. This man then, 
 meeting with Christian, and having some inkling* of 
 iiim (for Christian's setting forth from the city of De* 
 struction Avas much noised abroad, not only in the town 
 where he dwelt, but also it began to be the town-talk 
 in some other places) — Mr. Worldly Wiseman, there- 
 fore, having some guess of him, by beholding his labori- 
 ous going, by observing his sighs and groans, and the 
 like, began thus to enter into some talk with Christian. 
 
 World. How now, good fellow, whither away after 
 this burdened manner? 
 
 Chr. a burdened manner indeed, as evtrr I think 
 poor creature had ! And whereas you ask me, fV^hither 
 away? I tell you sir, I am going to yonder wictet-gate 
 before nie; for there, as I am informed, I shall be put 
 into a way to be rid of my heavy burdf»rv 
 
 * Slight knowledp«. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^ 
 
 WoKi^D. Hast thou a wife and children ? 
 
 Chk. Yes ; but I am so laden with this burden, that 
 I cannot take that pleasure in them as formerly : m©« 
 thinks I am as if I had none. (1 Cor. 7 : 29.) 
 
 World. Wilt thou hearken to me, if 1 give the« 
 counsel ? 
 
 Chr. If it be good, I will ; for I stand in need o| 
 good counsel. 
 
 World. I would advise thee, then, that thou with 
 all speed get thyself rid of thy burden ; for thou wilt 
 jaever be settled in thy mind till then : n- r canst thou 
 enjoy the benefits of the blessings which God hath be- 
 stowed upon thee till then. 
 
 Chr. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of 
 'this heavy burden ; but get it off myself I cannot, nor ik< 
 there any man in our country that can take it off my 
 shoulders ; therefore I am going this way, as I told you^ 
 that I may be rid of my burden. ■ 
 
 World. Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy 
 burden ? 
 
 Chr. a man that appeared to me to be a very grealu 
 and honorable person : his name, as I remember, is 
 Evangelist. 
 
 World. I beshrew * him for his counsel ! There is 
 not a more dangerous and troublesome way in the world 
 than is that into which he hath directed thee ; and that 
 thou shalt find, if thou wilt be ruled by his counsel. 
 Thou hast met with something, as I perceive, already,' 
 for I see the dirt of the Slough of Despond is upon 
 thee : but that slough is the beginning of the sorrows 
 that do attend those that go on in that way. Hear me: 
 I am older than thou : thou art like to meet with, ia 
 the way which thou goest, wearisoraeness, painfulaess, 
 hunger, perils, nakedness, sword, lions, dragons, dark 
 
 * Wish a £UT8e tOk 
 
^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 ness, and, in a word, death, and what not. These things 
 are certainly true, having been confirmed by many testj^ 
 monies. And should a man so carelessly cast aw9^ 
 himself, by giving heed to a stranger ? 
 
 Chr. Why, sir, this burden on my back is more tei 
 ^ible to me than all these things which you have meii» 
 tioned ; nay, methinks I care not what I meet with in 
 the way, if sc- be I can also meet with deliverance from 
 my burden. 
 
 World. How earnest thou by thy burden at first? 
 
 Chr. B} reading this book in my hand. 
 
 World. I thought so ; and it has happened unto 
 thee as to other weak men, who, middling with things 
 too high for them, do suddenly fall lulo thy distractions \ 
 which distractions do not onl^ anraan men, as thine I 
 perceive have done thee, but tney run them upon des- 
 perate ventures, to obtain they know not what. 
 
 Chr. I know what I would obtain ; it is ease from 
 my heavy burden. 
 
 World. But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, 
 seeing so many dangers attend it? especially since 
 ^hadst thou but patience to hear me) I could direct 
 thee to the obtaining oi what thou desirest, without the 
 dangers that thou i^ ^uxo way wilt run thyself into. 
 Yea, and the remedy is at hand. Besides, I will add, 
 that instead of those dangers, thou shalt meet with 
 nuoh safety, friendship, and content. 
 
 Chr. Sir, I pray open this secret to me. 
 
 World. Why, in yonder village (the ''^ulage is named 
 Morality) there dwells a gentleman vvhc»ae name is Le- 
 gality, a very judicious man, and a man of a very good 
 iia;ne. that has skill to help men off with such burdens 
 as thine is from their shoulders, yea, to my knowledge, 
 he hath done a great deal of good this way ; aye, and 
 besides, he hath skill to cure those that are somewhat 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 99 
 
 crazed in their wits with their burdens. To him, as I 
 said, thou mayest go, and be helped presently. His 
 house is not quite a mile from this place ; and if he 
 should not be at home himself, he hath a pretty young 
 man to his son, whose name is Civility, that can do it 
 (to speak on) as well as the old gentleman himself • 
 there, I say, thou mayest be eased of thy burden ; anc}„ 
 if thou art not minded to go back to thy former habi- 
 tation (as indeed I would not wish thee), thou mayest 
 send for thy wife and children to this village, where 
 there are houses now standing empty, one of which 
 thou mayest have at a reasonable rate : provision is 
 there also cheap and good; and that which will make 
 thy life the more hapijy is, to be sure there thou shalt 
 live by honest neighbors, in credit and good fashion. 
 
 Now was Christian somewhat at a stand ; but pres- 
 ently he concluded, If this be true which this gentle- 
 man hath said, my wisest course is to take his advice : 
 and with that he thus further spake. 
 
 Chr. Sir, which is my way to this honest man's 
 house ? 
 
 World. Do you see yonder high hill? 
 
 Chr. Yes, very well. 
 
 World. By that hill you must go, and the first 
 house you come at is his. 
 
 So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mpc 
 Legality's house for help: but. behold^ when he was got 
 now hard by the hill, it seemed so high, and also that 
 side of it that was next the wayside did hang so much 
 over, that Christian was afraid to venture farther, lest 
 the hill should fall on his head ; wherefore there he 
 stood still, and wotted not what to do. Also his bu '• 
 den now seemed heavier to him than while he was in 
 his way. There came also flashes of fire (Ex. 19 : 16, 
 18), out of the hill, that made Christian afraid that he 
 
lOO THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Bhoald be burnt : here therefore he did sweat and quake 
 for fear. (Heb. 12 : 21). And now he began to be 
 sorry that he had taken Mr. Worldly Wiseman's coun- 
 sel ; and with that he saw Evangelist coming to meet 
 him, at the sight also of whom he began to blush with 
 shame. So Evangelist drew nearer and nearer ; and 
 coming up to him, he looked upon him, with a severe 
 and dreadful countenance, and thus began to reason 
 with Christian. 
 
 Evan. What doest thou here. Christian ? said he : 
 at which words Christian knew not what to answer ; 
 wherefore at present he stood speechless before him. 
 Then said Evangelist further. Art not thou the man 
 that I found crying without the walls of the city ci 
 Destruction ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, dear sir, I am the man. 
 
 Evan. Did not 1 direct thee the way to the little 
 wicket-gate ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, dear sir, .wd Christian. 
 
 Evan. How is it, then, thou art so quickly turneu 
 ^ide ? For thou art now out of thy way. 
 
 Chr. I met with a gentleman so soon as I had got 
 over the Slough of Despond, who persuaded me that 
 I might, in the village before me, tind a man that could 
 take off my burden. 
 
 Evan. What was he ? 
 
 Chr. He looked like a gentleman, and talked much 
 to me, and got me at last to yield : so I came hither : 
 but when I beheld this hill, and how it hangs over the 
 way, I suddenly made a stand, lest it should fall on my 
 head. 
 
 Evan. What said that gentleman to you ? 
 
 Chr. Why, be asked me whither I was going ,* and 
 I told him. 
 
 Evan. And what said he then ? 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. xVi 
 
 Chr. He asked me if I had a family ; and I told 
 him. But, said I, I am so laden with the burden that 
 is on my back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as 
 formerly. 
 
 Evan. And what said he then ? 
 
 Chr. He bid me with speed get rid of my burden; 
 and I told him it was ease that I sought. And, said I, 
 i am therefore going to yonder gate, to receive further 
 direction how 1 may get to the place of deliverance. 
 So he said that he would show me a better way, and 
 short, not so attended with difficulties as the way, sir, 
 that you set me in ; which way, said he, will direct you 
 to a gentleman's house that hath skill to take off these 
 burdens : so I believed him, and turned out of that way 
 into this, if haply I might be soon eased of my burdea. 
 But when I came to this place, and beheld things as 
 they are, I stopped, for fear (as I said) of danger : bi>t 
 I now know not what to do. 
 
 Evan. Then said Evangelist, Stand still a litth, 
 that I show thee the words of God. So he stood trem- 
 bling. Then said Evangelist, " See that ye T-efuse not 
 Him that speaketh ; for if they escaped not who refused 
 him that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, 
 if we turn away from Him that speaketh from heaven. ' 
 (Heb. 12 : 25.) He said, moreover, " Now the just shall 
 live by faith ; but if any man draw back, my soul shall 
 have no pleasure in him." (Heb. 10 : 38.) He also did 
 thus apply them ; Thou art the man that art running 
 into this misery : thou hast begun to reject the counsel 
 of the Most High, and to draw back thy foot from the 
 way of peace, even almost to the hazarding of thy per* 
 dition. 
 
 Then Christian fell down at his feet as dead, crying, 
 Woe is me, for I am undone ! At the sight of which 
 Evangelist caught him by the right hand, saying, " AH 
 
I02 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 manner of sin and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto 
 men." (Matt. 12 : 31.) *' Be not faithless, but believ- 
 ing." (John 20 : 27.) Then did Christian again a 
 little revive, and stood up trembling, as at first, before 
 Evangelist. 
 
 Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more ear- 
 nest heed to the things that I shall tell thee. I will 
 BOW show thee who it was that deluded thee, and 
 who it was also to whom he sent thee. The man 
 that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is 
 he so called ; partly because he savoreth only the doc- 
 trine of this world (1 John, 4:5), (therefore he always 
 goes to the town of Morality to church) ; and because 
 he is of this carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to per- 
 vert my ways, though right. Now there are three 
 things in this man*s counsel that thou must utterly 
 abhor. 
 
 1. His turning thee out of the way. 
 
 2. His laboring to render the cross odious to thee^ 
 
 3. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth 
 unto the administration of death. 
 
 First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the 
 way , yea, and thine own consenting thereto : because 
 this is to reject the counsel of God for the sake of the 
 counsel of a Worldly Wiseman. The Lord says, " Strive 
 to enter in at the strait gate " (Luke 13 : 24), the gate 
 to which I send thee ; " for strait is the gate that lead<» 
 eth unto life, and few there be that find it." (Matt. 7= 
 13, 14.) From this little wicket-gate, and from the way 
 thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to the bring- 
 ing of thee almost to destruction : hate, therefore, his 
 turning thee out of the way, and abhor thyself for 
 hearkening to him. 
 
 Secondly, Thou must abhor his laboring to render 
 the cross odious unto thee# lor thou art to prefer it 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 103 
 
 before the treasures of Egypt. (Heb. 11: 25, 26.) 
 Besides, the King of glory hath told thee, that he that 
 will save his life shall lose it. And he that comes after 
 him, and hates not his father, and mother, and wife, 
 and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his 
 own life also, he can not be hi? disciple. (Mark 8 : 38; 
 John 12 : 25 ; Matt. 10 : 39 ; Luke 14 : 26.) I say, 
 therefore, for man to labor to persuade thee that that 
 shall be thy death, without which, the truth hath said, 
 thou canst not have eternal life, this doctrine thou 
 must abhor. 
 
 Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in 
 the way that leadeth to the ministration of death 
 And for this thou must consider to whom he sent theC) 
 and also how unable that person was to deliver thee 
 from thy burden. 
 
 He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name 
 Legality, is the son of the bondwoman which now is, 
 and is in bondage with her children (Gal. 4 : 21-27), 
 and is, in a mystery, this Mount Sinai, which thou hast 
 feared will fall on thy head. Now if she with her 
 children are in bondage, how canst thou expect by 
 them to be made free? This Legality, therefore, is not 
 able to set thee free from thy burden. No man was as 
 yet ever rid of his burden by him ; no, nor ever is like 
 to be : ye can not be justified by the works of the law; 
 for by the deeds of the law no man living can be rid oi 
 his burden. Therefore Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an 
 alien, and Mr. Legality is a cheat; and for his son 
 Civility, notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but 
 a hypocrite, and can not help thee. Believe me, there 
 is nothing in all this noise that thou hast heard of these 
 sottish men, but a design to beguile thee of thy sal- 
 vation, by turning thee from the way in which I set 
 thee. After this, Evangelist called aloud to tb« 
 
104 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 heavens for confirmation of what he had said ; and with 
 that there came words and fire out of the mountain 
 under which poor Christian stood, which made the hair 
 of his flesh stand up. The words were pronounced ; 
 " As many as are of the works of the law, are under 
 the curse ; for it is written, Cursed is every one that 
 continueth not in all things which are written in the 
 book of the law to do them." (Gal. 3: 10). 
 
 Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and 
 began to cry out lamentably , even cursing the time in 
 which he met wif li Mr. Worldly Wiseman ; still calling 
 himself a thousand fools for hearkening to his counsel. 
 He also was greatly ashamed to think that this gentle^ 
 man's arguments, flowing only from the flesh, should 
 have the prevalency with him so far as to cause him 
 to forsake the right way. This done, he applied him- 
 self again to Evangelist in words and sense as follows. 
 
 Chr. Sir, what think you ? Is there any hope ? May 
 I now go back, and go up to the wicket-gate? Shall I 
 not be abandoned for this, and sent back from thence 
 ashamed? I am sorry I have hearkened to this man's 
 counsel ; but may my sin be forgiven ? 
 
 Evan. Then said Evangelist to him, Thy sin is very 
 great, for by it thou hast committed two evils : thou 
 hast forsaken the way that is good, to tread in for- 
 bidden paths. Yet will the man at the gate receive 
 thee, for he has good-will for men ; only, said he, take 
 iieed that thou turn not aside again, lest thou "perish 
 from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a Uttle/* 
 (Psalm 2: 12). 
 
TBE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 105 
 
 THE SECOND STAGE. 
 
 Then did Christian address himself to go back ; and 
 Evangelist, after he had kissed him, gave him one 
 smile, and bid him God speed ; so he went on with 
 haste, neither spake he to any man by the way : nor if 
 any man asked him, would he vouchsafe them an 
 answer. He went like one that was all the while 
 treading on forbidden ground, and could by no means 
 think himself safe, till again he was got into the way 
 which he had left to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman's 
 counsel. So, in process of time, Christian got up to 
 the gate. Now, over the gate there was written, 
 "Knock, and it shall be opened unto you." (Matt. 7 : 7.) 
 He knocked, therefore, more than once or twice, 
 ^saying, 
 
 " May I now enter here ? Will he within 
 Open to sorry me, though I have been 
 An undeserving rebel ? Then shall I 
 Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high." 
 
 At last there came a grave person to the gate, named 
 Goodwill, who asked who was there, and whence he 
 came, and what he would have. 
 
 Chr. Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from 
 the city of Destruction, but am going to Mount Zion, 
 that I may be delivered from the wrath to come. I 
 would therefore, sir, since I am informed that by this 
 gate is the way thither, know if you are willing to let 
 me in. 
 
 Good I am willing with all my heart, said he ; and 
 with that he opened the gate. 
 
 So when Christian was stepping in, the other gave 
 
to6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 faim a pull. Then said Christian, What means that? 
 The other told him, A Httle distance from this gate 
 there is erected a strong castle, of which Beelzebub is 
 *he captain ; from whence both he and they that are 
 with him shoot arrows at those that come up to this 
 gate, if haply they may die before thev can enter in. 
 Then said Christian, I rejoice and tremble. So when 
 he was got in, the man at the gate asked him who 
 directed him thither. 
 
 Chr. Evangelist bid me come hither and knock, as 
 I did : and he said, that you, sir, would tell me what I 
 must do. 
 
 Good. An open door is set before thee, and no man 
 can shut it. 
 
 Chr. Now I begin to reap the benefit of my 
 hazards. 
 
 Good. But how is it that you came alone ? 
 
 Chr. Because none of my neighbors saw their 
 (danger as I saw mine. 
 
 Good. Did any of them know of your coming ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, my wife and children saw me -t the 
 first, and called after me to turn again : also some of 
 my neighbors stood crying and calling after me to re- 
 turn ; but I put my fingers in my ears, and so came c** 
 my way. 
 
 Good. But did none of them follow you, to pep 
 iuade you to go back ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable ; but when 
 they saw that they could not prevail, Obstinate went 
 railing back, but Pliable came with me a little way. 
 
 Good. But why did he not come through ? 
 
 Chr. We indeed came both together until we came 
 to the Slough of Despond, into the which we also 
 suddenly fell. And then was my neighbor Pliable dis- 
 couraged, and would not venture farther. Wherefore^ 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PR<^GRESS, 1O7 
 
 getting out again on the side next to his own house, 
 he told me 1 should possess the brave country alone 
 for him ; so he went his way, and I came mine ; he 
 after Obstinate, and I to this gate. 
 
 Good. Then said Goodwill, Alas, poor man ; is the 
 celestial glory of so little esteem with Lim, that he 
 oounteth it not worth running the hazard of a few diffi- 
 culties to obtain it? 
 
 Chr. Truly, said Christian, I have said the truth of 
 Pliable; and if I should also say all the truth of my- 
 self, it will appear there is no betterment betwixt him 
 and myself. It is true, he went back to his own house, 
 but I also turned aside to go into the way of death, be- 
 ing persuaded thereto by the carnal argument of one 
 Mr. Worldly Wiseman. 
 
 Good. Oh, did he light upon you ? What, he would 
 have had you seek for ease at the hands of Mr. Legality 
 They are both of them a very cheat. But did you take 
 his counsel? 
 
 Chr. Yes, as far as I durst. T went to find out Mr 
 Legality, until I thought that the mountain that stands 
 by his house would have fallen upon my head ; where- 
 fore there was I forced to stop. 
 
 Good. That mountain has been the death of many, 
 and will be the death of many more: it is well 30U. es» 
 caped being by it dashed in pieces. 
 
 Chr. Why truly I do not know what had become 
 of me there, had not Evangelist happily met me again 
 as I was musing in the midst of my dumps ; but it was 
 God's mercy that he came to me again, for else I had 
 never come hither. But now I am come, such a one as 
 I am, more fit indeed for death by that mountain, than 
 thus to stand talking with my Lord. But oh, what a 
 favor is this to me, that yet I am admitted entrance 
 berel 
 
Io8 THE PILGRIM^S PROGPESS. 
 
 Good, We make no objections against any, notwitlii 
 standing all that they have done before they coma 
 hither ; they in nowise are cast out. (John 6 : 37.) 
 And therefore, good Christian, come a little way with 
 me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. 
 jLook before thee; dost thou see this narrow way? 
 That is the way thou must go. It was cast up by the 
 patriarchs, prophets, Christ, and his apostles, and it ia 
 as straight as a rule can make it ; this is the way thou 
 must go. 
 
 Chr. But, said Christian, are there no turnings noi 
 windings, by which a stranger may lose his way? 
 
 Good. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon 
 this, and they are crooked and wide : but thus thou 
 mayest distinguish the right from the wrong, the right 
 only being straight and narrowo (Matt. 7 : 14.) 
 
 Then I saw in ro^y dream, that Christian asked him 
 further, if he could not help him off with his burden 
 that was upon his back. For as yet he had not got rid 
 thereof; nor could he by any means get it off wicKout 
 help. 
 
 He told him, " As to thy burden, be content to bear 
 it until thou comes t to the place of deliverance ; for 
 there it will fall from thy back of itself." 
 
 Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to 
 address himself to his journey. So the other told him, 
 jthat by that he was gone some distance from the gate, 
 he would come to the house of the Interpreter, at whose 
 door he should knock, and he would show him excel- 
 lent things. Then Christian took his leave of his 
 friend, and he again bid him God speed. 
 
 Then he went on till he came at the house of the 
 Interpreter,* where he knocked over and over. At 
 last one came to the door, and asked who was there. 
 
 • The Holv Spirit, 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lO^ 
 
 Omi. Sir, here is a traveller, who was bid bj an ac- 
 JlTiaintance of the good man of this house to call here 
 for my profit ; I would therefore speak with the master 
 of the house. 
 
 So he called for the master of the house, who, after 
 % little time, came to Christian, and asked him what he 
 would have. 
 
 Chk. Sir, said Christian, I am a man that um. come 
 from the city of Destruction, and am going to the Mount 
 Zion ; and I was told by the man that stands at the 
 gate at the bead of this way, that if I called iiere you 
 would show me excellent things, such as would be 
 helpful to me on my journey. 
 
 Inter. Then said Interpreter, Come in ; I will show 
 thee that which will be profitable to thee. So he com- 
 nanded his r/.an to light the candle, and bid Christian 
 follow him. So he had him into a private room, and 
 bid his man open a door; the which when he had done, 
 Christian saw the picture of a very grave person hang 
 ap against the wall ; and this was the fashion of it ; it 
 iiad eyes lifted up to heaven, the best of books in it? 
 hand, the law of truth was written upon its lips, the 
 world was behind its back ; it stood as if it pleaded 
 with men, and a crown of gold did hang over its head. 
 
 Che. Then said Christian, What means this? 
 
 Inter. The man whose picture this is, is one of a 
 thousand : he can beget children (1 Cor. 4 : 15), travail 
 in birth with children (Gal. 4: 19), and nurse them 
 himself when they are born. And whereas thou seest 
 him with his eyes lift up to heaven, the best of books 
 in his hand, and the law of truth writ on his lips : it is 
 to show thee, that his work is to know, and unfold dark 
 things to sinners ; even as also thou seest him stand ps 
 if he pleaded with men. And whereas thou seest i^Iio 
 world as cast behind him, and that a crown hangs over 
 
11^ TUB PTLGRTHtS r/^OGRESS, 
 
 his head ; that is tc show thee, that slighting and det 
 Bpising the things that are present, for the love that he 
 hath to his Master's service, he is sure in the world that 
 comes next to have glory for his reward. Now, said 
 the Interpreter, I have showed thee this picture first, 
 <)ecause the man whose picture this is, is the only man 
 *vhom the I^ord of the place whither thou art going hath 
 authorized to be thy guide in all difficult places thou 
 mayest meet with in the way : wherefore take good 
 heed to what I have showed thee, and bear well in thy 
 mind what thou hast seen, lest in thy journey thou 
 meet with some that pretend to lead the? right, but 
 their way goes down to death. 
 
 Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a 
 very large parlor that was full of dust, because never 
 swept; the which after he reviewed it a little while, the 
 Interpreter called for a man to sweep. Now, when he 
 began to sweep, the dust began so abundantly to fly 
 about, that Christian had almost therewith been 
 <^vhoked. Then said the Interpreter to a damsel that 
 fttood by, *' Bring hither water, and sprinkle the room ; '* 
 the which when she had done, it was swept and 
 cleansed with pleasure. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, What means this ? 
 
 Inter. The Interpreter answered, This parlor is 
 the heart of a man that was never sanctified by the 
 sweet grace of the Gospel. The dust is his original 
 sin, and inward corruptions, that have defiled the whole 
 man. He that began to sweep at first, is the law ; but 
 she that brought water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gos- 
 pel. Now whereas thou sawest, that so soon as the 
 first began to sweep, the dust did so fly about that the 
 room by him could not be cleansed, but that thou wast 
 almost choked therewith ; this is to show thee, that the 
 Iftw, instead of cleausiusc the heart (by its working) frora 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PR OGRESS IIS 
 
 tin, doth revive (Rom. 7 : 9), put strength into (1 CoTi 
 15: 56), and increase it in the soul (Rom. 5: 20), eve* 
 AS it doth discover and forbid it ; for it doth not giva 
 power to subdue. Again, as thou sawest the damse\ 
 sprinkle the room with water, upon which it was 
 cleansed with pleasure, this is to show thee, that when 
 the Gospel comes in the sweet and precious influences 
 thereof to the heart, then, I say, even as thou sawest 
 the damsel lay the dust by sprinkling the floor with 
 water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, and the sou? 
 made clean through the faith of it, and consequently 
 fit for the King of glory to inhabit. (John 15: ^: Eph. 
 6: 26; Acts 15: 9; Rom. 16: 25, 26.) 
 
 I saw moreover in my dream, that the Interpreter 
 took him by the hand, and led him into a little room, 
 where sat two little children, each one in his chair. 
 The name of the eldest was Passion, and the name of 
 the other Patience. Passion seemed to be much dis 
 contented, but Patience was very quiet. Then Christian 
 asked, "What is the reason of the discontent of Passion*^" 
 The Interpreter answered, ** The governor of them 
 would have him stay for his best things till the be 
 ginning of the next year, but he will have all now ; but 
 Patience is willing to wait.'' 
 
 Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought 
 him a bag of treasure, and poured it down at his feet : 
 the which he took up, and rejoiced therein, and withal 
 laughed Patience to scorn. But I beheld but a while, 
 and he had lavished all away, and bad nothing left him 
 but rags. 
 
 Che Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Ex 
 pouna ohis matter more fully to me. 
 
 Inter. So he said, Th3se two lads ace figures. 
 Passion of the men of this world, and Patience of ta< 
 ^fitti of that which is to come ; for, as hero thcu sees' 
 
112 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Passion will have all now, this year, that is to say, in 
 this world ; so are the men of this world : they must 
 have all their good thin^^s now ; they can not stay till 
 the next year, that is, until the next world, for their 
 portion of good. That proverb, *' A bird in the hand 
 is worth two in the bush," is of more authority with 
 them than are all the divine testimonies of the good 
 of the world to come. But as thou sawest that he had 
 quickly lavished all away, and had presently left him 
 nothing but rags, so will it be with all such men at the 
 end of this world. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience 
 has the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts. 
 1. Because he stays for the best things. 2. And also 
 iiecause he will have the glory of his, when the other 
 Vas nothing but rags. 
 
 Inter. Nay, you ma}' add another, to wit, the glory 
 iif the next world will never wear out ; but these are 
 suddenly gone. Therefore Passion had not so much 
 J eason to laugh at Patience because he had his good 
 things first, as Patience will have to laugh at Passion 
 because he had his best things last, for first must give 
 jilace to last, because last must have his time to come : 
 but last gives place to nothing, for there is not another 
 to succeed. He, therefore, that hath his portion first, 
 must needs have a time to spend it ; but he that hath 
 his portion last, must have it lastingly; therefore it is 
 said of Dives, '' In thy lifetime thou receivedst thy 
 good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but 
 now he is comforted, and thou art tormented." (Luke 
 16: 25.) 
 
 Chr. Then I perceive it is not best to covet thing, 
 tLat are now, but to wait for things to come. 
 
 Inter. You say tvulli : for the things that are seen 
 are temporal, but the things that a-xe not seen are 
 
THE PTLCRIM'S PROGRESS. 113 
 
 eternal. (2 C^r. 4 : 18.) But though this be so, yet 
 since things present and our fleshy appetite are such 
 near neighbors one to another ; and again, because 
 things to come and carnal sense are such strangers one 
 to another ; therefore it is, that the first of these so 
 suddenly fall into amity, and that distance is so con* 
 tinned between the second. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that the Interpreter took 
 Christian by the hand, and led him into a place where 
 was a fire burning against a wall, and one standing by 
 it, always casting much water upon it to quench it; 
 yet did the fire burn higher and hotter. 
 
 Then said Christian, What means this? 
 
 The Interpreter answered. This fire is the work of 
 grace that is wrought in the heart ; he that casts watt«r 
 upon it, to extinguish and put it out, is the devil : bt?t 
 in that thou seest the fire, notwithstanding, burn high^tf 
 and hotter, thou shalt also see the reason of thatc So 
 he had him about to the back side of the wall, where lo 
 saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, of the whicA 
 be did also continually cast (but secretly) into the fir«. 
 
 Then said Christian, What means this? 
 
 The Interpreter answered. This is Christ, who coy- 
 tinually, with the oil of his grace, maintains the work 
 already begun in the heart ; by the means of which, 
 notwithstanding what the devil can do, the souls of his 
 people prove gracious still. (2 Cor. 12 : 9.) And ia 
 that thou sawest that the man stood behind the wall to 
 maintain the fire^ this is to teach thee, that it is hard 
 for the tempted to see how this work of grace is main- 
 tained in the soul. 
 
 I saw also, that the Interpreter iook him again by 
 the hand, and led him into a pleasant place, where 
 was built a stately palace, beautiful to behold ; at the 
 ^ht of which Christian was greatly delighted. Ha 
 
1X4 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 saw also upon the top thereof certain persons walking, 
 who were clothed all in gold. 
 
 Then said Christian may we go in thither ? 
 
 Then the Interpreter took him, and led him up to 
 wards the door of the palace ; and behold, at the door 
 stood a great company of men, as desirous to go in, 
 but durst not. There also sat a man at a little dis- 
 tance from the door, at a table-side, with a book and 
 his inkhorn before him, to take the names of them 
 that should enter therein ; he saw also that in the 
 doorway stood many men in armor to keep it, being 
 resolved to do to the men that would enter, what hurt 
 and mischief they could. Now was Christian some- 
 what in amaze. At last when every man started 
 back for fear of the armed men, Christian saw a man 
 of a very stout countenance come up to the man that 
 sat there to write, saying, " Set down my name, sir ; '* 
 the which when he had done, he saw the man draw his 
 sword, and put a helmet on his head, and rush towards 
 the door upon the armed men, who laid upon him with 
 deadly force ; but the man, not at all discouraged, fell 
 to cutting and hacking most fiercely. So after he had 
 received and given many wounds to those that at- 
 tempted to keep him out (Matt. 11 : 12 ; Acts 14 : 22), 
 he cut his way through them all, and pressed forward 
 into the palace ; at which there was a pleasant voice 
 heard from those that were within, even of those that 
 ■walked upon the top of the palace, saying, 
 
 " Come in, come in, 
 
 Eternal glory thou shalt win." 
 
 So he went in, and was clothed with such garments as 
 they. Then Christian smiled, and said, I think verily 
 I know the meaning of this. 
 
 Now, said Christian, let me go hence. Nay, stay, 
 said the Interpreter, till I have showed thee a littla 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 115 
 
 more, and after that thou shalt go on thy way. So he 
 took him by the hand again, and led him into a very 
 dark room, where there sat a man in an iron cage. 
 
 Now the man, to look on, seemed very sad ; he sat 
 with his eyes looking down to the giound, his hands 
 folded together, and he sighed as if he would break his 
 heart. Then said Christian, What means this? All 
 which the Interpreter bid him talk with the man. 
 
 Then said Christian to the man, What art thou? 
 The man answered, I am what I was not once. 
 
 Chr. What wast thou once ? 
 
 Man. The man said, I was once a fair and flourish- 
 ing professor (Luke 8 : 13), both in mine own eyes, and 
 also in the eyes of others ; I once was, as I thought, 
 fair for the celestial city, and had then even joy at the^ 
 thoughts that I should get thither. 
 
 Chr. Well, but what art thou now ? 
 
 Man. I am now a man of despair, and am shut up 
 in it, as in this iron cage. I cannot get out ; oh, now I 
 cannot ! 
 
 Chr. But how earnest thou into this condition ? 
 
 Man. I left off to watch and be sober : I laid the 
 reins upon the neck of my lusts ; I sinned against the 
 light of the world, and the goodness of God ; I have 
 grieved the Spirit, and he is gone ; I tempted the devil, 
 and he is come to me ; I have provoked God to anger, 
 and he has left me : I have so hardened my heart, that 
 I cannot repent. 
 
 Then said Christian to the Interpreter, But is there 
 no hope for such a man as this ? Ask him, said the In- 
 terpreter. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, Is there no hope, but you 
 must be kept in the iron cage of despair ? 
 
 Man. No, none at all. 
 
 Why, the Son of the Blessed is very pitifuL 
 
Ii6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Man. I have crucified him to myself afresh (Heb. 
 6: 6); I have despised his person (Luke 19: 14); I 
 have despised his righteousness ; I have counted his 
 blood an unholy thing ; I have done despite to the spirit 
 of grace (Heb. 10 : 29): therefore I have shut niyself 
 out of all the promises, and there now remains to me 
 nothing but threatenings, dreadful threatenings, faithful 
 tiireateniugs of certain judgment and fiery indignation, 
 which shall devour me as an adversary. 
 
 Chk. For what did you bring yourself into this con- 
 dition ? 
 
 Man. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this 
 Tvorld ; in the enjoyment of which I did then promise 
 l^ayself much delight : but now every one of those 
 things also bite me, and gnaw me like a burning worm. 
 
 Chr. But canst thou not now repent and turn ? 
 
 Man. God hath denied me repentance. His word 
 g' ves me no encouragement to believe ; yea, himself 
 bith shut me up in this iron cage ; nor can all the men 
 ii? the world let me out. Oh, eternity ! eternity ! how 
 s)*all I grapple with the misery that I must meet with 
 \Vi eternity ? 
 
 Inter. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let 
 tJis man's misery be remembered by thee, and be an 
 everlasting caution to thee. 
 
 Chr. Well, said Christian, this is fearful ! God help 
 me to watch and to be sober, and to pray that I may 
 shun the cause of this man's misery. Sir, is it not time 
 for me to go on my way now ? 
 
 Inter. Tarry till I show thee one thing more, and 
 then thou shalt go on thy way. 
 
 So he took Christian by the hand again and led him 
 into a chamber wnere there was one rising out of bed; 
 and as he put on his raiment, he shook and trembled. 
 Then said Christian, Why doth this man thus tremble ? 
 
TfTE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS^ ff^ 
 
 The Interpreter then bid hiip tell to ^Christian the ret>» 
 Bon of his so doing. 
 
 So he began, and said, " This night, as I was in my 
 &'eep, I dreamed, and behold x^e heavens grew exceed- 
 irfff blacK: also it thundered and lightened in most 
 fearful wise, that it put me into an agony. So I looked 
 up in my dream, and saw the clouds rack at an unusual 
 l^ate ; upon which I heard a great sound of a trumpet, 
 and saw also a man sitting upon a cloud, attended with 
 the thousands of heaven: they were all in flaming 
 fire ; also the heavens were in a burning flame. I heard 
 then a voice, saying, * Arise, ye dead, and come to judjA 
 ment.' And with that the rocks rent, the grav*.» 
 opened, and the dead that were therein came forth : 
 some of them were exceeding glad, and looked upward ; 
 and some sought to hide themselves under the moujr 
 tains. Then I saw the man that sat upon the cloud 
 open the book, and bid the world draw near. Yrjt 
 there was, by reason of a fierce flame that issued out 
 and came from before him, a convenient distance b«r 
 tween him and them, as between the judg© and the 
 prisoners at the bar. (1 Cor. 15 ; 1 Thess. 4 : 16 ; Judi3 
 15; John 5 : 28, 29 ; 2 Thess. 1 : 8-10; Rev. 20 : 11-14; 
 Isa. 26: 21; Micah 7: 16, 17; Psa. 5: 4; 50: 1-3; 
 Mai. 3: 2, 3; Dan. 7: 9, 10.) I heard it also pro- 
 claimed to them that attended on the man that sat on 
 the cloud, 'Gather together the tares, the chaff, and 
 stubble, and cast them into the burning lake.' (Matt. 
 3: 12; 18: 30; 24: 30; Mai. 4; 1.) And with that 
 the bottomless pit opened, just whereabout I stood ; out 
 4)f the mouth of which there came, in an abundant 
 manner^ smoke, and coals of fire, with hideous noises. 
 It was also said to the same persons, ' Gather my wheat 
 into the garner.' (Luke 3 : 17.) And with that I saw 
 many catched up and carried away into the clouds, but 
 
Ilg THE PILkjPIM'S progress, 
 
 I was left behind. (1 Thess. 4 : 16, 17.) I also sougbt 
 to hide myself, but I could not, for the man that sat 
 upon the cloud still kept his eye upon me ; my sins 
 ulso came into my mind, and my conscience did accuse 
 • tie on every side. (Rom. 2: 14, 15.) Upon this I 
 awakened from my sleep." 
 
 Chr. But what was it that made you so afraid of 
 Hud sight ? 
 
 Man. Why, I thought that the day of judgment was 
 come, and that 1 was not ready for it : but this fright- 
 ened me most, that the angels gathered up several, and 
 left me behind ; also the pit of hell opened her mouth 
 just where I stood. My conscience, too, afflicted me ; 
 and, as I thought, the Judge had always his eye upon 
 me, showing indignation in his countenance. 
 
 Then said the Interpreter to Christian, " Hast thou 
 considered all these things? 
 
 Chr. Yes, and they put me in hope and fear. 
 
 Inter. Well, keep all things so in thy mind, that 
 they may be as a goad in thy sides, to prick thee for- 
 ward in the way thou must go. Then Christian began 
 to gird up his loins, and to address himself to his jour- 
 ney. Then said the Interpreter, " The Comforter be 
 always with thee, good Christian, to guide thee in the 
 way that leads to the city." So Christian went on his 
 way, saying, 
 
 **Here I have seen things rare and profitable. 
 Things pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stabk 
 In what I have begun to take in hand : 
 Then let me think on them, and understand 
 Wherefore they showed me were, and let me b9 
 Tbankluif O good Interpreter, to tboe." 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 119 
 
 THE THIRD STAGE. 
 
 New f saw in my dream, that the highway up which 
 (Thristian was to go, was fenced on either side with % 
 wall, and that wall was called Salvation. (Isaiah 26 : 1.) 
 tFp this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, 
 but not without great difficulty, because of the load ou 
 his back. 
 
 He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascend- 
 ing ; and upon that place stood a cross, and a little 
 below, in the bottom, a sepulchre. So I saw in my 
 dream, that just as Christian came up with the crossi^ 
 his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from 
 off his back, and began to umble, and so continued 
 to do till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, whero 
 it fell in, and I saw it no more. 
 
 Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said 
 with a merry heart, " He hath given me rest by his 
 sorrow, and life by his death." Then he stood still & 
 while, to look and wonder ; for it was very surprising^ 
 to him that the sight of the cross should thus ease him 
 of his burden. He looked, therefore, and looked again, 
 even till the springs that were in his head sent thb 
 waters down his cheeks. (Zech. 12 : 10.) Now as ho 
 stood looking and weeping, behold, three Shining Ones 
 came to him, and saluted him with, " Peace be to thee." 
 So the first said to him, " Thy sins be forgiven thee " 
 (Mark 2:5); the second stripped him of his rags, and 
 clothed him with change of raiment (Zech. 3:4); the 
 third also set a mark on his forehead (Eph. 1 : 13), and 
 gave him a roll with a seal upon it, which he bid him 
 look on as he ran, and that he should give it in at the 
 
(20 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 celestial gate: so they went their way. Then Christian 
 gave three leaps for joy, and went on singing 
 
 ** Thus far did I come laden with my sin, 
 Nor could aught ease the grief that I was 
 Till I came hither. What a place is this I 
 Must here be the beginning of my bliss ? 
 Must here the burden fall from off my back ? 
 Must here the strings that bound it to me crack ? 
 Blest cross ! blest sepulchre ! blest rather be 
 The man that there was put to shame for me I " 
 
 I saw then in my dream, that he went on thus, 
 even until he came at the bottom, where he saw, a little 
 out of the way, three men fast asleep, with fetters upon 
 their heels. The name of the one was Simple, of an- 
 other Sloth, and of the third Presumption. 
 
 Christian then seeing them lie in this case, went to 
 them, if peradventure he might awake them, and cried, 
 You are like them that sleep on the top of a mast (Prov^. 
 23 : 34), for the Dead Sea is under you, a gulf thathavh 
 no bottom : awake, therefore, and come away ; be will- 
 .ing also, and I will help you off with your irons. He 
 also told them. If he that goeth about like a roaring 
 lion (1 Pet. 5: 8) comes by, you will certainly become a 
 prey to his teeth. With that they looked upon him, 
 and began to reply in this sort : Simple said, I see no 
 danger ; Sloth said. Yet a little more sleep ; and Pre- 
 sumption said. Every tub must stand upon its own bot- 
 tom. And so they lay down to sleep again, and Chris- 
 tian went on his way. 
 
 Yet he was troubled to think that men in that 
 danger should so little esteem the kindness of him that 
 so freely offered to help them, both by awakening of 
 them, counselling of them, and proffering to help them 
 off with their irons. And as he was troubled there* 
 about, he espied two men coming tumbling over the 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 121 
 
 wall, on the left hand of the narrow way ; and they 
 made up apace to him. The name of the one was For- 
 malist, and the name of the other Hypocrisy. So, as I 
 said, they drew up unto him, who thus entered with 
 them into discourse. 
 
 Chr. Gentlemen, whence came you, and whither 
 ^0 you go ? 
 
 Form, and Hyp. We were born in the land of Vain- 
 glory, and are going, for praise, to Mount Zion. 
 
 Chr. Why came you not in at the gate which stand- 
 eth at the beginning of the way ? Know ye not that 
 it is written, that " he that cometh not in by the door, 
 but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and 
 a robber?" (John 10: 1.) 
 
 Form, and Hyp. They said, that to go to the gate 
 ^or entrance was by all their countrymen counted too 
 far about ; and that therefore their usual way was to 
 'Oiake a short cut of it, and to climb over the wall, as 
 they had done. 
 
 Chr. But will it not be counted a trespass against 
 *^he Lord of the city whither we are bound, thus to 
 violate his revealed will ? 
 
 Form, and Hyp. They told him, that as for that, 
 h^ needed not to trouble his head thereabout : for what 
 they did they had custom for, and could produce, if 
 need were, testimony that would witness it for more 
 than a thousand years. 
 
 Chr. But, said Christian, will you stand a trial at 
 
 law? 
 
 Form, and Hyp. They told him, that custom, it 
 
 being of so long standing as above a thousand years, 
 
 would doubtless now be admitted as a thing legal by an 
 
 impartial judge : and besides, said they, if we get into 
 
 the way, what matter is it which way we get in ? If 
 
 we are in, we are in : thou art but in the way, who, aa 
 
X22 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 we perceive, came in at the gate ; and we also are in 
 the way, that came tumbling over the wall : wherein 
 now is thy condition better than ours ? 
 
 Ohr. I walk by the rule of my Master : you walk 
 by the rude working of your fancies. You are counted 
 thieves already by the Lord of the way : therefore i 
 doubt you will not be found true men at the end of the 
 way. You come in by yourselves without his direction, 
 and shall go out by yourselves without his mercy. 
 
 To this they made him but little answer ; only they 
 bid him look to himself. Then I saw that they went 
 on, every man in his way, without much conference one 
 with another, save that these two men told Christian, 
 that as to laws and ordinances, they doubted not but 
 that they should as conscientiously do them as he. 
 Therefore, said they, we see not wherein thou differest 
 from us, but by the coat that is on thy back, which was, 
 as we trow, given thee by some of thy neighbors, to 
 hide the shame of thy nakedness. 
 
 Chr. By laws and ordinances you will not be 
 saved, since you came not in by the door. (Gal. 2 : 16.) 
 And as for this coat that is on my back, it was given 
 me by the Lord of the place whither I go ; and that, as 
 you say, to cover my nakedness with. And I take it 
 as a token of kindness to me ; for I had nothing but 
 rags before. And besides, thus I comfort myself as I 
 go. Surely, think I, when I come to the gate of the 
 city, the Lord thereof will know me for good, since I 
 have his coat on my back ; a coat that he gave me 
 freely in the day that he stripped me of my rags. I 
 have, moreover, a mark in my forehead, of which per- 
 haps you have takee no notice, which one of my Lord's 
 most intimate associates fixed there in the day that my 
 burden fell off my shoulders. I will tell you, more- 
 over, that I had then given me a roll sealed, to com' 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. t9% 
 
 fort me by reading as I go on the way ; I was also bid 
 to give it in at the celestial gate, in token of my cer- 
 tain going in after it : all which things I doubt you want, 
 and want them because you came not in at the gate. 
 
 To these things they gave him no answer ; only they 
 looked upon each other, and laughed. Then I saw 
 that they went all on, save that Christian kept beforcr 
 who had no more talk but with himself, and that some- 
 times sighingly, and sometimes comfortably : also he 
 would be often reading in the roll that one of the Shin- 
 ing Ones gave him, by which he was refreshed. 
 
 I beheld then, that they all went on till they came 
 to the foot of the hill Difficulty, at the bottom of which 
 there was a spring. There were also in the same place 
 two other ways besides that which came straight from 
 the gate : one turned to the left hand, and the other to 
 the right, at the bottom of the hill ; but the narrow 
 way lay right up the hill, and the name of the going 
 up the side of the hill is called Difficulty. ChristiaB 
 now went to the spring (Isa. 49 : 10), and drank ther^ 
 of to icjfresh himself, and then began to go up the hi?* 
 ^ying, 
 
 ' The hill, though high, I covet to ascend; 
 
 The difficulty will not me offend ; 
 
 For I perceive the way to life lies here : 
 
 Come, pluck up heart, let's neither faint nor fear ; 
 
 Better, though difficultj the right way to go, 
 
 Than wrong, though easy^ where the end is woe. " 
 
 .-*he other two also came to the foot of the hill. Bit 
 ^nen they saw that the hill was steep and high, ancj 
 that there were two other ways to go ; and supposing 
 also that these two ways might meet again with thai 
 up which Christian went, on the other side of the hill , 
 therefore they were resolved to go in those ways. Now 
 the name of one of those wa^s was Danger^ and t^ 
 
124 T^i^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 name of the other Destruction. So the one took tba 
 way which is called Danger, which led him into a great 
 wood ; and the other took directly up the way to 
 Destruction, which led him into a wide field, full of 
 dark mountains, where he stumbled and fell, and rose 
 no more. 
 
 I looked then after Christian, to see him go up the 
 till, where I perceived he fell from running to goings 
 and from going to clambering upon his hands and his 
 knees, because of the steepness of the place. Now 
 about the midway to the top of the hill was a pleasant 
 arbor, made by the Lord of the hill for the refresh 
 ment of weary travellers. Thither, therefore, Christiaa 
 got, where also he sat down to rest him: then he pulled 
 his roll out of his bosom, and read therein to his com- 
 fort ; he also now began afresh to take a review of the 
 coat or garment that was given to him as he stood by 
 the cross. Thus pleasing himself awhile, he at last fell 
 into a slumber, and thence into a fast sleep, which d-e- 
 tained him in that place until it was almost night ; ar.d 
 in his sleep his roll fell out of his hand. Now, as Lo 
 was sleeping, there came one unto him, and awaked 
 him, saying, " Go to the ant, thou sluggard ; consider 
 her ways, and be wise." (Prov. 6 : 6.) And with that. 
 Christian suddenly started up, and sped him on his 
 way, and went apace till he came to the top of the hilL 
 
 Now when he was got up to the top of the hill, 
 there C3,me two men running amain ; the name of the 
 one was Timorous, and of the other Mistrust : to whom 
 Christian said. Sirs, what's the matter ? you run the 
 wrong way. Timorous answered, that they were going 
 to the city of Zion, and had got up that diflScult place: 
 but, said he, the farther we go, the more danger we 
 meet with j wherefore we turned, and are going back 
 again. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 1 
 
 Yes, said Mistrust, for just before us lie a couple of 
 lions in the way, whether sleeping or waking we know 
 not ; and we could not think, if we came within reach, 
 but they would presently pull us in pieces. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, You make me afraid v 
 but whither shall I fly to be safe ? If I go back to mjr 
 own country, that is prepared for fire and brimstone, 
 and I shall certainly perish there ; if I can get to the 
 celestial city, I am sure to be in safety tliere : I must 
 venture. To go back is nothing but death : to go for- 
 ward is fear of death and life everlasting beyond it : I 
 will yet go forward. So Mistrust and Timorous ran. 
 down the hill, and Christian went on his way. But 
 thinking again of what he had heard from the men, he 
 felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read there- 
 in and be comforted ; but he felt, and found it not. 
 Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not 
 "v^hat to do ; for he wanted that which used to relieve 
 him, and that which should have been his pass into the 
 celestial city. Here, therefore, he began to be much 
 perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he be- 
 thought himself that he had slept in the arbor that ia 
 on the side of the hill ; and falling down upon his 
 knees, he asked God forgiveness for that foolish act, 
 and then went back to look for his roll. But all the 
 way he went back, who can sufficiently set forth the 
 sorrow of Christian's heart? Sometimes he sighed, 
 sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid himself for 
 being so foolish to fall asleep in that place, which was 
 erected only for a little refreshment from his weari- 
 ness. Thus therefore, he went back, carefully looking 
 on this side and on that, all the way as he went, if 
 happily he might find his roll, that had been his com- 
 fort so many times on his journey. He went thus till 
 he came again within sight of the arbor where he safe 
 
,26 THE PILURIM\ PROGRESS. 
 
 and slept ; but that sight renewed his sorrow the more, 
 by bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping unto 
 his mind. (Rev. 2: 4; 1 Thess. 5: 6-8.) Thus, 
 therefore, he now went on, bewailing his sinful sleep, 
 eaying. Oh, wretched man that I am, that I should sleep 
 in the daytime I that I should sleep in the midst of 
 diflficulty ! that I should so indulge the flesh as to use 
 that rest for ease to my flesh which the Lord of the hill 
 hath erected only for the relief of the spirits of pil- 
 grims ! How many steps have I taken in vain ! Thus 
 it happened to Israel ; for their sin they were sent back 
 again by the way of the Red Sea ; and I am made to 
 tread those steps with sorrow, which I might have trod 
 with delight, had it not been for this sinful sleep. 
 How far might I have been on my way by this time ! 
 I am made to tread those steps thrice over, which I 
 needed not to have trod but once: yea, now also I am 
 like to be benighted, for the day is almost spent. Oh, 
 that I had not slept ! 
 
 Now by this time he was come to the arbor again, 
 where for a while he sat down and wept ; but at lasui 
 ( IS Providence would have it), looking sorrowfully down 
 under the settle, there he espied his roll, the which he 
 with trembling and haste catched up, and put it into 
 his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man was 
 when he had gotten his roll again ? For this roll was 
 the assurance of his life, and aicceptance at the desired 
 haven. Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave 
 thanks to God for directing his eye to the place where 
 it lay, and with joy and tears betook himself again to 
 his journey. But oh, how nimbly did he go up the 
 rest of the hill ! Yet before he got up, the sun went 
 down upon Christian ; and this made him again recall 
 the vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance ; and 
 thus he again began to condole with himself: Oh, thou 
 
THt. PILCR/.^J'S r ^-OGRESS 127 
 
 sinful sleep ! how for thy sake am I like to be benighted 
 in my journey ! I must walk without the sun, darkness 
 must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear th« 
 noise of the doleful creatures, because of my sinful 
 sleep ! Now also he remembered the story that Mis- 
 trust and Timorous told him of, how they were fright 
 ened with the sight of the lions. Then said Christian 
 to himself again. These beasts range in the night for 
 their prey , and if they should meet with me in the 
 dark, how should I shift them ? how should I escape 
 being by them torn in pieces? Thus he went on Mve^ 
 way. But while he was bewailing his unhappy mis« 
 carriage, he lift up his eyes, and behold, there was a 
 very stately palace before him, the name of which waa 
 Beautiful, and it stood by the highway-side. 
 
 So I saw in my dream that he made haste, and went 
 forward, that if possible he might get lodging there. 
 Now before he had gone far, he entered into a very 
 narrow passage, which was about a furlong off th» 
 Porter's lodge ; and looking very narrowly before him 
 as he went, he espied two lions in the way. Now, 
 thought he, I see the dangers that Mistrust and 
 Timorous were driven back by. (The lions were 
 chained, but he saw not the chains). Then he was 
 afraid, and thought also himself to go back after them ; 
 lor he thought nothing but death was before him. But 
 the Porter at the lodge, whose name is Watchful, per- 
 ceiving that Christian made a halt, as if he would go 
 back, cried unto him, saying, is thy strength so small ? 
 (Mark 4 : 40). Fear not the lions, for they are chained, 
 and are placed there for trial of faith where it is, and 
 for discovery of those that have none : keep m the 
 midst of the path, and no hurt shall come unto thee. 
 
 Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of 
 the lions, but taking crood heed to the directions ol 
 
128 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 the Porter ; he heard them roar, but they did him no 
 harm. Then he clapped his hands, and went on till 
 he came and stood before the gate where the Porter 
 was. Then said Christian to the Porter, Sir, what 
 house is this ? and may I lodore here to-nio^ht ? The 
 Porter answered, This house was built by the Lord of 
 <^he hill, and he built it for the relief and security of 
 pilgrims. The porter also asked whence he was, and 
 <^rhither he was going. 
 
 Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, and 
 am going to Mount Zion : but because the sun is now 
 set, I desire, if I may, to lodge here to-night. 
 
 Port. What is your name ? 
 
 Chr. My name is now Christian, but my name at 
 the first was Graceless : I came of the race of Japheth, 
 Tvhom God will persuade to dwell in the tents of Shem. 
 (G^en. 9 : 27). 
 
 Port. But how does it happen that you come so 
 liite ? The sun is set. 
 
 Chr. I had been here sooner, but that, wretched 
 i»an that I am, I slept in the arbor that stands on 
 the hillside ! Nay, I had, notwithstanding that, been 
 here much sooner, but that in my sleep I lost my 
 evidence, and came without it to the brow of the hill ; 
 and then feeling for it, and not finding it, I was forced 
 with sorrow of heart to go back to the place where I 
 ^lept my sleep, where I found it; and now I am 
 2ome. 
 
 Port. Well, I will call out one of the virgins of 
 his place, who will, if she likes your talk, bring you in 
 to the rest of the family, according to the rules of the 
 house. So Watchful the porter rang a bell, at the 
 sound of which came out of the door of the house a 
 grave and beautiful damsel, named Discretion, and 
 ^ked why she was called. 
 
THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS, 12$ 
 
 Tke Porter answered, This man is on a journey from 
 the city of Destruction to Mount Zion ; but being weary 
 and benighted, he asked me if he might lodge here to- 
 night : so I told him I would call for thee, who, after 
 discourse had with him, mayest do as seemeth to thee 
 good, even according to the law of the house. 
 
 Then she asked him whence he was, and whither he 
 was going ; and he told her. She asked him, also, how 
 he got into the way ; and he told her. Then she asked 
 him what he had seen and met with in the way, and he 
 told her. And at last she asked his name. So he 
 said, It is Christian; and I have so much the more a. 
 desire to lodge here to-night, because, by what I per- 
 ceive, this place was built by the Lord of the hill for 
 the relief and security of pilgrims. So she smiled, but 
 the water stood in her eyes ; and, after a little paus^, 
 she said, I will call forth two or three more of the 
 family. So she ran to the door, and called out 
 Prudence, Piety, and Charity, who, after a little mov^ 
 discourse with him, had him into the family ; ai>d 
 many of them meeting him at the threshold of the 
 house, said Come in, thou blessed of the Lord ; this 
 house was built by the Lord of the hill on purpose to 
 entertain such pilgrims in. Then he bowed his head, 
 and followed them into the house. So when he was 
 come in and sat down, they gave him something to 
 drink, and consented together that, until supper was 
 ready, some of them should have some particular dis- 
 course with Christian, for the best improvement of 
 time; and they appointed Piety, Prudence, and Charity 
 to discourse with him : and thus they began. 
 
 Piety. Come, good Christian, since we have been 
 BO loving to you as to receive you into our house this 
 night, let us, if perhaps we may better ourselves 
 
I^e THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 thereby, talk with jou of all thing's that have happened 
 to you in your pilgrimage. 
 
 Chr. With a very good will ; and I am glad that 
 you are so well disposed. 
 
 Piety. What moved you at first to betake yourself 
 to a pilgrim's life ? 
 
 Chr. I was driven out of my native country by a 
 dreadful sound that was in mine ears , to wit, that 
 unavoidable destruction did attend me, if I abode iu 
 that place where I was. 
 
 Piety. But how did it happen that you came out of 
 your country this way ? 
 
 Chr. It was as God would have it ; for when I was 
 under the fear of destruction, I did not know whither 
 to go ; but by chance there came a man, even to me, 
 as I was trembling and weeping, whose name is 
 Evangelist, and he directed me to the wicket-gate, 
 which else I should never have found, and so set me 
 into the way that hath led me directly to this house. 
 
 Piety. But did you not come by the house of the 
 Interpreter ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, and did see such things there, the re- 
 membrance of which will stick by me as long as I live, 
 especially three things : to wit, hew Christ, in despite 
 of Satan, maintains his work of grace in the heart ; how 
 the man had sinned himself quite out of hopes of God's 
 ttnercy ; and also the dream of him that thought in his 
 sleep the day of judgment was come. 
 
 Piety. Why, did you hear him tell his dream ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, and a dreadful one it was, I thought: it 
 made my heart ache as he was telling of it, but yet I am 
 glad I heard it. 
 
 Piety. Was this all you saw at the house of the In- 
 terpreter ? 
 
 Chk. No ; he tookone* and had me where he showed 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, ^^ 
 
 me a stately palace, and how the people were clad in 
 gold that were in it ; and how there carae a venturous 
 man, and cut his way through the armed men that stood 
 in the door to keep him out ; and how he was bid to 
 come in and win eternal glory. Methought those 
 things did ravish my heart. I would have stayed at 
 that good man's house a twelvemonth, but that I knew 
 I had farther to go. 
 
 Piety. And what saw you else in the way? 
 
 Chr. Saw? Why, I went but a little farther, and I 
 saw One, as I thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon 
 a tree ; and the very sight of him made my burden fall 
 ojBf my back ; for I groaned under a very heavy burden, 
 but then it fell down from off me. It was a strange 
 thing to me, for I never saw such a thing before : yea, 
 and while I stood looking up (tor ^.hen I could not for* 
 bear looking), three Shining Ones lame to me. One 
 of them testified that my sins wer^:) forgiven me, 
 another stripped me of my rags and gavl p*^ this bioid* 
 ered coat which you see ; and the third set the mark 
 which you see in my forehead, and gave me this s^al^ 
 roll (and with that he plucked it out of his bosom). 
 
 Piety. But you saw more than this, did you not) 
 
 Chr. The things that I have told you were the best: 
 yet some other matters I saw, as, namely, I saw three 
 men — Simple, Sloth, and Presumption — lie asleep, a lit- 
 tle out of the way, as I came, with irons upon their 
 heels ; but do you think I could awake them ? I also 
 saw Formality and Hypocrisy come tumbling over the 
 wall, to go, as they pretended, to Zion ; but they were 
 quickly lost, even as I myself did tell them, but they 
 would not believe. But, above all, I found it hard 
 work to get up this hill, and as hard to come by the 
 lions' mouths ; and, truly, if it had not been for the 
 good man, the porter that stands at the gate, I do not 
 
132 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 know but that, after all, I might have gone back againi 
 but I thank God I am here, and thank you for receiv- 
 ing me. 
 
 Then Prudence thought good to ask him a few 
 questions, and desired his answer to them. 
 
 Pru. Do you not think sometimes of the country 
 from whence you came ? 
 
 Chr. Yea, but with much shame and detestation* 
 Truly, if I had been mindful of that country from 
 whence I came out, I might have had opportunity to 
 have returned ; but now I desire a better country, that 
 is a heavenly one. (Heb. 11 : 15, 16.) 
 
 Pru. Do you not yet bear away with you some of 
 the things that then you were conversant withal ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, but greatly against my will ; especially 
 1>iy inward and carnal cogitations, with which all my 
 countrymen, as well as myself, were delighted. But 
 pow all those things are my grief; and might I but 
 choose mine own things, I would choose never to think 
 o^^' those things more: but when I would be a doing 
 that which is best, that which is worst is with me. 
 (Kom. 7 : 15, 21.) 
 
 Pru. Do you not find sometimes as if those things 
 were vanquished, which at other times are your per^ 
 plexity ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, but that is but seldom; but they are 
 to me golden hours in which such things happen to me. 
 
 Pru. Can you remember by what means you find 
 your annoyances at times as if they were vanquished ? 
 
 Chr. Yes : when I think what I saw at the cross, 
 that will do it ; and when I look upon my broidered 
 coat, that will do it ; and when I look into the roll thr*' 
 I carry in my bosom, that will do it ; and when mj^ 
 thoughts wax warm about whither I am going, that wii* 
 ao >•* 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 133 
 
 PRIT. And what is it that makes you so desirous to 
 go to Mount Zion ? 
 
 Chr. Why, there I hope to see Him alive that did 
 hang dead on the cross ; and there I hope to be rid of 
 all those things that to this day are in me an annoyance 
 to me : there they say there is no death (Isa. 25 : 8 .; 
 Rev. 21 ; 4) ; and there I shall dwell with such com- 
 pany as I like best. For, to tell you the truth, I love 
 Him because I was by Him eased of my burden ; and I 
 am weary of my inward sickness. I would fain be where 
 I shall die no more, and with the company that shali 
 continually cry. Holy., holy., holy. 
 
 Then said Charity to Christian, Have you a family ? 
 Aiw you a married man ? 
 
 Chr. I have a wife and four small children. 
 
 Char. And why did you not bring them along with 
 vou? 
 
 Chr. Then Christian wept, and said. Oh, how wil- 
 lingly would I have done it ! but they were all of th-em 
 utterly averse to my going on pilgrimage. 
 
 Char. But you should have talked to them, and 
 have endeavored to show them the danger of staying 
 behind. 
 
 Chr. So I did ; and told them also what God had 
 shown to me of the destruction of our city ; but I 
 seemed to them as one that mocked, and they believed 
 me not. (Gen. 19 : 14.) 
 
 Char. And did you pray to God that he would 
 bless your counsel to them ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, and that with much affection ; for you 
 must think that my wife and poor children were very 
 dear to me. 
 
 Char. But did j'^ou tell them of your own sorrow, 
 and fear of destruction ? for I suppose that destruction 
 was visible enough to you. 
 
134 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Che. Yes, over, and over, and over. They might 
 also see my fears in my countenance, in my tears, and 
 also in my trembling under the apprehension of the 
 judgment that did hang over our heads ; but all was 
 not sufficient to prevail with them to come with me. 
 
 Char. But what could they say for themselves, why 
 they came not ? 
 
 Chr. Why, my wife was afraid of losing this worlds 
 and my children were given to the foolish delights of 
 youth ; so, what by one thing, and what by another, 
 they left me to wander in this manner alone. 
 
 Char. But did you not with your vain life, damp 
 all that you, by words, used by way of persuasion to 
 bring them away with you ? 
 
 Chr. Indeed, I cannot commend my life, for I am 
 conscious to myself of many failings therein. I know 
 also, that a man, by his conversation, may soon over* 
 throw what, by argument or persuasion, he doth labor 
 to fasten upon others for their good. Yet this I can 
 say, I was very wary of giving them occasion, by any 
 unseemly action, to make them averse to going on 
 pilgrimage. Yea, for this very thing they would tell 
 me I was too precise, and that I denied myself of things 
 (for their sakes) in which they saw no evil. Nay, I 
 think I may say, that if what they saw in me did hinder 
 them, it was my great tenderness in sinning against 
 God, or of doing any wrong to my neighbor. 
 
 Char. Indeed, Cain hated his brother, because his 
 own works were evil, and his brother's righteous (1 
 John, 3 : 12 ) ; and if thy wife and children have been 
 offended with thee for this, they thereby show them- 
 selves to be implacable to good ; thou hast delivered thy 
 soul from their blood. (Ezek. 3 :19.) 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that thus they sat talking 
 together until supper was ready. So when they had 
 
THE PILGRinrS PROGRESS. 13^ 
 
 made ready, they sat down to meat. Now the table was 
 furnished with fat things, and with wine that was well 
 refined ; and all their talk at the table was about the 
 Lord of the hill ; as, namely, about what he had done, 
 and wherefore h^ did what he did, and why he had 
 builded that house , and by what they said, I per- 
 ceived that he had been a great warrior, and had fought 
 with and slain him that had the power of death (Heb^ 
 2 : 14, 15) \ but not without great danger to himself, 
 which made me love him the more. 
 
 For, as they said, and as I believe, said Christian, 
 he did it with the loss of much blood. But that whicb 
 put the glory of grace into all he did, was, that he did 
 it out of pure love to his country. And besides, there 
 were some of them of the household that said they 
 had been and spoke with him since he did die on 
 the cross ; and they have attested that they had it from 
 his own lips, that he is such a lover of poor pilgrims, 
 that the like is not to be found from the east to the 
 west. They, moreover, gave an instance of what they 
 affirmed ; and that was, he had stripped himself of his 
 glory that he might do this for the poor ; and that 
 thev heard him sav and affirm, that he would not 
 dwell in the mountain of Zion alone. They said, 
 moreover, that he had made many pilgrims princes, 
 though by nature they were beggars born, and their 
 original had been the dunghill. (1 Sam. 2 ; 8 ; Psa. 
 113 : 7.) 
 
 Thus they discoursed together till late at night ; 
 and after they had committed themselves to their Lord 
 for protection, they betook themselves to rest. The 
 pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose win- 
 dow opened towards the sun-rising. The name of the 
 chamber was Peace, where he slept till break of day, and 
 then he awoke and sang. 
 
1^6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 *' Where am I now ? Is this the love and care 
 Of Jesus for the men that pilgrims are, 
 Thus to provide that I should be forgiven, 
 And dwell already the next door to heaven ! " 
 
 So in the morning they all got up ; and, after some 
 more discourse, they told him that he should not depart 
 till they had shown him the rarities of that place. 
 And first the}^ had him into the study, where they 
 showed him records of the greatest antiquity ; in which, 
 as I remember my dream, they showed him the pedi- 
 gree of the Lord of the hill, that he was the Son of the 
 Ancient of days, and came by eternal generation. Here 
 also was more fully recorded the acts that he had done, 
 and the names of many hundreds that he had taken 
 into his service; and how he had placed them in sucb. 
 habitations that could neither by length of days, nor de- 
 cays of nature, be dissolved. 
 
 Then they read to him some of the worthy acts 
 of his servants had done ; as how they had subdued 
 kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promise*, 
 stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of 
 fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness 
 were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, and turned 
 to flight the armies of the aliens. (Heb. 11 : 33, 34.) 
 
 Then they read again another part of the records of 
 the house, where it was shown how willing their Lord 
 was to receive into his favor any, even any, though 
 they in time past had offered great affronts to his per- 
 son and proceedings. Here also were several other his- 
 tories of many other famous things, of all which Chris- 
 tian had a view , as of things both ancient and modern, 
 together with prophecies and predictions of things that 
 have their certain accomplishment, both to the drea4 
 and amazement of enemies, and the comfort and soIac« 
 of pilgrims. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 137 
 
 The next day they took him, and had him into the 
 armory, where they showed him all manner of furni? 
 ture which their Lord had provided for pilgrims, as 
 sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, all-prayer, and shoes 
 that would not wear out. And there was here enough 
 of this to harness out as many men for the service 
 of their Lord as there be stars in the heaven for 
 multitude. 
 
 They also showed him some of the engines with 
 which some of his servants had done wonderful things. 
 They showed him Moses' rod ; the hammer and nail 
 with which Jael slew Sisera; the pitchers, trumpets, 
 and lamps too, with which Gideon put to flight the 
 armies of Midian. Then they showed him the ox-goad 
 -wherewith Shamgar slew six hundred men. They 
 fihowed him also the jawbone with which Sampson did 
 ^uch mighty feats. They showed him, moreover, the 
 sling and stone with which David slew Goliah of Gath; 
 and the sword also with which their Lord will kill the 
 ptan of sin, in the day that he shall rise up t j the prey. 
 7 'hey showed him, besides, many excellent things, with 
 which Christian was much delighted. This done, they 
 went to their rest again. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that on the morrow he 
 -^•ot up to go forward, but they desired him to stay till 
 the next day also ; and then, said they, we will, if the 
 day be clear, show you the Delectable Mountains ; 
 which, they said, would yet further add to his comfort, 
 because they were nearer the desired haven than the 
 place where at present he was ; so he consented and 
 stayed. When the morning was up, they had him to 
 the top of the house, and bid him look south. So he 
 did, and behold, at a great distance, he saw a most 
 pleasant mountainous country, beautified with woods, 
 vineyards, fruits of all sorts, flowers also, with springs 
 
tjg THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 and fountains, very delectable to behold. (Isa. 33 : I61, 
 17.) Then he asked the name of the country. They 
 said it was ImmanucFs Land : and it is as common, said 
 they, as this hill is, to and for all the pilgrims. And 
 when thou comes t there, from thence thou may est see 
 to the gate of the Celestial City, as the shepherds that 
 live there will make appear. 
 
 Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and 
 they were willing he should. But first, said they, let 
 us go again into the armory. So they did ; and when 
 he came there they harnessed him from head to foot 
 with what was of proof, lest perhaps he should meet 
 with assaults in the way. He being therefore thus ac- 
 coutred, walked out with his friends to the gate ; and 
 there he asked the Porter if he saw any pilgrim pass 
 by. Then the Porter answered. Yes. 
 
 Chr. Pray, did you know him ? said he. 
 
 Port. I asked his name, and he told me it wa^ 
 Faithful. 
 
 Chr. Oh said Christian, I know him ; he is my 
 townsman, my near neighbor ; he comes from the place 
 where I was born. How far do you think he may be 
 before ? 
 
 Port. He is got by this time below the hill. 
 
 Chr. Well, said Christian, good Porter, the Lord 
 be with thee, and add to all thy blessings much increase 
 iov the kindness thou hast showed to me. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS* ^5 
 
 THE FOURTH STAGE. 
 
 Then he began to go forward ; but Discretion, Piety, 
 Charity, and Prudence would accompany him down to 
 the foot of the hill. So they went on together, reiter- 
 ating their former discourses, till they came to go 
 down the hill. Then said Christian, As it was difficult 
 coming up, so far as I can see, it is dangerous going 
 down. Yes, said Prudence, so it is ; for it is a hard 
 matter for a man to go down into the valley of Hu- 
 miliation, as thou art now, and to catch no slip by the 
 way; therefore, said she, we are come out to accom- 
 pany thee down the hill. So he began to go down 
 the hill, but very wearily ; yet he caught a slip or two. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that these good com- 
 panions, when Christian was got down to the bottom 
 of the hill, gave him a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, 
 aud a cluster of raisins ; and then he went on his way. 
 
 •* Whilst Christian is among his godly friends, 
 Their golden mouths make him sufficient mends 
 For all his griefs ; and when they let him go, 
 He's clad with northern steel from top to toe." 
 
 But now, in this valley of Humiliation, poor 
 Christian was hard put to it ; for he had gone but a 
 little way before he espied a foul fiend coming over the 
 field to meet him : his name is Apollyon. Then did 
 Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his mind 
 whether to go back, or to stand his ground. But he 
 considered again, that he had no armor for his ba' ^, and 
 therefore thought that to turn the back to him might 
 give him greater advantage with ease to pierce him with 
 his darts ; therefore he lesolved to venture and stand 
 
340 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 his ground: for, thought he, had I no more in mine 
 eje than the saving of my life, it would be the best 
 way to stand. 
 
 So he went on, and ApoUyon met him. Now the 
 monster was hideous to behold; he was clothed with 
 scales like a fish, and they are his pride ; he had wings 
 ^0, a dragon, and feet like a bear ; and out of his belly 
 came fire and smoke ; and his mouth was as the mouth 
 of a lion. When he was come up to Christian, he be. 
 held him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began 
 ';o question him. 
 
 Apollyon. Whence came you, and whither ar<5 yon 
 (i»ound ? 
 
 Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, which 
 is the place of all evil, and I am going to the city of Zioii. 
 
 Apol. By this I perceive that thou art one of my 
 subjects; for all that country is mine, and I am tie 
 prince and god of it. How is it, then, that thou haut 
 run away from thy king? Were it not that I hope 
 thou may est do me more service, I would strike thee 
 now at one blow to the ground. 
 
 Chr, I was, indeed, born in your dominions, biit 
 your service was hard, and your wages such as man 
 could not live on ; for the wages of sin is death (Rom. 
 6 : 23) ; therefore, when I was come to years, I did, as 
 other considerate persons do, look out if perhaps I 
 might mend myself 
 
 Apol. There is no prince that will thus lightly lose 
 his subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee ; but since 
 thou complainest of thy service and wages, be content 
 to go l^ack, and what our country will afford I do here 
 promib'3 to give thee. 
 
 Chr. But I have let myself to another, even to the 
 King of princes; and how can I with fairness go back 
 with thee ? 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. \^% 
 
 Apol. Thou hast done in this according to the 
 g^roverb, *' changed a bad for a worse ; " but it is ordi- 
 nary for those that have professed themselves his 
 servants, after a while to give him the slip, and return 
 again to me. Do thou so too, and all shall be well. 
 
 Chr. I have given him my faith, and sworn my 
 allegiance to him ; how then can I go back from this, 
 and not be hanged as a traitor. 
 
 Apol. Thou didst the same by me, and yet I am 
 willing to pass by all, if now thou wilt yet turn again 
 ^nd go back. 
 
 Chr. What I promised thee was in my nonage : and 
 besides, I count that the Prince under whose banner 
 I now stand, is able to absolve me, yea, and to pardon 
 also what I did as to my compliancy with thee. And 
 besides, oh, thou destroying Apollyon, to speak truth, 
 I like his service, his wages, his servants, his govern* 
 »'ent, his company, and country, better than thine; 
 therefore leave off to persuade me further: I am his 
 s*<rvant, and I will follow him. 
 
 Apol. Consider again, when thou art in cool blood, 
 ^ hat thou art like to meet with in the way that thou 
 goest. Thou knowest that for the most part his 
 S'^rvants come to an ill end, because they are trans- 
 gressors against me and my ways. How many of 
 them have been put to shameful deaths I And besides, 
 thou countest his service better than mine ; whereas 
 he never yet came from the place where he is, to 
 deliver any that served him out of their enemies' 
 hands : but as for me, how many times, as all the 
 world very well knows, have I delivered, either by 
 power or fraud, those that have faithfully served me, 
 from him and his, though taken by them I And so 
 will I deliver thee. 
 
 Chb. His forbearing at present to deliver them, is 
 
14« THE PILGRIM ^S PROGRESS. 
 
 on purpose to try their love, whether they will cleave 
 to him lo tlie end : and as for the ill end thou say est 
 they come to, that is most glorious in their account. 
 For, for present deliverance, they do not much expect 
 it; for they stay for their glory; and then they shall 
 have it, when their Prince comes in his and the glory 
 of the angels. 
 
 Apol. Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy 
 service to him ; and how dost thcu think to receive 
 wages of him ? 
 
 Chr. Wherein, oh, Apollyon, have I been unfaithful 
 to him? 
 
 Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when 
 thou was almost choked in the Slough of Despond. 
 Thou didst attempt wrong ways to be rid of thy 
 burden, whereas thou shouldst have stayed till thy 
 Prince had taken it off. Thou didst simply sleep, 
 and lose thy choice things. Thou wast almost per- 
 suaded also to go back at the sight of the lions. And 
 when thou talkest of thy journey, and of what thou 
 hast seen and heard, thou art inwardly desirous of 
 vainglory in all thou sayest or doest. 
 
 Che. All this is true, and much more which thou 
 hast left out ; but the Prince whom I serve and honor 
 is merciful, and ready to forgive. But, besides, these 
 infirmities possessed me in thy country, for there I 
 sucked them in, and I have groaned under them, been 
 sorry for them, and have obtained pardon of my Prince. 
 
 Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, 
 saying, I am an enemy to this Prince ; I hate his 
 person, his laws, and people : I am come out on pur- 
 pose to withstand thee. 
 
 Chr. Apollyon beware what you do, for I am in the 
 King's highway, the way of holiness ; therefore take 
 beed to yourself. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 145 
 
 Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole 
 breadth of the way, and said, I am void of fear in this 
 matter. Prepare thyself to die ; for I swear by my in- 
 fernal den, that thou shalt go no farther : here will I 
 spill thy soul. And with that he threw a flaming dart 
 at his breast; but Christian had a shield in his hand, 
 with which he caught it, and so prevented the danger 
 of that. 
 
 Then did Christian draw, for he saw it was time to 
 bestir him ; and Apollyon as fast made at him, throw- 
 ing darts as thick as hail ; by the which, notwithstand- 
 ing all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon 
 wounded him in his head, his hand, and foot. This 
 made Christian give a little back : Apollyon, therefore, 
 followed his work amain, and Christian again took 
 courage, and resisted as manfully as he could. This 
 sore combat lasted for above half a day, even till Chris- 
 tian was almost quite spent ; for you must know, that 
 Christian, by reason of his wounds, must needs grow 
 weaker and weaker. 
 
 Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to 
 gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, 
 gave him a dreadful fall : and with that Christian's 
 sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am 
 sure of thee now : and with that he had almost pressed 
 him to death, so that Christian began to despair of life. 
 But, as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetch- 
 ing his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this 
 good man. Christian nimbly reached out his hand for 
 his sword, and caught it, saying. Rejoice not against 
 me, O mine enemy : when I fall, I shall arise (Mic. 7 • 
 8) i and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which 
 made him give back, as one that had received his mortal 
 ^ound. Christian perceiving that, made at him again, 
 ^jiog, Nay, in all these things we are more than co]» 
 
144 ^^^ ^^^ GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 
 
 querors, through Him that loved us. (Rom. 8 : 37^) 
 And with that Apollyon spread forth his dragon wings, 
 and sped liim away, that Christian saw hkn no more. 
 (James 4: 7.) 
 
 In this combat no man can imagine, unless he had 
 Been and heard, as I did, what yelling and hideous 
 roaring Apollyon made all the time of the fight ; he 
 spake like a dragon : and on the other side, what sighs 
 and groans burst from Christian's heart. I never saw 
 him all the while give so much as one pleasant look 
 till ha perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his 
 two-edged sword ; then, indeed, he did smile, and look 
 upward I But it was the dreadfullest sight that ever I 
 saw. 
 
 So when the battle was over, Christian said, I will 
 here give thanks to him that hath delivered me out of 
 the mouth of the lion, to him mat did help me against 
 Apollyon, And so he did, saying, 
 
 •* Great Beelzebub, the captain of this fiend, 
 Designed my ruin \ therefore to this end 
 He sent him harness'd out ; and he, with rage 
 That heUish was, did fiercely me engage : 
 But blessed Michael helped me, and I, ' 
 By dint of sword, did quickly make him fly : 
 Therefore to Him let me give lasting praise, 
 And thank and bless his holy name always.** 
 
 Then there came to him a hand with some of the 
 leaves of the tree of life, the which Christian took and 
 applied to the wounds that he had received in the bat- 
 tle, and was healed immediately. He also sat down in 
 that place to eat bread, and to drink of the bottle that 
 Was given him a little before : so, being refreshed, he 
 addressed himself to his journey with his sword drawn 
 in his band ; for he said, I know not but soma other 
 
^""SHRJ^TlAi^? JN TPg^Al^LE.Y .cy^ J1ia SHADOV/ "^.BBA^ri^^ 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 145 
 
 enemy may be at hand. Bnt he met with no other af- 
 front from Apollyon quite through this valley. 
 
 Now at the end of this valley was another, called 
 the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; and Christian must 
 needs go through it, because the way to the Celestial 
 City lay through the midst of it. Now, this valley is 
 a very solitary place. The prophet Jeremiah thus de- 
 scribes it : "A wilderness, a land of deserts and pits, a 
 land of drought, and of the Shadow of Death, a land 
 that no man " (but a Christian) " passeth through, and 
 where no man dwelt." ( Jer. 2 : 6.) 
 
 Now here Christian was worse put to it than in hi* 
 fight with Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see. 
 
 I saw then in my dream, that when Christian wai? 
 got to the borders of the Shadow of Death, there met 
 him two men, children of them that brought up an eviv 
 report of the good land (Num. 13 : 32), making haste t«5 
 go back ; to whom Christian spake as follows. 
 
 Chr. Whither are you going ? 
 
 Men. They said. Back, back ; and we would have 
 you do so too, if either life or peace is prized by you. 
 
 Chr. Why, what's the matter? said Christian. 
 
 Men. Matter ! said they ; we were going that way 
 as you are going, and went as far as we durst ; and in- 
 deed we were almost past coming back ; for had we 
 gone a little farther, we had not been here to bring the 
 TQews to thee. 
 
 Chr. But what have you met with ? said Christian, 
 
 Men. Wh}^ we were almost in the Valley of th© 
 Shadow of Death, but that by good hap we looked be- 
 fore us, and saw the danger before we came to it. (Psa* 
 44. 19; 107: 19.) 
 
 Chr. But what have you seen ? said Christian. 
 
 Men. Seen ? why the valley itself, which is as dark 
 a& pitch : we also saw there the hobgoblins, satyrs, and 
 
 10 
 
^46 THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. 
 
 dragons of the pit : we heard also in that valley a coo* 
 tinual howling and yelling, as of a people under unut* 
 terable misery, who there sat bound in affliction and 
 irons : and over that valley hang the discouraging clouds 
 of confusion : Death also doth always spread his winga 
 over it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being ut- 
 terly without order. (Job 3 : 5 ; 10 ; 22.) 
 
 Chr. Then, said Christian, I perceive not yet, by 
 what you have said, but that this is my way to the de- 
 sired haven. (Psalm 44: 18, 19; Jer. 2: 6.) 
 
 Men. Be it thy way ; we will not choose it for ours^ 
 
 So they parted, and Christian went on his way, but 
 fitill with his sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he 
 should be assaulted. 
 
 I saw then in my dream, so far as this valley reached, 
 there was on the right hand a very deep ditch ; that 
 ditch is it into which the blind have led the blind in all 
 ages, and have both there miserably perished. Again, 
 behold, on the left hand there was a very dangerous 
 quag, into which, if even a good man falls, he finds no 
 bottom for his foot to stand on . into that quag King 
 David once did fall, and had no doubt therein been 
 smothered, had not He that is able plucked him out. 
 (Psa. 69 : 14.) 
 
 The pathway was here also exceeding narrow, and 
 therefore good Christian was the more put to it ; for 
 when he sought, in the dark, to shun the ditch on the 
 one hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the 
 other ; also, when he sought to escape the mire, with- 
 out great carefulness he would be ready to fall into the 
 ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard him here sigh 
 bitterly ; for besides the danger mentioned above, the 
 pathway was here so dark, that ofttimes when he lifted 
 up his foot to go forward, he knew not where or upon, 
 what he should set it next. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 14^ 
 
 About tlie midst of this valley I perceived the mouth 
 of hell to be, and it stood also hard by the wayside. 
 Now, thought Christian, what shall I do ? And ever 
 and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such 
 abundance, with sparks and liideous noises (things that 
 cared not for Christian's sword, as did Apollyon be- 
 fore), that he was forced to put up his sword, and be- 
 take himcelf to another weapon, called All-prayer 
 (Eph. 6 : 18) ; so he cried, in my hearing, O Lord, I 
 beseech thee, deliver my soul. (Psa. 116 : 4.) Thus he 
 went on a great while, yet still the flames would be 
 reaching towards him ; also he heard doleful voices, 
 and rushings to and fro, so that sometimes he thought 
 he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like mire 
 in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these 
 dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles to- 
 ^fether , and coming to a place where he thought he 
 heard a company of fiends coming forward to meet him, 
 lie stopped and began to muse what he had best to do. 
 Sometimes he had half a thought to go back ; then 
 again he thought he might be half way through the 
 \ alley. He remembered also, how he had already van- 
 quished many a danger; and that the danger of going 
 tack might be much more than for to go forward. So 
 he resolved to go on \ yet the fiends seemed to come 
 nearer and nearer. But when they were come even al- 
 most at him, he cried out with a most vehement voice, I 
 will walk in the strength of the Lord God. So they 
 gave back, and came no farther. 
 
 One thing I would not let slip. I took notice that 
 now poor Christian was so confounded that he did not 
 know his own voice ; and thus I perceived, just when 
 he was come over against the mouth of the burning pit, 
 one of the vricked ones got behind him, and stepped up 
 Boftly to him, and whisperingly suggested many griev* 
 
1^8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ous blasphemies to him, which he verily thought had 
 proceeded from his own mind. This put Christian more 
 to it than anything that he met with before, even to 
 think that he should now blaspheme Him that he loved 
 so much before. Yet if he could have helped it, he 
 would not have done it; but he had not the discretion 
 either to stop his ears, or to know from whence these 
 blasphemies came. 
 
 When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate 
 condition some considerable time, he thought he heard 
 the voice of a man, as going before him, saying. Though 
 I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I 
 will fear no evil, for thou art with me. (Psa. 23: 4.) 
 
 Then was he glad, and that for these reasons : 
 
 First, Because he gathered from thence, that some 
 who feared God were in this valley as well as himself. 
 
 Secondly., For that he perceived God was with them, 
 though in that dark and dismal state. And why not, 
 thought he, with me, though by reason of the impedi' 
 ment that attends this place, I can not perceive it. (Job 
 9:11.) 
 
 Thirdly, For that he hoped (could he overtake themf 
 to have company by and by. So he went on, and called 
 to him that was before ; but he knew not what to 
 answer, for that he also thought himself to be alone. 
 And by and by the day broke : then said Christian, 
 '' He hath turned the shadow of death into the morn- 
 ing." (Amos 5 : 8.) 
 
 Now morning being come, he looked back, not out 
 of desire to return, bat to see, by the light of the day, 
 what hazards he had gone through in the dark. So he 
 saw more perfectly the ditch that was on the one hand, 
 and the quag that was on the other; also, how narrow 
 the way Avas which led betwixt them both. Also, now 
 he saw the hobgoblins, and satyrs, and dragons of the 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 14^ 
 
 pit, but all afar off ; for after break of day thej; came 
 not nigh ; yet they were discovered to him, according 
 to that which is written, '-'- He discovereth deep things 
 out of darkness, and bringeth out to light the shadow 
 of death." (Job 12 : 22.) 
 
 Now was Christian much affected with this deliv^ 
 erance from all the dangers of his solitary way ; which 
 dangers, though he feared them much before, yet he 
 saw them more clearly no\Y , because the light of the 
 dii^y made them conspicuous to him. And about this 
 time the sun was rising, and this was another mercy to 
 Christian ; for you must note, that though the first pai t 
 of the Valley of the Shadow of Death was dangerous, 
 yet this second part, which he was yet to go, was, if 
 possible, far more dangerous ; for, from the place wherti 
 he now stood, even to the end of the valley, the way 
 was all along set so full of snares, traps, gins, and nets* 
 here, and so full of pits, pitfalls, deep holes, and shelv- 
 ings-down there, that bad it now been dark, as it was 
 when he came the first part of the way, had he had a 
 thousand souls, they had in reason been cast away ; but, 
 as I said, just now the sun was rising. Then said he, 
 *' His candle shineth on my head, and by his light I go 
 through darkness." (Job 29 : 3.) 
 
 In this light, therefore, he came to the end of the 
 valley. Now I saw in my dream, that at the end of the 
 valley lay blood, bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of 
 men, even of pilgrims that had gone this way formerly ; 
 and while I was musing what should be the reason, I 
 espied a little before me a cave, where two giants. 
 Pope and Pagan, dwelt in old time ; by whose power 
 and tyranny the men whose bones, blood, ashes, &c., 
 lay there, were cruelly put to death. But by this place 
 Christian went without much danger, whereat I some- 
 what wondered ; but I have learnt since, that Pagan 
 
J CO Tt^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 has been dead many a day ; and as for the other, though 
 he be yet alive, he is, by reason of age, and also of the 
 many shrewd brushes that he met with in his younger 
 days, grown so crazy and stiff in his joints that he can 
 now do little more than sit in his cave's mouth, grin- 
 ning at pilgrims as they go by, and biting his nails be- 
 cause he can not come at them. 
 
 So I saw that Christian went on his way ; yet at 
 the sight of the old man that sat at the mouth of the 
 cave, he could not tell what to think, especially because 
 he spoke to him, though he could not go after him, say- 
 ing. You will never mend till more of you be burned. 
 But he held his peace, and set a good face on it; and 
 so went by, and catched no hurt. Then sang Christian, 
 
 ** Oh, -world of wonders (I can say no less), 
 That I should be preserved in that distress 
 That I have met with here ! Oh, blessed be 
 That hand that from it hath delivered me ! 
 Dangers in darkness, devils, hell, and sin, 
 Did compass me, while I this vale was in ; 
 Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and nets did lie 
 My path about, that worthless, silly I 
 Might have beeu catch'd, entangl'd, and cast down j 
 But since I live, let Jesus wear the crown." 
 
 THE FIFTH STAGE. 
 
 Now, as Christian went on his way, he came to a 
 little ascent, which was cast up on purpose that pil- 
 grims might see before them : up there, therefore. 
 Christian went ; and looking forward, he saw Faithful 
 before him upon his journey. Then said Christian 
 aloud, Ho, ho ; so, ho , stay, and I will be your com- 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 151 
 
 panion. At that Faithful looked behind him ; to whom 
 Christian cried again, Stay, stay, till I come up to you. 
 But Faithful answered, No, I am upon my life, and the 
 avenger of blood is behind me. 
 
 At this Christian was somewhat moved, and putting 
 to all his strength, he quickly got up with Faithful, and 
 did also overrun him ; so the last was first. Then did 
 Christian vaingloriousl}^ smile, because he had gotten 
 the start of his brother ; but not taking good heed to 
 his feet, he suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not 
 rise again until Faithful came up to help him. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, they went very lovingly 
 on together, and had sweet discourse of all things that 
 had happened to them in their pilgrimage ; and thus 
 Christian began. 
 
 Chr. My honored and well-beloved brother Faith- 
 ful, I am glad that I have overtaken you, and that God 
 has so tempered our spirits that we can walk as com- 
 panions in this so pleasant a path. 
 
 Faith. I had thought, my dear friend, to have your 
 company quite from our town, but you did get the start 
 of me ; wherefore I was forced to come thus much of 
 the way alone. 
 
 Chr. How long did you stay in the city of De- 
 struction before you set out after me on your pil- 
 grimage ? 
 
 Faith. Till I could stay no longer ; for there was a 
 great talk presently after you were gone out, that our 
 city would, in a short time, with fire from heaven, be 
 burnt down to the ground. 
 
 Chr. What, did your neighbors talk so ? 
 
 Faith. Yes, it was for a while in everybody's 
 mouth. 
 
 Chr. What, and did no more of them but you como 
 out to escape the danger ? 
 
f59 THE PILGR^^f'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Faith. Though there was, as I said, a great talk 
 thereabout, yet I do not think they did firmly believe 
 it ; for, in the heat of the discourse, I heard some of 
 them deridingly speak of you and of your desperate 
 journey, for so they called this your pilgrimage. But I 
 did believe, and do still, that the end of our city will 
 be with fire and brimstone from above ; and therefore I 
 have made my escape. 
 
 Chr. Did you hear no talk of neighbor Pliable ? 
 
 Faith. Yes, Christian, I heard that he followed 
 you till he came to the Slough of Despond, where, as 
 some said, he fell in ; but he would not be known to 
 have so done : but I am sure he was soundly bedabbled 
 with that kind of dirt. 
 
 Chr. And what said the neighbors to him ? 
 
 Faith. He hath, since his going back, been held 
 greatly in derision, and that among all sorts of people : 
 some do mock and despise him, and scarce will any set 
 him on work. He is now seven times worse than if he 
 had never gone out of the city. 
 
 Chr. But why should they be so set against him, 
 since they also despise the way that he forsook ? 
 
 Faith. Oh, they say, Hang him ; he is a turncoat : 
 he was not true to his profession ! I think God has 
 stirred up even His enemies to hiss at him, and make 
 him a proverb, because he hath forsaken the way. (Jer. 
 ^9 : 18, 19.) 
 
 Chr. Had you no talk with him before you came 
 out? 
 
 Faith. I met him once in the streets, but he leered 
 away on the other side, as one ashamed of what he had 
 done^ so I spake not to him. 
 
 Chr. Well, at my first setting out I had hopes of 
 that man ; but now I fear he will perish in the over- 
 throw of the city. For it has happened to him accord- 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 153 
 
 ing to the true proverb, " The dog is turned to his 
 vomit again, and the sow that was washed to her wal- 
 lowing in the mire." (2 Pet. 2 : 22.) 
 
 Faith. These are my fears of him, too ; but who 
 can hinder that which will be ? 
 
 Chr. Well, neighbor Faithful, said Christian, let us 
 leave him, and talk of things that more immediately 
 concern ourselves. Tell me now what you have met 
 with in the way as you came ; for I know you have met 
 with some things, or else it may be writ for a wonder. 
 
 Faith. I escaped the slough that I perceived you 
 fell into, and got up to the gate without that danger ; 
 only I met with one whose name was Wanton, who had 
 like to have done me mischief. 
 
 Chr. It was well you escaped her net : Joseph waj^ 
 hard put to it by her, and he escaped her as you did ; 
 but it had like to have cost him his life. (Gen. 39 
 11-13.) Bub what did she do to you ? 
 
 Faith. You cannot think (but that you Know some* 
 thing) what a flattering tongue she had ; she lay at me 
 hard to turn aside with her, promising me all manner of 
 content, 
 
 Chr. Nay, she did not promise you the content of a 
 good conscience. 
 
 Faith. You know that I mean all carnal and fleshly 
 content. 
 
 Chr. Thank God that you escaped her : the abhor- 
 red of the Lord shall fall into her pit. (Prov. 22 : 14.) 
 
 Faith. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly es- 
 cape her or no. 
 
 Chr. Why, I trow you did not consent to her de* 
 sires ? 
 
 Faith. No, not to defile myself; for I remembered 
 an old writing thai 1 had seen, which said, '^ Her steps 
 take hold on hell.' (Prov. 5 : 5.) So I shut mine eyes. 
 
je^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 because I would not be bewitched with her looks. (Jolr 
 31 : 1.) Then she railed on me, and I went on my way. 
 
 Chr. Did you meet with no other assault as yo« 
 came? 
 
 Faith. When I came to the foot of the hill called 
 Difficulty, I met with a very aged man, who asked me 
 what I was, and whither bound. I told him that I wa& 
 a pilgrim, going to the Celestial City. Then said the 
 old man, Thou lookest like an honest fellow ; wilt thou 
 be content to dwell with me for the wages that I shall 
 give thee ? Then I asked his name, and where he 
 dwelt. He said his name was Adam the First, and that 
 he dwelt in the town of Deceit. (Eph. 3 : 22.) 1 
 asked him then what was his work, and what the wage? 
 that he would give. He told me that his work was 
 many delights ; and his wages, that I should be his heir 
 at last. I further asked him, what house he kept, and 
 other servants he had. So he told me that his hous^ 
 "vras maintained with all the dainties of the world, and 
 that his servants was those of his own begetting. Then 
 I asked how many children he had. He said that he 
 had but three daughters, the Lust of the Flesh, the 
 l(Ust of the Eyes, and the Pride of Life (1 John, 2 ; 16) ; 
 and that I should marry them if I would. Then I 
 asked, how long time he would have me live with him ? 
 and he told me, as long as he lived himself. 
 
 Chr. Well, and what conclusions came the old man 
 and you to at last ? 
 
 Faith. Why, at first I found myself somewhat in- 
 clinable to go with the man, for I thought he spoke 
 very fair ; but looking in his forehead, as I talked with 
 him, I saw there written, " Put off the old man with 
 his deeds." 
 
 Chr. And how then ? 
 
 Faith. Then it came burning hot into my mind 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, fg§ 
 
 that, whatever he said, and however he flattered, when 
 he got me home to his house he would sell me for a 
 slave. So I bid him forbear to talk, for I would not 
 come near the door of his house. Then he reviled me, 
 and told me that he would send such a one after me 
 that should make my way bitter to my soul. So I 
 turned to go away from him ; but just as I turned my- 
 self to go thence, I felt him take hold of my flesh, and 
 give me such a deadly twitch back, that I thought he 
 had pulled part of me after himself : this made me cry, 
 " Oh, wretched man." (Rom. 7 : 24.) So I went on 
 my way up the hill. 
 
 Now, when I got about half the way up, I looked 
 behind me, and saw one coming after me, swift as the 
 wind ; so he overtook me just about the place where the 
 settle stands. 
 
 Just there, said Christian, did I sit down torestme ; 
 cut, being overcome with sleep, I there lost this roll 
 out of my bosom. 
 
 Faith. But, good brother, hear me out. So soot 
 as the man overtook me, it was but a word and a blow; 
 for down he knocked me, and laid me for dead. But 
 when I was a little come to myself again, I asked him 
 wherefore he served me so. He said because of my 
 secret inclining to Adam the First. And with that he 
 struck me another deadly blow on the breast, and beat 
 me down backward ; so I lay at his feet as dead as be- 
 fore. So when I came to myself again, I cried, have 
 mercy ; but he said, I know not how to show mercy ; 
 and with that he knocked me down again. He had 
 doubtless made an end of me, but that One came by 
 and bid him forbear. 
 
 Chr. Who was that that bid him forbear? 
 
 Faith. I did not know Him at first : but as He 
 went by, I perceived the holes in His hands and His 
 
fjft THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 side : then I concluded that He was our Lord. So I 
 went up the hill. 
 
 Chr. That man that overtook you was Moses. He 
 spareth none ; neither knoweth he how to show mercy 
 to those that transgress his law. 
 
 Faith. I know it very well ; it was not the liret 
 time that he has met with me. 'Twas he that came to 
 me when I dwelt securely at home, and that told me 
 that he would burn my house over my head if I staid 
 there. 
 
 Chr. But did you not see the house that stood thero 
 on the top of the hill, on the side of which Moses met 
 you? 
 
 Faith. Yes, and the lions too, before I came at it 
 But, for the lions, I think they were asleep, for it w^s 
 about noon . and because I had so much of the d*" be- 
 fore me, I passed by the porter, and came down the hi! i. 
 
 Chr. He told me, indeed, that he saw you go by ; 
 but I wish that you had called at the house, for thej^ 
 would have showed you so many rarities that yoa 
 would scarce have forgot them to the day of your death. 
 But pray tell me, did you meet anybody in the Valley 
 of Humility ? 
 
 Faith. Yes, I met with one Discontent, who would 
 willingly have persuaded me to go back again with him : 
 his reason was, for that the valley was altogether with- 
 out honor. He told me, moreover, that to go there was 
 the way to disoblige all my friends, as Pride, Arrogancy, 
 Self-Conceit, Worldly Glory, with others, who he knew, 
 as he said, would be very much offended if I made such 
 a fooj of myself as to wade through this valley. 
 
 Chr. Well, and how did you answer him ? 
 
 Faith. I told him, that although all these that he 
 naned might claim a kindred of me, and that rightly 
 (jfor indeed they were my relations, according^ to th« 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 15^ 
 
 flesh), yet since I became a pilgrim they have disowned 
 me, and I also have rejected them ; and therefore they 
 were to me now no more than if they had never been 
 of my lineage. I told him, moreover, that as to this 
 valley, he had quite misrepresented the thing ; for be- 
 fore honor is humility, and a haughty spirit before a 
 fall. Therefore, said I, I had rather go through this 
 valley to the honor that was so accounted by the wisest 
 than choose that which he esteemed most worthy of 
 our affections. 
 
 Chr. Met you with nothing else in that valley? 
 
 Faith. Yes, I met with Shame ; but of all the men 
 that I met with on my pilgrimage, he, I think, bears 
 the wrong name. The others would be said nay, after 
 a little argumentation, and somewhat else ; but this 
 boldfaced Shame would never have done. 
 
 Chk. Why, what did he say to you ? 
 
 Faith. What ? Why, he objected against religion 
 itself. He said it was a pitiful, low, sneaking business, 
 for a man to mind religion. He said that a tender 
 conscience was an unmanly thing ; and that for a man 
 to watch over his words and ways, so as to tie up him- 
 self from that hectoring liberty that the brave spirits of 
 the times accustom themselves unto, would make him 
 the ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but a 
 few of the mighty, rich, or wise, were ever of my opin- 
 ion ; nor any of them neither, before they were per- 
 suaded to be fools, and to be of a voluntary fondness to 
 venture the loss of all for nobody knows what. (1 
 Cor. 1 : 26 ; 3:18; Phil. 3 : 7-9 ; John 7 : 48.) He, 
 moreover, objected the base and low estate and condi- 
 tion of those that were chiefly the pilgrims of the times 
 in which they lived ; also, their ignorance and want of 
 understanding in all natural science. Yea, he did hold 
 ine to it at that rate also, about a great many more 
 
1^8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 things than here I relate ; as, that it was a shame to sit 
 whining and mourning under a sermon, and a shame to 
 come sighing and groaning home ; that it was a shame 
 to ask my neighbor forgiveness for petty faults, or to 
 make restitution where I have taken from any. He 
 said also, that religion made a man grow strange to the 
 great, because of a few vices, which he called by finer 
 names, and made him own and respect the base, be- 
 cause of the same religious fraternity : and is not this, 
 said he, a shame ? 
 
 Chr. And what did you say to him ? 
 
 Faith. Say ? I could not tell what to say at first. 
 Vea, he put me so to it, that my blood came up in my 
 £ice ; even this Shame fetched it up, and had almost 
 beat me- quite off. But at last I began to consider that 
 that which is highly esteemed among men, is had in 
 abomination with God. (Luke 16 : 15.) And I thought 
 again, this Shame tells me what men are ; but he tells 
 me nothing what God or the word of God is. And I 
 thought, moreover, that at the day of doom we shall not 
 be doomed to death or life according to the hectoring 
 spirits of the world, but according to the wisdom and 
 the law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what 
 Ood says is indeed best, though all the men in the 
 world are against it. Seeing, then, that God prefers his 
 religion ; seeing God prefers a tender conscience ; see- 
 ing they that make themselves fools for the Kingdom 
 of Heaven are wisest, and that the poor man that loveth 
 Christ is richer than the greatest man in the world that 
 hates him ; Shame, depart, thou art an enemy to my 
 salvation. Shall I entertain thee against my sovereign 
 Lord? How then shall I look Him in the face at His 
 coming ? (Mark 8 : 38.) Should I now be ashamed of 
 His ways and servants, how can I expect the blessing ? 
 But indeed this Shame was a bold villain; 1 could 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 15^ 
 
 scarcely shake him out of my company ; yea, he would 
 be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in 
 the ear with some one or other of the infirmities that 
 attend religion. But at last I told him, that it was but 
 in vain to attempt further in this business ; for those 
 things that he disdained, in those did I see most glory: 
 and so at last I got past this importunate one. And 
 when I had shaken him off, then I began to sing : 
 
 " The trials that those men do meet withal, 
 That are obedient to the heavenly call, 
 Are manifold, and suited to the flesh. 
 And come, and come, and come again afresh ; 
 That now, or some time else, we by them, may 
 Be taken, overcome, and cast away. 
 Oh, let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims, then. 
 Be vigilant, and 'quit themselves like men." 
 
 Chr. I am glad, my brother, that thou didst with* 
 stand this villain so bravely ; for of all, as thou sayest, 
 I think he has the wrong name : for he is so bold as to 
 follow us in the streets, and to attempt to put us to 
 shame before all men ; that is, to make us ashamed of 
 that which is good. But if he was not himself auda* 
 cious, he would never attempt to do as he does. But 
 let us still resist him ; for, notwithstanding all his 
 bravadoes, he promoteth the fool, and none else. 
 " The wise shall inherit glory," said Solomon ; " but 
 shame shall be the promotion of fools." (Prov. 3 : 35.) 
 
 Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help against 
 Shame, that would have us to be valiant for truth upon 
 the earth. 
 
 Chr. You say true ; but did you meet with nobody 
 else in that valley ? 
 
 Faith. No, not I ; for I had sunshine all the rest of 
 the way through that, and also through the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death. 
 
 Che. 'Twas well for you; I am sure it fared faf 
 
l5o ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 otherwise with me. I had for a long season, as soon 
 almost as I entered into that valley, a dreadful combat 
 with that foul fiend ApoUyon ; yea, I thought verily 
 he would have killed me, especially when he got me 
 down, and crusiied me under him, as if he would have 
 crushed me to pieces ; for, as he threw me, my sword 
 flew out of my hand : nay, he told me he was sure of 
 me ; but I cried unto God, and he heard me, and de- 
 livered me out of all my troubles. Then I entered 
 into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no 
 light for almost half the way through it. I thought I 
 should have been killed there over and over; but at 
 last day brake, and the sun rose, and I went through 
 that which was behind with far more ease and quiet. 
 
 Moreover, I saw in my dream, that as they went on. 
 Faithful, as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man 
 whose name was Talkative, walking at a distance beside 
 them for in this place there was room enough for 
 them all to walk. He was a tall man, and something 
 more comely at a distance than at hand. To this man 
 Faithful addressed himself in this manner. 
 
 Faith. Friend, whither away ? Are you going to 
 the heavenly country? 
 
 Talk. I am going to the same place. 
 
 Faith. That is well ; then I hope we may have your 
 good company ? 
 
 Talk. With a very good will, will I be your com- 
 panion. 
 
 Faith. Come on, then, and let us go together, and 
 let us spend our time in discoursing of things that are 
 profitable. 
 
 Talk. To talk of things that are good, to me is very 
 acceptable, with you or with any other ; and I am glad 
 that I have met with those that incline to so good a 
 work : for to speak the truth, there are but few who 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. i^i 
 
 care thus to spend their time as they are in their 
 travels, but choose much rather to be speaking of 
 things to no profit; and this hath been a trouble to me. 
 
 Faith. That is, indeed, a thing to be lamented ; for 
 what thing so worthy of the use of the tongue and 
 mouth of men on earth, as are the things of the God of 
 heaven ? 
 
 Talk. I like you wonderful well, for your sayings 
 are full of conviction ; and I will add, What thing is 
 so pleasant, and what so profitable, as to talk of the 
 things of God ? What things so pleasant ? that is, if 
 a man hath any delight in things that are wonderful. 
 For instance, if a man doth delight to talk of the his- 
 tory, or the mystery of things ; or if a man doth love 
 to talk of miracles, wonders, or signs, where shall he 
 find things recorded so delightful, and so sweetly 
 penned, as in the Holy Scripture ? 
 
 Faith. That is true ; but to bo profited by such 
 things in our talk, should be our chief design. 
 
 Talk. That is it that I said ; for to talk of such 
 things is most profitable ; for by so doing a man may 
 get knowledge of many things ; as of the vanity of 
 earthly things, and the benefit of things above. Thus 
 in general ; but more particularly, by this a man may 
 learn the necessity of the new birth, the insufficiency 
 of our works, the need of Christ's righteousness, &c. 
 Besides, by this a man may learn what it is to repent, 
 to believe, to pray, to suffer, or the like \ by this, also, 
 a man may learn what are the great promises and 
 consolations of the Gospel, to his own comfort. 
 Further, by this a man may learn to refute false 
 opinions, to vindicate the truth, and also to instruct the 
 ignorant. 
 
 Faith. All this is true ; and glad am I to hear 
 these things from you. 
 
j52 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
 
 Talk. Alas ! the want of this is the cause that so 
 few understand the need of faith, and the necessity of 
 a work of grace in their soul, in order to eternal life ; 
 but ignorantly live in the works of the law, by which 
 a man can by no means obtain the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 Faith. But, by your leave, heavenly knowledge of 
 these is the gift of Grod ; no man attaineth to them by 
 human industry, or only by the talk of them. 
 
 Talk. All that I know very well ; for a man can 
 receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven : 
 all is of grace, not of works. I could give you a 
 hundred scriptures for the confirmation of this. 
 
 Faith. Well, then, said Faithful, what is that one 
 thing that we shall at this time found our discourse upon? 
 
 Talk. What you will. I will talk of things 
 heavenly, or things earthly ; things moral ; or things 
 evangelical ; things sacred, or things profane ; things 
 past, or things to come ; things foreign, or things at 
 home ; things more essential, or things circumstantial : 
 provided that all be done to our profit. 
 
 Now did Faithful begin to wonder ; and stepping to 
 Christian (for he walked all this while by himself), he 
 said to him, but softly. What a brave companion have 
 we got I Surely, this man will make a very excellent 
 pilgrim. 
 
 At this Christian modestly smiled, and said, This 
 man, with whom you are so taken, will beguile with 
 this tongue of his, twenty of them that know him not. 
 
 Faith. Do you know him, then ? 
 
 Chr. Know him? Yes, better than he knows 
 himself. 
 
 Faith. Pray, what is he ? 
 
 Chr. His name is Talkative : he dwelleth in our 
 town. I wonder that you should be a stranger to him^ 
 only I consider that our town is large. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 163 
 
 Faith. Whose son is he ? A.nd whereabout doth 
 h dwell? 
 
 Chr. He is the son of one Say well. He dwelt in 
 Piicting-Row ; and he is known to all that are ac- 
 quttinted with him by the name of Talkative of Prating- 
 Row ; and, notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but 
 a soxTy fellow. 
 
 Faith. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man. 
 
 Chr. That is to them that have not a thorough ac- 
 quaintance with him, for he is best abroad ; near home 
 he is ugly enough. Your saying that he is a pretty 
 man, brings to my mind what I have observed in the 
 work of a painter, whose pictures show best at a dis- 
 tance ; but very near, more unpleasing. 
 
 Faith. But I am ready to think you do but jest, 
 because you smiled. 
 
 Chr. God forbid that I should jest (though I smiled) 
 in this matter, or that I should accuse any falsely. I 
 will give you a further discovery of him. This man is 
 for any company, and for any talk ; as he talketh now 
 with you, so will he talk when he is on the ale-bench ; 
 and the more drink he hath in his crown, the more ot 
 these things he hath in his mouth. Religion hath no 
 place in his heart, or house, or conversation ; all he 
 hath lieth in his tongue, and his religion is to make a 
 noise therewith. 
 
 Faith. Say you so ? Then am I in this man greatly 
 deceived. 
 
 Chr. Deceived ! you may be sure of it. Remember 
 the proverb, " They say and do not ; " but " the kingdom 
 of God is not in word but in power." (Matt. 23 : 3 ; 
 1 Cor. 4 : 20.) He talketh of prayer, of repentance, of 
 faith, and of the new birth ; but he knows but only to 
 talk of them. I have been in his family, and have ob- 
 gerved him both at home and abroad ; and I know 
 
lC4 THE PILGRIM*S PROGRESS. 
 
 what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty 
 of religion as the white of an Q^g is of savor. There 
 is there neither prayer, nor sign of repentance for sin ; 
 yea, the brute, in his kind, serves God far better than 
 he. He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of 
 religion to all that knov" him (Rom. 2 : 24, 25) ; it can 
 hardly have a good word in all that end of the town, 
 where he dwells, through him. Thus say the common 
 people that know him, " A saint abroad, and a devil at 
 home." His poor family finds it so ; he is such a churl, 
 such a railer at and so unreasonable with his servants, 
 that they neither know how to do for or speak to him. 
 Men that have any dealings with him say, " It is 
 better to deal with a Turk than with him, for 
 fairer dealings they shall have at their hands." This 
 Talkative (if it be possible) will go beyond them, 
 defraud, beguile, and overreach them. Besides, he 
 brings up his sons to follow his steps ; and if he finds 
 in any of them a foolish timorousness (for so he calls 
 the first appearance of a tender conscience), he calls 
 them fools and blockheads, and by no means will em- 
 ploy them in much, or speak to their commendation 
 before others. For my part, I am of opinion that he 
 has, by his wicked life, caused many to stumble and 
 fall ; and will be, if God prevents not, the ruin of many 
 more. 
 
 Faith. "Well, my brother, I am bound to believe 
 /ou, not only because you say you know him, but also 
 because, like a Christian, you make your reports of men. 
 For I can not think that you speak these things of ill- 
 will, but because it is even so as you say. 
 
 Chr. Had I known him no more than you, I might, 
 perhaps, have thought of him as at the first you did , 
 yea, had I received this report at their hands only that 
 fire enemies to religion, I should have thought it had 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROCEED. 165 
 
 been a slander — a lot that often falls from bad men's 
 mouths upon good men's names and professions. But 
 all these things, yea, and a great many more as bad, 
 of my owv knowledge, I can prove him guilty of. 
 Besides. %: »>d men are ashamed of him; they can 
 neither call him brother or friend ; the very naming 
 of him among them makes them blush, if they knov 
 him. 
 
 Faith. Well, I see that sajdng and doing are two 
 things, and hereafter I shall better observe this dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 Chr. They are two things indeed, and are as diverse 
 as are the soul and the body ; for as the body without 
 the soul is but a dead carcass, so saying^ if it be alone, 
 is but a dead carcass also. The soul of religion is the 
 practical part. " Pure religion and undefiled before 
 God and the Father is this. To visit the fatherless and 
 widows in their affliction, and to keep himself un- 
 spotted from the world. "(James 1 : 27 ; see also versea 
 2, 3, 24, 26.) This Talkative is not aware of ; he thinks 
 that hearing and saying will make a good Christian ; 
 and thus he deceiveth his own soul. Hearing is but 
 as the sowing of the seed; talk is not sufficient to 
 prove that fruit is indeed in the heart and life. And 
 let us assure ourselves, that at the day of doom men 
 shall be judged according to their fruits. (Matt. 13 : 23.) 
 It will not be said then. Did you believe? but, Were 
 you doers, or talkers only ? and accordingly shall they 
 be judged. The end of the world is compared to our 
 harvest (Matt. 13 : 30), and you know men at harvest 
 regard nothing but fruit. Not that any thing can be 
 accepted that is not of faith ; but I sp.ak this to show 
 you how insignificant the profession of Talkative wili 
 be at that day. 
 
 Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by 
 
l66 THE PILGRIM*S PROGRESS. 
 
 which he describeth the beast that is clean. (Levit. 11 •, 
 Deut. 14.) He is such an one that parteth the hoo^ 
 and cheweth the cud ; not that parteth the hoof only, 
 or that cheweth the cud only. The hare cheweth the 
 cud, but yet is unclean, because he parteth not the 
 hoof. And this truly resembleth Talkative ; he cheweth 
 the cud, he seeketh knowledge ; he cheweth upon the 
 word, but he divideth not the hoof. He parteth not 
 with the way of sinners ; but as the hare, he retaineth 
 the foot of the dog or bear, and therefore he is un- 
 clean. 
 
 Chr. You have spoken for aught I know, the true 
 gospel sense of these texts. And I will add anothei 
 thing : Paul calleth some men, yea, and those grea< 
 talkers too, "sounding brass, and tinkling cymbals" 
 (1 Cor. 13 : 1, 3) ; that is, as he expounds them iij 
 anotheif place, "things without life, giving sound." 
 (1 Cor. 14 : 7.) Things without life ; that is, without 
 the true faith and grace of the Gospel ; and, conse- 
 quently, things that shall never be placed in the 
 Kingdom of Heaven among those that are the chil- 
 dren of life ; though their sound, by their talk, be as 11 
 it were the tongue or voice of an angel. 
 
 Faith. Well, I was not so fond of his company at 
 first, but I am as sick of it now. What shall we do te 
 be rid of him ? 
 
 Chr. Take my advice, and do as I bid you, and you 
 shall find that he will soon be sick of your company 
 too, except God shall touch his heart, and turn it. 
 
 Faith. What would you have me do ? 
 
 Chr. Why, go to him, and enter into some serious 
 discourse about ^he power of religion ; and ask him 
 plainly (when he has approved of it, for that he will), 
 whether this thing be set up in his heart, house* or 
 Oonversatiou. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 167 
 
 Then Faithful stepped forward again, and said to 
 Talkative, Come, what cheer ? How is it now ? 
 
 Talk. Thank you, well : I thought we should have 
 had a great deal of talk by this time. 
 
 Faith. Well, if you will, we will fall to it now; and 
 since you left it with me to state the question, let it 
 be this ; How doth the saving grace of God discover 
 itself when it is in the heart of man ? 
 
 Talk. I perceive, then, that our talk must be about 
 the power of things. Well, it is a very good question, 
 and I shall be willing to answer you. And take my 
 answer in brief, thus : First, where the grace of God is 
 in the heart, it causeth there a great outcry against 
 sin. Secondly — 
 
 , Faith. Nay, hold; let us consider of one at once. 
 I think you should rather say. It shows itself by in- 
 clining the soul to abhor its sin. 
 
 Talk. Why, what difference is there between crying 
 out against the abhorring of sin ? 
 
 Faith. Oh ! a great deal. A man may cry out 
 against sin, of policy ; but he can not abhor it but by 
 virtue of a goodly antipathy against it. I have heard 
 many cry out against sin in the pulpit, who can yet 
 abide it well enough in the heart, house, and conver- 
 sation. (Gen. 39 ; 15.) Joseph's mistress cried out with 
 a loud voice, as if she had been very chaste; but she 
 would willing, notwithstanding that, have committee' 
 uncleaness with him. Some cry out against sin, eveii 
 as the mother cries out against her child in her lap, 
 when she calleth it slut and naughty girl, and then 
 Calls to hugging and kissing it. 
 
 Talk. You lie at the catch, I perceive. 
 
 Faith. No, not I ; I am only for setting things right 
 But what is the second thing whereby you would 
 prove a discovery of a work of grace in the heart ? 
 
l6S THE F/LGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 Talk. Great knowledge of gospel mysteries. 
 
 Faith. This sign should have been first : but, first 
 or last, it is also false ; for knowledge, great knowledge, 
 may be obtained in the mysteries of the Gospel, and 
 yet no work of grace in the soul. Yea, if a man have 
 all knowledge, he may yet be nothing, and so, conse- 
 quently be no child of God. (1 Cor. 13 : 2.) When 
 Christ said, "Do you know all these things?" and the 
 disciples answered, " Yes,'' he added, " Blessed are ye, 
 if ye do them." He doth not lay the blessing in the 
 knowing of them, but in the doing of them. For 
 there is a knowledge that is not attendsd with doing : 
 '* He that knoweth his Master's will, and doeth it not." 
 A man may know like an angel, and yet be no Christian : 
 therefore your sign of it is not true. Indeed, to know 
 is a thing that pleaseth talkers and boasters ; but to 
 do is that which pleaseth God. Not that the heart can 
 be good without knowledge, for without that the heart 
 is naught. There are, therefore, two sorts of knowl- 
 edge, knowledge that resteth in the bare speculation 
 of things, and knowledge that is accompanied with the 
 grace of faith and love, which puts a man upon doing 
 even the will of God from the heart : the first of these 
 will serve the talker ; but without the other, the true 
 Christian is not content. " Give me understanding, 
 and I shall keep thy law ; yea, I shall observe it with 
 my whole heart." (Psalm 119 : 34). 
 
 Talk. You lie at the catch again : this is not for 
 edification. 
 
 Faith. Well, if you please, propound another sign 
 ow this work of grace disco vereth itself where it is. 
 
 Talk. Not I, for I see we shall not agree. 
 
 Faith. Well, if you will not, will you give me leavp 
 to do it ? 
 
 Talk. You may use your liberty. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. I^^ 
 
 Faith. A work of grace in the soul disco vereth it- 
 self, either to him that hath it or to standers-by. 
 
 To him that hath it, thus : It gives him conviction 
 of sin, especially the defilement of his nature, and the 
 sin of unbelief, for the sake of which he is sure to be 
 damned, if he findeth not me^'cy at God's hand, by 
 faith in Jesus Christ. This sight and sense of things 
 worketh in him sorrow and shame for sin. (Psalm 38 % 
 18; Jer.31: 19; John 16 : 8; Rom. 7 : 24; Mark 16: 
 16 ; Gal. 2 : 16 ; Rev. 1 : 6.) He findeth, moreover, re- 
 vealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the abso- 
 lute necessity of closing with him for life ; at the which 
 he findeth hungerings and thirstings after him ; to 
 which hungerings, &c., the promise is made. Now, ac- 
 cording to the strength or weakness of his faith in his 
 Saviour, so is his joy and peacCj so is his love to holi- 
 ness, so are his desires to know him more, and also to 
 serve him in this world. But though I say it dis- 
 covereth itself thus into him, yet it is but seldom that 
 he is able to conclude that this is a work of grace ; 
 because his corruptions now, and his abused reason, 
 make his mind to misjudge in this matter ; therefore 
 in him that hath this work there is required a very 
 sound judgment, before he can with steadiness con- 
 clude that this is a work of grace. (John 16 : 9 ; Gal. 
 2: 15, 16 ; Acts 4: 12 ; Matt. h\^\ Rev. 21 : 6.) 
 
 To others it is thus discovered : 1. By an experi- 
 mental confession of hi^ faith in Christ. 2. By a life 
 answerable to that confession ; to wit, a life of holiness 
 ' — heart-holiness, family-holiness (if he hath a family), 
 and by conversation-holiness in the world ; which in 
 the general teacheth him inwardly to abhor his sin, 
 and himself for that, in secret ; to suppress it in his 
 family, and to promote holiness in the world : not by 
 talk only, as a hvpocrite, or talkative person may do, 
 
xyo THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 but by a practical subjection in faith and love to tbe 
 power of the word. (Job 42 : 5, 9 ; Psalm 50 : 23 ; Ezek. 
 20 : 43 ; Matt. 5:8; John 14 : 15 ; Rom. 10 : 10 ; Ezek. 
 86 : 25 ; Phil. 1 : 2T ; 3 : 17-20). And now, sir, as to 
 this brief description of the work of grace, and also 
 the discovery of it, if you have aught to object, object ; 
 if not, then give me leave to propound to you a second 
 question. 
 
 Talk Nay, my part is not now to object, but to 
 hear; let me, therefore, have your second question. 
 
 Faith. It is this : Do you experience this first part 
 of the description of it ; and doth your life and conver- 
 sation testify the same? Or standeth your religion 
 in word or tongue, and not in deed and truth? Pray, 
 if you incline to answer me in this, say no more than 
 you know the God above will say Amen to, and also 
 nothing but what your conscience can justify you in ; 
 for not he that commendeth himself is approved, but 
 whom the Lord commendeth. Besides, to say I am 
 thus and thus, when my conversation, and all my 
 neighbors, tell me I lie, is great wickedness. 
 
 Then Talkative at first began to blush ; but recover- 
 ing himself, he thus replied : You come now to experi- 
 ence, to conscience, and to God ; and to appeal to Him 
 for justification of what is spoken. This kind of dis- 
 course I did not expect ; nor am I disposed to give an 
 answer to such questions, because I count not myself 
 bound thereto, unless you take upon you to be a 
 catechiser ; and though you should so do, yet I may 
 refuse to make you my judge. But I pray, will you 
 tell me why you ask me such questions? 
 
 Faith. Because I saw you forward to talk, and be- 
 cause I knew not that you had aught else but notion. 
 Besides, to tell you the truth, I have heard of you that 
 you are a man whose religion lies in talk, and that 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 171 
 
 your conversation gives this your mouth-profession the 
 lioo They say you are a spot among Christians, and 
 that religion fareth the worse for your ungodly conver- 
 sation; that some have already stumbled at your wicked 
 ways, and that more are in danger of being destroyed 
 thereby : your religion, and an ale-house, and covetous- 
 ness and uncleanness, and swearing, and lying, and 
 vain company-keeping, &c., will stand together. The 
 proverb is true of you which is said of a harlot, to wit, 
 '* That she is a shame to all women : " so are you a 
 shame to all professors. 
 
 Talk. Since you are so ready to take up reports, 
 and to judge so rashly as you do, I cannot but conclude 
 you are some peevish or melancholy man, not fit to be 
 discoursed with ; and so adieu. 
 
 Then up came Christian, and said to his brother, I 
 told you how it would happen ; your words and his 
 lusts could not agree. He had rather leave your com- 
 pany than reform his life. But he is gone, as I said* 
 let him go ; the loss is no man's but his own. He has 
 saved us the trouble of going from him ; for he con 
 tinning (as I suppose he will do) as he is, would have 
 been but a bl®t in our company : besides, the Apostle 
 says, " From such withdraw thyself." 
 
 Faith. But I am glad we had this little discourse 
 with him ; it may happen that he will think of it again i 
 however, I have dealt plainly with him, and so am clear 
 of his blood if he perisheth. 
 
 ChRc You did well to talk so plainly to him as you 
 did. There is but little of this faithful dealing with 
 men nowa-days, and that makes religion to stink in the 
 nostrils of so many as it doth ; for they are these talk- 
 ative fools, whose religion is only in word, and who are 
 debauched and vain in their conversation, that (being 
 80 much admittei into the fellowship of the godly) da 
 
iy2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 puzzle the world, blemish Christianity, and grieve the 
 sincere. I wish that all men would deal with such as 
 you have done then should they either be made more 
 conformable to religion, or the company of saints would 
 be too hot for them. 
 
 Then did Faithful say, 
 
 ** How Talkative at first lifts up his plumes t 
 How bravely doth he speak ! How he presumes 
 To drive down all before him ! But so soon 
 As Faithful talks of heart- work, like the moon 
 That's past the full, into the wane he goes ; 
 And so will all but he that heart-work knows." 
 
 Thus they went on, talMng of what they had seen 
 by the way, and so made that way easy which would 
 otherwise no doubt have been tedious to them, for now 
 they went through a wilderness. 
 
 THE SIXTH STAGE. 
 
 Now when they were got almost quite out o£ this 
 wilderness, Faithful chanced to cast his eye back, and 
 espied one cominp; after them, and he knew him. Oh ! 
 said Faithful to his brother, who comes yonder ? Then 
 Christian looked, and said, It is my good friend Evan- 
 gelist. Aye, and my good friend too, said Faithful, 
 for 'twas he that set me on the way to the gate. Now 
 was Evangelist come up unto them, and thus saluted 
 them. 
 
 Evan. Peace be with you, dearly beloved ; and 
 peace be to your helpers. 
 
 Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist: the 
 sight of thy countenance brings to my remembrance thy 
 ancient kindness w.nd unwearied labors for my eternsu 
 good. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, ly^ 
 
 Faith. And a thousand times welcome, said good 
 Faithful, thy company, oh sweet Evangelist ; how de- 
 sirable is it to us poor pilgrims ! 
 
 Evan. Then said Evangelist, How hath it fared 
 with you, my friends, since the time of our last part- 
 ing? What have you met with, and how have you be« 
 haved yourselves? 
 
 Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things 
 that had happened to them in the way ; and how, and 
 with what difficulty, they had arrived to that place. 
 
 Right glad am I, said Evangelist, not that you hav3 
 met with trials, but that you have been victors; and 
 for that you have, notwithstanding many weaknesseti, 
 continued in the way to this very day. 
 
 I say, right glad am I of this thing, and that for 
 mine own sake and yours : I have sowed, and you have 
 reaped ; and the day is coming, when " both he that 
 soweth, and they that reap, shall rejoice together " 
 (John 4 : 36) ; that is, if you hold out : " for in du« 
 iieason ye shall reap, if ye faint not." (Gal. 6 : 9.) The 
 crown is before you, and it is an incorruptible one j 
 " so run that ye may obtain it." (1 Cor. 9 : 24-27.) 
 Some there be that set out for this crown, and after 
 they have gone far for it, another comes in and takes 
 it from them ; " hold that fast which thou hast, that no 
 man take thy crown." (Rev. 3 : 11.) You are not yet 
 out of the gunshot of the devil ; " you have not resisted 
 unto blood, striving against sin." Let the kingdom be 
 always before you, and believe steadfastly concerning 
 the things that are invisible. Let nothing that is on 
 this side the other world get within you. And, above 
 all, look well to your own hearts and to the lusts there- 
 of; for they are "deceitful above all things, and des- 
 perately wicked." Set your faces like a flint ; you liav0 
 all power in heavea and earth ou your side. 
 
jy4 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Chr. Then Christian thanked him for his exhorta^ 
 tions ; but told him withal, that they would have him 
 speak further to them for their help the rest of the 
 way ; and the rather, for that they well knew that he 
 was a prophet, and could tell them of things that might 
 happen unto them, and also how they might resist and 
 overcome them. To which request Faithful also con- 
 sented. So Evangelist began as folio weth : 
 
 Evan. My sons, you have heard in the word of the 
 truth of the Gospel, that you must " through many 
 tribulations enter into the Kingdom of Heaven ; " and 
 again, that " in every city, bonds and afflictions abide 
 you ; " and therefore you cannot expect that you should 
 go long on your pilgrimage without them, in some sort 
 or other. You have found something of the truth of 
 these testimonies upon you already, and more will im- 
 mediately follow : for now, as you see, you are almost 
 out of this wilderness, and therefore you will soon 
 come into a town that you will by and by see before 
 you ; and in that town you will be hardly beset with 
 enemies, who still strain hard but they will kill you ; 
 and be you sure that one or both of you must seal the 
 testimony which you hold, with blood ; but " be you 
 faithful unto death, and the King will give you a crown 
 of life." He that shall die there, althcugh his death 
 will be unnatural, and his pain, perhaps, great, he will 
 yet have the better of his fellow ; not only because he 
 will be arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but be- 
 cause he will escape many miseries that the other will 
 meet with in the rest of his journey. But when you 
 are come to the town, and shall find fulfilled what I 
 have here related, then remember your friend, and quit 
 yourselves like men, and *' commit the keeping of your 
 souls to God in well doing, as unto a faithf-il Creator." 
 Then I saw ia my dream, that when tney were got 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lyj 
 
 l>ut of the wilderness, they presently saw a town be- 
 fore them, and the name of that town is Vanity ; and at 
 the town there is a fair kept, called Vanity Fair. It is 
 kept all the year long. It beareth the name of Vanity 
 Fair, because the town where it is kept is ligliter than 
 vanity (Psa. 62: 9); and also because all that i-^ there 
 sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity ; as is the saying 
 of the wise, '' All that cometh is vanity." (Eccl. 11 : 8 ; 
 see also 1: 2-14; 2: 11-17; Isa. 40: 17.) 
 
 This fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of 
 ancient standing. I will show you the original of it. 
 
 Almost five thousand years ago there were pilgrims 
 walking to the Celestial City, as these two honest per-* 
 sons are : and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, with 
 their companions, perceiving by the path the pilgrims 
 made, that their way to the city lay through this town 
 of Vanity, they contrived here to set up a fair ; a fair 
 wherein should be sold all sorts of vanity, and that it 
 should last all the year long. Therefore, at this fair are 
 all such merchandise sold as houses, lands, trades, places, 
 honors, preferments, titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, 
 pleasures; and delights of all sorts, as harlots, wives, 
 husbands, children, masters, servants, lives, blood, bod- 
 ies, souls, silver, gold, pearls, precious stones, and what 
 not. 
 
 And moreover, at this fair there is at all times to be 
 seen jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, 
 and rogues, and that of every kind. 
 
 Here are to be seen, too, and that for nothing, thefts, 
 murders, adulteries, false-swearers, and that of a blood- 
 red color. 
 
 And, as in other fairs of Jess moment, tnere are the 
 several rows and streets under their proper names, 
 where such and such wares are vended ; so here, like' 
 ^se, you have the proper places, rows, streets (namely. 
 
,^5 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 countriecj and kingdoms), where the wares of this fart 
 are soonest to be found. Here is the Britain Row, the 
 French Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the 
 Grerraan Row, where several sorts of vanities are to be 
 sold. But, as in other fairs, some one commodity is the 
 chief of all the fair, so the ware of Rome and her mer- 
 chandise is greatly promoted in this fair; onlj^ our 
 English nation, with some others, have taken a dislike 
 thereat. 
 
 Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies 
 just through this town where this lusty fair is kept ; 
 and he that would go to the city, and yet not go through 
 this town, " must needs go out of the world." (1 Cor- 
 4: 10.) The Prince of princes himself, when here, went 
 through this town to his own country, and that upon a 
 fair-day, too ; yea, and, as I think ic was Beelzebub, the 
 chief lord of this fair, that invited him to buy of his 
 vanities, yea, would have made him lord of the fair, 
 would he but have done him reverence as. he went 
 through the town. Yea, because he was such a person 
 of honor, Beelzebub had him from street to street, and 
 showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a little 
 time, that he might, if possible, allure that blessed One 
 to cheapen and buy some of his vanities : but he had no 
 mind to the merchandise, and therefore left the town, 
 without laying out so much as one farthing upon these 
 vanities. (Matt. 4: 8, 9 ; Luke 4: 5-7.) This fair, 
 therefore, is an ancient thing, of long standing, and a 
 Tery great fair. 
 
 Now, these pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through 
 this fair. Well, so they did ; but behold, even as they 
 entered into the fair, all the people in the fair were 
 moved ; and the town itself, as it were, in a hubbub 
 ^bout them, and that for several reasons : for, 
 
 First, The Pil^ims were clothed with such kind of 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 177 
 
 raiment as was diverse from the raimtiiit of any that 
 traded in that fair. The people, therefore, of the fair, 
 made a great gazing upon them : some said they were 
 fools (1 Cor. 4: 9, 10) ; some, they were bedlams ; and 
 some, they were outlandish men. 
 
 Secondly, And as they wondered at their apparel, 
 80 they did likewise at their speech ; for few could un- 
 derstand what they said. They naturally spoke the 
 language of Canaan ; but they that kept the fair were 
 the men of this world : so that from one end of the fair 
 to the other, they seemed barbarians each to the other. 
 (1 Cor. 2 : 7, 8.) 
 
 Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the 
 merchandisers was, that these pilgrims set very light by 
 all their wares. They cared not so much as to look 
 upon them ; and if they called upon them to buy, they 
 would put their fingers in their ears, and cry, " Turn 
 away mine eyes from beholding vanity," (Psa. 119 : 37), 
 and look upward, signifying that their trade or traffic 
 was in heaven. (Phil. 3 : 20, 21.) 
 
 One chanced, mockingly, beholding the carriage of 
 the men, to say unto them, " What will ye buy?" But 
 they, looking gravely upon him, said, " We buy the 
 truth." (Prov. 23 : 23.) At that there was an occasion 
 taken to despise the men the more; some mocking, 
 some taunting, some speaking reproachfully, and some 
 calling upon others to smite them. At last, things came 
 to a hubbub and great stir in the fair, insomuch that 
 all order was confounded. Now was word presently 
 brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came 
 down, and deputed some of his most trusty friends to 
 take those men into examination about whom the fair 
 was almost overturned. So the men were brought to 
 examination ; and they that sat upon them asked them 
 whence thev came, whither thej went, and what they 
 
,^8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 did there in such an unusual garb. The men told them 
 they were pilgrims and strangers in the world, and that 
 they were goiug to their own country, which was the 
 heavenly Jerusalem (Heb. 11 : 13-16) ; and that they 
 had given no occasion to the men of the town, nor yet 
 to the merchandisers, thus to abuse them, and to let 
 them in their journey, except it was for that, when one 
 asked them what they would buy, they said they would 
 buy the truth. But they that were appointed to exam- 
 ine them did not believe them to be any other than 
 bedlams and mad, or else such as came to put all things 
 into a confusion in the fair. Therefore they took them 
 and beat them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then 
 put them into the cage, that they might be made a 
 spectacle to all the men of the fair. There, therefore, 
 they lay for some time, and were made the objects of 
 any man's sport, or malice, or revenge ; the great one 
 of the fair laughing still at all that befell them. But 
 the men being patient, and '* not rendering railing for 
 railing, but contrariwise blessing," and giving good 
 words for bad, and kindness for injuries done, some men 
 in the fair, that were more observing and less prejudiced 
 than the rest, began to check and blame the baser sort 
 for their continual abuses done by them to the men. 
 They, therefore, in an angry manner let fly at them 
 again, counting them as bad as the men in the cage, and 
 tellincc them that they seemed confederates, and should 
 be made partakers of their misfortunes. The others re- 
 plied that, for aught they could see, the men were quiet 
 and sober, and intended nobody any harm; and that 
 there were many that traded in their fair that were 
 more worthy to be put into the cage, yea, and pillory 
 too, than were the men that they had abused. Thus, 
 ftfter divers words had passed on both sides (the men 
 behaviner themselves.aU^the. while very wisely and so* 
 
THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. X79 
 
 berly before them), they fell to some blows among them- 
 selves, and did harm one to another. Then were these 
 two poor men brought before their examiners again, 
 and were charged as being guilty of the late hubbub 
 that had been in the fair. So they beat them pitifully, 
 and hanged irons upon them, and led them in chains i^p 
 and down the fair, for an example and terror to others, 
 lest any should speak in their behalf, or join themselves 
 unto them. But Christian and Faithful behaved them* 
 selves yet more wisely, and received the ignominy and 
 shame that was cast upon them with so much meekness 
 and patience, that it won to their side (though but few 
 in comparison of the rest) several of the men in the 
 fair. This put the other party yet into a greater rage, 
 insomuch that they concluded the death of these two 
 men. Wherefore they threatened that neither cage nor 
 irons should serve their turn, but that they should die 
 for the abuse they had done, and for deluding the men 
 of the fair. 
 
 Then were they remanded to the cage again, until 
 further order should be taken with them. So they put 
 them in and made their feet fast in the stocks. 
 
 Here, also, they called again to mind what they had 
 heard from their faithful friend Evangelist, and were 
 the more confirmed in their way and sufferings by what 
 he told them would happen to them. They also now 
 comforted each other, that whose lot it was to suffer, 
 sven he should have the best of it : therefore each man 
 secretly wished that he might have that preferment. 
 But committing themselves to the all-wise disposal o^ 
 Him that ruleth all things, with much content they 
 abode in the condition in which they were, until they 
 should be otherwise disposed of. 
 
 Then a convenient time being appointed, they 
 brought them forth to their *rial, in order to their con- 
 
>8o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 /lemnation. When the time was come, they wert 
 brought before their enemies and arraigned. The 
 judge's name was Lord Hategood; their indictment 
 was one and the same in substance, though somewhat 
 varying in /orm ; the contents whereof was this : " That 
 they were enemies to, and disturbers of, the trade ; that 
 they had made commotions and divisions in the town, 
 and had won a party to their own most dangerous opin- 
 ions, in contempt of the law of their prince." 
 
 Then Faithful began to answer, that he had only 
 set himself against that which had set itself against 
 Him that is higher than the highest. And, said he, as 
 for disturbance, I make none, being myself a man of 
 peace : the parties that were won to us, were won by 
 beholding our truth and innocence, and they are only 
 turned from the worse to the better. And as to the 
 king you talk of, since he is Beelzebub, the enemy of 
 our Lord, I defy him and all bis angels. 
 
 Then proclamation was made, that they that had 
 aught to say for their lord the king against the prisoner 
 at the bar, should forthwith appear, and give in their 
 -evidence. So there came in three witnesses, to wit, 
 Envy, Superstition, and Pickthank. They were then 
 asked if they knew the prisoner at the bar ; and what 
 they had to say for their lord the king against him. 
 Then stood forth Envy, and said to this effect : My 
 ^ord, I have known this man a long time, and will attest 
 upon my oath, before this honorable bench, that he 
 is — 
 
 Judge. Hold ; give him his oath. 
 
 So they sware him. Then he said. My lord, this 
 man, notwithstanding his plausible name, is one of the 
 vilest men in our country ; he neither regarded prince 
 nor people, law nor custom, but doeth all that he can 
 to Dossess all men with certain of his disloval notions. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, l8l 
 
 which he in the general calls principles of faith and 
 holiness. And in particular, I heard him once mysel f 
 affirm, that Christianity and the customs of our town of 
 Vanity were diametrically opposite, and could not bo 
 reconciled. By which saying, my lord, he doth at once 
 not only condemn all our laudable doings, but us in the 
 doing of them. 
 
 Then did the judge say to him, Hast thou any more 
 to say? 
 
 Envy. My lord, I could say much more, only I 
 would not be tedious to the court. Yet if need be, 
 when the other gentlemen have given in their evidence,, 
 rather than anything shall be wanting that will dispatch 
 him, I will enlarge my testimony against him. So ha 
 was bid to stand by. 
 
 Then they called Superstition, and bid him loolf; 
 upon the prisoner. They also asked, what he couldK 
 say for their lord the king against him. Then they 
 sware him; so he began. 
 
 Super. My lord, I have no great acquaintance witb 
 this man, nor do I desire to have further knowledge oi: 
 him. However, this I know, that he is a very pestilent; 
 fellow, from some discourse that I had with him tho 
 other day, in this town ; for then, talking with him, I 
 heard him say, that our religion was naught, and such 
 by which a man could by no means please God. Which 
 saying of his, my lord, your lordship very well knows 
 what necessarily thence will follow, to wit, that we still 
 do worship in vain, are yet in our sins, and finally 
 shall be damned : and this is that which I have to say. 
 
 Then was Pickthank sworn, and bid say what he 
 knew in the behalf of their lord the king against the 
 prisoner at the bar. 
 
 Pick. My lord, and you gentlemen all, this fellow I 
 tave known of a Ions: time, and have heard him sneak 
 
l82 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 things that ought not to be spoken ; for he hath railed 
 on our noble prince Beelzebub, and hath spoken con* 
 temptibly of his honorable friends, whose names are, 
 the Lord Oldman, the Lord Carnal Delight, the Lord 
 Luxurious, the Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my old Lord 
 Lechery, Sir Having Greedy, with all the rest of our 
 nobility : and he hath said, moreover, that if all meis 
 were of his mind, if possible, there is not one of these 
 noblemen should have any longer a being in this town. 
 Besides, he hath not been afraid to rail on you, my lord, 
 who are now appointed to be his judge, calling you au 
 ungodly villain, with many other such like vilifying 
 terms, with which he hath bespattered most of the gen- 
 try of our town. 
 
 When this Pickthank had told his tale, the judge 
 directed his speech to the prisoner at the bar, saying, 
 Thou renegade, heretic, and traitor, hast thou heard 
 what these honest gentlemen have witnessed against 
 thee? 
 
 Faith. May I speak a few words in my own de- 
 fence? 
 
 Judge. Sirrah, thou deservest to live no ^onger, 
 but to be slain immediately upon the place ; yet, that 
 all men may see our gentleness towards thee, let us 
 hear what thou, vile renegade, hast to say. 
 
 Faith. 1. I say, then, in answer to what Mr. Envy 
 hath spoken, I never said aught but this, that what 
 rule, or laws, or custom, or people, were flat against the 
 word of God, are diametrically opposite to Christianity. 
 If I have said amiss in this, convince me of my error, 
 and I am ready here before you to make my recanta- 
 tion. 
 
 2. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and 
 his charge against me, I said only this, that in the wor« 
 ship of God there i& x«auired a divine faith i but there 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 183 
 
 can be no divine faith without a divine revelation of 
 the will of God. Therefore, whatever is thrust into the 
 worship of God that is not agreeable to divine revela- 
 tion, cannot be done but by a human faith ; which faith 
 will not be profitable to eternal life. 
 
 3. As to what Mr. Pickthank hath said, I say (avoid?^ 
 \ng terms, as that I am said to rail, and the like), that 
 the prince ©f this town, with all the rabblement, his 
 attendants, by this gentleman named, are more fit for 
 a beinor in hell than in this town and countrv. And so 
 the Lord have mercy upon me. 
 
 Then the judge called to the jury (who all this 
 while stood by to hear and observe). Gentlemen of the 
 jury, you see this man about whom so great an uproar 
 hath been made in this town ; you have also hear«i 
 what these worthy gentlemen have witnessed against 
 him ; also, you have heard his reply and confession: it 
 lieth now in your breasts to hang him, or save his life; 
 but yet I think meet to instruct you in our law. 
 
 There was an act made in the days of Pharaoh thd 
 Great, servant to our prince, that, lest those of a con- 
 trary religion should multiply and grow too strong for 
 him, their males should be thrown into the river. 
 (Exod. 1 : 22.) There was also an act made in the 
 days of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, another of his ser- 
 vants, that whoever would not fall down and worship 
 his golden image, should be thrown into a fiery furnace. 
 (Dan. 3 : 6.) There was also an act made in the days 
 of Darius, that whoso for some time called upon any 
 god but him, should be cast into the lion's den. (Dan. 
 6 : 7.) Now, the substance of these laws this rebel hath 
 broken, not only in thought (which is not to be borne), 
 but also in word and deed ; which must, therefore, needs 
 be intolerable. 
 
 For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a suo* 
 
lg4 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 position to prevent mischief, no crime being yet ap 
 parent ; but here is a crime apparent. For the second 
 and third, you see he disputeth against our religion ; and 
 for the treason that he hath already confessed, he de- 
 serveth to die the death. 
 
 Then went the jury out, whose names were Mr. 
 Blindman, Mr. Nogood, Mr. Malice, Mr. Lovelust, Mr, 
 Liveloose, Mr. Heady, Mr. Highmind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. 
 Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hatelight, and Mr. Implacable ; 
 who every one gave in his private verdict against him 
 among themselves, and afterwards unanimously con- 
 eluded to bring him in guilty before the judge. And first 
 among themselves, Mr. Blindman, the foreman, said, I 
 see clearly that tliis man is a heretic. Then said Mr. 
 Nogood, Away with such a fellow from the earth. Ay«, 
 «}aid Mr. Malice, for I hate the very looks of him. Thea 
 said Mr. Lovelust, I could never endure him. Nor '% 
 said Mr. Liveloose, for he would always be condemninj^ 
 my way. Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady. A 
 sorry scrub, said Mr. Highmind. My heart riseth 
 against him, said Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. 
 Liar. Hanging him is too good for him, said Mr. Cru- 
 elty. Let us dispatch him out of the way, said Mr. 
 Hatelight. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have 
 all the world given me, I could not be S'econciled to 
 jbim ; therefore let us forthwith bring hiia in guilty of 
 death. 
 
 And so they did ; therefore he was presently con- 
 demned to be had from the place wh<jre he was to the 
 place from whence he came, and there to be put to the 
 most cruel death that could be invented. 
 
 They therefore brought him out, to do with him ac- 
 cording to their law ; and first they scourged him, then 
 they buffeted him, then they lanced his flesh with 
 knives \ after that, tii«y stoned him with stones, then 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. \%^ 
 
 pricked him with their swords; and last of all, they 
 burned him to ashes at the stake. Thus came Faithful 
 to his end. 
 
 Now I saw, that there stood behind the multitude a 
 chariot and a couple of horses waiting for Faithful, who 
 (so soon as his adversaries had dispatched him) was 
 taken up into it, and straightway was carried up through 
 the clouds with sound of trumpet, the nearest way to 
 the celestial gate. But as for Christian, he had some 
 respite, and was remanded back to prison : so he re- 
 jiiained there for a space. But He who overrules all 
 things, having the power of their rage in his own hand, 
 60 wrought it about, that Christian for that time escaped 
 tbem, and went his way. 
 
 And as he went, he sang, saying, 
 
 ** Well, Faithful, thou hast .faithfully profest 
 Unto thy Lord, with whom thou shalt be blest. 
 When Faithless ones, with all their vain delights, 
 Are crying out under their hellish plights : 
 Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name survive ; 
 For though they killed thee, thou art yet alive." 
 
 THE SEVENTH STAGE. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that Christian went not 
 forth alone ; for there was one whose name was Hope- 
 ful (being so made by beholding of Christian and Faith- 
 ful in their words and behavior, in their sufferings at 
 the fair), who joined himself unto him, and entering 
 into a brotherly covenant, told him that he would be 
 his companion. Thus one died to bear testimony to 
 the truth, and another rises out of his ashes to bf» « 
 
^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 eompanion with Christian in his pilgrimage. Thij 
 Hopeful also told Christian that there were many more 
 of the men in the fair that would take their time and 
 follow after. 
 
 So I saw, that quickly after they were got out of 
 •ihe fair, they overtook one that was going before them, 
 <Whose name was Byends ; so they said to him, What 
 countryman, sir ? and how far go you this way? He 
 told them that he came from the town of Fairspeech, 
 and that he was going to the Celestial City ; ^^ut told 
 them not his name. 
 
 From Fairspeech ? said Christian ; is there any good 
 that lives there? (Prov. 26 : 25.) 
 
 By. Yes, said Byends, I hope so. 
 
 Chr. Pray, sir, what may I call you ? said Christian. 
 
 By. I am a stranger to you, and you to me ; if you 
 be going this way, I shall be glad of your company ; it 
 BiOt, I must be content. 
 
 Chr. This town of Fairspeech, said Christian, 1 
 have heard of; and, as I remember, they say it's a 
 wealthy place. 
 
 By. Yes, I will assure you that it is ; and I have 
 \ery many rich kindred there. 
 
 Chr. Pray, who are your kindred there, 5 " a maa 
 may be so bold ? 
 
 By. Almost the whole town ; but in particular my 
 Lord Turnabout, my Lord Timeserver, my Lord Fair- 
 speech, from whose ancestors that town first took its 
 name ; also, Mr. Smoothman, Mr. Facingbothways, Mr. 
 Anything; and the parson of our parish, Mr. Two- 
 tongues, was my mother's own brother, by father's side ; 
 and, tell you the truth, I am become a gentleman of 
 good quality ; yet my great-grandfather was but a 
 waterman, looking one way and rowing another, and I 
 £ot most of mv estate by the same occuDation. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. l8y 
 
 Chr. Are you a married man ? 
 
 By. Yes, and my wife is a very virtuous woman, 
 tJie daughter of a virtuous woman ; she was my Lady 
 Feigning's daughter; therefore she came of a very 
 honorable family, and is arrived to such a pitch of 
 breeding that she knows how to carry it to all, even to 
 prince and peasant. 'Tis true, we somewhat differ in 
 religion from those of the stricter sort, yet but in two 
 small points; First, we never strive against wind and 
 tide. Secondly, we are always most zealous when re- 
 ligion goes in his silver slippers ; we love much to walk 
 with him in the street, if the sun shines and the people 
 applaud him. 
 
 Then Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow 
 Hopeful, saying. It runs in my mind that this is one 
 Byends, of Fairspeech ; and if it be he, we have aa 
 very a knave in our company as dwelleth in all these 
 parts. Then said Hopeful, Ask him; methinks he 
 should not be ashamed of his name. So Christian 
 came up with him again, and said. Sir, you talk as if 
 you knew something more than all the world doth ; 
 and, if I take not my mark amiss, I deem I have half a 
 guess of you. Is not your name Mr. Byends, of Faii> 
 speech ? 
 
 By. This is not my name, but indeed it is a nick* 
 name that is given me by some that cannot abide me, 
 and I must be content to bear it as a reproach, as other 
 good men have borne theirs before me. 
 
 Chr. But did you never give an occasion to men to 
 call you by this name ? 
 
 By. Never, never ! The worst that ever I did to 
 give them an occasion to give me this name was, that I 
 had always the luck to jump in my judgment with the 
 present way of the times, whatever it was, and my chance 
 was to sret thereby.* but ii tikiuiis are thus cast upon ma 
 
l88 THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS, 
 
 let me count them a blessing ; but let not the malicioui 
 load me therefore with reproach. 
 
 Chr. I thought, indeed, that you were the man 
 that I heard of; and to tell you what I think, I fear 
 this name belongs to you more properly than you are 
 willing we should think it doth. 
 
 By. Well if you will thus imagine, I cannot help it \ 
 foil shall find me a fair company-keeper, if you will still 
 admit me your associate. 
 
 Chr. If you will go with us, you must go against 
 wind and tide ; the which, I perceive, is against your 
 opinion : you must also own Religion in his rags, r$ 
 well as when in his silver slippers; and stand by hia> 
 too, when bound in irons, as well as when he walket'i 
 the streets with applause. 
 
 By. You must not impose, nor lord it over my 
 faith ; leave me to my liberty, and let me go with you. 
 
 Chr. Not a step farther, unless you will do, in what 
 I propound, as we. 
 
 Then said Byends, I shall never desert my old pritf- 
 ciples, since they are harmless and profitable. If I ma f 
 lot go with you, I must do as I did before you overtoo fe 
 me, even go by myself, until some overtake me that 
 will be glad of my company. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that Christian and Hope- 
 ful forsook him, and kept their distance before hin"v; 
 but one of them, looking back, saw three men follow- 
 ing Mr. Byends ; and, behold, as they came up with him, 
 he made them a very low congee ; and they also gave 
 him a compliment. The men's names were, Mr. Hold- 
 theworld, Mr. Moneylove, and Mr. Saveall, men that 
 Mr. Byends had formerly been acquainted with ; for in 
 their minority they were schoolfellows, and were taught 
 by one Mr. Gripeman, a schoolmaster in Lovegain» 
 which is a market-town in the county of Covetinsr, ia 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, \%^ 
 
 the North. This schoolmaster taught them the art of 
 getting, either by violence, cozenage, flattering, lying, 
 or by putting on a guise of religion ; and these four 
 gentlemen had attained much of the art of their master, 
 so that they could each of them have kept such a school 
 themselves. 
 
 Well, when they had, as I said, thus saluted each 
 other, Mr. Moneylove said to Mr. Byends, Who are they 
 upon the road before us ? For Christian and Hopeful 
 were yet within view. 
 
 By. They are a couple of far-countrymen, that, after 
 their mode, are i!;oing on pilgrimage. 
 
 Money. Alas ! why did they not stay, that we might 
 have had their good company? for they, and we, and 
 you, sir, I hope, are all going on pilgrimage. 
 
 By. We are so, indeed ; but the men before us are 
 so rigid, and love so much their own notions, and do 
 a^so so lightly esteem the opinions of others, that let a 
 n-an be never so godly, yet if he jumps not with them 
 ir* all things, they thrust him quite out of their com- 
 pany. 
 
 Save. That is bad ; but we read of some that are 
 rfghteous over much, and such men's rigidness prevails 
 with them to judge and condemn all but themselves. 
 But I pray, what, and how many, were the things 
 wherein you differed ? 
 
 By. Why they, after their headstrong manner, con- 
 clude that it is their duty to rush on their journey all 
 weathers ; and I am for waiting for wind and tide. 
 They are for hazarding all for God at a clap ; and I am 
 for taking all advantages to secure my life and estate. 
 They are for holding their notions, though all other 
 men be against them ; but I am for religion in what and 
 so far as the times and my safety will bear it- They 
 are for relisfion when in rags and contempt ; but I am 
 
199 I'ffE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 for him when he walks in his silver slippers, in the sutt 
 shine, and with applause. 
 
 HoLDTHEWORLD. Aye, and hold you there still, 
 good Mr. Byends ; for, for my part, I can count him but 
 a fool, that, having the liberty to keep what he has, 
 shall be so unwise as to lose it. Let us be wise as ser^ 
 pents. It is best to make hay while the sun shines 
 You see how the bee lieth still all winter, and bestirs 
 her only when she can have profit with pleasure. God 
 sends sometimes rain, and sometimes sunshine : if they 
 be such fools to go through the first, yet let us be con- 
 tent to take fair weather along with us. For my part, 
 I like that relisfion best that will stand with the secur- 
 ity of God's good blessings unto us ; for who can imag- 
 ine, that is ruled by his reason, since God has bestowed 
 upon us the good things of this life, but that he would 
 have us keep them for his sake ? Abraham and Solo- 
 mon grew rich in religion ; and Job says, that a good 
 man shall lay up gold as dust ; but he must not be 
 such as the men before us, if they be as you have de- 
 scribed them. 
 
 Save. I think that we are all agreed in this matter; 
 and therefore there needs no more words about it. 
 
 Money. No, there needs no nK)re words about this 
 matter, indeed; for he that believes neither Scripture 
 nor reason (and you see we have both on our side) 
 3ieither knows his own liberty nor seeks his own safety. 
 
 By. My brethren, we are, as you see, going all on 
 pilgrimage ; and, for our better diversion from things 
 that are bad, give me leave to propound unto you this 
 question : 
 
 Suppose a man, a minister, or a tradesman, &c., 
 should have an advantage lie before him to get the good 
 blessings of this life, yet so as that he can by no means 
 come by them, excepttjjQ^apDearance at least, he bo 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. j^l 
 
 comes extraordinary zealous in some points of religion 
 that he meddled not with before ; may he not use this 
 means to attain his end, and yet be a right honest man ? 
 Money. I see at the bottom of your question ; and 
 with these gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavor to 
 ishape you an answer. And first, to speak to your ques- 
 tion as it concerneth a minister himself: suppose a min- 
 ister, a worthy man, possessed but of a very small bene» 
 tice, and has in his eye a greater, more fat and plump 
 by far ; he has also now an opportunity of getting it, 
 yet so as by being more studious, by preaching more 
 frequently and zealously, and because the temper of the 
 people requires it, by altering of some of his principles ; 
 for my part, I see no reason why a man may not do 
 this, provided he has a call, aye, and mere a great deal 
 besides, and yet be an honest man. For why? 
 
 1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful (thia 
 cannot be contradicted), since it is set before him by 
 Providence ; so then he may get it if he can, making no 
 question for conscience sake. 
 
 2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him 
 more studious, a more zealous preacher, &c., and so 
 makes him a better man ; yea, makes him better im- 
 prove his parts, which is according to the mind of God. 
 
 3. Now, as for his complying with the temper of his 
 people, by deserting, to serve them, some of his prin- 
 ciples, this argueth, 1. That he is of a self-denying 
 temper. 2. Of a sweet and winning deportment. And, 
 3. So more fit for the mnisterial function. 
 
 4. I conclude, then, that a minister that changes a 
 small for a great, should not, for so doing, be judged as 
 covetous ; but rather, since he is improved in his parts 
 and industry thereby, be counted as one that pursues 
 his call, and the opportunity put into his hand to do 
 cood. 
 
1^2 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 And now to the second part of the question, which 
 concerns the tradesman you mentioned. Suppose such 
 an one to have but a poor employ in the world, but by 
 becoming religious he may mend his market, perhaps 
 get a rich wife, or more and far better customers to his 
 shop ; for my part, I see no reason but this may be law* 
 fully done. For why ? 
 
 1. To become religious is a virtue, by what means 
 soever a man becomes so. 
 
 2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich wife, or more 
 custom to my shop. 
 
 3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming re" 
 ligious, gets that which is good of them that are good, 
 by becoming good himself ; so then here is a good wife, 
 and good customers, and good gain, and all these by 
 becoming religious, which is good : therefore, to become 
 religious to get all these is a good and profitable design. 
 
 This answer, thus made by Mr. Moneylove to Mr. 
 Byends' question, was highly applauded by them all; 
 wherefore they concluded, upon the whole, that it was 
 most wholesome and advantageous. And because, as 
 they thought, no man was able to contradict it; and 
 because Christian and Hopeful were yet within call* 
 they jointly agreed to assault them with the question 
 as soon as they overtook them ; and the rather, because 
 they had opposed Mr. Byends before. So they called 
 after them, and they stopped and stood still till they 
 ^ame up to them ; but they concluded, as they went, 
 that not Mr. Byends, but old Mr. Holdthe world should 
 propound the question to them, because, as they sup- 
 posed, their answer to him would be without the re- 
 mainder of that heat that was kindled betwixt Mr. By* 
 ends and them at their parting a little before. 
 
 So they came up to each other, and after a short 
 salutation, Mr. Hoidthe world DiODOunded the Question 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^^. 
 
 lo Christian and his fellow, and then bid them to answer 
 it if they could. 
 
 Then said Christian, Even a babe in religion may 
 answer ten thousand such questions. For if it be un- 
 lawful to follow Christ for loaves, as it is (John 6 : 26), 
 how much more abominable is it to make of him and 
 religion a stalking-horse to get and enjoy the world' 
 Nor do we find any other than heathens, hypocrites^ 
 devils, and witches, that are of this opinion. 
 
 1. Heathens : for when Hamor and Shechem had a 
 mind to the daughter and cattle of Jacob, and saw that 
 there was no way to come at them but by being circum- 
 cised, they said to their companions, If every male of us 
 be circumcised, as they are circumcised, shall not their 
 cattle, and their substance, and every beast of theirs ])e 
 ours? Their daughters and their cattle were thit 
 which they sought to obtain, and their religion tJte 
 stalking-horse they made use of to come at them. Re&,d 
 the whole story (Gen. 34: 20-24). 
 
 2. The hypocritical Pharisees were also of this re- 
 ligion: long prayers were their pretence, but to get 
 widows' houses was their intent ; and greater damna- 
 tion was from God their judgment. (Luke 20 : 46, 47.) 
 
 3. Judas the devil was also of this religion \ he was 
 religious for the bag, that he might be possessed of 
 what was put therein ; but he was lost, cast away, and 
 the very son of perdition. 
 
 4. Simon the wizard was of this religion too ; for he 
 would have had the Holy Ghost, that he might have 
 got money therewith : and his sentence from Peter's 
 mouth was according. (Acts 8 : 19-22.) 
 
 5. Neither will it out of my mind, but that that 
 man who takes up religion for the world, will throw 
 away religion for the world ; for so surely as Judas de- 
 fii^^ned the world in becoming religious, so surely did 
 
1^4 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 he also sell religion and his Master for the same. Td 
 answer the question, therefore, affirmatively, as I per* 
 ceive you have done, and to accept of, as authentic 
 such answer is heathenish, hypocritical, and devilish g 
 and your reward will be according to your works. 
 
 Then they stood staring one upon another, but had 
 not wherewith to answer Christian. Hopeful also ap- 
 proved of the soundness of Christian's answer , so there 
 was a great silence among them. Mr. Byends and his 
 company also staggered and kept behind, that Christian 
 and Hopeful might outgo them. Then said Christian 
 to his fellow, If these men can not stand before the sen- 
 tence of men, what will they do with the sentence of 
 God ? And if they are mute when dealt with by vessels 
 of clay, what will they do when they shall be rebuked 
 by the flames of a devouring fire ? 
 
 Then Christian and Hopeful outwent them again, 
 and went till they came at a delicate plain, called Ease, 
 where they went with much content ; but that plain 
 was but narrow, so they were quickly got over it. Now 
 at the farther side of that plain was a little hill, called 
 Lucre, and in that hill a silver-mine, which some of 
 them that had formerly gone that way, because of the 
 rarity of it, had turned aside to see ; but going too near 
 the brim of the pit, the ground, being deceitful under 
 them, broke, and they were slain : some also had been 
 maimed there, and could not, to their dying day, be 
 their own men again. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, 
 over against the silver-mine, stood Demas (gentleman- 
 like) to call passengers to come and see ; who said to 
 Christian and his fellow, Ho I turn aside hither, and I 
 will show you a thing. 
 
 Chr. What thing so deserving as to turn us out ol 
 the way to seeilit/' 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 1^5 
 
 Demas. Here is a silver-mine, and some digging in 
 It for treasure : if you will come, with a little p:^insyou 
 may richly provide for yourselves. 
 
 Hope. Then said Hopeful, Let us go see. 
 
 Chr. Not I, said Christian : I have heard of this 
 place before now^ and how many have there been slain; 
 and besides, that treasure is a snare to those that seek 
 it, for it hindereth them in their pilgrimage. 
 
 Then Christian called to Demas, saying, Is not the 
 place dangerous ? Hath it not hindered many in their 
 pilgrimage ? (Hosea 9:6.) 
 
 Demas. Not very dangerous, except to those that 
 are careless ; but withal he bluslied as he spake. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not 
 stir a step, but still keep on our way. 
 
 Hope. I will warrant you, when Byends comes up, 
 if he hath the same invitation as we, he will turn in 
 thitlier to see. 
 
 Chr. No doubt thereof, for his principles lead him 
 that way, and a hundred to one but he dies there. 
 
 Demas. Then Demas called again, saying, But will 
 you not come over and see ? 
 
 Chr. Then Christian roundly answered, saying, 
 Demas, thou art an enemy to the right ways of the 
 Lord of this way, and hast been already condemned for 
 thine own turning aside, by one of his Majesty's judges 
 (2 Tim. 4: 10); and why seekest thou to bring us into 
 the like condemnation? Besides, if we at all turn 
 aside, our Lord the King will certainly hear thereof, 
 and will there put us to shame, where we would stand 
 with boldness before him. 
 
 Demas cried again, that he also was one of their fra» 
 ternity ; and that if they wouL^ tarry a little, he also 
 himself would walk with them. 
 
^g^ THE FiLGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, What is thy name? la 
 it not the same by which I have called thee? 
 
 Demas. Yes, my name is Demas ; I am the son of 
 Abraham. 
 
 Chr. I know you: Gehazi was your great-grand- 
 father, and Judas your father, and you have trod ia 
 iheir steps ; it is but a devilish prank that thou usest: 
 thy father was hanged for a traitor, and thou deservest 
 no better reward. (2 Kings, 5 : 20-27 ; Matt. 26 : 14, 15 ; 
 27: 3-5.) Assure thyself, that when we come to the 
 Xing, we will tell him of this thy behavior. Thus they 
 went their way. 
 
 By this time Byends and his companions were come 
 again within sight, and they at the first beck went over 
 to Demas. Now, whether they fell into the pit by 
 looking over the brink thereof, or whether they went 
 down to dig, or whether they were smothered in the 
 bottom by the damps that commonly arise, of these 
 things I am not certain ; but this I observed, that they 
 >rere never seen again in the way. Then sang Christiant 
 
 " Byends and silver Demas both agree ; 
 One calls, the other runs, that he may be 
 A sharer in his lucre : so these two 
 Take up in this world, and no farther go." 
 
 Now I saw that, just on the other side of this plain< 
 the pilgrims came to a place where stood an old monu« 
 ment, hard by the highway-side, at the sight of which 
 they were both concerned, because of the strangeness 
 of the form thereof ; for it seemed to them as if it had 
 been a woman transformed into the shape of a pillar. 
 Here, therefore, they stood looking and looking upou 
 it, but could not for a time tell what they should make 
 thereof. At last Hopeful espied, written above unou 
 the head thereoL a writine^ in aa unusual hand: but h« 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 19^ 
 
 being no scholar, called to Christian (for he was learned) 
 to see if he could pick out the meaning : so he came, 
 and after a little laying of the letters together, he found 
 the same to be this, '' Remember Lot's wife.'* So he 
 read it to his fellow ; after which they both concluded 
 that that was the pillar of salt into which Lot's wife 
 was turned, for her looking back with a covetous heart 
 when she was going from Sodom for safety. (Gen. 19: 
 26.) Which sudden and amazing sight gave them occa- 
 sion for this discourse. 
 
 Chr. Ah, my brother, this is a seasonable sight : it 
 came opportunely to us after the in vita lion which 
 Demas gave us to come over to view the hill Lucre ; 
 and had we gone over, as he desired us, and as thou 
 wast inclined to do, my brother, we had, for aught I 
 know, been made, like this woman, a spectacle for thojie 
 that shall come after to behold. 
 
 Hope. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am 
 made to wonder that I am not now as Lot's wife ; for 
 wherein was the difference betwixt her sin and mine t 
 She only looked back, and I had a desire to go see. 
 Let grace be adored ; and let me be ashamed that ever 
 such a thing should be in mine heart. 
 
 Chr. Let us take notice of what we see here, for 
 our help for time to come. This woman escaped one 
 judgment, for she fell not by the destruction of Sodom ; 
 yet she was destroyed by another. As we see, she is 
 turned into a pillar of salt. 
 
 Hope. True, and she may be to us both caution and 
 example : caution, that we should shun her sin ; or a 
 sign of what judgment will overtake such as shall not 
 be prevented by this caution. So Korah, Dathan, and 
 Abiram, with the two hundred and fifty men that per- 
 ished in their sin, did also become a sign or example to 
 Others to beware* (Numb. 16 j 31, 32 i 26: 9. 10.> B"^ 
 
ig8 THE PILUKiM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 above all, T muse at one thing, to wit, how Demas and 
 his fellows can stand so confidently yonder to look for 
 that treasure, which this woman, but for looking behind 
 her after (for we read not that she stepped one foot out 
 of the way), was turned into a pillar of salt ; especially 
 since the judgment which overtook her did make her an 
 example, within sight of where they are ; for they can- 
 not choose but see her, did they but lift up their eyes. 
 
 Chr. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth 
 that their hearts are grown desperate in the case ; and 
 I cannot tell who to compare them to so fitly, as t(> 
 them that pick pockets in the presence of the jud|je, or 
 that will cut purses under the gallows. It is said of 
 the men of Sodom, that they were "sinners exceed- 
 ingly," because they were sinners, " before the Lord," 
 that is, in His eyesight, and notwithstanding the kind- 
 nesses that He had shown them ; for the land of Sodom 
 was now like the garden of Eden heretofore. (Gen. 13 j 
 10-13.) This, therefore, provoked Him the more to 
 jealousy, and made their plague as hot as the fire of tho 
 Lord out of heaven could make it. And it is mosft 
 rationally to be concluded, that such, even such as thesw 
 are, that shall sin in the sight, yea, and that too in de- 
 spite of such examples that are set continually before 
 them, to caution them to the contrary, must be par- 
 takers of severest judgments. 
 
 Hope. Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but 
 what a mercy is it that neither thou, but especially T, 
 am not made myself this examp^ * This ministereth 
 occasion to us to thank God, to ^ear before Him, and 
 always to remember Lot's wife. 
 
 I saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant 
 river, which David the king called " the river of God; " 
 but John, "the river of the water of life." (Psalm 65: 
 9; Rev. ^2: 1, 2« Ezek. 47* 1-9.^ J^ow their way lay 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. i^q 
 
 just upon the bank of this river : here, therefore, Chris- 
 tian and his companion walked with great delight ; they 
 drank also of the water of the river, which was pleas- 
 ant and enlivening to their weary spirits. Besides, on 
 the banks of this river, on either side, were green trees 
 with all manner of fruit ; and the leaves they ate to 
 prevent surfeits, and other diseases that are incident to 
 those that heat their blood by travel. On either side 
 of the river was also a meadow, curiously beautified 
 with lilies ; and it was green all the year long. In this 
 meadow they lay down and slept, for here they might 
 lie down safely. (Psalm 23: 2; Tsa. 14: 30.) When 
 they awoke they gathered again of the fruits of tho 
 trees, and drank again of the water of the river, and 
 then lay down again to sleep. Thus they did several 
 days and nights. Then they sang, 
 
 ** Behold ye how these crystal streams do glide, 
 To comfort pilgrims by the highway-side. 
 The meadows green, besides their fragrant smell, 
 Yield dainties for them ; and he who can tell 
 >yhat pleasant fruit, yea, leaves these trees do yieldi 
 Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field." 
 
 So when they were disposed to go on (for they were 
 not as yet at their journey's end), they ate, and drank, 
 and departed. 
 
 Now T beheld in my dream, that they had not jour* 
 neyed far, but the river and the way for a time parted, 
 at which they were not a little sorry ; yet they durst 
 not go out of the way. Now the way from the river 
 was rough, and their feet tender by reason of their 
 travels ; so the souls of the pilgrims were much dis* 
 couraged because of the way. (Numb. 21 : 4.) Where- 
 fore, still as they went on, they wished for a better 
 way. Now, a little before them, there was on the left 
 hand of the road a meadow* and a stile to ffo over mtr» 
 
200 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 it, and that meadow 7s called Bypath meadow. Thea 
 said Christian to his fellow, If this meadow lieth along 
 by our wayside, let's go over into it. Then he went 
 to the stile to see ; and behold, a path lay along by the 
 way on the other side of the fence. It is according 
 to my wish, said Christian ; here is the easiest going ; 
 come, good Hopeful, and let us go over. 
 
 Hope. But how if this path should lead us out of the 
 way? 
 
 That is not likely, said the other. Look, doth it 
 not go along by the wayside ? So Hopeful, being per- 
 suaded by his fellow, went after him over the stile. 
 "When they were gone over, and were got into the 
 path, they found it very easy for their feet ; and withal, 
 they, looking before them, espied a man walking as 
 they did, and his name was Vain-Confidence: so they 
 called after him, and asked him whither that way led. 
 He said. To the Celestial Gate. Look, said Christian, did 
 I not tell you so ? By this you may see we are right. 
 So they followed, and he went before them. But be* 
 hold, the night came on, and it grew very dark ; so they 
 that were behind lost sight of him that went before. 
 
 He, therefore, that went before (Yain-Confidence 
 by name), not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep 
 pit, which was on purpose there made, by the prince of 
 those grounds, to catch vain-glorious fools withal, and 
 g^as dashed in pieces with his fall. (Isa. 9 : 16.) 
 
 Now, Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So 
 they called to know the matter, but there was none to^ 
 answer, only they heard a groaning. Then said Hope- 
 ful. Where are we now? Then was his fellow silent, 
 as mistrusting that he had led him out of the way.* 
 and now it began to rain, and thunder, and lighten, iu 
 % most dreadful manner^ and the water rose amain. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 20t 
 
 Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, Oh, that 
 I had kept on my way ! 
 
 Chr. Who could have thought that this path should 
 have led us out of the way ? 
 
 Hope. I was afraid on't at the very first, and there* 
 fore gave you that gentle caution. I would have spoken 
 plainer, but that you are older than I. 
 
 Chr. Good brother, be not offended : I am sorry I 
 liave brought thee out of the way, and that I have put 
 tliee into such imminent danger. Pray, my brother^ 
 forgive me ; I did not do it of an evil intent. 
 
 Hope. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee ; 
 fcnd believe, too, that this shall be for our good. 
 
 Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother : 
 imt we must not stand here ; let us try to go back again. 
 
 Hope. But, good brother, let me go before. 
 
 Chr. No, if you please, let me go first, that if there 
 ?>e any danger, I may be first therein, because by my 
 jaeans we are both gone out of the way. 
 
 Hope. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first, foi 
 your mind being troubled may lead you out of the way 
 again. Then for their encouragement they heard the 
 T oice of one saying, *' Let thine heart be toward the 
 highway, even the way that thou wentest: turn again." 
 ( Jer. 31 : 21.) But by this time the waters were 
 greatly risen, by which the way of going back was very 
 dangerous. (Then I thought that it is easier going out 
 jf the way when we are in, than going in when we are 
 out.) Yet they adventured to go back ; but it was so 
 dark, and the flood was so high, that in their going 
 back they had like to have been drowned nine or tea 
 times. 
 
 Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get 
 again to the stile that night. Wherefore at last, light 
 ing under a little shelter, they sat down there till the 
 
f 02 THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. 
 
 day brake; but, beiDg weary, they fell asleep. Kotv 
 there was, not far from the place where they lay, a 
 castle, called Doubting Castle, the owner whereof was 
 Giant Despair, and it was in his grounds they now were 
 sleeping ; wherefore he, getting up in the morning early, 
 and walking up and down in his fields, caught Christian 
 and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then with a grim 
 and surly voice he bid them awake, and asked them 
 whence they were, and what they did in his grounds. J 
 They told him they were pilgrims, and that they had lost ^ 
 their way. Then said the giant. You have this night tresc 
 passed on me by trampling in and lying on my grounds, 
 and therefore you must go along with me. So they were 
 forced to go, because he was stronger than they. They 
 had also but little to say, for they knew themselves in a 
 fault. The giant, therefore, drove them before him, and 
 put them into his castle, into a very dark dungeon, nasty 
 and stinking to the spirits of these two men. Here, then, 
 they lay from Wednesday morning till Saturday nighty 
 without one bit of bread or drop of drink, or light, or 
 any to ask how they did ; they were, therefore, here 
 in evil case, and were far from friends and acquaintance. 
 (Psa. 88 : 18.) ]^ow, in this place. Christian had double 
 sorrow, because it was through his unadvised counsel 
 that they were brought into this distress. 
 
 ]^ow Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was 
 Diffidence : so, when he was gone to bed, he told his 
 wife what he had done, to wit, that he had taken a . 
 couple of prisoners, and cast them into his dungeon for i. 
 trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her, also? 
 what he had best do further with them. So she asked 
 him what they were, whence they came, and whither 
 they were bound; and he told her. Then she coun- 
 selled him, that, when he arose in the morning, he 
 

 
 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 203 
 
 should beat them without mercy. So when he arose, 
 he getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes 
 down into the dungeon to them, and there first falls to 
 rating of them as if they were dogs, although they gavo 
 him never a word of distaste. Then he fell upon them, 
 and beat them fearfully, in such sort that they were not 
 able to help themselves, or to turn them upon the floor 
 This done, he withdraws and leaves them there to con 
 dole their misery, and to mourn under their distress: 
 so all that day they spent their time in nothing but 
 sighs and bitter lamentations. The next night, she, 
 talking with her husband further about them, and un- 
 derstanding that they were yet alive, did advise him to 
 counsel them to make away with themselves. So, when 
 morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner, 
 as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the 
 stripes that he had given them the day before, he told 
 them, that since they were never like to come out of 
 that place, their only way would be forthwith to make 
 an end of themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison, 
 for why, said he, should you choose to live, seeing it is 
 attended with so much bitterness ? But they desired 
 him to let them go. With that he looked ugly upon 
 them, and rushing to them, had doubtless made an end 
 of them himself, but that he fell into one of his fits 
 (for he sometimes in sunshiny weather fell into fits), 
 and lost for a time the use of his hands ; wherefore h« 
 withdrew, and left thom, as before, to consider what tc 
 do. Then did the prisoners consult between themselves 
 whether it was best to take his counsel or no; and thua 
 they began to discourse. 
 
 Chr. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? 
 The life that we now live is miserable. For my partv 
 I know not whether it is best to live thus, or to die ou» 
 of hand. Mv soul chooseth stransflins: rather than lifdb 
 
J04 "^^^ MIGRIM'::! i^ROGRESS, 
 
 and tfic ^^^vt is more easy for me than this dungeon 
 (Job 7 ■ lo.) Shall we be ruled by the giant ? 
 
 HoPjii Indeed cur present condition is dreadful, 
 and deatii would be far more welcome to me than thus 
 forever to abide; but yet, let us consider^ the Lord of 
 the country to which we are going hath said, ^' Thou 
 shalt do no murder," no, not to another man's person ; 
 much more, then, are we forbidden to take his counsel 
 to kill ourselves. Besides, he that kills another, can 
 but commit murder upon his body; but for one to kill 
 himself, is to kill body and soul at once. And, more- 
 over, my brother, thou talkest of ease in the grava; 
 but hast thou forgotten the hell whither for certain the 
 murderers go? for "no murderer hath eternal life," 
 &c. And let us consider again, that all the law is mit 
 in the hand of Giant Despair: others, so far as I can 
 understand, have been taken by him as well as we, aud 
 yet have escaped out of his hands. Who knows but 
 that God, who made the world, may cause that Giant 
 ^Jespair may die ; or that, at some time or other, }»e 
 niay forget to lock us in ; or that he may, in a short 
 iime, have another of his fits before us, and may lose the 
 use of his limbs ? And if ever that should come to 
 pass again, for my part, I am resolved to pluck up the 
 heart of a man, and to try my utmost to get from under 
 his hand. I was a fool that I did not try to do it be- 
 fore. But, however, my brother, let us be patient, and 
 endure a while : the time may come that may give us a 
 happy release ; but let us not be our own murderers. 
 With these words Hopeful at present did moderate the 
 mind of his brother; so they continued together in the 
 dark that day, in their sad and doleful condition. 
 
 Well, towards evening the giant goes down into the 
 dungeon again, to see if his prisoners had taken his 
 counsel But, when lie ^i^ame there he found the;** 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 20$ 
 
 alive : and, truly, alive was all ; for now, what for want 
 of bread and water, and by reason of the wounds they 
 received when he beat them, they could do little but 
 breathe. But, I say, he found them alive ; at which he 
 fell into a grievous rage, and told them, that, seeing 
 they had disobeyed his counsel, it should be worse with 
 them than if they had never been born. 
 
 At this they trembled greatly, and I think that 
 Christian fell into a swoon ; but, coming a little to 
 himself again, they renewed their discourse about the 
 giant's counsel, and whether yet they had best take it! 
 or no. Now Christian again seemed for doing it ; but 
 Hopeful made his second reply, as followeth : — 
 
 Hope. My brother, said he, rememberest thou not 
 how valiant thou hast been heretofore ? Apollyon 
 could not crush thee, nor could all that thou didst hear, 
 or see, or feel, in the Valley of the Shadow of Death 
 What hardship, terror, and amazement, hast thou al- 
 ready gone through ; and art thou now nothing bu^ 
 fears ? Thou seest that I am in the dungeon with thee, 
 a far weaker man by nature than thou art. Also, thia 
 giant hath wounded me as well as thee, and hath also 
 cat off the bread and water from my mouth, and with 
 thee I mourn without the light. But, let us exercise a 
 little more patience. Remember how thou playedst the 
 man at Vanity Fair, and wast neither afraid of the 
 chain nor cage, nor yet of bloody death ; wherefore, 
 let us (at least to avoid the shame that it becomes not 
 a Christian to be found in) bear up with patience aa 
 well as we can. 
 
 Now, night being come again, and the giant and his 
 wife being in bed, she asked him concerning the pris« 
 oners, and if they had taken his counsel : to which he 
 replied, They are sturdy rogues ; they choose rather to 
 bear all hardships than to make away with themselves. 
 
2o6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 Then said she, Take them into the castle-yard to-nioi» 
 row, and show them the bones and skulls of those that 
 thou hast already despatched, and make them believe, 
 ere a week comes to an end, thou wilt tear them ia 
 pieces, as thou hast done their fellows before them. 
 
 So, when the morning was come, the giant goes to 
 them again, and takes them into the castle-yard, and 
 shows them as his wife had bidden him. These, said 
 he, were pilgrims, as you are, once, and they trespassed 
 on my grounds, as you have done ; and, when I thought 
 fit, I tore them in pieces ; and so within ten days I will 
 do you. Go, get you down to your den again. And 
 with that he beat them all the way thither. They lay^ 
 therefore, all day on Saturday in a lamentable case, as 
 before. Now, when night was come, and when Mrs. 
 Diffidence, and her husband the giant was got to bed, 
 they began to renew their discourse of their prisoners ; 
 and, withal, the old giant wondered that he could 
 neither by his blows nor counsel bring them to an end. 
 And with that his wife replied, I fear, said she, that 
 they live in hopes that some will come to relieve them ; 
 or that they have picklocks about them, by the means 
 of which they hope to escape. And sayest thou so, my 
 dear ? said the giant. I will therefore search them ift 
 the morning. 
 
 Well, on Saturday, about midnight, they began to 
 pray, and continued in prayer till almost break of day. 
 
 Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, ag 
 one half amazed, brake out into this passionate speech: 
 What a fool, quoth he, am I, th<us to lie in a stinking 
 dungeon, when I may as well walk at liberty ! I have 
 a key in my bosom, called Promise, that will, I am per- 
 suaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle. Then said 
 Hopeful, That is good new« •- good brother, pluck it 
 out of thy bosom, and try, 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, tOf 
 
 llien Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began 
 to try at the dungeon-door, whose bolt, as he turned 
 the key, gave back, and the door flew open with ease, 
 and Christian and Hopeful both came out. Then ha 
 went to the outward door that leads into the castle, 
 •"ard, and with his key opened that door also. After 
 that he went to the iron gate, for that must be opened 
 too ; but that lock went desperately hard, yet the key 
 did open it. They then thrust open the gate to make 
 their escape with speed ; but that gate, as it opened, 
 made such a creaking that it waked Giant Despair, who 
 hastily rising to pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs to 
 fail ; for his fits took him again, so that he could by no 
 means go after them. Then they went on, and came 
 to the King's highway, and so were safe, because they 
 were out of his jurisdiction. 
 
 Now, when they were gone over the stile, they be- 
 gan to contrive with themselves what they should do 
 at that stile to prevent those that should come after 
 from falling into the hands of Giant Despair. So they 
 consented to erect there a pillar, and to engrave upoa 
 the side thereof this sentence : " Over this stile is the 
 way to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant De- 
 ispair, who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, 
 and seeks to destroy his holy pilgrims." Many there- 
 fore, that followed after, read what was written, aad 
 escaped the danger. This done, they sang as follows 2-— 
 
 " Out of the way we went, and then we found 
 What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground : 
 And let them that come after have a care, 
 Lest heedlessness makes them as we to fare ; 
 Lest they, for trespassing, his prisoners are, 
 Whotse castle's Doub^^^ing, and whose name'j Despair ' 
 
20g THE PILGRLM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 THE EIGHTH STAGE. 
 
 They went then till they came to the Deiectaole 
 Mountains, which mountains belong to the Lord of 
 that hill of which we have spoken before. So they 
 went up to the mountains, to behold the gardens and 
 orchards, the vineyards and fountains of water ; where 
 also they drank and washed themselves, and did freely 
 eat of the vineyards. Now, there were on the tops of 
 these mountains shepherds feeding their flocks, and 
 they stood by the highway-side. The pilgrims, there- 
 fore, went to them, and leaning upon their staffs (as is 
 common with weary pilgrims when they stand to talk 
 with any by the way), they asked. Whose Delectable 
 Mountains are these ; and whose be the sheep that feed 
 upon them ? 
 
 Shep. These mountains are Emmanuel's land, and 
 Valley are within sight of his city ; and the sheep also 
 ai e his, and he laid down his life for them. (John 10 : 
 
 n, 15.) 
 
 Chr. Is this the way to the Celestial City? 
 
 Shep. You are just in your way. 
 
 Chr. How far is it thither ? 
 
 Shep. Too far for any but those who shall get 
 thither indeed. 
 
 Chr. Is the way safe or dangerous? 
 
 Shep. Safe for those for whom it is to be sale -, but 
 transgressors shall fall therein. (Hos. 14 : 9.) 
 
 Chr. Is there in this place any relief for pilgrims 
 that are weary and faint in the way ? 
 
 SfiiiP. The Lord of these mountains hath given us 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 209 
 
 a charge not to be forgetful to entertain strangers (Heb. 
 13 : 2) ; therefore the good of the place is before you. 
 
 I saw also in my dream, that when the shepherds 
 perceived that they were wayfaring men, they also put 
 questions to them (to which they made answer as in 
 other places), as. Whence came you? and, How got you 
 into the way ? and, By what means have j'ou so perse* 
 vered therein ? for but few of them that begin to come 
 hither, do show their face on these mountains. But 
 when the shepherds heard their answers, being pleased 
 therewith, they looked very lovingly upon them, and 
 said, Welcome to the Delectable Mountains. 
 
 The shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, 
 Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, took them by the 
 hand, and had them to their tents, and made them 
 partake of what was ready at present. They said, 
 moreover. We would that you should stay here a while, 
 to be acquainted with us, and yet more to solace your- 
 selves with the good of these Delectable Mountains. 
 Then they told them that they were content to stay. 
 So they went to their rest that night, because it was 
 very late. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that in the morning the 
 shepherds called up Christian and Hopeful to walk 
 with them upon the mountains. So they v/ent forth 
 with them, and walked a while, having a pleasant pros- 
 pect on every side. Then said the shepherds one to 
 another. Shall we show these pilgrims some wonders ? 
 So, when they had concluded to do it, they had them 
 first to the top of a hill called Error, which was ver^ 
 steep on the farthest side, and bid them look down 
 to the bottom. So Christian and Hopeful looked down, 
 and saw at the bottom several men dashed all to pieces 
 by a fall that they had had from the top. Then sai(J 
 Christian, What meaneth this? The shepherds aft 
 
2 1 o THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 
 
 swered, Have you notheai'd of them that were made to 
 err, by hearkening to Hymeneus and Philetus, as con- 
 cerning the faith of the resurrection of the body ? (2 
 Tim. 2 : 17, 18.) They answered. Yes. Then said vae 
 shepherds, Those that you see lie dashed in pieces at 
 the bottom of this mountain are they ; and they have 
 continued to this day unburied, as you see, for an 
 ^xample to others to take heed how they chimber too 
 high, or how they come too near the brink of this 
 mountain. 
 
 Then I saw that they had them to the top of another 
 mountain, and the name of that is Caution, and bid 
 them look afar off, which, when they did, they per- 
 ceived, as they thought, several men walking up and 
 down among the tombs that were there ; and they per- 
 ceived that the men were blind, because they stumbled 
 sometimes upon the tombs, and because they could not 
 get out from among them. Then said Christian, Wha^ 
 means this ? 
 
 The shepherds then answered, Did you not see, a 
 little below these mountains, a stile that led into a 
 meadow, on the left hand of this way ? They answered, 
 Yes. Then said the shepherds, From that stile there 
 goes a path that leads directly to Doubting Castle, 
 which is kept by Giant Despair; and these men (point- 
 ing to iLein among the tombs) came once on pilgrimage, 
 as you do now, even until they came to that same stile. 
 And because the right way was rough in that place, 
 they chos3 to go out of it into that meadow, and there 
 were taken by Giant Despair, and cast into Doubting 
 Castle ; where, after they had a while been kept in the 
 dungeon, he at last did put * ut their eyes, and led 
 them among those tombs, where he has left them to 
 wander to this very day ; that the saying of the wiso 
 
THE PIL GRIM'S PROGRESS. 211 
 
 man might he fulfilled, " He that wandereth out of the 
 wa}^ of understanding shall remain in the congregation 
 of the dead.*' (Prov. 21: 16.) Then Christian and 
 Hopeful looked one upon another, with tears gushing 
 out, but yet said nothing to the shepherds. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that the shepherds had 
 them to another place in a bottom, where was a door 
 on the side of a hill . and they opened the door, and bid 
 them look in. They looked in, therefore, and saw that 
 within it was very dark and smoky ; they also thought 
 that they heard there a rumbling noise, as of fire, and 
 a cry of some tormented, and that they smelt the scent 
 of brimstone. 
 
 Then said Christian, What means this ? The shep* 
 herds told them. This is a by-way to hell, a way that 
 hypocrites go in at ; namely, such as sell their birth- 
 right, with Esau ; such as sell their Master, with Judas ; 
 such as blaspheme the Gospel, with Alexander ; and 
 that lie and dissemble, with Ananias, and Sapphira his 
 wife. 
 
 Then said Hopeful to the shepherds, I perceive that 
 these had on them, even every one, a show of pilgrim- 
 age, as we have now ; had they not ? 
 
 Shep. Yes, and held it a long time, too. 
 
 Hope. How far might they go on in pilgrimage in 
 their day, since they, notwithstanding, were thus miser- 
 ably cast away ? 
 
 Shep. Some farther, and some not so far as theso 
 mountains. 
 
 Then said the pilgrims one to the other, We had 
 need to cry to the Strong for strength. 
 
 Shep. Aye, and you will have need to use it, when 
 you have it, too. 
 
 By this time the pilgrims had a desire to go forward, 
 and the shepherds a desire they should ; so they walked 
 
212 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 together towards the end of the mountains. Then said 
 the shepherds one to another, Let us here show the pil- 
 grims the gates of the Celestial City, if they have skill 
 to look through our perspective glass. The pilgrims 
 then lovingly accepted the motion : so they had them 
 to the top of a high hill, called Clear, and gave them 
 the glass to look. 
 
 Then they tried to look ; but the remembrance of 
 that last thing that the shepherds had shown them 
 made their hands shake, by means of which impediment 
 they could not look steadily through the glass ; yet 
 they thought they saw something like the gate, and 
 also some of the glory of the place. Then they went 
 away, and sang : — 
 
 " Thus, by the Shepherds, secrets are reveal' d, 
 Which from all other men are kept conceal'd : 
 Come to the Shepherds, then, if you would see 
 Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious be." 
 
 When they were about to depart, one of the shep- 
 herds gave them a note of the way. Another of them 
 bid them beware of the Flatterer. The third bid them 
 take heed that they slept not upon the Enchanted 
 Ground. And the fourth bid them God speed. So I 
 awoke from my dream. 
 
 THE NINTH STAGE. 
 
 And I slept and dreamed again, and saw the same 
 two pilgrims going down the mountains along the high- 
 way towards the city. Now, a little below these moun- 
 tains, on the left hand, lieth the country of Conceit, 
 from which country there comes into the way in which 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 21 j 
 
 the pilgrims walked a little crooked lane. Here, there» 
 fore, they met with a very brisk lad that came out ol 
 that country, and his name was Ignorance. So Chrisf 
 tian asked him from what parts he came, and whithel 
 he was going. 
 
 Ignor. Sir, I was born in the country that lieth off 
 there, a little on the left hand, and I am going to the 
 Celestial City. 
 
 Chr. But how do you think to get in at the gatQ 
 for you may find some difficulty there ? 
 
 Ignor. As other good people do, said he. 
 
 Chr. But what have you to show at that gate, that 
 the gate should be opened to you? 
 
 Ignor. I know my Lord's will, and have been a good 
 liver ; I pay every man his own ; I pray, fast, pay tithes, 
 and give alms, and have left my country for whither I 
 am going. 
 
 Chr. But thou camest not in at the wicket-gate, 
 that is at the head of this way ; thou camest in hither 
 through that same crooked lane, and therefore I fear, 
 however thou mayest think of thyself, when the reckon- 
 ing-day shall come, thou wilt have laid to thy charge, 
 that thou art a thief and a robber, instead of getting 
 admittance into the city. 
 
 Ignor. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me ; I 
 know you not ; be content to follow the religion of 
 your country, and I will follow the religion of mine. I 
 hope all will be well. And as for the gate that you 
 talk of, all the world knows that it is a great way off cf 
 our country. I cannot think that any man in all our 
 parts doth so much as know the way to it ; nor need 
 they matter whether they do or no, since we have, as 
 you see, a fine, pleasant, green lane, that comes down 
 &!om our country, the next way into the way. 
 
 When Christian saw that the man was wise in hia 
 
4 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 own conceit, he said to Hopeful, whisperingly, "Ther^ 
 is more hope of a fool than of him." (Prov. 26 : 12.) 
 And said, moreover, " When he that is a fool walketh 
 by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to 
 every one that he is a fool." (Eccles. 10 : 3.) What, 
 fihall we talk further with him, or outgo him at present, 
 and so leave him to think of what he hath heard al- 
 ready, and then stop again for him afterwards, and see 
 if by degrees we can do any good by him ? Then said 
 Hopeful : 
 
 ** Let Ignorance a little while now muso 
 On what is said, and let him not refuse 
 Good counsel to embrace, lest he remain 
 Still ignorant of what's the chiefest gain. 
 God saith. Those that no understanding have, 
 (Although He made them), them He will not save." 
 
 He further added, It is not good, I think, to say sii 
 to him all at once ; let us pass him by, if you will, an«t 
 talk to him anon, even as he is able to bear it. 
 
 So they both went on, and Ignorance came aftei. 
 Now, when they had passed him a little way, they en- 
 tered into a very dark lane, where they met a man whora 
 eeven devils had bound with seven strong cords, and 
 were carrying him back to the door that they saw on 
 the side of the hill. (Matt. 12: 45; Prov. 5: 22.) 
 Now good Christian began to tremble, and so did Hope- 
 ful, his companion ; yet, as the devils led away the man, 
 Christian looked to see if he knew him ; and he thought 
 it might be one Turnaway, that dwelt in the town of 
 Apostacy. But he did not perfectly see his face, for he 
 did hang his head like a thief that is found , but, being 
 gone past. Hopeful looked after him, and espied on hii? 
 back a paper with this inscription, " Wanton profess(W% 
 and damnable apostate." 
 
r 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 215 
 
 Then said Christian to his fellow. Now I call to my 
 rcmerabrance that which was told me of a thing that 
 happened to a good man hereabout. The name of the 
 man was Littleiaith ; but a good man, and he dwelt in 
 the town of Sincere. The thing was this. At the en- 
 tering in at this passage, there comes down from Broad' 
 way-gate a lane, called Deadman's lane ; so called be- 
 cause of the murders that are commonly done there ; 
 and this Littlefaith going on pilgrimage, as we do now, 
 chanced to sit down there and sleep. Now there hap- 
 pened at that time to come down the lane from Broad- 
 way-gate, three sturdy rogues, and their names were 
 Faintheart, Mistrust and Guilt, three brothers ; and 
 they, espying Littlefaith where he was, came galloping 
 up with speed. Now, the good man was just awakened 
 from his sleep, and was getting up to go on his journey. 
 So they came up all to him, and with threatening lan- 
 guage bid ir.im stand. At this, Littlefaith looked as 
 white as a sheet, and had neither power to fight nor fly. 
 Then .<iaid Faintheart, Deliver thy purse ; but he mak- 
 ing no haste to do it (for he was loth to lose his money). 
 Mistrust ran up to him, and thrusting his hand into his^ 
 pocket, pulled out thence a bag of silver. Then he 
 cried out. Thieves, thieves ! With that. Guilt, with a 
 great club that was in his hand, struck Littlefaith on 
 the head, and with that blow felled him flat to the 
 ground, where he lay bleeding as one that would bleed 
 to death. All this while the tiiieves stood by. But^ 
 at last, they hearing that some were upon the road, and 
 fearing lest it should be one Greatgrace, that dwells in 
 the town of Good-Confidence, they betook themselves 
 to their heels, and left this good man to shift for him- 
 self. Now, after a while, Littlefaith came to himself, 
 and getting up, made shift to scram])le on his way. 
 This was the story* 
 
2l5 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 Hope. But did they take from him all that ever h8 
 had? 
 
 Chr. No; the place where his jewels were they 
 never ransacked ; so those he kept still. But, as I was 
 told, the good man was much afflicted for his loss ; for 
 the thieves got most of his spending-money. That 
 which they got not, as I said, were jewels ; also, he hac? 
 a little odd money left, but scarce enough to bring him 
 to his journey's end. Nay (if I was not misinformed), 
 he was forced to beg as he went, to keep himself alivct 
 for his jewels he might not sell ; but beg and do what 
 he could, he went, as we say, with many a hungry belly, 
 the most part of the rest of the way. (1 Pet. 4 : 18.) 
 
 Hope. But is it not a wonder they got not from 
 him his certificate, by which he was to receive his ad. 
 mittance at the Celestial Gate ? 
 
 Chr. It is a wonder; but they got not that, though 
 they missed it not through any good cunning of his ; 
 for he, being dismayed by their coming upon him, had 
 iQeither power nor skill to hide any thing ; so it was 
 •more bv good providence than by his endeavor that 
 they missed of that good thing. (2 Tim. 1 : 12-14 ; 2 
 Pet. 2: 9.) 
 
 Hope. But it must needs be a comfort to him that 
 they got not this jewel from him. 
 
 Chr. It might have been great comfort to him, had 
 he used it as he should ; but they that told me the 
 story said that he made but little use of it all the rest 
 of the way, and that because of the dismay that he had 
 in the taking away his money. Indeed, he forgot it a 
 great part of the rest of his journey ; and besides, when 
 at any time it came into his mind, and he began to be 
 comforted therewith, then would fresh thoughts of his 
 loss come again upon him, and these thoughts would 
 •wallow up all. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 2iy 
 
 Hope. Alas, poor man ! this could not but be a great 
 grief to him. 
 
 Chr. Grief? Aye, a grief indeed! Would it not 
 have been so to any of us, had we been used as he, to 
 be robbed and wounded too, and that in a strange place, 
 as he was ? It is a wonder he did not die with grief, 
 poor heart. I was told that he scattered almost all the 
 rest of the way with nothing but doleful and bitter 
 complaints : telling also to all that overtook him, or 
 that he overtook in the way as he went, where he wa« 
 robbed, and how ; who they were that did it, and wha* 
 he had lost ; how he was wounded, and that he hardlj 
 escaped with life. 
 
 Hope. But it is a wonder that his necessity did not 
 put him upon selling or pawning some of his jewels* 
 that he might have wherewith to relieve himself in hiw 
 journey. 
 
 Chr. Thou talkest like one upon whose head is the 
 shell to this very day. For what should he pawn them V 
 or to whom should he sell them? In all that country 
 where he was robbed, his jewels were not accounted of; 
 nor did he want that relief which could from thence be 
 administered to him. Besides, had the jewels been 
 missing at the gate of the Celestial City, he had (and 
 that he knew well enough) been excluded from an 
 inheritance there, and that would have been worse ta 
 him than the appearance and villany of ten thousand 
 thieves. 
 
 Hope. Why art thou so tart, my brother ? Esau sold 
 his birthright, and that for a mess of pottage (Heb. 12 : 
 16); and that birthright was his greatest jewel : and if 
 he, why might not Littlefaith do so, too ? 
 
 Chr. Esau did sell his birthright, indeed ; and so do 
 many besides, and by so doing exclude themselves from 
 the chief blessing, as also that caitiff did ; but you must 
 
2lS T?^E PTIGRTM*S PROGRESS, 
 
 put a difference betwixt Esau and Littlefaith, and als<5 
 betwixt their estates. Esau's birthright was typical \ 
 but Littlefaith's jewels were not so. Esau's belly waa 
 his god; but Littlefaith's b^lly ws-s not so. Esau's 
 want lay in his fleshy appetite ; Littlefaith's did not so. 
 Besides, Esau could see no further than the fulfilling of 
 his lusts : " For I am at the point to die," said he, '* and 
 what good will this birthright do me ? " (Gen. 25 : 32.) 
 But, Littlefaith, though it was his lot to have but a 
 little faith, was by his little faith kept from such ex- 
 travagances, and made to see and prize his jewels more 
 than to sell them, as Esau did his birthright. You read 
 not anywhere that Esau had faith, no, not so much as a 
 little ; therefore no marvel, where the flesh only bears 
 sway (as it will in that man where no faith is to resist), 
 if he sells his birthright, and his soul and all, and that 
 to the devil of hell ; for it is with such as it is with the 
 ass, "' who, in her occasion, cannot be turned away 
 (Jei. 2: 24): when their minds are set upon theii 
 lusts, they will have them whatever they cost. But 
 Littlefaith was of another temper ; his mind was on 
 things divine ; his livelihood was upon things that were 
 spiritual, and from above : therefore, to what end should 
 he that is of such a temper sell his jewels (had there 
 been any that would have bought them) to fill his mind 
 with empty things ? Will a man give a penny to fill 
 tis belly with hay ? or can you per&uade the turtle* 
 dove to live upon carrion, like the crow ? Though faith* 
 less ones can, for carnal lusts, pawn, or mortgage, or 
 sell what they have, and themselves outright, to boot ; 
 yet they that have Haith, saving faith, though but a little 
 of it, can not do so. Here, therefore, my brother, is thy 
 mistake. 
 
 Hope. I acknowledge it ; but yet your seveiv reflex 
 Uon had almost made me angry. 
 
THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. 219 
 
 Chb. Why, I did but compare thee to some of the 
 birds that are of the brisker sort, who will run to and 
 fro in untrodden paths with the shell upon their heads: 
 but pass by that, and consider the matter under debate, 
 and all shall be well betwixt thee and me. 
 
 Hope. But, Christian, these three fellows, I am 
 persuaded in my heart, are but a company of cowards; 
 would they have run, else, think you, as they did, at th@ 
 noise of one that was coming on the road ? Why did 
 not Littlefaith pluck up a greater heart ? He mighty 
 methinks, have stood one brush with them, and have 
 yielded when there had been no remedy. 
 
 Chr. That they are cowards, many have said ; but 
 few have found it so in the time of trial. As for a great 
 heart, Littlefaith had none ; and I perceive by thee, my 
 brother, hadst thou been the man concerned, thou art 
 but for a brush, and then to yield. And, verily, since 
 this is the height of thy stomach, now they are at a 
 distance from us, shoald they appear to thee as they 
 did to him, they might put thee to second thoughts. 
 
 But consider, again, that they are but journeymen 
 thieves ; they serve under the king of the bottomless 
 pit, who, if need be, will come to their aid himself, and 
 his voice is " as the roaring of a lion." (1 Pet. 5 : 8.) 
 I myself have been engaged as this Littlefaith was, and 
 found it a terrible thing. These three villains set upon 
 me, and I beginning like a Christian to resist, they gave 
 but a call, and in came their master. I would, as the 
 saying is, have given my life for a penny, but that, aS' 
 God would have it, I was clothed with armor of prool 
 Aye, and yet, though I was so harnessed, I found it 
 hard work to quit myself like a man. No man can tel 
 what in that combat attends us, but he that hath been 
 |p. the laattle himself 
 
220 TBE PILGRTM^S PROGRESS, 
 
 Hope. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did 
 but suppose that one Greatgrace was in the way. 
 
 Chr. True, they have often fled, both they and thehf 
 master, when Greatgrace hath but appeared ; and, no 
 marvel, for he is the king's champion. But I trow yott 
 will put some difference between Littlefaith and the 
 King's champion. All the King's subjects are not His 
 champions ; nor can they, when tried, do such feats of 
 war as he. Is it meet to think that a little child should 
 handle Goliath as David did ? or that there should be 
 the strength of an ox in a wren ? Some are strong, 
 some are weak ; some have great faith, some have little i 
 this man was one of the weak, and therefore he went 
 to the wall. 
 
 Hope. I would it had been Greatgrace, for thefr 
 sakes. 
 
 Chr. If it had been he, he might have had h(s 
 hands full ; for I must tell you, that though Greatgrat^e 
 is excellent good at his weapons, and has, and can, ^o 
 long as he keeps them at sword's point, do well enougfk 
 with them ; yet if they get within him, even Faintheart;, 
 Mistrust, or the other, it shall go hard or they wi/l 
 throw up his heels. And when a man is down, ycu 
 know, what can he do ? 
 
 Whoso looks well upon Greatgrace's face, will see 
 those scars and cuts there that shall easily give demon- 
 stration of what I say. Yea, once I heard that he 
 should say (and that when he was in combat). We de- 
 spaired even of life. How did these sturdy rogues and 
 their fellows make David groan, mourn, and roar ! Yea, 
 Heman (Psalm 88), and Hezekiah, too, though cham- 
 pions in their days, were forced to bestir them when by 
 these assaulted ; and yet, notwithstanding, they had 
 their coats soundly brushed by them. Peter, upon a 
 time, would go try what he could do * but, though some 
 
THE PILGRIM^S PROGRESS, ^%\ 
 
 do say of him that he is the prince of the apostles, they 
 handled him so that they made him at last afraid of a 
 sorry girl. 
 
 Besides, their king is at their whistle ; he is nevei 
 Out of hearing ; and, if at any time they be put to the 
 l^orst, he, if possible, comes in to help them ; and of 
 iLim it is said, ** The sword of him that layeth at him 
 cannot hold ; the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon 
 He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten woodc 
 The arrow cannot make him fly ; sling-stones are turned 
 with him to stubble. Darts are counted as stubble ; 
 he laugheth at the shaking of a spear." (Job 41 : 
 26-29.) What can a man do in this case ? It is true, 
 if a man could at every turn have Job's horse, and had 
 skill and courage to ride him, he might do notable 
 things. " For his neck is clothed with thunder. He 
 9 ill not be afraid as a grasshopper : the glory of his nos- 
 fcils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth 
 iit his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men. 
 Ke mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turn- 
 e-h he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth 
 against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He 
 Bwalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage ; nei- 
 ther believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. 
 He saith among the trumpets. Ha, ha ! and he smelleth 
 the battle afar off, the thunder i>i the captains, and the 
 shouting." (Job 39 : 19-25.) 
 
 But for such footmen as thee and I are, let us never 
 desire to meet with an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could 
 do better, when we hear of others that have been foiled, 
 nor be tickled at the thoughts of our own manhood ; 
 for such commonly come by the worst when tried. 
 Witness Peter, of whom I made mention before : he 
 would swagger, aye, he would ; he would, as his vain 
 mmd prompted him to say, do better and stand more 
 
222 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 for his Master than all men : but who so foiled and run 
 down by those villains as he ? 
 
 When, therefore, we hear that such robberies are 
 done on the King's highway, two things become us 
 to do. 
 
 1. To go out harnessed, and be sure to take a shield 
 with us : for it was for want of that, that he who laid 
 so lustily at Leviathan could not make him yield : for, 
 indeed, if that be wanting, he fears us not at all. There- 
 fore, He that had skill hath said, " Above all, take the 
 shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all 
 the fiery darts of the wicked." (Eph. 6 : 16.) 
 
 2. It is good, also, that we desire of the king a con- 
 voy, yea, that he will go with us Himself. This made 
 David rejoice when in the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death ; and Moses was rather for dying where he stood 
 than to go one step without his God. (Exod. 33 : 15.) 
 
 Oh, my brother, if He will but go along with us, 
 what need we be afraid of ten thousands that shall set 
 themselves against us? (Psalm 3 : 5-8; 27 : 1-3.) But, 
 without Him, the proud helpers fall under the slain. 
 (Isa. 10 : 4.) 
 
 I, for my part, have been in the fray before now $ 
 and though (through the goodness of Him that is best) 
 I am, as you see, alive, yet I cannot boast of my man* 
 hood. Glad shall I be if I meet with no more such 
 brunts ; though I fear we are not got beyond all dan- 
 ger. However, since the lion and the bear have not as 
 yet devoured me, I hope God will also deliver us from 
 the next uncircumcised Philistine. Then sang Chris" 
 tian,— 
 
 " Poor Littlefaith ! Hast been among the thieves? 
 Wast robbed ? Remember this, whoso beheves, 
 And get more faith : then shall you victors be 
 Over ten thousand, else scarce over three." 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 223 
 
 So they went on, and Ignorance followed. They 
 went on till they came at a place where they saw a 
 way put itself into their way, and seemed withal to lie 
 as straight as the way which they should go ; and here 
 they knew not which of the two to take, for both 
 seemed straight before them : therefore, here they stood 
 still to consider. And, as they were thinking about 
 the way, behold, a man, black of flesh, but covered 
 with a very light robe, came to them, and asked them 
 why they stood there. They answered, they were go- 
 ing to the Celestial City, but knew not which of these 
 ways to take. " Follow me," said the man, " it is 
 thither that I am going." So they followed him in the 
 way that but now came into the road, which by degrees 
 turned, and turned them so far from the city that they 
 desired to go to, that in a little time their faces were 
 turned away from it ; yet they followed him. But, by 
 und by, before they were aware, he led them both with- 
 in the compass of a net, in which they were both so en- 
 tangled that they knew not what to do; and with thast 
 the white robe fell off the black man's back. Then 
 they saw where they were. Wherefore there they lay 
 crying some time, for they could not get themselves 
 out. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now do I 
 see myself in an error. Did not the shepherds bid us 
 beware of the Flatterer ? As is the saying of the wise 
 man, so we have found it this day : " A man that flat- 
 tereth his neighbor, spreadeth a net for his feet." (Prov- 
 29: 5.; 
 
 Hope. They also gave us a note of directions about 
 ihe way, for our more sure finding thereof; but therein 
 we have also forgotten to read, and have not kept our- 
 selves from the paths of the destroyer. Here David 
 was wiser than we ; for saith he, " Concerning the 
 
224 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 works of men, by the word of Thy lips I have kept me 
 from the paths of the destroyer." (Psalm 17 : 4.) Thus 
 they lay bewailing themselves in the net. At last they 
 espied a Shining One coming towards them, with a 
 whip of small cords in his hand. When he was come 
 to the place where they were, he asked them whence 
 they came, and what they did there. They told him 
 that they were poor pilgrims going to Zion, but were 
 led out of their way by a black man clothed in white, 
 who bid us, said they, follow him, for he was going 
 thither, too. Then said he with the whip. It is Flat- 
 terer, a false apostle, that hath transformed himself into 
 an angel of light. (Dan. 11 : 32 ; 2 Cor. 11 ; 13, 14.) 
 So he rent the net, and let the men out. Then said he 
 to them. Follow me, that I may set you in your way 
 again. So he led them back to the way which they had 
 left to follow the Flatterer. Then he asked them, say- 
 ing, Where did you lie the last night? They said, 
 With the shepherds upon the Delectable Mountains. 
 He asked them then if they had not of the shepherds a 
 note of direction for the way. They answered, Yes. 
 But did you not, said he, when you were at a stand, 
 pluck out and read your note ? They answered, No. 
 He asked them. Why ? They said they forgot. He 
 asked, moreover, if the shepherds did not bid them be- 
 ware of the Flatterer. They answered, Yes ; but we 
 did not imagine, said they, that this fine spoken man 
 had been he. (Rom. 16: 17, 18.) 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that he commanded them 
 to lie down ; which, when they did, he chastised them 
 sore, to teach them the good way wherein they should 
 walk (Deut. 25 : 2 ; 2 Chron. 6 : 27) ; and as he chas- 
 tised them, he said, " As many as I love, I rebuke and 
 chasten ; be zealous, therefore, and repent." (Rev. 3 : 
 19.) This done, he bids them to go on their way, and 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 225 
 
 take good heed to the other directions of the shepherds. 
 So they thanked him for all his kindness, and went 
 softly along the right way, singing, — 
 
 " Come hither, you that walk along the way, 
 See how the pilgrims fare that go astray: 
 They catched are in an entangled net, 
 'Cause they good counsel lightly did forget. 
 *Tis true, they rescu'd were ; but yet, you see. 
 They're scourged to boot : let this your caution be.** 
 
 Now, after a while, they perceived, afar off, one 
 coming softly, and alone, all along the highway, to 
 meet them. Then said Christian to his fellow. Yonder 
 is a man with his back towards Zion, and he is coming 
 to meet us. 
 
 Hope. I see him ; let us take heed to ourselves now, 
 lest he should prove a Flatterer also. So he drew 
 nearer and nearer, and at last came up to them. His 
 name was Atheist, and he asked them whither they 
 were going. 
 
 Chr. We are going to Mount Zion. 
 
 Then Atheist fell into a very great laughter. 
 
 Chr. What's the meaning of your laughter ? 
 
 Atheist. I laugh to ^ee what ignorant persons yon 
 are to take upon you so tedious a journey, and yet 
 are like to have nothing but your travel for your pains. 
 
 Chr. Why, man, do you think we shall not be re^ 
 ceived ? 
 
 Atheist. Received ! There is not such a place as 
 ^you dream of in all this world. 
 
 Chr. But there is in the world to come. 
 
 Atheist. When 1 was at home in my own country 
 I heard as you now affirm; and, from that hearing, went 
 out to see, and have been seeking this city these twenty 
 years, but find no more of it than I did the first day J 
 «et out. (Eccles. 10. 15 ; Jer. 17 : 15.) 
 
 l£ 
 
J26 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Chr. We have both heard, and believe, that ther« 
 is such a place to be found. 
 
 Atheist. Had not I, when at home, believed, I had 
 not come thus far to seek; but, finding none (and yet 
 I should, had there been such a place to be found, for I 
 have gone to seek it farther than 3'ou), I am going back 
 again, and will seek to refresh myself with the things 
 that I then cast away, for hopes of that which I no\» 
 see is not. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, his compan* 
 ion, Is it true which this man hath said ? 
 
 Hope. Take heed, he is one of the Flatterers. Re« 
 member what it cost us once already for our hearkening 
 to such kind of fellows. What ! no Mount Zion ! Did 
 we not see from the Delectable Mountains the gate of 
 the city ? Also, are we not now to walk by faith ? (2 
 Cor. 5 : 7.) Let us go on, lest the man with the whip 
 overtake us again. You should have taught me that 
 lesson, which I will sound you in the ears withal ; 
 *' Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that causeth to 
 err from the words of knowledge." (Prov. 19: 27.) I 
 say, my brother, cease to hear him, and let us " believe 
 to the saving of the soul." (Heb. 10 : 39.) 
 
 Chr. My brother, I did not put the question to 
 thee, for that I doubted of the truth of our belief my- 
 self, but to prove thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit of 
 the honesty of thy heart. As for this man, I know that 
 lie is blinded by the god of this world. Let thee and 1 
 go on, knowing that we have belief of the truth ; and 
 ** no iie is of the truth." (1 John 2 : 21.) 
 
 Hope. Now do I rejoice in hope of the glory of 
 God. 
 
 So they turned away from the man ; and he, laugh 
 ing at them, went his way. 
 
 I then saw in my dream, that they went on until 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 227 
 
 they came into a certain country whose air naturally 
 tended to make one drowsy, if he came a stranger into 
 it. And here Hopeful began to be very dull and heavy 
 to sleep ; wherefore he said unto Christian, I do now 
 begin to grow so drowsy that I can scarcely hold open 
 mine eyes ; let us lie down here, and take one nap. ^ 
 
 Chr. By no means, said the other ; lest, sleeping^ 
 we never awake more. 
 
 Hope. Why, my brother, sleep is sweet to the labor- 
 ing man : we may be refreshed, if we take a nap. 
 
 Chr. Do you not remember that one of the shep- 
 herds bid us beware of the Enchanted Ground? He 
 meant by that, that we should beware of sleeping i 
 '' therefore, let us not sleep, as do others ; but let us 
 watch and be sober." (1 Thess. b\^>) 
 
 Hope. I acknowledge myself in a fault ; and had I 
 been here alone, I had, by sleeping, run the danger of 
 death. I see it is true that the wise man saith, " Two 
 are better than one." (Eccl. 4 : 9.) Hitherto hath thy 
 company been my mercy ; and thou shalt have a good 
 reward for thy labor. 
 
 Chr. Now, then, said Christian, to prevent drowsir 
 ness in this place, let us fall into good discourse. 
 Hope. With all my heart, said the other. 
 Chr. Where shall we begin ? 
 Hope. Where God began with us. But do you be- 
 gin, if you please. 
 
 Chr. I will sing you first this song :— 
 
 " When saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither, 
 And hear how these two pilgrims talk together ; 
 Yea, let them learn of them in any wise, 
 Thus to keep ope their drowsy, slumbering eyes. 
 Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well, 
 Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell." 
 
 Then Christian began, and said, I will ask you a 
 
228 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
 
 question. How came you to think at first of doing 
 what you do now ? 
 
 Hope. Do 3^ou mean how I came at first to look 
 after the good of my soul ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, that is my meaning. 
 
 Hope. I continued a great while in the delight of 
 those things which were seen and sold at our fair; 
 ihings which I believe now would have, had I contin- 
 ued in them still, drowned me in perdition and destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 Ohr. What things were they ? 
 
 Hop.e. All the treasures and riches of the world. 
 
 Also, I delighted much in rioting, revelling, drinking, 
 
 swearing, lying, uncleanness, Sabbath-breaking, and 
 
 what not, that tended to destroy the soul. But I found 
 
 ab last, by hearing and considering of things that are 
 
 divine, which, indeed, I heard of you, as also of beloved 
 
 Faithful that was put to death for his faith and good 
 
 living in Vanity Fair, " that the end of these things is 
 
 death " (Rom. 6 : 21-23) ; and that, " for these things* 
 
 sake, the wrath of God cometh upon the children of 
 
 disobedience." (Eph. 5 . 6.) 
 
 ^ Chr. And did you presently fall under the power of 
 this conviction? 
 
 Hope. No, I was not willing presently to know the 
 evil of sin, nor the damnation that follows upon the 
 commission of it; but endeavojed, when my mind at 
 first began to be shaken with the word, to shut mine 
 eyes against the light thereof. 
 
 Chr. But what was the cause of your carrying of it 
 thus to the first workings of God's blessed Spirit upon 
 you? 
 
 Hope. The causes were, 1. I was ignorant that this 
 was the work of God upon me. I never thought that 
 by awakenings for sin, God at first begins the conversioo 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 999 
 
 of a sinner. 2. Sin was yet very sweet to my flesh, and 
 I was loth to leave it. 3. I could not tell how to part 
 with mine old companions, their presence and actions 
 were so desirable unto me. 4. The hours in which con- 
 victions came upon me were so troublesome and such 
 heart-aftrighting hours, that I could not bear, no, not so 
 much as the remembrance of them upon my heart. 
 
 Chb. Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of 
 your trouble ? 
 
 Hope. Yes, verily, but it would come into my mind 
 again ; and then I should be as bad, nay, worse, than I 
 was before. 
 
 Che. Why, what was it that brought your sins to 
 mind again ? 
 
 Hope. Many things ; as, — 
 
 1. If I did not meet a good man in these streets; or, 
 
 2. If I have heard any read in the Bible ; or, 
 
 3. If mine head did begin to ache ; or, 
 
 4. If I were told that some of my neighbors were 
 sick; or, 
 
 5. If I heard the bell toll for some that were dead ; or, 
 
 6. If I thought of dying myself; or, 
 
 T. If I heard that sudden death happened to others. 
 
 8. But especially when I thought of myself, that I 
 must quickly come to judgment. 
 
 Chr. And could you at any time, with ease, get oflf 
 the guilt of sin, when by any of these ways it came 
 upon you? 
 
 Hope. No, not I ; for then they got faster hold of 
 my conscience ; and then, if I did but think of going 
 back to sin (though my mind was turned against it), it 
 would be double torment to me. 
 
 Hope. And how did you then? 
 
 Chb. I thought I must endeavor to mend my lifoi 
 or else, thought I, I am sure to be damned. 
 
^30 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 Chr. And did you endeavor to mend ? 
 
 Hope. Yes, and fled from not only my sins, but 
 sinful company too, and betook me to religious dutiesi 
 as praying, reading, weeping for sin, speaking truth to 
 my neighbors, &c. These things did I, with many 
 others, too much here to relate. 
 
 Chr. And did you think yourself well, then? 
 
 Hope. Yes, for a while ; but at the last m}^ trouble 
 came tumbling upon me again, and that over the neck 
 of all my reformations. 
 
 Chr. How came that about, since you were now 
 reformed ? 
 
 Hope. There were several things brought it upon 
 me, especially such sayings as these : " All our 
 righteousness are as filthy rags." (Isa. 64 : 6.) " By 
 the works of the law shall no flesh be justified." (Gal* 
 2 : 16.) " When ye have done all these things, say» 
 We are unprofitable" (Luke 17 : 10) ; with many more 
 such like. From whence I began to reason with my- 
 self thus : If all my righteousness are as filthy rags ; if^ 
 by the deeds of the law no man can be justified; and if, 
 when we have done all, we are yet unprofitable, then is 
 it but folly to think of heaven by the law. I further 
 thought thus : If a man runs a hundred pounds into 
 the shopkeeper's debt, and after that shall pay for all 
 that he shall fetch , yet it his old debt stand still in the 
 book uncrossed, the shopkeeper may sue him for it, and 
 :jast him into prison, till he shall pay the debt. 
 
 Chr. Well, and how did you apply this to yourself? 
 
 Hope. Why, I thought thus with myself: I have 
 by my sins run a great way into God's book, and my 
 now reforming will not pay off that score ; therefore I 
 should think still, under all my present amendments. 
 But how shall I be freed from that damnation that 1 
 brougnt myself in danger of by my former transgressic^s 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 2%\ 
 
 Chr. a very good application : but pray go ono 
 
 Hope. Another thing that hath troubled me ever 
 since my late amendments, is, that if I look narrowly 
 into the best of what I do now, I still see sin, new sin, 
 mixing itself with the best of that I do ; so that now I 
 am forced to conclude, that notwithstanding my former 
 fond conceits of myself and duties, I have committed 
 sin enough in one day to send me to hell, though my 
 former life had been faultless. 
 
 Chr. And what did you then ? 
 
 Hope. Do ! I could not tell what to do, until I broke 
 my mind to Faithful ; for he and I were well acquainted. 
 And he told me, that unless I could obtain the right» 
 eousness of a man that never had sinned, neither min*^ 
 own, nor all the righteousness of the world, could 
 save me. 
 
 Chr. And did you think he spake true ? 
 
 Hope. Had he told me so when I was pleased and 
 satisfied with mine own amendments, I had called him 
 fool for his pains ; but now, since I see mine own 
 infirmity, and the sin which cleaves to my best perform 
 ances, I have been forced to be of his opinion. 
 
 Chr. But did you think, when at first he suggested 
 it to you, that there was such a man to be found, of 
 whom it might justly be said, that he never committed 
 sin? 
 
 Hope. I must confess the words at first sounded 
 strangely ; but, after a little more talk and company 
 with him, I had full conviction about it. 
 
 Chr. And did you ask him what man this was, and 
 how you must be justified by him ? 
 
 Hope. Yes, and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, 
 that dwelleth on the right hand of the Most High* 
 (Heb. 10 : 12-21.) And thus, said he, you must be 
 justified by him, even by trusting to what He hath done 
 
2-2 7^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 by Himself in the days of His flesh, and suffered w^heB 
 He did hang on the tree. (Rom. 4:5; Col. 1: 14., 
 1 Pet. 1: 19.) I asked him further, how that man's 
 righteousness could be of such efiicacy as to justify 
 ano;her before God. And he told me. He was the 
 mighty God, and did what He did, and died the death 
 also, not for Himself, but for me ; to whom His doings, 
 and the worthiness of them, should be imputed, if I be* 
 lieved on Him. 
 
 Chr. And what did you then? 
 
 HoPEo I made my objections against my believing, 
 for that I thought he was not willing to save me. 
 
 Chr. And what said Faithful to you, then? 
 
 Hope. He bid me go to Him, and see. Then I said 
 it was presumption. He said, No ; for I was invited 
 to come. (Matt. 11 : 28.) Then he gave me a book of 
 Jesus' inditing, to encourage me the more freely to 
 come ; and he said, concerning that book, that every 
 jot and tittle thereof stood firmer than heaven and earth. 
 (Matt. 24 : 35.) Then I asked him what I must do 
 when I came ; and he told me, I must entreat upon my 
 knees (Psalm 95 : 6 : Dan. 6 : 10), with all my heart and 
 soul (Jer. 29 : 12, 13), the Father to reveal Him to me. 
 Then I asked him, further, how I must make my suppli- 
 cations to Him ; and he said. Go, and thou shalt find 
 Him upon a mercy-seat, where he sits all the year long, 
 to give pardon and forgiveness to them that come. 
 (Exod. 2S: 22; Lev. 16: 2; Num. 7 : 89; Heb. 4: 
 16.) I told him, that I knew not what to say when I 
 came ; and he bid rae say to this effect : '' God be merci- 
 ful to me a sinner," and make me to know and believe 
 in Jesus Christ ; for I see that if His righteousness had 
 not been, or I have not faiih in that righteousness, I am 
 utterly cast away. Lord, J have heard that Thou art a 
 merciful God, and hast ordained that Thy Son Jesus 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 233 
 
 Christ should be the Sav ^'ir of the world , and, more- 
 over, that Thou art willing to bestow Him upon such a 
 poor sinner as I am ; — and I am a sinner, indeed. Lord, 
 take therefore this opportunity, and magnify Thy grace 
 in the salvation of my soul, through Thy Son Jesus 
 Christ. Amen. 
 
 Chr. And did you do as you were bidden? 
 
 Hope. Yes ; over, and over, and over. 
 
 Chr. And did the Father reveal the Son to you ? 
 
 Hope. No ; not at the first, nor second, nor third, 
 nor fourth, nor fifth ; no, nor at the sixth time, neither. 
 
 Chr. What did you then ? 
 
 Hope. What '^ Why, I could not tell what to do. 
 
 Chr. Had you no thoughts of leaving off praying ? 
 
 Hope. Yes, and a hundred times twice told. 
 
 Chr. And what was the reason you did not I 
 
 Hope. I believed that it was true which hath been 
 told me, to wit, that without the righteousness of this 
 Christ, all the world could not save me ; and therefore, 
 thought I with myself, if I leave off, I die, and I can but 
 die at the Throne of Grace. And withal, this came into 
 my mind, *' If it tarry, wait for it ; because it will surely 
 come, and will not tarry." (Hab. 2; 3.) So I con* 
 tinued praying until the Father showed me His Son. 
 
 Chr. And how was He revealed unto you? 
 
 Hope. I did not see Him with my bodily eyes, but 
 with the eyes of mine understanding (Eph. 1 : 18, 19) ; 
 and thus it was : One day I was very sad, I think sadder 
 than at any one time in my life ; and this sadness was 
 through a fresh sight of the greatness and vileness of 
 my sins. And as I was then looking for nothing but 
 hell, and the everlasting damnation of my soul, suddenly, 
 as I thought, I saw the Lord Jesus look down from 
 heaven upon me, and saying, " Believe on the Lord 
 Jesus Christ, and tliou shalt be saved.*' (Acts 16 : 31.^ 
 
f34 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 But I replied, Lord, I arr > great, a very great, sin* 
 ner ! And He answered, " My grace is sufficient foi 
 thee." (2 Cor. 12 . 9.) Then I said. But, Lord, what is 
 believing ? And then I saw from that saying, " He that 
 Cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth 
 on me shall never thirst " (John 6 : 35), that believing 
 and coming was all one , and that he that came, that is, 
 that ran out in his heart and affections after salvation 
 by Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. Then the 
 water stood in mine e3^es, and I asked further, But, 
 Lord, may such a great sinner as I am be indeed ac- 
 cepted of Thee, and saved by Thee? And I heard 
 him say, " And him that cometh to me, I will in no wise 
 cast out." (John 6 ; 37.) Then I said. But how, Lord, 
 must I consider of Thee in my coming to Thee, that 
 my faith may be placed aright upon Thee ? Then He 
 Baid, Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. 
 (Tim. 1 : 15.) He is the end of the law for righteous- 
 ness to every one that believes. (Rom. 10 : 4, and chap. 
 4.) He died for our sins, and rose again for our justifi- 
 eaticn. (Rom. 4 : 25.) He loved us, and washed us 
 from our sins in His own blood. (Rev. 1 : 5.) He is 
 the Mediator between God and us. (1 Tim. 2 : 5.) He 
 ever liveth to make intercession for us. (Heb. 7 : 25.) 
 From all which I gathered, that I must look for right- 
 eousness in His person, and for satisfaction for my sins 
 by His blood : that what he did in obedience to His 
 Father's law, and in submitting to the penalty thereof, 
 was not for Himself, but for him that will accept it for 
 his salvation, and be thankful. And now was my heart 
 full of joy, mine eyes full of tears, and mine affections 
 running over with love to the name, people, and ways 
 of Jesus Christ. 
 
 Chr. This was a revelation of Christ to your soul, 
 
THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 235 
 
 indeed. But tell me particularly what eifect this had 
 upon your spirit. 
 
 Hope. It made me see that all the tvorld, notwith- 
 standing all the righteousness thereof, is in a state of 
 condemnation. It made me see that God the Father, 
 though He be just, can justly justify the coming sinner. 
 It made me greatly ashamed of the vileness of my 
 former life, and confounded me with the sense of mine 
 own ignorance ; for there never came a thought into 
 my heart before now that showed me so the beauty of 
 Jesus Christ. It made me love a holy life, and long to 
 do something for the honor and glory of the name of 
 the Lord Jesus. Yea, I thought that had I now % 
 thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it 
 all for the sake of the Lord Jesus. 
 
 I saw then, in my dream, that Hopeful looked back, 
 and saw Ignorance, whom they had left behind, coming 
 after. Look, said he to Christian, how far yonder 
 youngster loitereth behind. 
 
 Chr. Aye, aye, I see him : he careth not for our 
 company. 
 
 Hope. But I trow it would not have hurt him, had 
 he kept pace with us hitherto. 
 
 Chr. That is true ; but I warrant you he thinketh 
 otherwise. 
 
 Hope. That I think he doth ; but, however, let us 
 tarry for him. 
 
 So they did. 
 
 Then Christian said to him, Come away, man ; why 
 do you stay so behind ? 
 
 Ignor. I take my pleasure in walking alone, even 
 more a great deal than in company, unless I like it the 
 better. 
 
 Then said Christian to Hopeful (but softly), Did I 
 Dot tell you he cared not for our company ? But, how- 
 
236 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 ever, said he, come up, and let us talk away the time 
 in this solitary place. Then, directing his speech to 
 Ignorance, he said. Come, how do you do ? How stands 
 it beween God and your soul, now? 
 
 Ignor. I hope well ; for I am always full of good 
 motions, that come into my mind to comfort me as I 
 walk. 
 
 Chr. What good motions ? Pray, tell us. 
 
 Ignor. Why, I think of God and heaven. 
 
 Chr. So do the devils and damned souls. 
 
 Ignor. But I think of them, and desire them. 
 
 Chr. So do many that are never like to come there. 
 " The soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing/' 
 (l^rov. 13 : 4.) 
 
 Ignor. But I think of them, and leave all for them. 
 
 Chr. That I doubt : for to leave all is a very hard 
 matter ; yea, a harder matter than many are aware of. 
 But why, or by what, art thou persuaded that thou 
 has left all for God in heaven ? 
 
 Ignor. My heart tells me so. 
 
 Chr. The wise man says, " He that trusteth in hia 
 Dwn heart is a fool." (Prov. 28 : 26 ) 
 
 Ignor. That is spoken of an evil heart ; but mine i& 
 a good one. 
 
 Chr. But how dost thou prove that ? 
 
 Ignor. It comforts me in hopes of heaven. 
 
 Chr. That may be through its deceitfulness ; for a 
 jvian's heart may minister comfort to him, in the hope* 
 of that thing for which he has yet no ground to hope. 
 
 Ignor. But my heart and life agree together ; and 
 therefore my hope is well grounded. 
 
 Chr. Who told thee that thy heart and life agree 
 together ? 
 
 Ignor. My heart tells me so. 
 
 Chr. " Ask my fellow if I be a thief." Thy heart 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, tyj 
 
 tells thee so ! Except the Word of God beareth wit- 
 ness in this matter, other testimony is of no value. 
 
 Ignor. But is it not a good heart that hath good 
 thoughts ? and is not that a good life that is according 
 to God's commandments ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, that is a good heart that hath good 
 thoughts, and that is a good life that is according to 
 God's commandments ; but it is one thing, indeed, to 
 have these, and another thing only to think so. 
 
 Ignor. Pray, what count you good thoughts, and 
 life according to God's commandments ? 
 
 Chr. There are good thoughts of divers kinds : 
 some respecting ourselves, some God, some Christ, and 
 some other things. 
 
 Ignor. What be good thoughts respecting our 
 selves ? 
 
 Chr. Such as agree with the Word of God. 
 
 Ignor. When do our thoughts of ourselves agree 
 with the Word of God ? 
 
 Chr. When we pass the same judgment upon oui'- 
 selves which the Word passes. To explain myself: 
 the Word of God saith of persons in a natural condi- 
 tion, ** There is none righteous, there is none that doeth 
 good." (Rom. 3 : 10.) It saith also, that " every imag- 
 ination of the heart of a man is only evil, and that con- 
 tinually." (Gen, 6:5.) And again, " The imagination 
 of man's heart is evil from his youth." (Gen. 8 : 21.) 
 Now, then, when we think thus of ourselves, having 
 sense thereof, then are our thoughts good ones, because 
 according to the Word of God. 
 
 Ignor. I will never believe that my heart is thus 
 bad. 
 
 Chr. Therefore thou never hadst one good thought 
 concerning thyself in thy life. But let me go on. Am 
 l^e Word passeth a judgment upon our ways ; and whea 
 
2^8 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 the thoughts of our hearts and ways agree with the 
 judgment which the Word giveth of both, then are both 
 good, because agreeing thereto. 
 
 Ignor. Make out your meaning. 
 
 Chr. Why, the Word of God saith, that "man's 
 ways are crooked ways " (Psalm 125 : 5), " not good, but 
 perverse." (Prov. 2 : 15.) It saith, they are naturally 
 out of the good way, that they have not known it« 
 (Rom. 3 : 12.) Now, when a man thus thinketb of his 
 ways, I say, when he doth sensibly, and with heart- 
 humiliation, thus think, then hath he good thoughts of 
 his own ways, because his thoughts now agree with th« 
 judgment of the Word of God. 
 
 Ignor, What are good thoughts concerning God ? 
 
 Chr. Even as I have said concerning ourselves, 
 when our thoughts of God do agree with what the Word 
 saith of him ; and that is, when we think of His being 
 and attributes as the Word hath taught ; of which, I 
 can not now discourse at large. But to speak of Him 
 with reference to us : then have we right thoughts of 
 God when we think that He knows us better than we 
 know ourselves, and can see sin in us when and where 
 we can see none in ourselves ; when we think he knows 
 our inmost thoughts, and that our heart, with all its 
 depths, is always open unto His eyes ; also, when we 
 think that all our righteousness stinks in His nostrils, 
 and that therefore He cannot abide to see us stand be« 
 fore Him in any confidence, even in all our best per* 
 formances. 
 
 Ignor. Do you think that I am such a fool as to 
 think that God can see no farther than I ? or that I 
 would come up to God in the best of my performances? 
 
 Chr. Why, how dost thou think in this matter? 
 
 Ignor. Why, to be short, I think I must believe in 
 Christ for justification. 
 
THE P/LGRIAP S PROGRESS. 25^ 
 
 Chr. How! Think thou must believe in Christ, 
 when thou seest not thy need of him ! Thou neither 
 seest thy original nor actual infirmities ; but hast such 
 an opinion of thyself, and of what thou doest, as plainly 
 renders thee to be one that did never see the necessity 
 of Christ's personal righteousness to justify thee before 
 orod. How, then, dost thou say, I believe in Christ ? 
 
 Ignor. I believe well enough, for all that. 
 
 Chr. How dost thou believe ? 
 
 Ignor. I believe that Christ died for sinners i an^ 
 that I shall be justified before God from the curse, 
 through His gracious acceptance of my obedience to 
 His laws. Or thus, Christ makes my duties, that are 
 religious, acceptable to His Father, by virtue of His 
 merits ; and so shall I be justified. 
 
 Chr. Let me give an answer to this confession of 
 thy faith. 
 
 1. Thou believest with a fantastical faith ; for this 
 faith is nowhere described in the Word. 
 
 2. Thou believest with a false faith; because it 
 taketh justification from the ^^ersonal righteousness o* 
 Christ, and applies it to thy own. 
 
 3. This faith maketh not Christ a justifier of thy 
 person, but of thy actions ; and of thy person for thy 
 action's sake, which is false. 
 
 4. Therefore this faith is deceitful, even such as will 
 leave thee under wrath in the day of God Almighty 
 For true justifying faith puts the soul, as sensible of its 
 lost condition by the law, upon flying for refuge unto 
 Christ's righteousness (which righteousness of His is 
 not an act of grace, by which He maketh, for justifica- 
 tion, thy obedience accepted with God, but His per- 
 sonal obedience to the law, in doing and suffering for 
 us, what that required at our hands). This righteous- 
 ness, I say, true faith accepteth ; under the skirt ol 
 
^e THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 which thb ;30ul being shrouded, and by it presented as 
 spotless before God, it is accepted, and acquitted from 
 condemnation. 
 
 Ignok. What ; Would 3-ou have us trust to what 
 Christ in His own person has done without us ? This 
 conceit would loosen the reins of our lust, and tolerate 
 us to live as we list. For what matter how we live, it. 
 we may be justified by Christ's personal righteousness 
 from all, when we believe it ? 
 
 Chr. Ignorance is thy n ime, and, as thy name is, 
 BO art thou : even this thy answer demonstrateth what 
 I say. Ignorant thou art of what justifying righteous- 
 ness is, and as ignorant how to secure thy soul through 
 the faith of it, from the heavy wrath of God. Yea» 
 ^hou also art ignorant of the true effects of saving faith 
 iin this righteousness of Christ, which is to bow and 
 win over the heart to God in Christ, to love His name^ 
 ) lis Word, ways, and people ; and not as thou ignore 
 s-ntly imaginest. 
 
 Hope. Ask him, if ever he had Christ revealed to 
 .»iim from heaven. 
 
 Ignor. What ! You are a man for revelations ! I 
 io believe, that what both you, and all the rest of you, 
 bay about the matter, is but the fruit of distracted 
 brains. 
 
 Hope. Why, man, Christ is so hid in God from the 
 natural apprehensions of the flesh, that He cannot by 
 any man be savingly known, unless God the Father re- 
 veals Him to him. 
 
 Ignor. That is your faith, but not mine ; yet mine, 
 I doubt not, is as good as yours, though I have not in 
 my head so many whimsies as you. 
 
 Chr. Give me leave to put in a word. You ought 
 not so slightly to speak of this matter : for this I will 
 boldly afl&rm, even as my good companion hath donct 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 241 
 
 that no man can know Jesus Christ but by the revela- 
 tion of the Father : yea, and faith, too, by which the 
 soul layeth hold upon Christ (if it be right), must b« 
 wrought by the exceeding greatness of His mighty 
 power (Matt. 11: 27; 1. Cor. 12; 3; Eph. 1: 17-19) 5 
 the working of which faith, I perceive, poor Ignorance, 
 thou art ignorant of. Be awakened, then ; see thine 
 Dwn wretchedness, and fly to the Lord Jesus ; and \yf 
 His righteousness, which is the righteousness of God 
 (for He Himself is God), thou shalt be delivered from 
 condemnation. 
 
 Ignor. You go so fast I cannot keep pace with you. 
 Do you go on before ; I must stay awhile behind. 
 Then thej^ said,— 
 
 ** Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be, 
 To slight good counsel, ten times given thee? 
 And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know, 
 Ere long, the evil of thy doing so. 
 Remember, man, in time ; stoop, do not fear ; 
 Good counsel, taken well, saves ; therefore hear. 
 But if thou yet shalt slight it, thou wilt be 
 The loser, Ignorance, I'll warrant thee." 
 
 THE TENTH STAGE. 
 
 Then Christian addr<^ssed himself thus to his feU 
 low: — 
 
 Chr. Well, come, my good Hopeful, I perceive thafc 
 thou and I must walk by ourselves again. 
 
 So I saw, in my dream, that they went on apace 
 
 before, and Ignorance he came hobbling after. Thea 
 
 said Christian to his companion, I much pity this poor 
 
 man ; it will certainly go ill with him at last. 
 
 16 
 
,^43 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 I-IoPB. Alas ! there are abundance in our town in 
 ftiis condition, whole families, yea, whole streets, and 
 th»v of pilgrims, too ; and if there be so many in ou/ 
 parcte, how many, think you, must there be in the placd 
 wliere he was born ? 
 
 Chb. Indeed, the Word saith, " He hath blinded 
 t*heir eyes, lest they should see," &c. But, now we 
 are by ourselves, what do you think of such men? 
 Have they at no time, think you, convictions of sin, 
 and so, consequently, fears that their state is danger, 
 ous? 
 
 Hope. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, 
 for you are the elder man. 
 
 Cnn. Then I say, sometimes (as I think) they may; 
 but they, being naturally ignorant, understand not that 
 such convictions tend to their good; and therefore 
 they do desperately seek to stifle them, and presumptU' 
 ously continue to flatter themselves in the way of theii 
 own hearts. 
 
 Hope. I do believe, as you say, that fear tends 
 much to men's good, and to make them right at theii 
 beginning to go on pilgrimage. 
 
 Chr. Without all doubt it doth, if he be right ; foi 
 so says the Word, " The fear of the Lord is the begin* 
 ning of wisdom." (Job 28 : 28; Psalm 111 : 10 <• Prov. 
 1 : 7 ; and 9 : 10.) 
 
 Hope. How will you describe right feai* ? 
 
 Chr. True or right fear is discovered by three 
 things : — 
 
 1. By its rise ; it is caused by saving convictions of 
 sin. 
 
 2. It driveth the soul to lay fast hold of Christ for 
 salvation. 
 
 3. It begetteth and continueth in the soul a great 
 reverence of God, His Word, and way»', keeping it 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 243 
 
 tender, and making it afraid to turn from them, to the 
 right hand or to the left, to any thing that may dis- 
 honor God, break its peace, grieve the Spirit, or cause 
 the enemy to speak reproachfully. 
 
 Hope. Well said ; I believe you have said the 
 truth. Are we now almost got past the Enchantea 
 Ground ? 
 
 Chk. Why ? Are you weary of this discourse ? 
 
 Hope. No, verily ; but that I would know where 
 we are. 
 
 Chr. We have not now above two miles farther to 
 go thereon. But let us return to our matter. Now, 
 the ignorant know not that such convictions as tend 
 to put them in fear, are for their good, and therefore 
 they seek to stifle them. 
 
 Hope. How do they seek to stifle them ? 
 
 Chf 1. They think that those fears are wrought 
 by the devil (though, indeed, they are wrought of God), 
 and, thinking so, they resist them, as things that di« 
 Kjctly tend to their overthrow. 2. They also think 
 tliat these fears tend to the spoiling of their faith ; 
 when, alas for them, poor men that they are, they hava 
 none at all ; and therefore they harden their hearts 
 against them. 3. They presume they ought not to 
 feaBj and therefore, in spite of them, wax presumptu* 
 ously confident. 4. They see that those fears tend to 
 take away from them their pitiful old self-holiness, and 
 therefore they resist them with all their might. 
 
 Hope. I know something of this myself ; for before 
 I knew myself it was so with me. 
 
 Chr. Well, we will leave, at this time, our neighbou 
 Ignorance by himself, and fall upon another profitable; 
 question. 
 
 Hope. With all my heart ; but you shall still begin^ 
 
 Chr. Well, then, did you know, about ten yean 
 
244 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 ago, one Xemporary in your parts, who was a forward 
 man in religion, then? 
 
 Hope. Know him ! yes ; he dwelt in Graceless, a 
 town about two miles off Honesty, and he dwelt next 
 door to one Turnback. 
 
 Chr. Right ; he dwelt under the same roof witk 
 him. Well, that man was much awakened once. I 
 believe that then he had some sight of his sins, and of 
 the wages that were due thereto. 
 
 Hope. I am of your mind, for (my house not being 
 above three miles from him) he would ofttimes come to 
 me, and that with many tears. Truly, I pitied the man, 
 and was not altogether without hope of him ; but 
 one may see it is not every one that cries, *' Lord,, 
 Lord ! " 
 
 Chr. He told me once that he was resolved to go 
 on a pilgrimage, as we go now ; but all of a suaden he 
 grew acquainted with one Saveself, and then he became 
 a stranger to me. 
 
 Hope. Now, since we are talking about him, let ua 
 a little inquire into the reason of the sudden backslid 
 ing of him and such others. 
 
 Chr. It may be very profitable ; but do you begin. 
 
 Hope. Well then, there are, in my judgment, fouf 
 reasons for it : — 
 
 1. Though the consciences of such men are awak- 
 ened, yet their minds are not changed ; therefore, when 
 the power of guilt weareth away, that which provoketh 
 them to be religious ceaseth. Wherefoi'e they natur- 
 ally turn to their old course again ; even as we see the 
 dog that is sick of what he hath eaten, so long as his 
 sickness prevails, he vomits and casts up all ; not that 
 he doth this of a free mind (if we may say a dog has a 
 mind), but because it troubleth his stomach. But now, 
 when his sickness is over, and so hi» stomach eased. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 245 
 
 his desires being not at all alienated from his vomit, 
 he turns him about, and licks up all. And so it is true 
 which is written, " The dog is turned to his own vomit 
 again." (2 Pet. 2 : 22.) Thus, I say, being hot for 
 heaven, by virtue only of the sense and fear of the tor- 
 ments of hell, as their sense of hell and fear of damna- 
 tion chills and cools, so their desires for heaven and 
 salvation cool also. So then it comes to pass, .that 
 when their guilt and fear is gone, their desires for 
 heaven and happiness die, and they return to their 
 course again. 
 
 2. Another reason is, they have slavish fears that da 
 overmaster them. I speak now of the fears that they 
 have of men ; " For the fear of man bringeth a snare." 
 
 Prov. 29 : 25.) So then, though they seem to be hot 
 for heaven so long as the flames of hell are about their 
 ears, yet, when that terror is a little over, they betake 
 themselves to second thoughts, namely, that it is good 
 to be wise and not to run (for they know not what) the 
 hazard of losing all, or, at least, of bringing themselves 
 into unavoidable and unnecessary troubles ; and so 
 they fall in with the world again. 
 
 3. The shame that attends religion lies also as a 
 block in their way ; they are proud and haughty, and. 
 religion in their eye is low and contemptible ; there- 
 fore, when they have lost their sense of hell and the 
 wrath to come, they return again to their former 
 course. 
 
 4. Guilt, and to meditate terror, are grievous to 
 them ; they like not to see their misery before they 
 come into it ; though perhaps the sight of it at first, if 
 they loved that sight, might make them fl' whither 
 the righteous run and are safe. But because chey do, 
 as I hinted before, ever shun the thoughts of guilt and 
 terror, therefore, when once they are rid of their awak- 
 
246 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 enings about the terrors and wrath of God, they harden 
 their hearts gladly, and choose such ways as will hardea 
 them more and more. 
 
 Chr You are pretty near the business ; for the 
 bottom of all is for want of a change in their mind and 
 will. And therefore they are but like the felon that 
 standeth before the judge : he quakes and trembles, 
 and seems to repent most heartily, but the bottom of 
 all is the fear of a halter ; not that he hath any detesta- 
 lion of the offence, as is evident ; because, let but this 
 man have his liberty, and he will be a thief, and so a 
 rogue still , whereas, if his mind was changed, he would 
 be otherwise. 
 
 Hope. Now I have showed you the reason of their 
 going back, do you show me the manner thereof. 
 
 Chr. So I will, willingly. 
 
 1. They draw off their thoughts, all that they may, 
 from the remembrance of God, death, and judgment to 
 come. 
 
 2. Then they cast off by degrees private dutiesv as 
 closet prayer, curbing their lusts, watching, sorrow for 
 sin, and the like. 
 
 3. Then they shun the company of lively and warm 
 Christians. 
 
 4. After that, they grow cold to public duty, as 
 hearing, reading, godly conference, and the like. 
 
 5. They then begin to pick holes, as we say, in the 
 coats of some of the godly, and that devilishly, that 
 they may have a seeming color to throw religion (for 
 the sake of some infirmities they have espied in them) 
 behind their backs. 
 
 6. Then they begin to adhere to, and associate 
 themselves with, carnal, loose, and wanton men. 
 
 7. Then they give way to carnal and wanton dis- 
 courses in secret , and glad are they if they can see 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 247 
 
 such things in any that are counted honest, that they 
 may the more boldly do it through their example. 
 
 8. After this they begin to play with little sins 
 openly. 
 
 9o And then, being hardened, they show themselves 
 as they are. Thus, being launched again into the gulf 
 of misery, unless a miracle of grace prevent it, they 
 everlastingly perish in their own deceivings. 
 
 Now I saw; in my dream, that by this time the pil- 
 grims were got over the Enchanted Ground, and enter- 
 ing into the country of Bculah (Isa. 62: 4-12), whose 
 air was very sweet and pleasant, the way lying directly 
 through it, they solaced themselves there for a season . 
 Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds, 
 and saAv every day the flowers appear in the earth, and 
 heard the voice of the turtle in the land. (Song 2 : 
 10-12.) In this country the sun shineth night anl 
 day : wherefore this w^as beyond the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant 
 Despair ; neither could they from this place so mucti 
 as see Doubting Castle. Here they were within sight 
 of the city they were going to ; also here met them 
 some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this land the 
 Shining Ones commonly walked, because it was upon 
 the borders of heaven. In this land, also, the con- 
 tract between the bride and the bridegroom was re- 
 newed ; yea, here, " as the bridegroom rejoiceth over 
 the bride, so doth God rejoice over them." (Isa. 62 : 5.) 
 Here they had no want of corn and wine ; for in this 
 place they met with abundance of what they had sought 
 for in all their pilgrimage. (Isa. 62 : 8, 9.) Here they 
 heard voices from out of the city ; loud voices, saying, 
 " Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy salvation 
 Cometh ! Behold, his reward is with him ! " (Isa. 62 : 11, 
 12.) Here all the inhabitants of the country called 
 
248 ^^^ PILGRTM*S PROGRESS. 
 
 them " the holy people, the redeemed of the Lord, 
 sought out," &c. 
 
 Now, as they walked in this land, they had more re- 
 joicing than in parts more remote from the kingdom to 
 which they wore bound ; and drawing near to the city, 
 they had yet a more perfect view thereof. It was 
 builded of pearls and precious stones, also the streets 
 thereof were paved with gold ; so that, by reason of 
 the natural glory of the city, and the reflection of the 
 eunbeams upon it. Christian with desire fell sick. 
 Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease. 
 Wherefore here they lay by it a while, crying out, be^ 
 cause of their pangs, " If you see my Beloved, tell Him 
 that I am sick of love." 
 
 But being a little strengthened, and better able to 
 bear their sickness, they walked on their way, ai'd 
 came yet nearer and nearer, where were orchards, vine- 
 yards, and gardens, and their gates opened into the 
 highway. Now, as they came up to these places, brj- 
 hold, the gardener stood in the way ; to whom the pil- 
 grims said. Whose goodly vineyards and gardens aie 
 these ? He answered, They are the King's, and a>e 
 planted here for His own delight, and also for the 
 solace of pilgrims. So the gardener had them into the 
 vineyards, and bid them refresh themselves with the 
 dainties (Deut. 23 : 24) ; he also showed them there the 
 King's walks and arbors, where he delighted to be. 
 And here they tarried and slept. 
 
 Now I beheld, in my dream, that they talked more 
 in their sleep at this time than ever they did in all 
 their journey ; and, being in a muse thereabout, the 
 gardener said even to me. Wherefore museth thou at 
 the matter ? it is the nature of the fruit of the grapes 
 of these vineyards, " to go down so sweetly as to cause 
 the lips of them that are asleep to speak." (Song 7 : 9.) 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 249 
 
 §0 I saw that, when they awoke, they addressed 
 themselves to go up to the city. But, as I said, the re« 
 flection of the sun upon the city — for the city was pure 
 gold (Rev. 21 : 18), — was so extremely glorious, that 
 they could not as yet with open face behold it, but 
 through an instrument made for that purpose. (2 Cor. 
 8: 18.) So I saw that as they went on there met them 
 iwo men in raiment that shone like gold, also theit 
 faces shone as the light. 
 
 These men asked the pilgrims whence they came j 
 and they told them. They also asked them where they 
 had lodged, what difiiculties and dangers, what com- 
 forts and pleasures, they had met with in the way; 
 and they told them. Then said the men that met 
 them. You have but two difficulties more to meet with, 
 and then you are in the city. 
 
 Christian then, and his companion, asked the men 
 to go along with them : so they told them that they 
 would ; But, said they, you must obtain it by your own 
 faith. So I saw, in my dream, that they went on to- 
 gether till they came in sight of the gacc. 
 
 Now I further saw, that betwixt them and the gate 
 was a river; but there was no bridge to go over, and 
 the river was very deep. At the sight, therefore, of 
 this river, the pilgrims were much stunned; but the 
 men that went with them said. You must go through, 
 or you cannot come at the gate. 
 
 The pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no 
 Other way to the gate. To which they answered. Yes, 
 but there hath not any, save two, to wit, Enoch and 
 Elijah, been permitted to tread that path since the 
 foundation of the world, nor shall until the last trumpet 
 shall sound. The pilgrims then, especially Christian, 
 began to despond in their mind, and looked this way 
 and that, but no way could be found by them by which 
 
9^0 3^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 they might escape the river. Then they asked tlifl 
 men if the waters were all of a depth. They said, No ; 
 yet they could not help them in that case ; for, said 
 they, you shall find it deeper or shallower as you believe 
 in the King of the place. 
 
 Then they addressed themselves to the water, and 
 entering, Christian began to sink, and crying out to 
 his good friend Hopeful, he said, " I sink in deep 
 waters ; the billows go over my head ; all His waves go 
 over me." Selah. 
 
 Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother • 
 I feel the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, 
 Ah, my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed 
 me about, I shall not see the land that flows with milk 
 and honey. And with that a great darkness and horror 
 fell upon Christian, so that he could not see before him. 
 Also here he in a great measure lost his senses, so that 
 he could neither remember nor orderly talk of any o{ 
 those sweet refreshments that he had met with in the 
 way of his pilgrimage. But all the words that he spoke 
 still tended to discover that he had horror of mind, and 
 heart-fears that he should die in that river, and never 
 obtain entrance in at the gate. Here also, as they that 
 stood by perceived, he was much in the troublesome 
 thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since 
 and before he began to be a pilgrim. It was also ob- 
 served that he was troubled with apparitions of hob- 
 goblins and evil spirits ; for, ever and anon he would 
 intimate so much by words. 
 
 Hopeful, therefore, here had much ado to keep his 
 brother's head above water ; yea, sometimes he would 
 be quite gone down, and then, ere a while, he would 
 rise up again half dead. Hopeful did also endeavor to 
 comfort him, saving, Brother, I see the gate, and men 
 funding by to receive us. But Christian would answeri 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, ^^^1 
 
 Ft is you, it is you they wait for ; for you have been 
 hopeful ever since I knew you. And so have you, said 
 he to Christian. Ah, brother (said he), surely if I was 
 right He would now arise to help me ; but for my sins 
 He hath brought me into the snare, and hath left me. 
 Then said Hopeful, My brother, you have quite forgot 
 the text, where it is said of the wicked, '^ There are n<j 
 bands in their death, but their strength is firm ; the;^ 
 are not troubled as other men, neither are they plagued 
 like other men." (Psalm 73 ; 4, 5.) These troubles and 
 distresses that you go through in these waters, are no 
 sign that God hath forsaken you ; but are sent to try 
 you, whether you will call to mind that which hereto- 
 fore you have received of His goodness, and live upon 
 Him in your distresses. 
 
 Then I saw, in my dream, that Christian was in a 
 muse a while. To whom also Hopeful added these 
 words. Be of good cheer, Jesus Christ maketh thee 
 whole. And with that Christian brake out with a loud 
 voice. Oh, I see Him again , and He tells me, " When 
 thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee-, 
 and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee." 
 (Isa. 43 : 2.) Then they both took courage, and the 
 enemy was after that as still as a stone, until they were 
 gone over. Christian, therefore, presently found ground 
 to stand upon, and so it followed that the rest of the 
 dver was but shallow. Thus they got over. 
 
 Now, upon the bank of the river, on the other side^ 
 they saw the two shining men again, who there waited 
 for them. Wherefore, being come out of the river, 
 they saluted them, saying. We are ministering spirits, 
 sent forth to minister to those that shall be the heirs of 
 salvation. Thus they went along towards the gate. 
 
 Now you must note, that the city stood upon a 
 mighty hill ; but the pilgrims went up that hill w /J 
 
2^2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ijase, because they had these two men to lead them up 
 by the arms : they had likewise left their mortal gar- 
 ments behind them in the river ; for though they went 
 in with them, they came out without them. They 
 therefore went up here with much agility and speed, 
 though the foundation upon which the city was framed 
 was higher than the clouds ; they therefore went up 
 through the region of the air, sweetly talking as thej 
 went, being comforted because they safely got over the 
 river, and had such glorious companions to attend them. 
 The talk that they had with the shining ones was 
 about the glory of the place ; who told them that the 
 beauty and glory of it was inexpressible. There, said 
 they, is " Mount Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the in- 
 numerable company of angels, and the spirits of just 
 men made perfect." (Heb. 12 : 22-24.) You are going 
 now, said they, to the paradise of God, wherein you 
 shall see the tree of life, and eat of the never-fading 
 fruits thereof : and when you come there you shall have 
 white robes given you, and your walk and talk shall be 
 every day with the King, even all the days of eternity. 
 (Rev. 2:7; 3 : 4, 5 ; 22 : 5.) There you shall not see 
 again such things as you saw when 3^ou were in the 
 lower region upon earth : to wit, sorrow, sickness, af- 
 fliction, and death : " For the former things are passed 
 away." (Rev. 21 : 4.) You are going now to Abraham, 
 to Isaac, and Jacob, and to the prophets, men that God 
 hath taken away from the evil to come, and that are 
 now " resting upon their beds, each one walking in his 
 righteousness." The men then asked, What must we 
 do in the holy place ? To whom it was answered, You 
 must there receive the comfort of all your toil, and have 
 joy for all your sorrow ; you must reap what you have 
 sown, even the fruit of all your prayers, and tears, and 
 Bufferings for the King by the way. (Gal. 6 : 7, 8.) In 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 253 
 
 tbat place you must wear crowns of gold, and enjoy the 
 perpetual sight and vision of the Holy One ; for " there 
 you shall see Him as He is." (1 John, 3 : 2.) There 
 also you shall serve him continually with praise, with 
 Bhouting and thanksgiving, whom you desired to serve 
 in the world, though with much difficulty, because of 
 the infirmity of your flesh. There your eyes shall be 
 delighted with seeing, and your ears with hearing the 
 pleasant voice of the Mighty One. There you shall 
 enjoy your friends again that are gone thither before 
 you ; and there you shall with joy receive even every 
 one that follows into the holy place after you. There 
 also you will be clothed with glory and majesty, and 
 put into an equipage fit to ride out with the King of 
 Glory. When He shall come with sound of trumpet 
 i)Q the clouds, as upon the wings of the wind, you shall 
 come with Him ; and when He shall sit upon the throne 
 o*^ judgment, you shall sit by Him ; yea, and when He 
 sliall pass sentence upon all the workers of iniquity, let 
 tl^em be angels or men, you also shall have a voice in 
 tliat judgment, because they were His and your ene- 
 D/ies. Also, when He shall again return to the city, 
 you shall go too with sound of trumpet, and be ever 
 with Him. (1 Thess. 4: 14-17; Jude 14: 15; Dan. 
 7:9,10; ICor. 6: 2,8.) 
 
 Now, while they were thus drawing towards the 
 gate, behold, a company of the heavenly host came out 
 to meet them : to whom it was said by the other two 
 shining ones, These are the men that have loved our 
 Lord when they were in the world, and that have 
 Vft all for His holy name ; and He hath sent us to 
 ifetch them, and we have brought them thus far on their 
 desired journey, that they may go in and look their Re- 
 deemer in the face with joy. Then the heavenly host 
 gave a great shout, saying, " Blessed are they that are 
 
$54 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 called to the marriage-supper of the Lamb.** (Rev. 
 19: 9.) There came out also at this time to meet them 
 several of the King's trumpters, clothed in white and 
 shining raiment, who, with melodious noises and loud, 
 made even the heavens to echo with their sound. These 
 trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow with ten 
 thousand welcomes from the world ; and this they did 
 with shouting and sound of trumpet. 
 
 This done, they compassed them round on every 
 side; some went before, some behind, and tr«ome on the 
 right hand, and some on the left (as it were to guard 
 them through the upper regions), continually sounding 
 as they went, with melodious noise, in notes on high ; 
 so that the very sight was to them that could behold it 
 as if heaven itself was come down to meet them. Thus, 
 therefore, they walked on together ; and, as they 
 walked, ever and anon these trumpters, even with joyful 
 Bound, would, by mixing their music with looks and 
 gestures, still signify to Christian and his brocher how 
 welcome they were into their company, and with what 
 gladness they came to meet them. And now were these 
 two men, as it were, in heaven, before they came to it, 
 being swallowed up with the sight of angels, and with 
 hearing of their melodious notes. Here also they had 
 the city itself in view : and they thought they heard 
 all the bells therein to ring, to welcome them thereto. 
 But, above all, the warm and joyful thoughts that they 
 had about their own dwelling there with such company, 
 and that forever and ever ; oh, by what tongue or pen 
 can their glorious joy be expressed ! Thus they came 
 up to the gate. 
 
 Now when they were come up to the gate, there 
 was written over it, in letters of gold, 
 
 •* BLESSED ARE THEY THAT DO HIS COMMANDMENTSL 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 255 
 
 THAT THEY MAY HAVE KIGHT TO THE TEEE OP 
 LIFE, AND MAY ENTER IN THEOUGH THE GATES 
 INTO THE CITY." 
 
 Then I saw, in my dream, that the shining men bid 
 them call at the gate ; the which when they did, some 
 from above looked over the gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses, 
 and Elijah, &c., to whom it was said, These pilgrims 
 are come from the City of Destruction, for the love that 
 they bear to the King of this place : and then the pil- 
 grims gave in unto them each man his certificate, which 
 they had received in the beginning. Those, therefore, 
 were carried in unto the King, who, when He had read 
 them, said, Where are the men ? To whom it was an- 
 swered, They are standing without the gate. The 
 King then commanded to open the gate, " That the 
 righteous nation (said He) that keepeth the truth may 
 enter in." (Isa. 26 : 2.) 
 
 Now I saw, in my dream, that these two men went 
 in at the gate ; and lo, as they entered, they were 
 transfigured ; and they had raiment put on that shone 
 like gold. There were also that met them with harps 
 and crowns, and gave them to them ; the harps to 
 praise withal, and the crowns in token of honor. Then 
 I heard in my dream, that all the bells in the city rang 
 again for joy, and that it was said unto them, 
 
 " ENTER YE INTO THE JOY OF OUR LORD." 
 
 I also heard the men themselves sing with a loud voice> 
 saying, 
 
 " BLESSING, AND HONOR, AND GLORY, AND POWER, BE 
 UNTO HIM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND 
 UNTO THE LAMB, FOR EVER AND EVER." 
 
2^6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 Now, just as the gates were opened to let in th« 
 men, I looked in after them, and behold, the city shone 
 like the sun ; the streets also were paved with gold ; 
 and in them walked many men, with crowns on their 
 heads, palms in their hands, and golden harps, to sing 
 praises withal. 
 
 There were also of them that had wings, and they 
 answered one another without intermission, saying, 
 Holy, holy, holy is the Lord. And after that they shut 
 up the gates ; which, when I had seen, I wished myself 
 among them. 
 
 Now, while I was gazing upon all these things, I 
 turned my head to look back, and saw Ignorance come 
 up to the river side ; but he soon got over, and that 
 without half the difficulty which the other two men 
 met with. For it happened that there was then in that 
 place one Vainhope, a ferryman, that with his boat 
 Jielped him over ; so he, as the other I saw, did ascend 
 the hill, to come up to the gate ; only he came alone, 
 rieither did any man meet him with the least encour- 
 agement. When he was come up to the gate, he looked 
 u p to the writing that was above, and then began to 
 tnock, supposing that entrance should have been 
 q aickly administered to him : but he was asked by the 
 men that looked over the top of the gate. Whence come 
 you ? and what would you have ? He answered, I have 
 ate and drank in the presence of the King, and he has 
 taught in our streets. Then they asked him for his cer- 
 tificate, that they might go in and show it to the King. 
 So he fumbled in his bosom for one, and found none. 
 Then said they, Have you none? But the man an- 
 swered never a word. So they told the King, but He 
 would not come down to see him, but commanded the 
 two shining ones, that conducted Christian and Hope* 
 ful to the city, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, «^^ 
 
 Mm hand and foot, and have him away. Then they 
 took him up, and carried him through the air to the 
 door that I saw in the side of the hill, and put him in 
 there. Then I saw that there was a way to hell, even 
 from the gate of heaven, as well as from the city of De^ 
 Struction. So I awoke, and behold, it was a dreanu 
 
85^ 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Now, reader, I have told my dream to thee 
 
 See if thou canst interpret it to me, 
 
 Or to thyself, or neighbor : but take heed 
 
 Of misinterpreting ; for that, instead 
 
 Of doing good, will but thyself abuse : 
 
 By misinterpreting, evil ensues. 
 
 Take heed, also, that thou be not extreme 
 
 In playing with the outside of my dream ; 
 
 Nor let my figure or similitude 
 
 Put thee into a laughter, or a feua. 
 
 Leave this for boys and fools ; but as for thee. 
 
 Do thou the substance of my matter see 
 
 Put by the curtains, look within the veil, 
 
 Turn up my metaphora, and do not fail. 
 
 There, if thou seekest them, such things thou'h fiixkil 
 
 As will be helpful to an honest mind. 
 
 What of my dross thou findest there, be bold 
 
 To throw away, but yet preserve the gold. 
 
 What if my gold be wrapped up in ore ? 
 
 None throw away the apple for the core ; 
 
 But if thou shalt cast all away as vain, 
 
 I know not but 'twill make me dream again* 
 
THl 
 
 AUTHOR'S WAY 
 
 OF 
 
 SENDING FORTH HIS SECOND PART 
 
 OF 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 Go, now, my little Book, to every place 
 Where my first pilgrim has but shown his face: 
 Call at their door : if any say, " Who's there?" 
 Then answer thou, " Christiana is here." 
 If they bid thee come in, then enter thou, 
 With all thy boys ; and then, as thou know'st how. 
 Tell who they are, also from whence they came ; 
 Perhaps they'll know them by their looks, or names 
 But if they should not, ask them yet again, 
 U formerly they did not entertain 
 One Christian, a Pilgrim. If they say 
 They did, and were delighted in his way, 
 Then let them know that these related were 
 Unto him ; yea, his wife and children are. 
 
 Tell them that they have left their house and homci 
 Are turned Pilgrims ; seek a world to come ; 
 That they have met with hardships in the way ; 
 !P*bat they dp meet with troubles aight and day 
 
25o '^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 That they have trod on serpents ; fought with devils^ 
 
 Have also overcome a many evils : 
 
 Yea, tell them also of the next who have, 
 
 Of love of pilgrimage, been stout and brave 
 
 Defenders of that way ; and how they still 
 
 Refuse this world to do their Father's wilL 
 
 Go tell them also oi those dainty things 
 
 That Pilgrimage unto the Pilgrim brings. 
 
 Let them acquainted be, too, how they are 
 
 Beloved of their King, under his care ; 
 
 What goodly mansions He ''* them provides ; 
 
 Though they meet with rou^ grinds and swellingtide% 
 
 How brave a calm they will enjoy at last, 
 
 Who to their Lord, and by His ways hold fast. 
 
 Perhaps with heart and hand they will embrace 
 Thee, as they did my firstling ; and will gracx. 
 Thee and thy fellows with such cheer and fare, 
 As show well they of Pilgrims lovers are. 
 
 FIRST OBJECTION. 
 
 But how if they will not believe of me 
 That I am truly thine ? 'Cause some there be 
 That counterfeit the Pilgrim and his name ; 
 Seek, by disguise, to seem the very same ; 
 And by that means have wrought themselves into 
 The hands and houses of I know not who. 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 'Tis true, some have, of late, to counterfeit 
 My Pilgrim, to their own my title set j 
 Yea, others half my name, and title toO; 
 Have stitched to their books, to make them do# 
 But yet they, by their features, do declare 
 Themselves not mine to be, whose e'er they are. 
 
 If such thou meet'st with, then thine only way 
 Before them all, is, to say out thy say 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 In thine own native language, which no man 
 Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can. 
 
 If, after all, they still of you shall doubt, 
 Thinking that you, like gypsies, go about, 
 In naughty wise the country to deiile ; 
 Or that you seek good people to beguile 
 With things unwarrantable, send for me 
 And I will testify you Pilgrims be ; 
 Yea, I will testify that only you 
 My Pilgrims are, and that alone will da, 
 
 SECOND OBJECTION. 
 
 But yet, perhaps I may inquire for him 
 Of those who wish him damned life and limb. 
 What shall I do, when I at such a door 
 For Pilgrims ask, and they shall rage the more? 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 Fright not thyself, my Book, for such bugbearS 
 Are nothing else but ground for groundless fearS. 
 My Pilgrim's book has travelled sea and land. 
 Yet could I never come to understand 
 That it was slighted or turned out of door 
 By any kingdom, were they rich or poor. 
 
 In France and Flanders, where men kill each other. 
 My Pilgrim is esteemed a friend, a brother. 
 In Holland, too, 'tib said, as I am told, 
 My Pilgrim is with some worth more than gold. 
 Highlanders and wild Irish can agree: 
 My Pilgrim should familiar with tnem be. 
 
 'Tis in New England under such advance, 
 Receives there so much loving countenance. 
 As to be triram'd, new cloth'd, and deck'd with genKSg 
 That it might show its features, and its limbs. 
 Yet more : so comely doth my Pilgrim walk. 
 That of him thousands daily sing and talk. 
 
262 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 If you draw nearer home, it will appear 
 My Pilgrim knows no ground of shame or fear : 
 City and country will him entertain 
 With Welcome, Pilgrim ; yea, they can't refrain 
 From smiling, if my Pilgrim be but by, 
 Or shows his head in any company. 
 
 Brave gallants, do my Pilgrim hug and love» 
 Esteem it much, yea, value it above 
 Things of a greater bulk ; yea, with delight 
 Say my lark's leg is better than a kite. 
 Young ladies, and young gentlewomen too, 
 Do not small kindness to my Pilgrim show : 
 Their cabinets, their bosoms, aad their hearts, 
 Hy Pilgrim has ; 'cause he to them imparts 
 His pretty riddles in such wholesome strains 
 As yield them profit double to their pains 
 Of reading ; yea, I think I may be bold 
 To say some prize him far above their gold. 
 The very children that do walk the street, 
 If they do but my holy Pilgrim meet, 
 Salute him well ; will wish him well, and say 
 He is the only stripling of the day. 
 
 They that have never seen him, yet admire 
 What they have heard of him, and much desir© 
 To have his company, and hear him tell 
 Those Pilgrim stories which he knows so welL 
 
 Yea, some who did not love him at the first, 
 But call'd him fool and noddy, say they must, 
 Now they have seen and heard him, him commendi 
 And to those whom they love they do him send. 
 
 Wherefore, my Second Part, thou need'st not btf 
 Afraid to show thy head : none can hurt thee, 
 That wish but well to him that went before; 
 H)ause tboa eom'st after with a second store 
 
THE PILGRIM*S PROGRESS. 
 
 Of things as good, as rich, as profitable. 
 
 For young, for old, for staggering, and for stable. 
 
 THIRD OBJECTION. 
 
 But some there be that say, he laughs too loud ; 
 And some do say, his head is in a cloud. 
 Some say, his words and stories are so dark. 
 They know not how, by them, to find his mark, 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 One may, I think, say, Both his laughs and cries 
 May well be guessed at by his wat'ry eyes. 
 Some things are of that nature, as to make 
 One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache. 
 When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep, 
 He did at the same time both kiss and weep. 
 
 Whereas some say, A cloud is in his head ; 
 That doth but show his wisdom's covered 
 With its own mantle. And to stir the mind 
 To search well after what it fain would find, 
 Things that seem to be hid in words obscure 
 Do but the godly mind the more allure 
 To study what those sayings should contain. 
 That speak to us in such a cloudy strain. 
 I also know a dark similitude 
 Will on the fancy more itself intrude. 
 And will stick faster in the heart and head, 
 Than things from similies not borrowed. 
 
 Wherefore, my Book, let no discouragement 
 Hinder thy travels. Behold, thou art sent 
 To friends, not foes ; to friends that will give placf 
 To thee, thy Pilgrims, and thy words embrace. 
 
 Besides, what my first Pilgrim left conceal'd, 
 Thou, my brave second Pilgrim, hast reveal'd ; 
 What Christian left lock'd up, and went his way, 
 Sweet Christiana opens with her key. 
 
|6i|t THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 FOURTH OBJECTION". 
 
 But some love not the method of your first s 
 Romance they count it ; throw't away as dust. 
 If I should meet with such, what should I say ? 
 Must I slight them as they slight me, or nay ? 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 My Christiana, if with such thou meet, 
 By all means, in all loving wise them greet; 
 Render them not reviling for revile ; 
 But, if they frown, I prithee on them smile: 
 Perhaps 'tis nature, or some ill report, 
 Has made them thus despise, or thus retort. 
 
 Some love no fish, some love no cheese, and some 
 Love not their friends, nor their own house or h^^mef 
 Some start at pig, slight chicken, love not fowl 
 More than they love a cuckoo or an owl. 
 Leave such, my Christiana, to their choice. 
 And seek those who to find thee will rejoice. 
 By no means strive, but, in most humble wise, 
 Present thee to them in thy Pilgrim's guise. 
 
 Go then, my little Book, and show to all 
 That entertain and bid thee welcome shall, 
 What thou shalt keep close shut up from the rest ; 
 And wish what thou shalt show them may be bless'* 
 To theni for good, and make them choose to be 
 Pilgrims, by better far than thee or me. 
 &o, then, I say, tell all men who thou art : 
 Say, I am Christiana ; and my part 
 Is now, with my four sons, to tell you what 
 It is for men to take a Pilgrim's lot. 
 
 Go, also, tell them who and what they be 
 That now do go on a pilgrimage with thee ; 
 Say, Here's my neighbor Mercy ; she is one 
 That has long time with me a Pilgrim gone ; 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 96^ 
 
 CV)me, see her in her virgin face, and leani 
 Twixt idle ones and Pilgrims to discern. 
 Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize 
 The world which is to come, in any wise. 
 When little tripping maidens follow God, 
 And leave old doting sinners to His rod, 
 'Tis like those days wherein the young ones cried 
 Hosannah ! to whom old ones did deride. 
 
 Kext tell them of old Honest, whom you found 
 With his white hairs treading the Pilgrim's ground ' 
 Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was ; 
 How after his good Lord he bare the cross. 
 Perhaps with some gray head this may prevail 
 With Christ to fall in love, and sin bewail. 
 
 Tell them, also, how Master Fearing went 
 On pilgrimage, and how the time he spent 
 In solitariness, with fears and cries ; 
 And how, at last, he won the joyful prize. 
 He was a good man, though much down in spiritf 
 He is a good man, and doth life inherit. 
 
 Tell them of Master Feebleraind, also, 
 Who not before, but still behind would go. 
 Show them, also, how he had like been slain, 
 And how one Greatheart did his life regain. 
 This man was true of heart, though weak in grace ; 
 One mighii true godliness read in his face. 
 
 Then tell them of Master Readytohalt, 
 A man with crutches, but much without fault. 
 Tell them how Master Feeblemind and he 
 Did love, and in opinions much agree. 
 And let all know, though weakness was their chance^ 
 Yet sometimes one could sing, the other dance. 
 
 Forget not Master Valiant-for-the-Truth, 
 That man of courage, though a very youth % 
 
§66 THE PILGXTAPS PROGRESS. 
 
 Tell every one his spirit was so stout, 
 No man could ever make him face about. 
 And how Greatheart and he could not forbear. 
 But pull down Doubting Castle, slay Despair 1 
 
 Overlook not Master Despondency, 
 Nor Muchafraid, his daughter, though they lie 
 Under such mantles, as may make them look 
 (With some) as if their God had them forsook. 
 They softly went, but sure ; and, at the end. 
 Found that the Lord of Pilgrims was their friend. 
 
 When thou hast told the world of all these things 
 Then turn about, my Book, and touch these strings^ 
 Which, if but touched, will such music make, 
 They'll make a cripple dance, a giant quake. 
 
 Those riddles that lie couch'd within thy breasU 
 Freely propound, expound ; and for the rest 
 Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain 
 For those whose nimble fancies shall them gain* 
 
 Now may this little Book a blessing be 
 To those who love this little Book and me; 
 And may its buyer have no cause to say 
 His money is but lost or thrown away. 
 Yea, may this second Pilgrim yield that fruit 
 As may with each good Pilgrim's fancy suit ; 
 And may it some persuade, that go astray, 
 To turn their feet and heart to the right way, 
 Is the hearty prayer of 
 
 The Author, 
 
 JOHN BUNYAK 
 
THE 
 
 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 PART n. 
 
 CouKTEous Companions: 
 
 Some time since, to tell you my dream that I had 
 of Christian the pilgrim, and of his dangerous journej' 
 towards the Celestial Country, was pleasant to me, and 
 profitable to you. I told joii then also what I saw 
 concerning his wife and ehildren, and how unwilling 
 they were to go with him on pilgrimage ; insomuch that 
 he was forced to go on his progress without them ; for 
 he durst not run the danger of that destruction which 
 he feared would come by staying with them in the city 
 of Destruction^ Wherefore, as 1 then showed you, he 
 left them and departed. 
 
 Now it hath so happened, through the multiplicity 
 ©f business, that I have been much hindered and kept 
 back from my wonted travels into those parts whence 
 he went, and so could not, till now, obtain an opportu- 
 nity to make further inquiry after those whom he left 
 behind, that I might give you an account of them. But 
 having had some concerns that way of late, I went 
 down again thitherward. Now, having taken up my 
 lodging in a wood about a mile off the place, as I slep^ 
 I dreamed agaio. ^6^ 
 
268 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 And as I was in my dream, behold, an aged gentW 
 man came bj where I lay ; and, because he was to go 
 some part of the way that I was traveling, methought 
 1 got up and went with him. So, as we walked, and 
 as travellers usually dc, I was as if we fell into a dis^ 
 course ; and our talk happened to be about Christian 
 ^nd his travels ; for thus I began with the old man : — ' 
 
 Sir, said I, what town is that there below, that lieth 
 on the left hand of our way? 
 
 Then said Mr. Sagacity (for that was his name). It is 
 the city of Destruction, a populous place, but possessed 
 with a very ill-conditioned and idle set of people. 
 
 I thought that was the city, quoth I ; I went onoe 
 myself through that town, and therefore know that this 
 report you give of it is true. 
 
 Sag. Too true ! I wish I could speak truth in 
 speaking better of them that dwell therein. 
 
 Well, sir, quoth I, then I perceive you to be a well- 
 meaning man, and so one that takes pleasure to hear 
 and tell of that which is good. Pray, did you never 
 hear what happened to a man some time ago of this 
 town (whose name was Christian), that went ou a 
 pilgrimage up towards the higher regions ? 
 
 Sag. Hear of him! Ay, and I also heard of the 
 molestations, troubles, wars, captivities, cries, groans, 
 frights and fears that he met with and had on his jour- 
 ney. Besides, I must tell you, all our country rings of 
 Mm ; there are but few houses that have heard of him 
 ajid of his doings, but have sought after and got the 
 records of his pilgrimage ; yea, i think I may say that 
 his hazardous journey has got many well-wishers to his 
 ways ; for, though when he was here he was fool in 
 every man's mouth, yet now he is gone he is highly 
 commended of all. For 'tis said he lives bravely where 
 he is : yea, many of them that are resolved never *» 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 26^ 
 
 run his hazards, yet have their mouths water at his 
 gains. 
 
 They may, quoth I, well think, if they think any 
 thing that is true, that he liveth well where he is ; for 
 he now lives at, and in the fountain of life, and haa 
 what he has without labor and sorrow, for there is no 
 grief mixed therewith. But pray, what talk have the 
 people about him ? 
 
 Sag. Talk ! The people talk strangely about him. 
 Some say that he now walks in white (Rev. 3:4); that 
 he has a chain of gold about his neck ; that he has a 
 crown of gold, beset with pearls, upon his head. Others 
 say, that the shining ones, who sometimes showed themr 
 selves to him in his journey, are become his compan- 
 ions, and that he is as familiar with them where he is, 
 as here one neighbor is with another. Besides, it is 
 confidently affirmed concerning him, that the King of 
 tue place where he is, has bestowed upon him already 
 a very rich and pleasant dwelling at court ; and that 
 be every day eateth and drinketh, and walketh and 
 t^ilketh with Him, and receiveth of the smiles and 
 fftvors of Him that is Judge of all there. (Zech. 3:7; 
 Luke 14 : 14, 15.) Moreover, it is expected of some, 
 that his Prince, the Lord of that countoy, will shortly 
 come into these parts, and will know the reason, if they 
 can give any, why his neighbors set so little by him, 
 and had him so much in derision, when they perceived 
 that he would be a pilgrim. (Jude, 14, 15.) For they 
 say, that now he is so in the affections of his Prince, 
 that his Sovereign is so much concerned with the in- 
 dignities that were cast upon Christian when he became 
 a pilgrim, that he will look upon all as if done unto 
 Himaelf (Luke 10 1 16) i and no marvel, for it was for 
 the love that he had to his Prince that he ventured as 
 he did. 
 
«70 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 I dare say, quoth I ; I am glad on't : I am glad foi 
 the poor man's sake, for that now he has rest from his 
 labor, and for that he now reapeth the benefit of his 
 tears with joy ; and for that he has got beyond the gun- 
 shot of his enemies, and is out of the reach of them 
 that hate him. (Rev. 14: 13; Psalm 126: 5, 6.) I 
 also am glad for that a rumor of these things is noised 
 abroad in this country ; who can tell but that it may 
 work some good effect on some that are left behind ? 
 But pray, sir, while it is fresh in my mind, do you hear 
 anything of his wife and children? Poor hearts! I 
 wonder in my mind what they do. 
 
 Sag. Who ? Christiana and her sons ? They are 
 like to do as well as Christian did himself ; for though 
 they all played the fool at first, and would by no means 
 be persuaded by either the tears or entreaties of Chris- 
 tian, yet second thoughts have wTought wonderfully 
 with them : so they have packed up, and are also gone 
 after him. 
 
 Better and better, quoth I : but, what ! wife and 
 children, and all ? 
 
 Sag. It is true : I can give you an account of the 
 matter, for I was upon the spot at the instant, and was 
 thoroughly acquainted with the whole affair. 
 
 Then, said I, a man, it seems, may report it for a 
 truth. 
 
 Sag. You need not fear to affirm it : I mean, that 
 they are all gone on pilgrimage, both the good woman 
 and her four boys. And being we are, as I perceive, 
 going some considerable way together, I will give you 
 an account of the whole matter. 
 
 This Christiana (for that was her name from the 
 day that she with her children betook themselves to a 
 pilgrim's life), after her husband was gone over the 
 tiver, and she could hear of him no more, her thoughts 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 27I 
 
 began to work in her mind. First, for that she had lost 
 her husband, and for that the loving bond of that rela- 
 tion was utterly broken betwixt them. For you know, 
 said he to me, nature can do no less but entertain thi 
 living with many a heavy cogitation, in the remem- 
 brance of the loss of loving relations. This, therefore, 
 of her husband did cost her many a tear. But this was 
 not all ; for Christiana did also begin to consider with 
 herself, whether her unbecoming behavior towards her 
 husband was not one cause that she saw him no more, 
 and that in such sort he was taken awav from her. 
 And upon this came into her mind, by swarms, all her 
 unkind, unnatural, and ungodly carriage to her dear 
 friend; which also clogged her conscience, and did 
 load her with guilt. She was, moreover, much broken 
 ivith recalling to remembrance the restless groans, 
 brinish tears, and self-bemoanings of her husband, and 
 how she did harden her heart against all his entreaties 
 £-nd loving persuasions of her and her sons to go with 
 him; yea, there was not anything that Christian eithei 
 said to her, or did before her, all the while that his 
 burden did hang on his back, but it returned upon her 
 like a flash of lightning, and rent the caul of her heart 
 in sunder ; especially that bitter outcry of his, " What 
 shall I do to be saved ?" did ring in her ears most dole- 
 fully. 
 
 Then said she to her children, Sons, we are all un- 
 done. I have sinned away youi father, and he is gone : 
 he would have had us with him, but I would not go 
 myself: I also have hindered you of life. With that 
 the boys fell into tears, and cried out to go after their 
 father. Oh, said Christiana, that it had been but our lot 
 to go with him ! then had it fared well with us, beyond 
 what it is like to do now. For, though I formerly 
 foolishly imagined, concerning the troubles of youx 
 
2^2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^ 
 
 father, that they proceeded of a foolish fancy that ha 
 had, or for that he was overrun with melancholy hu- 
 mors ; yet now it will not out of mind, but that they 
 sprang from another cause ; to wit, for that the light 
 of life was given him (James 1 : 23-25 ; John 8 : 12) ; 
 by the help of which, as I perceive, he has escaped the 
 snares of death. (Prov. 14 : 27.) Then they all wept 
 again, and cried out. Oh, woe worth the day ! 
 
 The next night Christiana had a dream ; and, be- 
 hold, she saw as if a broad parchment was opened be- 
 fore her, in which were recorded the sum of her ways; 
 and the crimes, as she thought, looked very black upon 
 her. Then she cried out aloud in her sleep, " Lord, 
 have mercy upon me a sinner ! " (Luke 18 ; 12) ; and 
 the little children heard her. 
 
 After this she thought she saw two very ill favored 
 Dues standing by her bedside, and saying. What shall 
 we do with this woman ? for she cries out for mercy, 
 waking and sleepinpf t if she be suffered to go on as she 
 begins, we shall lose Tier as we have lost her husband. 
 Wherefore we must, by one way or other, seek to take 
 her off from the thoughts of what shall be hereafter, else 
 all the world cannot help but she will become a pil- 
 grim 
 
 Now she awoke in a great sweat, also a trembling 
 was upon her : but after a while she fell to sleeping 
 again. And then she thought she saw Christian, her 
 husband, in a place of bliss among many immortals, with 
 a harp in his hand, standing and playing upon it before 
 One that sat on a throne with a rainbow about His 
 head. She saw also, as if he bowed his head with his 
 face to the paved work that was under his Prince's 
 feet, saying, " I heartily thank my Lord and King for 
 bringing me into this place." Then shouted a com- 
 pany of them that stood round about, and harped 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 273 
 
 with their harps j but no man living could tell what 
 they said but Christian and his companions. 
 
 Next morning, when she was up, had praj^ed to God, 
 and talked with her children a while, one knocked hard 
 at the door; to whom she spake out, saying, " If thou 
 comest in God's name, come in." So he said, "Amen ;" 
 and opened the door, and saluted her with, " Peace be 
 to this house/' The which when he had done, he said, 
 " Christiana, knowest thou wherefore I am come ? '* 
 Then she blushed and trembled ; also her heart began 
 to wax warm with desires to know from whence he 
 came, and what was his errand to her. So he said unto 
 her, " My name is Secret ; I dwell with those that are 
 on high. It is talked of where I dwell as if thou hadst 
 a desire to go thither : also, there is a report that thou 
 art aware of the evil thou hast formerl}^ done to tby 
 husband, in hardening of thy heart against his ways, 
 and in keeping of these babes in their ignorance. 
 Christiana, the Merciful One hath sent me to tell thee, 
 that he is a God ready to forgive, and that He taketh 
 delight to multiply the pardon of offences. He also 
 would have thee to know, that He inviteth thee to come 
 into His presence, to His table, and that He will feed 
 thee with the fat of His house, and with the heritage 
 of Jacob thy father. 
 
 " There is Christian, thy husband that was, with 
 legions more, his companions, ever beholding that face 
 that doth minister life to beholders ; and they will all 
 be glad when they shall hear the sound of thy feet step 
 over thy Father's vhreshold." 
 
 Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, 
 and bowed her head to the ground. This visitor pro- 
 ceeded, and said, " Christiana, here is also a letter for 
 thee, which I have brought from thy husband's King." 
 So she took it, and opened it, but it smelt after the 
 
274 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 manner of the best perfume. (Song 1 : 3.) Also, it 
 was written in letters of gold. The contents of the 
 letter were these, That the King would have her to do 
 as did Christian her husband ; for that was the way to 
 come to His city, and to dwell in His presence with joy 
 forever. At this the good woman was quite overcome ; 
 so she cried out to her visitor, Sir, will you carry me 
 and my children with you, that we also may go and 
 worship the King ? 
 
 Then said the visitor, Christiana, the bitter is be- 
 fore the sweet. Thou must through troubles, as did 
 he that went before thee, enter this Celestial City. 
 Wherefore I advise thee to do as did Christian thy 
 husband : go to the wicket-gate yonder, over the plain, 
 for that stands at the head of the way up which thou 
 must go ; and I wish thee all good speed. Also I ad- 
 vise that thou put this letter in thy bosom, that thou 
 read therein to thyself and to thy children until you 
 have got it by heart ; for it is one of the songs that 
 thou must sing while thou art in this house of thy pil- 
 grimage (Psalm 119 ; 54) ; also this thou must deliver 
 in at the farther gate. 
 
 Now I saw, in my dream, that this old gentleman, 
 as he told me the story, did himself seem to be greatly 
 affected therewith. He moreover proceeded, and said, 
 So Christiana called her sons together, and began thus 
 to address herself unto them : " My sons, I have, as you 
 may perceive, been of late under much exercise in my 
 soul about the death of your father : not for that I 
 doubt at all of his happiness, for I am satisfied now that 
 he is well I have also been much affected with the 
 thoughts of my own state and yours, which I verily be- 
 lieve is by nature miserable. My carriage also to your 
 £ather in his distress is a great load to my conscience' 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 275 
 
 for I hardened both mine own heart and yours against 
 him, and refused to go with him on pilgrimage. 
 
 The thoughts of these things would now kill me 
 outright, but that for a dream which I had last night, 
 and but that for the encouragement which this stranger 
 has given me this morning. Come, my children, let us 
 pack up, and be gone to the gate that leads to the 
 Celestial Country, that we may see your father, and be 
 with him and his companions in peace, according to the 
 laws of that land. 
 
 Then did her children burst out into tears, for joy 
 that the heart of their mother was so inclined. So 
 their visitor bid them farewell ; and they began to pre- 
 pare to set out for their journey. 
 
 But while they were thus about to be gone, two of 
 the women that were Christiana's neighbors came up 
 to her house, and knocked at her door. To whom she 
 said, as before. If you come in God's name, come in. 
 At this the woman were stunned: for this kind of lan- 
 guage they used not to hear, or to perceive to drop from 
 the lips of Christiana. Yet they came in : but behold, 
 they found the good woman preparing to be gone from 
 her house. 
 
 So they began, and said, Neighbor, pray what is 
 your meaning by this ? 
 
 Christiana answered, and said to the eldest of them, 
 "whose name was Mrs. Timorous, I am preparing for a 
 journey. 
 
 This Timorous was daughter to him that met Chris- 
 tian upon th© hill of Difficulty, and would have had 
 him go back for fear of the lions. 
 
 Tim. For what journey, I pray you ? 
 
 Chr. Fven to go after my good husband. And 
 with that she fell a-weeping. 
 
 Tim. I hope not so* good neighbor ; pray, for your 
 
27G THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 poor children's sake, do not so unwomanly cast aw^y 
 yourself. 
 
 Chr. Nay, my children shall go with me ; not one 
 of them is willing to stay behind. 
 
 Tim. I wonder in my very heart what or who has 
 brought you into this mind ! 
 
 Chr. Oh, neighbor, knew you but as much as I do, 
 I doubt not but that you would go along with me. 
 
 Tim. Prithee, what new knowledge hast thou got, 
 that so worketh off thy mind from thy friends, and that 
 tempteth thee to go nobody knows where ? 
 
 Chr. Then Christiana replied, I have been sorely 
 afflicted since my husband's departure from me ; but 
 especiallj^ since he went over the river. But that which 
 troubleth me most is, my churlish carriage to him when 
 he was under his distress. Besides, I am now as he was 
 then ; nothing will serve me but going on pilgrimage. 
 I was dreaming last night that I saw him. Oh, that 
 my soul was with him ! He dwelleth in the presence 
 of the King of the country ; he sits and eats with Him 
 at His table ; he is become a companion of immortals, 
 and has a house now given him to dwell in, to which 
 the best palace on earth, if compared, seems to me but 
 as a dunghill. (2 Cor. 5 : 1-4.) The Prince of the 
 place has also sent for me, with promise of entertain- 
 ment, if I shall come to Him ; His messenger was here 
 even now, and has brought me a letter, which invites 
 me to come. And with that she plucked out her letter, 
 and read it, and said to them. What now will you say 
 to this ? 
 
 Tim. Oh, the madness that has possessed thee ..nd 
 thy husband, to run yourselves upon such difficulties ! 
 You have heard, I am sure, what your husband did 
 meet with, even in a manner at the first step that h« 
 took on his way, as our neighbor Obstinate can yet teaf 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 277 
 
 titv, for he went along with him ; yea, and Pliable, too, 
 until they, like wise men, were afraid to go any farther. 
 We also heard, over and above, how he met with the 
 lions, Apollyon, the Shadow of Death, and many other 
 things. Nor is the danger that he met with at Vanity 
 Fair to be forgotten by thee. For if he, though a man, 
 was so hard put to it, what canst thou, being but a poor 
 woman, do? Consider also, that these four sweet babes 
 are thy children, thy flesh and thy bones. Wherefore, 
 though thou shouldst be so rash as to cast away thy- 
 self, yet, for the sake of the fruit of thy body, keep 
 thou at home. 
 
 But Christiana said unto her. Tempt me not, my 
 neighbor : I have now a price put into my hands to 
 get gain, and I should be a fool of the greatest size if I 
 should have no heart to strike in with the opportunity. 
 And for that you tell me of all these troubles which I 
 am like to meet with in the way, they are so far from 
 being to me a discouragement, that they show I am in 
 the right. The bitter must come before the sweet, and 
 that also will make the sweet the sweeter. Wherefore, 
 since you came not to my house in God's name, as I 
 said, I pray you to be gone, and not to disquiet me 
 further. 
 
 Then Timorous reviled her, and said to her fellow, 
 Come, neighbor Mercy, let us leave her in her own 
 hands, since she scorns our counsel and company. But 
 Mercy was at a stand, and could not so readily comply 
 with her neighbor ; and that for a twofold reason. 1. 
 Her bowels yearned over Christiana. So she said, 
 within herself. If my neighbor will needs be gone, I will 
 go a little way with her, and help her. 2. Her bowels 
 yearned over her own soul ; for what Christiana had 
 said had taken some hold upon her mind. Wherefore 
 she said, within herself again, I will yet have more talk 
 
2jS THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 with this Christiana ; and, if I find truth and life in 
 what she shall say, I myself with my heart shall also 
 go with her. Wherefore Mercy began thus to reply to 
 her neighbor Timorous : — 
 
 Mer. Neighbor, I did indeed come with you to see 
 Christiana this morning ; and since she is, as you see, 
 taking her last farewell of her country, I think to walk 
 this sunshiny morning a little with her, to help her on 
 her way. But she told her not of her second reason, 
 but kept it to herself. 
 
 Tim. Well, I see you have a mind to go a-tooling too ; 
 but take heed in time, and be wise : while we are out 
 of danger, we are out ; but when we are in, we are in . 
 
 So Mrs. Timorous returned to her house, and Chris* 
 tiana betook herself to her journey. But when Timor, 
 ous was got home to her house she sends for some c£ 
 her neighbors, to wit, Mrs. Batseyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, 
 Mrs. Lightmind, and Mrs. Knownothing. So when 
 they were come to her house, she falls to telling of tho 
 story of Christiana, and of her intended journey. And 
 thus she began her tale : — 
 
 Tim. Neighbors, having had little to do this morning, 
 I went to give Christiana a visit ; and when I came at 
 the door I knocked, as you know it is our custom ; and 
 she answered, If you come in God's name, come in. So 
 in I went, thinking all was well ; but, when I came in, 
 I found her preparing herself to depart the town, she, 
 and also her children. So I asked her what was her 
 meaning by that. And she told me, in short, that she 
 was now of a mind to go on pilgrimage, as did her hus- 
 band. She told me also of a dream that she had, and 
 how the King of the country where her husband was* 
 had sent her an inviting letter to come thither. 
 
 Then said Mrs. Knownothing, And what, do yo^ 
 think she will go? 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 279 
 
 Tim. Aye, go she will, whatever comes on*t ; and 
 methinks I know it by this ; for that which was my 
 great argument to persuade her to stay at home (to wit, 
 the troubles she was like to meet with on the way), is 
 one great argument with her to put her forward on her 
 journey. For she told me in so many words, The bitter 
 goes before the sweet ; yea, and forasmuch as it so doth, 
 it makes the sweet the sweeter. 
 
 Mrs. Batseyes. Oh, this blind and foolish woman ! 
 said she ; and will she not take warning by her hus» 
 band's afflictions ? For my part, I see, if he were here 
 again, he would rest himself content in a whole skin, 
 and never run so many hazards for nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Inconsiderate also replied, saying, Away with 
 such fantastical fools from the town : a good riddancr?, 
 for my part, I say, of her ; should she stay where she 
 dwells, and retain this her mind, who could live quietly 
 by her? for she will either be dumpish, or unneighborly, 
 or talk of such matters as no wise bod}^ can abid<^ 
 "Wherefore, for my part, I shall never be sorry for h^r 
 departure * let her go, and let better come in her room ; 
 it was never a good world since these whimsical fools 
 dwelt in it. 
 
 Then Mrs. Lightmind added as followeth: Come, 
 put this kind of talk away. I was yesterday at Madam 
 Wanton's, where we were as merry as the maids. For 
 who do you think should be there but I and Mrs. Love- 
 theflesh, and three or four more, with Mrs. Lechery, 
 Mrs. Filth, and some others : so there we had music and 
 dancing, and what else was meet to fill up the pleasure. 
 And I dare say, my lady herself is an admirably well- 
 bred gentlewoman, and Mr. Lechery is as pretty a 
 fellow 
 
98o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 THE FIRST STAGE. 
 
 By this time Christiana was got on her way^ and 
 
 Mercy went along with her : so as they went, her chil- 
 dren being there also, Christiana began to discourse. 
 And, Mercy, said Christiana, I take this as an unex- 
 pected favor, that thou shouldst set forth out of doors 
 with me to accompany me a little in my way. 
 
 Mer. Then said young Mercy (for she was but 
 young). If I thought it would be to purpose to go wi^h 
 you, I would never go near the town any more. 
 
 Chr. Well, Mercy, said Christiana, cast in thy lot 
 with me : I well know what will be the snd of our 
 pilgrimage : my husband is where he would not but be 
 for all the gold in the Spanish mines. Nor shalt thou 
 be rejec^iCd, though thou goest but upon my invitation. 
 The King, who hath sent for me and my children, is 
 one that delighteth in mercy. Besides, if thou wilt, I 
 will hire thee, and thou shalt go along with me as my 
 servant. Yet we will have all things in common be- 
 twixt thee and me : only go along with me. 
 
 Mer. But how shall I be ascertained that I also 
 should be entertained ? Had I this hope but from one 
 that can tell, I would make no stick at all, but would 
 go, being helped by Him that can help, though the way 
 was never so tedious. 
 
 Chr. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell thee what thou 
 shalt do : go with me to the wicket-gate, and there I 
 will further inquire for thee ; and if there thou shalt 
 not meet with encouragement, I will be content that 
 thou return to thy place : I will also pay thee for thy 
 kindness which thou showest to me and my children, 
 in the accompanying of us in the way that thou dost. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 28x 
 
 Mer. Then will I go thither, and will take what 
 shall follow ; and the Lord grant that my lot may there 
 fall, even as the King of Heaven shall have his heart 
 upon me. 
 
 Christiana then was glad at heart, not only that she 
 had a companion, but also for that she had prevailed 
 with this poor maid to fall in love with her own salva- 
 tion. So they went on together, and Mercy began to 
 weep. Then said Christiana, Wherefore weepeth my 
 sister so ? 
 
 Mer. Alas ! said she, who can but lament, that shall 
 but rightly consider what a state and condition my pool 
 relations are in, that yet remain in our sinful town ? 
 And that which makes my grief the more heavy is, be- 
 cause they have no instructor, nor any to tell them what 
 is to come. 
 
 Chr. Pity becomes pilgrims ; and thou dost weep 
 for thy friends, as my good Christian did for me when 
 lie left me : he mourned for that I would not heed nor 
 1 egard him ; but his Lord and ours did gather up his 
 tears, and put them into His bottle ; and now both I 
 and thou, and these my sweet babes, are reaping the 
 h uit and benefit of them. I hope, Merc3% that these 
 tears of thine will not be lost ; for the Truth hath said, 
 that " they that sow in tears shall reap in joy." And, 
 "he that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious 
 seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing 
 his sheaves with him." (Psalm 126 : 5, 6.) 
 
 Then said Mercy, — 
 
 *' Let the Most Blessed be my guide, 
 If it be His blessed will, 
 Unto His gate, into His fold, 
 Up to His holy hill. 
 
 'And let Him never sufifer me 
 To swerve, or turn aside 
 
28t FHE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 From His free grace and holy ways, 
 Whate'er shall me betide. 
 ** And let Him gather them of mine 
 That I have left behind ; 
 Lord, make them pray thej^ may be Thine, 
 With all their heart and mind." 
 
 Now my old friend proceeded, and said, But wheE 
 Christiana came to the Slough of Despond, she began 
 to be at a stand j For, said she, this is the place in which 
 my dear husband had like to have been smothered with 
 mud. She perceived, also, that notwithstanding the 
 command of the King to make this place for pilgrims 
 good, yet it was rather worse than formerly. So I asked 
 if that was true. Yes, said the old gentleman, too true 
 for many there be that pretend to be the King's labor^ 
 ers, and that say they are for mending the King's high- 
 ways, who bring dirt and dung instead of stones, and 
 80 mar instead of mending. Here Christiana therefore, 
 with her boys, did make a stand. But, said Mercy, 
 I'ome, let us venture ; only let us be wary. Then they 
 looked well to their steps, and made a shift to get stag- 
 gering over. 
 
 Yet Christiana had like to have been in, and that 
 not once or twice. Now they had no sooner got over, 
 but they thought they heard words that said unto them, 
 " Blessed is she that believeth ; for there shall be a 
 performance of those things which were told her from 
 the Lord." (Luke 1 : 45.) 
 
 Then they went on again •, and said Mercy to Chris- 
 tiana, Had I as good ground to hope for a loving recej)- 
 tion at the wicket-gate as you, I think no Slough of 
 Despond would discourage me. 
 
 Well, said the other, you know your sore, and I 
 know mine ; and, good friend, we shall all have enough 
 evil be£oxe wa come to our journey's end. For can it 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 283 
 
 be iD&agined that the people who design to attain such 
 excellent glories as we do, and who are so envied that 
 happiness as we are, but that we sha^"" meet with what 
 fears and snares, with what troubles and afflictions, 
 they can possibly assault us with that hate us ? 
 
 And now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my 
 4ream by myself. Wherefore, methought I saw Chris- 
 tiana and Mercy, and the boys, go all of them up to the 
 gate : to which, when they were come, they betook 
 themselves to a short debate about how they must man- 
 age their calling at the gate, and what should be said 
 unto him that did open unto them. So it was concluded, 
 since Christiana was the eldest, that she should knock 
 for entrance, and that she should speak to him that did 
 open, for the rest. So Christiana began to knock, and, 
 as her poor husband did, she knocked and knocked 
 again. But instead of any that answered, they all 
 thought they heard as if a dog came barking upon them ; 
 a dog, and a great one too ; and this made the women 
 and children afraid. Nor durst they for a while to 
 knock any more, for fear the mastiff should fly upon 
 them. Now, therefore, they were greatly tumbled up 
 and down in their minds, and knew not what to do ; 
 knock they durst not for fear of the dog ; go back they 
 durst not, for fear the keeper of the gate should espy 
 them as they so went, and should be offended with 
 them ; at last they thought of knocking again, and 
 knocked more vehemently than they did at first. Then 
 ^aid the keeper of the gate, Who is there ? So the dog 
 left off to bark, and he opened unto them. 
 
 Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said. Let 
 not our Lord be offended with his handmaidens, for that 
 we have knocked at his princely gate. Then said the 
 keeper, Whence come ye ? and what is it that ye would 
 have? 
 
284 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 Christiana answered, We are come from whenr 
 Christian did come, and upon the same errand as he , 
 to wit, to be, if it shall please you, graciously admitted 
 by this gate into the way that leads unto the Celestial 
 City. And I answer, my Lord, in the next place, that 
 I am Christiana, once the wife of Christian, that now is 
 gotten above. 
 
 With that the keeper of the gate did marvel, saying, 
 What, is she now become a pilgrim that but a while ago 
 abhorred that life ? Then she bowed her head, and said, 
 Yea ; and so are these my sweet babes, also 
 
 Then he took her by the hand and led her in, and 
 said also. Suffer little children to come unto me ; anJ 
 with that he shut up the gate. This done, he called 
 to a trumpeter that was above, over the gate, to enter- 
 tain Christiana with shouting and sound of trumpet for 
 joy. So he obeyed, and sounded, and filled the air 
 with his melodious notes. 
 
 Now all this while poor Mercy did stand without;, 
 trembling and crying, for fear that she was rejected 
 But when Christiana had got admittance for herself ani 
 her boys, then she began to make intercession for Mercy. 
 
 And she said. My Lord, I have a companion that 
 stands yet without, that is come hither upon the same 
 account as myself: one that is much dejected in her 
 mind, for that she comes, as she thinks, without send- 
 ing for ; whereas I was sent for by my husband's King 
 to come. 
 
 Now Mercy began to be very impatient, and each 
 minute was as long to her as an hour ; wherefore she 
 prevented Christiana from a fuller interceding for her, 
 by knocking at the gate herself. And she knocked then 
 80 loud that she made Christiana to start. Then said 
 the keeper of the gate, Who is there ? And Christiana 
 said, It is my friend. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 285 
 
 So he opened the gate and looked out, but Mercy 
 was fallen down without in a swoon, for she fainted, 
 and was afraid that no gate should be opened to her. 
 
 Then he took her by the hand and said, Damsel, I 
 bid thee arise. 
 
 Oh, sir, said she, I am faint ; there is scarce life left 
 in me. But he answered that one once said, " When 
 my soul fainted within me I remeanbered the Lord : and 
 my prayer came unto thee, into thy holy temple." 
 (Jonah 2 : 7.) Fear not, but stand upon thy feet, and 
 tell me wherefore thou art come. 
 
 Mer. I am come from that unto which I was never 
 invited, as my friend Christiana was. Hers was from 
 the King, and mine was but from her. Wherefore I 
 fear I presume. 
 
 Keep. Did she desire thee to come with her to this 
 place ? 
 
 Mer. Yes ; and as my Lord sees, I am come. And 
 it there is any grace and forgiveness of sins to spare, 
 I beseech that thy poor handmaid may be a partaker 
 thereof. 
 
 Then he took her again by the hand, and led her 
 gently in, and said, I pray for all them that believe on 
 me, by what means soever they come unto me. Then 
 said he to those that stood by. Fetch something and give 
 it to Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her faintings ; 
 so they fetched her a bundle of myrrh, and a while after 
 she was revived. 
 
 And now were Christiana and her boys, and Mercy 
 received of the Lord at the head of the way, and 
 spoken kindly unto by him. Then said they yet further 
 unto him. We are sorry for our sins, and beg of our 
 Lord his pardon, and further information what we 
 must do. 
 
 I grant pardon, said he, by word and deed : by worci, 
 
286 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 in the promise of forgiveness ; by deed, in the way I 
 obtained it. Take the first from my lips with a kiss, 
 and the other as it shall be revealed. (Song 1:2; John 
 20 : 20.) 
 
 Now I saw, in my dream, that he spake many good 
 words unto them, whereby they were greatly glad- 
 dened. He also had them up to the top of the gate^ 
 and showed them by what deed they were saved ; and 
 told them withal that that sight they would have again 
 as they went along in the way, to their comfort. 
 
 So he left them a while in a summer parlor below, 
 where they entered into talk by themselves : and thus 
 Christiana began : — 
 
 Chr. Oh, how glad am I that we are got in hither I 
 
 Mer. So you well may ; but I, of all, have cause to 
 leap for joy. 
 
 Chr. I thought one time, as I stood at the gate, 
 because I had knocked and none did answer, that all 
 our labor had been lost ; especially when that ugly civ 
 made such a heavy barking against us. 
 
 Mer. But my worst fear was after I saw that yon 
 was taken into his favor, and that I was left behind. 
 Now, thought I, it is fulfilled which is written, " Two 
 women shall be grinding at the mill ; the one shall be 
 taken, and the other left. (Matt. 24 : 41.) I had much 
 ado to forbear crying out. Undone ! And afraid I wa* 
 to knock any more ; but when I looked up to what wa^ 
 written over the gate, I took courage. I also thought 
 that I must either knock again, or die ; so I knocked, 
 but I cannot tell how, for my spirit now struggled 
 between life and death. 
 
 Chr. Can you not tell how you knocked ? I am 
 sure your knocks were so very earnest that the sound 
 »f them made me start ; I thought I never heard such 
 knocking in ail my life ; I thought you would come in 
 by a violent baud. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 287 
 
 Mer. Alas I to be in my case, who that so was could 
 but have done so ? You saw that the door was shut 
 upon me, and there was a most cruel dog thereabout. 
 Who, I say, that was so faint-hearted as I, would not 
 have knocked with all their might ? But pray, what 
 said my Lord to my rudeness? Was he not angry 
 with me ? 
 
 Chr. When he heard your lumbering noise, he gave 
 a wonderful innoceiit smile : I believe what you did 
 pleased him well, for he showed no sign to the con* 
 trary. But I marvel in my heart why he keeps such a 
 dog : had I known that before, I should not have had 
 2ieart enough to have ventured myself in this manner. 
 But now we are in, we are in, and I am glad with ail 
 my heart. 
 
 Mer. I will ask, if you please, next time he comes 
 down, why he keeps such a filthy cur in his yard; I 
 hope he will not take it amiss. 
 
 Do so, said the children, and persuade him to hang 
 him, for we are afraid he will bite us when we go 
 hence. 
 
 So at last he came down to them again, and Mercy fell 
 to the ground on her face before him, and worshipped 
 and said, " Let my Lord accept the sacrifice of praise 
 which I now offer unto him with the calves of my lips." 
 
 So he said unto her, Peace be to thee ; stand up. 
 
 But she continued upon her face, and said, " Right- 
 sous art thou, O Lord, when I plead with thee ; yet let 
 me talk with thee of thy judgments." (Jer. 12 : 1, 2.) 
 Wherefore dost thou keep so cruel a dog in thy yard, at 
 the sight of which, such women and children as we are 
 ready to fly from thy gate for fear ? 
 
 He answered and said, That dog has another owner ; 
 he also is kept close in another man's ground, only my 
 
 19 
 
288 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 pilgrims hear his barking ; he belongs to the castle 
 which you see there at a distance, but can come up to 
 the walls of this place. He has frighted many an 
 honest pilgrim from worse to better, by the great voice 
 of his roaring. Indeed, he that owneth him, doth not 
 keep him out of any good will to me or mine ; but with 
 Intent to keep the pilgrims from coming to me, and that 
 they may be afraid to come and knock at this gate for 
 entrance. Sometimes also he has broken out, and has 
 worried some that I loved ; but I take all at present 
 patiently. I also gave my pilgrims timely help, so that 
 they are not delivered to his power, to do with them 
 what his doggish nature would prompt him to. But 
 what, my purchased one, I trow, hadst thou known 
 never so much beforehand, thou wouldst not have been 
 afraid of a dog. The beggars that go from door to door, 
 will, rather than lose a supposed alms, run the hazard 
 of the bawling, barking, and biting, too, of a dog. And 
 shall a dog, a dog in another man's yard, a dog whose 
 barking I turn to the profit of pilgrims, keep any from 
 coming to me ? I deliver them from the lions, and my 
 darling from the power of the dog. (Psalm 22 : 21, 22.) 
 
 Then said Mercy, I confess my ignorance ; 1 spake 
 what I understood not ; I acknowledge that thou doest 
 a)l things well. 
 
 Then Christiana began to talk of their journey, and 
 to inquire after the way. So he fed them and washed 
 their feet, and set them in the way of his steps, accord- 
 f r\g as he had dealt with her husband before. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. t%^ 
 
 THE SECOND STAGE. 
 
 So I saw, in my dream, that they walked on theit 
 way, and. had the weather very comfortable to them. 
 Then Christiana began to sing, saying, — 
 
 ** Blessed be the day that I began 
 A pilgrim for to be, 
 And blessed also be the man 
 That thereto moved me. 
 
 ** Tis true, 'twas long ere I began 
 To seek to live forever ; 
 But now I run as fast as I can : 
 'Tis better late than never. 
 
 ** Our tears to joy, our fears to faith. 
 Are turned, as we see ; 
 Thus our beginning (as one saith) 
 Shows what our end will be." 
 
 Now there was, on the other side of the wall thj«t 
 fenced in the way up which Christiana and her com- 
 panions were to go, a garden, and that garden belonged 
 to him whose was that barking dog, of whom mentioa 
 was made before. And some of the fruit-trees that 
 grew in that garden shot their branches over the walJ ; 
 and being mellow, they that found them did gather 
 thsm up, and eat of them to their hurt. So Christiana's 
 boys, as boys are apt to do, being pleased with the 
 trees, and with the fruit that hung thereon, did pluck 
 them, and began to eat. Their mother did also chide 
 them for so doing, but still the boys went on. 
 
 Well, said she, my sons, you transgress, for that 
 fruit is none of ours. But she did not know that it be- 
 joQgsd to the enemy ; I'll warrant you, if she had she 
 
f^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 would have been ready to die for fear. But that passed^ 
 and they went on their way. Now, by that they were 
 gone about two bow-shots from the place that led them 
 into the way, they espied two very ill-favored ones com- 
 ing down apace to meet them. With that Christiana 
 and Mercy, her friend, covered themselves with their 
 veils, and so kept on their journey : the children also 
 went on before ■ so that at last they met together. 
 Then they that came down to meet them, came just up 
 to the women, as if they would embrace them ; t)ut 
 Christiana said, Stand back, or go peaceably, as you 
 should. Yet these two, as men that are deaf, regarded 
 not Christiana's words, but began to lay hands upou 
 them : at that Christiana waxing very wroth, spurned 
 at them with her feet. Mercy also, as well as she couh/, 
 did what she could to shift them. Christiana agaia 
 said to them, Stand back, and be gone ; for we have n o 
 money to lose, being pilgrims, as you see ; and sucln, 
 too, as live upon the charity of our friends. 
 
 Then said one of the two men, We make no assauH 
 upon you for money ; but are come out to tell you, that 
 if you will but grant one small request which we shall 
 ask, we will make women of 5^ou forever. 
 
 Now Christiana, imagining what they should mean, 
 made answer again. We will neither hear, nor regard, 
 nor yield to what you shall ask. We are in haste, and 
 can not stay ; our business is a business of life and 
 death. So again she and her companion made a fresh 
 essay to go past them ; but they letted them in their 
 way. 
 
 And they said. We intend no hurt to your lives \ it 
 is another thing we would Lave. 
 
 Aye, quoth Christiana, you would have us body and 
 60ul, for I know it is for that you are come ; but we 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 291 
 
 will die rather upon the spot, than to suffer ourselves 
 to be brought into such snares as shall hazard our well« 
 being hereafter. And with that they both shrieked out, 
 and cried, Murder ! murder ! and so put themselves under 
 those laws that are provided for the protection of women. 
 (Deut. 22 ; 25-27.) But the men still made their ap= 
 proach upon them, with design to prevail against theme 
 They therefore cried out again. 
 
 Now they being, as I said, not far from the gate in 
 at which they came, their voice was heard from whence 
 they were, thither : wherefore some of the house came 
 out, and knowing that it was Christiana's tongue, they 
 made haste to her relief. But by that they were got 
 within sight of them, the women were in a very great 
 scuffle ; the children also stood crying by. Then did 
 he that came in for their relief call out to the ruffians, 
 saying, What is that thing you do ? Would you make 
 my Lord's people to transgress ? He also attempted to 
 take them, but they did make their escape over the wall 
 into the garden of the man to whom the great dog be^ 
 longed ; so the dog became their protector. This Re- 
 liever then came up to the women, and asked them how 
 they did. So they answered, We thank thy Prince, 
 pretty well ; only we have been somewhat affrighted : 
 we thank thee also for that thou camest in to our help, 
 otherwise we had been overcome. 
 
 So, after a few more words, this Reliever said as fol- 
 loweth : I marvelled much when you were entertained 
 at th<3 gate above, seeing ye knew that ye were but 
 weak women, that you petitioned not the Lord for a 
 conductor. Then might you have avoided these trou- 
 bles and dangers ; for he would have granted you one. 
 
 Alas ! said Christiana, we were so taken with our 
 preseat blessing, that dangers to come were forgotten 
 by us. Besides, who could have thought, that so near 
 
292 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 the King's palace there could have lurked such naughty 
 ones? Indeed, it had been well for us had we asked 
 our Lord for one ; but since our Lord knew it would 
 be for our profit, I wonder he sent not one along 
 with us. 
 
 Rel. It is not always necessary to grant things not 
 asked for ; lest, by so doing, they become of little es« 
 teem. But when the want of a thing is felt, it then 
 comes under, in the eyes of him that feels it, that esti- 
 mate that properly is its due ; and so consequently will 
 be thereafter used. Had my Lord granted you a con- 
 ductor, you would not either so have bewailed that 
 oversight of yours, in not asking for one, as now you 
 have occasion to do. So all things work for good, and 
 tend to make you more wary. 
 
 Chr. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and con- 
 fess our folly, and ask one ? 
 
 Rel. Your confession of your folly I will present 
 him with. To go back again, you need not ; for in all 
 places where you shall come, you will find no want at 
 all ; for in every one of my Lord's lodgings, which ho 
 has prepared for the reception of his pilgrims, there is 
 sufficient to furnish them against all attempts whatso- 
 ever. But, as I said, he will be inquired of by them, to 
 do it for them. (Ezek. 36 : 37.) And 'tis a poor thing 
 that is not worth asking for. When he had thus said, 
 he went back to his place, and the pilgrims went on 
 their way. 
 
 Then said Mercy, What a sudden blank is here ? I 
 made account for that we had been past all danger, and 
 that we should never see sorrow more. 
 
 Thy innocency, my sister, said Christiana to Mercy, 
 may excuse thee much ; but as for me, my fault is so 
 much the greater, for that I saw this danger before I 
 came out of the doors, and yet did not provide for ill 
 
TffE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 2^3 
 
 when provision might have been had. I am much to 
 be blamed. 
 
 Then said Mercy, How knew you this before yoii 
 came from home ? Pray, open to me this riddle. 
 
 Chr. Why, I will tell you. Before I set foot out of 
 doors, one night, as I lay in my bed, I had a dream 
 about this ; for methought I saw two men, as like these 
 as ever any in the world could look, stand at my bed's 
 feet, plotting how they might prevent my salvation. I 
 will tell you their very words. They said (it was when 
 I was in my troubles), What shall we do with this 
 woman ? for she cries out, waking and sleeping, for for- 
 giveness : if she be suffered to go on as she begins, w^ 
 shall lose her as we have lost her husband. This you 
 know might have made me take heed, and have pro- 
 vided when provision might have been had. 
 
 Well, said Mercy, as by this neglect we have ati 
 occasion ministered unto us to behold our own imper- 
 fections, so our Lord has taken occasion thereby to 
 make manifest the riches of his grace : for he, as we see, 
 has followed us with unasked kindness, and has deliv- 
 ered us from their hands that were stronger than we, of 
 his mere good pleasure. 
 
 Thus now, when they had talked away a little more 
 time, they drew near to a house which stood in the 
 way ; which house was built for the relief of pilgrims, 
 as you will find more fully related in the first part of 
 these records of the Pilgrim's Progress. So they drew 
 on towards the house (the house of the Interpreter); 
 and when they came to the door, they heard a great 
 talk in the house. Then they gave ear, and heard, as 
 they thought, Christiana mentioned by name ; for you 
 must know that there went along, even before her, a 
 talk of her and her children's going on pilgrimage. And 
 this was the more pleasing to them, because they had 
 
^94 THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 
 
 heard that she was Christian's wife ; that woman who 
 was, some time ago, so unwilling to hear of going 
 on pilgrimage. Thus, therefore, they stood still, and 
 heard the good people within commending her who 
 they little thought stood at the door. At last Chris- 
 tiana knocked, as she had done at the gate before. Now, 
 when she had knocked, there came to the door a young 
 damsel, and opened the door, and looked, and behold, 
 two women were there. 
 
 Then said the damsel to them, With whom would 
 Vou speak in this place ? 
 
 Clr Istiana answered, We understand that this is a 
 privD^ig ^d place for those that are become pilgrims, and 
 we I -w Ht this door are such : wherefore we pray the it 
 we /<tay ^ partakers of that for which we at this time 
 are jome^ for the day, as thou seest, is very farspenv, 
 aiA . 3 are loth to-night to go any farther. 
 
 Dam. Pray, what may I call your name, that I maT 
 tell it to my Lord within. 
 
 Chr. My name is Christiana: I was the wife cf 
 that pilgrim that some years ago did travel this wa}^, 
 and these be his four children. This maiden also is my 
 companion, and is going on pilgrimage, too. 
 
 Then Innocent ran in (for that was her name), and 
 said to those within, Can you think who is at the door ? 
 There is Christiana and her children, and her com- 
 panion, all waiting for entertainment here. Then they 
 leaped for joy, and went and told their master. So he 
 came to the door, and, looking upon her, he said. Art 
 thou that Christiana whom Christian the good man left 
 behind him when he betook himself to a pilgrim's life ? 
 Chr. I am that woman that was so hard-hearted as 
 to slight my husband's troubles, and that left him to 
 go on his journey alone ; and these are his four children. 
 But now I also am come ; for I am convinced that UQ 
 way is right but this*- 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 295 
 
 Inter. Then is fulfilled that which is written of the 
 man that said to his son, " Go work to-day in my vine*- 
 yard ; and he said to his father, I will not ; but afte^v 
 wards repented and went." (Matt. 21 : 28, 29.) 
 
 Then said Christiana, So be it : Amen. God mak(? 
 it a true saying upon me, and grant that I may b€?i! 
 found at the last of Him in peace, without spot, andj 
 blameless. 
 
 Inter. But why standest thou thus at the door r» 
 Come in, thou daughter of Abraham ; we were talking 
 of thee but now, for tidings have come to us before 
 how thou art become a pilgrim. Come, children, com»» 
 in ; come, maiden, come in. So he had them all intg 
 the house. 
 
 So when they were within, they were bidden to si'i 
 down and rest them ; the which when they had donei 
 those that attended upon the pilgrims in the housM 
 came into the room to see them. And one smiled, and 
 another smiled, and they all smiled for joy that Chris • 
 tiana was become a pilgrim. They also looked upon 
 the bo3^s ; they stroked them over their faces with thf 
 hand, in token of their kind reception of them : thej- 
 also carried it lovingly to Mercy, and bid them all wel 
 come into their master's house. 
 
 After a while, because supper was not ready, the 
 Interpreter took them into his Significant Rooms, and 
 showed them what Christian, Christiana's husband, had 
 seen some time before. Here, therefore, they saw the 
 man in the cage, the man and his dream, the man thai: 
 cut his way through his enemies, and the picture of the 
 biggest of them all, together with the rest of those 
 things that were then so profitable to Christian. 
 
 This done, and after tliose things had been sorTie* 
 ^hat digested by Christiana and her company, fchef 
 Interpreter takes them apart again, and has them firsfi 
 
^^6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 into a room where was a man that could look no wa^' 
 but downwards, with a muck-rake in his hand. There 
 stood also one over his head with a celestial crown in 
 His hand, and proffered him that crown for his muck* 
 rake ; but the man did neither look up nor regard, but 
 «:aked to himself the straws, the small sticks and dust 
 of the floor. 
 
 Then said Christiana, I persuade myself that I know 
 somewhat the meaning of this; for this is the figure of 
 a man of this world. Is it not, good sir? 
 
 Thou hast said right, said he ; and his muck-rake 
 doth show his carnal mind. And whereas thou seest 
 him rather give heed to rake up straws and sticks, and 
 the dust of the floor, than to do what He says that calls 
 to him from above with the celestial crown in His hand, 
 it is to show that heaven is but as a fable to some, and 
 that things here are counted the only things substan- 
 tial. Now, whereas it was also showed thee that the 
 man could look no way but downwards, it is to let thee 
 know that earthly things, when they are with power 
 upon men's minds, quite carry their hearts away from 
 God. 
 
 Then said Christiana, Oh, deliver me from this 
 muck-rake. 
 
 That prayer, said the Interpreter, has lain by till it 
 is almost rusty. " Give me not riches " (Prov. 30 : 8), 
 is scarce the prayer of one in ten thousand. Straws, 
 and sticks, and dust, with most, are the great things 
 now looked after. 
 
 With that Christiana and Mercy wept, and said. It 
 is, alas ! too true. 
 
 When the Interpreter had shown them this, he had 
 them into the very best i\)om in the house ; a very 
 brave room it was. So he bid them look round about, 
 and see if they could find anything profitable theiu 
 
'THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 997 
 
 Then they looked round and round ; for there was 
 nothing to be seen but a very great spider on the wall, 
 and that they overlooked. 
 
 Then said Mercy, Sir, I see nothing. But Christiana 
 held her peace. 
 
 But, said the Interpreter, look again. She there- 
 fore looked again, and said, Here is not anything but 
 an ugly spider, who hangs by her hands upon the wall. 
 Then said he. Is there but one spider in all this spaci- 
 ous room ? Then the water stood in Christiana's eyes> 
 for she was a woman quick of apprehension ; and she 
 said. Yea, Lord, there are more here than one ; yea, and 
 jpiders whose venom is far more destructive than that 
 •vhich is in her. The Interpreter then looked pleas- 
 antly on her, and said, Thou hast said the truth. Thia 
 made Mercy to blush, and the boys to cover their 
 faces ; for they all began now to understand the riddle. 
 
 Then said the Interpreter again, " The spider taketh 
 hold with her hands," as you see, " and is in kings* 
 palaces." (Prov. 30 : 28.) And wherefore is this re- 
 corded, but to show you, that, how full of the venom 
 of sin soever you be, yet you may, by the hand of Faith, 
 lay hold of and dwell in the best room that belongs to 
 the King's house above ? 
 
 I thought, said Christiana, of something of this; but 
 I could not imagine it all. I thought that we were 
 like spiders, and that we looked like ugly creatures, in 
 what fine rooms soever we were: but that by this 
 spider, that venomous and ill-favored creature, we were 
 to learn how to act faith, that came not into my 
 thoughts. And yet she had taken hold with her hands, 
 and, as I see, dwelleth in the best room in the house. 
 God has made nothing in vain. 
 
 Then they seemed all to be glad ; but the watei 
 atood in their eyes ; yet they looked one upon another 
 and also bowed befor*^ the Intsi^T^reter- 
 
'298 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 He had them then into another room, where were a 
 hen and chickens, and bid them observe a while. So 
 one of the chickens went to the trough to drink, and 
 every time she drank she lifted up her head and hei 
 eyes towards heaven. See, said he, what this little 
 chick doth, and learn of her to acknowledge whence 
 your mercies come, by receiving them with looking up. 
 Yet again, said he, observe and look. So they gave 
 fceed, and perceived that the hen did walk in a fourfold 
 method towards her chickei's: 1. She had a common 
 call ; and that she hath all tne day long. 2. She had 
 a special call ; and that she had but some times. 3. 
 She had a brooding not6. (Matt. 23 : 37.) And, 4. 
 She had, an outcry. 
 
 Now, said he, compare this hen to your King, and 
 these chickens to His obedient ones. For, answerable 
 to her, He Himself hath His methods which He walketh 
 in towards His people. By His common call. He gives 
 nothing ; by His special call. He always has something 
 to give ; He has also a brooding voice for them that are 
 under His wing ; and He has an outcry, to give the 
 alarm when He seeth the enemy come. I chose, my 
 darlings, to lead you into the room where such things 
 are, because you are women, and they are easy for you. 
 
 And, sir, said Christiana, pray let us see some more. 
 So he had them into the slaughter-house, where was a 
 butcher killing a sheep ; and behold, the sheep waf 
 quiet, and took her death patiently. Then said the In- 
 terpreter, You must learn of this sheep to suffer, and to 
 put up with wrongs without murmurings and com- 
 plaints. Behold how quietly she takes her death, and, 
 without objecting, she suffereth her skin to be pulled 
 over her ears. Your King doth call you His sheep. 
 
 After this he led them into his garden, where was 
 great variety of flowers ; and he said, Dq you see all 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. sg^ 
 
 these? So Christiana said, Yes. Then said he again, 
 Behold, the flowers are diverse in stature, in quality, 
 and color, and smell, and virtue ; and some are better 
 than others. Also, where the gardener hath set them, 
 there they stand, and quarrel not one with another. 
 
 Again, he had them into his field, which he had 
 sown with wheat and corn ; but, when they beheld, the 
 tops of all were cut off, and only the straw remained. 
 He said again. This ground was dunged, and ploughed, 
 and sowed, but what shall we do with the crop ? Then 
 said Christiana, Burn some, and make muck of the rest. 
 Then said the Interpreter again, Fruit, you see, is that 
 thing you look for ; and for want of that you condemn 
 it to the fire, and to be trodden under foot of men : be- 
 ware that in this you condemn not yourselves. 
 
 Then, as they were coming in from abroad, they 
 espied a little robin with a great spider in his moutL». 
 So the Interpreter said. Look here. So they lookeo, 
 and Mercy wondered ; but Christiana said. What a disr 
 paragement is it to such a pretty little bird as the robin - 
 redbreast ; he being also a bird, above many, that loveth 
 to maintain a kind of sociableness with men ! I had 
 thought they had lived upon crumbs of bread, or upon 
 other such harmless matter : I like him worse than £ 
 did. 
 
 The Interpreter then replied. This robin is an em- 
 blem, very apt to set forth some professors by ; for to 
 sight they are, as this robin, pretty of note, color, and 
 carriage. They seem also to have a very great love for 
 professors that are sincere ; and, above all others, to 
 desire to associate with them, and to be in their com- 
 pany, as if they could live upon the good man's crumbs. 
 They pretend, also, that therefore it is that they fre- 
 quent the house of the godly, and the appointments of 
 the Lord. But when they are by themselves, as tha 
 
jO# THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 robin, t^ey can catch and gobble np spiders; they can 
 change their diet, drink iniquity, and swallow down 
 gin like water. 
 
 So, when they were come again into the house, be* 
 cause supper as yet was not ready, Christiana again de- 
 sired that the Interpreter would either show or tell 
 some other things that are profitable. 
 
 Then the Interpreter began, and said, The fatter 
 the sow is, the more she desires the mire ; the fatter 
 the ox is, the more gamesomely he goes to the slaugh- 
 ter ; and the more healthy the lustful man is, the more 
 prone he is unto evil. There is a desire in women to 
 go neat and fine; and it is a comely thing to be 
 adorned with that which in God's sight is of great price. 
 *Tis easier watching a night or two, than to sit up a 
 whole year together ; so 'tis easier for one to begin to 
 profess well, than to hold out as he should to the end. 
 Every shipmaster, when in a storm, will willingly cast 
 that overboard which is of the smallest value in the ves- 
 sel ; but who will throw the best out first? None but 
 he that feareth not God. One leak will sink a ship, 
 and one sin will destroy a sinner. He that forgets his 
 friend is ungrateful unto him ; but he that forgets his 
 Saviour is unmerciful to himself. He that lives in sin, 
 and looks for happiness hereafter, is like him that sow- 
 eth cockle, and thinks to fill his barn with wheat or 
 barley. If a man would live well, let him fetch his last 
 day to him, and make it always his company-keeper. 
 Whispering, and change of thoughts, prove that sin is 
 in the world. If the world, which God sets light by, 
 is counted a thing of that worth with men, what is 
 lieaven, that God commendeth? If the life that is at- 
 tended with so many troubles, is so loth to be let go by 
 us, what is the life above ? Everybody will cry up the 
 goodness of men ; but who is there that is, as he should 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 30t 
 
 fee, affected with the goodness of God ? We seldom si4 
 down to meat, but we eat, and leave. So there is in 
 Jesus Christ more merit and righteousness than the 
 whole world has need of. 
 
 When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out 
 into his garden again, and had them to a tree whose in- 
 side was all rotten and gone, and yet it grew and had 
 leaves. Then said Mercy, What means this? Thi^ 
 tree, said he, whose outside is fair, and whose inside ia 
 rotten, is that to which many may be compared that 
 are in the garden of God ; who with their mouths speak 
 high in behalf of God, but indeed will do nothing for 
 Him ; whose leaves are fair, but their heart good fov 
 nothing but to be tinder for the devil's tinder-box. 
 
 Now supper was ready, the table spread, and al! 
 things set on the board ; so they sat down, and did eat, 
 when one had given thanks. And the Interpreter did 
 usually entertain those that lodged with him with music 
 at meals ; so the minstrels played. There was also one 
 that did sing, and a very fine voice he had. His song 
 was this : — 
 
 ** The Lord is only my support, 
 And He that doth me feed ; 
 How can I then want anything 
 Whereof I stand in need ? '* 
 
 When the song and music were ended, the Inter 
 preter asked Christiana what it was that at first di4 
 move her thus to betake herself to a pilgrim's lifis. 
 Christiana answered, First, the loss of my husband 
 came into my mind, at which I was heartily grieved ; 
 but all that was but natural affection. Then, after that 
 came the troubles and pilgrimage of my husband into 
 iny mind, and also how like a churl I had carried it to 
 him as to that. So guilt took hold of my mind, and 
 would have drawn me into the pond, but that oppor 
 
jOJ THE PILGRIM'S PRtfCRESS, 
 
 tuDftlv I had ^ dream of the well-being of my husbandi 
 %nQ it Icctcr sent me by the King of that countiy where 
 «iy husband dwells, to come to Him. The dream and 
 the letter together so wrought upon my mind that they 
 forced me to this way. 
 
 Inter. But met you with no opposition before you 
 set out of doors ? 
 
 Chr. Yes ; a neighbor of mine, one Mrs. Timorous • 
 she was akin to him that would have persuaded my 
 husband to go back, for fear of the lions. She also 
 befooled me, for, as she called it, my intended desperate 
 adventure ; she also urged what she could to dishearten 
 me from it, the hardships and troubles that my husband 
 met with in the way; but all this I got over pretty 
 well. But a dream that I had of two ill-looking ones, 
 that I thought did plot how to make me miscarry in my 
 journey, that hath troubled me much : yea, it still runs 
 in my mind, and makes me afraid of every one that I 
 meet, lest they should meet me to do me a mischief, 
 and to turn me out of my way. Yea, I may tell my 
 Lord, though I would not have everybody know of it, 
 that betweer this and the gate by which we got into 
 the way, we . ere both so sorely assaulted that we were 
 made to cry out murder ; and the two that made this 
 assault upon us were like the two that I saw in my 
 dream. 
 
 Then said the Interpreter, Thy beginning is good; 
 thy latter end shall greatly increase. So he addressed 
 himself to Mercy, and said unto her. And what moved 
 thee to come hither, sweetheart? 
 
 Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while 
 continued silent. 
 
 Then said he, Be not afraid, only believe, and speak 
 t\iy mind. 
 
 So she began, and said, Truly, sir, my want of ex* 
 
THE PILGRIM '^ I'KOGRESS. 303 
 
 penence is that which makes me covet to be \\\ silence, 
 and that also that fills me with fears of coming short at 
 last. I cannot tell of visions and dreams, as my friend 
 Christiana can ; nor know I what it is to mourn for my 
 refusing the counsel of those that were good relations. 
 
 Inter. What was it, then, dear heart, that hath 
 prevailed with thee to do as thou hast done ? 
 
 Mee. Why, when our friend here was packing up to 
 be gone from our town, I and another went accidentally 
 to see her. So we knocked at the door, and went in. 
 When we were within, and seeing what she was doing, 
 we asked her what was her meaning. She said she 
 was sent for to go to her husband ; and then she up 
 and told us how she had seen him, in a dream, dwelling 
 in a curious place, among immortals, wearing a crown, 
 playing upon a harp, eating and drinking at his Prince's 
 table, and singing praises to Him for bringing him 
 thither, &c. Now, methought, while she was telling 
 these things unto us, my heart burned within me. 
 And I said in my heart. If this be true, I will leave my 
 father and my mother, and the land of my nativity, and 
 will, if I may, go along with Christiana. So I asked 
 her further of the truth of these thmgs, and if she 
 would let me go with her ; for I saw now that there 
 was no dwelling, but with the danger of ruin, any 
 longer in our town. But yet I came away with a 
 heavy heart ; not for that I was unwilling to come 
 away, but for that so many of my relations were left be- 
 hind. And I am come with all the desire of my heart, 
 and will go, if I may, with Christiana unto her husband 
 and his King. 
 
 Inter. Thy setting out is good, for thou hast given 
 credit to the truth ; thou art a Ruth, who did, for the 
 love she bare to Naomi and to the Lord her God, leave 
 i^ather and mother and the land of her nativity, to come 
 
304 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PkOGRESS. 
 
 out and go with a people she knew not heretoforeii 
 '^ The Lord recompense thy work, and a tuU reward be 
 given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose 
 wings thou art come to trust." (Ruth 2 : 11, 12.) 
 
 Now supper was ended, and preparation w is made 
 for bed ; the women were laid singly alone, and the 
 boys by themselves. Now when Mercy was in bed, she 
 could not sleep for joy, for that now her doubts of miss- 
 ing at last were removed farther from her than ever 
 they were before. So she lay blessing and praising 
 God, who had had such favor for her. 
 
 In the morning they arose with the sun, and pre* 
 pared themselves for their departure , but the Inter- 
 preter would have them tarry a while ; For, said he, 
 you must orderly go from hence. Then said he to the 
 damsel that first opened unto them. Take them and 
 have them into the garden to the bath, and there wash 
 them and make them clean from the soil which they 
 had gathered by travelling. Then Innocent, the damsel, 
 took them and led them into the garden, and brought 
 them to the bath; so she told them that there they 
 must wash and be clean, for so her master would have 
 the women to do that called at his house as they were 
 going on pilgrimage. Then they went in and washed, 
 yea, they and the boys, and all ; and they came out of 
 the bath, not only sweet and clean, but also much en- 
 livened and strengthened in their joints. So when they 
 came in, they looked fairer a deal than when they went 
 out to the washing. 
 
 When they were returned out of the garden from 
 the bath, the Interpreter took them and looked upon 
 them, and said unto them, " Fair as the moon." Then 
 he called for the seal wherewith they used to be sealed 
 that were washed in his bath. So the seal was brought, 
 and he set his mark upon them, that they might be 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^CW 
 
 known in the places whither they were yet to go. 
 Now the seal was the contents and sum of the pass* 
 over which the children of Israel did eat (Exod. 13* 
 8-10) when they came out of the land of Egypt ; and 
 the mark was set between their eyes. This seal greatly 
 added to their beauty, for it was an ornament to theii 
 laces. It also added to their gravity, and made their 
 countenances more like those of angels. 
 
 Then said the Interpreter again to the damsel that 
 waited upon these women, Go into the vestry, and 
 fetch out garments for these people. So she went and 
 fetched out white raiment, and laid it down before him 5 
 so he commanded them to put it on : it was fine linen, 
 white and clean. When the women were thus adorned, 
 they seemed to be a terror one to the other ; for that 
 they could not see that glory each one had in herself, 
 which they could see in each other. Now therefore 
 they began to esteem each other better than themselves. 
 For, You are fairer than I am, said one ; and, You are 
 more comely than I am, said another. The cliildreu 
 also stood amazed, to see into what fashion they were 
 brought. 
 
 THE THIRD STAGE. 
 
 The Interpreter then called for a man-servant of his, 
 one Greatheart, and bid him take sword, and helmet^ 
 and shield ; and. Take these my daughters, said he, and 
 conduct them to the house called Beautiful, at which 
 place they will rest next. So he took his weapons, and 
 went before them ; and the Interpreter said, God speed, 
 Tliose also that belonged to the family sent them awajjf 
 
2o6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 with many a good wish. So they went on their way 
 £uid sang : — 
 
 ** This place hath been our second stage % 
 Here we have heard and seen 
 Those good things, that from age to ag# 
 To others hid have been. 
 
 ** The dunghill-raker, spider, hen. 
 The chicken, too, to me 
 Have taught a lesson : let me, then, 
 Conformed to it be. 
 
 •*The butcher, garden, and the field» 
 The robin and his bait, 
 Also the rotten tree, doth yield 
 Me argument of weight, 
 
 ** To move me for to watch and pray^ 
 To strive to be sincere ; 
 To take my cross up day by day, 
 And serve the Lord with fear." 
 
 Now I saw, in my dream, that these went on, and 
 Greatheart before them. So they went, and came to 
 the place where Christian's burden fell off his back and 
 tumbled into a sepulchre. Here, then, they made a 
 pause ; here also they blessed God. 
 
 Now, said Christiana, it comes to my mind what 
 was said to us at the gate, to wit, that we should have 
 pardon by word and deed: by word, that is, by the 
 promise ; by deed, to wit, in the way it was obtained. 
 What the promise is, of that I know something ; but 
 what it is to have pardon by deed, or in the way that it 
 was obtained, Mr. Greatheart, I suppose you know; 
 wherefore, if you please, let us hear your discourse 
 thereof. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 307 
 
 Great. Pardon by the deed done, is pardon ob- 
 tained by some one for another that hath need thereof; 
 not by the person pardoned, but in the way, saith an* 
 other, in which I have obtained it. So then, to speak 
 to the question more at large, the pardon that you, and 
 Mercy, and these boys, have attained, was obtained by 
 another ; to wit, by him that let you in at the gate. 
 And he hath obtained it in this double way ; he hath 
 performed righteousness to cover you, and spilt his 
 blood to wash you in. 
 
 Che. But if he parts with his righteousness to us, 
 what will he have for himself? 
 
 Gbeat. He has more righteousness than you have 
 need of, or than he needeth himself, 
 
 Chr. Pray, make that appear. 
 
 Great. With all my heart. But first I must pre- 
 mise, that He of whom we are now about to speak, is 
 one that has not his fellow. He has two natures in 
 oiae person, plain to be distinguished, impossible to be 
 divided. Unto each of these natures a righteousness? 
 belongeth, and each righteousness is essential to that 
 nature ; so that one may as easily cause that nature to 
 be extinct, as to separate its justice or righteousnesu 
 from it. Of these righteousnesses, therefore, we are not 
 made partakers, so as that they, or any of them, should 
 be put upon us, that we might be made just, and live 
 thereby. Besides these, there is a righteousness which 
 this person has, as these two natures are joined in 
 one. And this is not the righteousness of the God- 
 head, as distinguished from the manhood ; nor the 
 righteousness of the manhood, as distinguished from 
 the Godhead; but a righteousness which standeth 
 the union of both in natures, and may properly be 
 called the righteousness that is essential to His being 
 prepared of God to the capacity of the mediatory office, 
 
3o8 THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 
 
 which He was to be entrusted with. If He parts with 
 His first righteousness, He parts with His Godhead ; if 
 He parts with his second righteousness, He parts with 
 the purity of His manhood ; if He parts with His thirds 
 He parts with that perfection which capacitates Him 
 tor the office of mediation. He has therefore another 
 righteousness, which standeth in performance, or obedi- 
 ence to a revealed will ; and that is what He puts upoi: 
 sinners, and that by which their sins are covered. 
 Wherefore he saith, "As by one man's disobedience 
 many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one 
 shall many be made righteous." (Rom. 5 : 19.) 
 
 Chr. But are the other righteousnesses of no use ^o 
 us? 
 
 Great. Yes ; for though they are essential to His 
 natures and offices, and cannot be communicated unto 
 another, yet it is by virtue of them that the righte< )us- 
 ness that justifies is for that purpose efficacious. The 
 J ighteousness of His Godhead gives virtue to his obedi- 
 #nce ; the righteousness of His manhood giveth capa= 
 Mlity to His obedience to justify ; and the righteousness 
 that standeth in the union of these two natures to His 
 office, giveth authority to that righteousness to do the 
 work for which it was ordained. So, then, here is a 
 righteousness that Christ, as God, has no need of; for 
 He is God without it. Here is a righteousness that 
 Christ, as man, has no need of to make Him so ; for He 
 fs perfect man without it. Again, here is a righteous- 
 ness that Christ, as God-man, has no need of; for He is 
 perfectly so without it. Here, then, is a righteousness 
 that Christ, as God, and as God-man, has no need of 
 with reference to Himself, and therefore He can spare 
 it ; a justifying righteousness, that He for Himself 
 wanfeth not, and therefore giveth it pway. Hence it 
 ?s called the gift of righteousness. This righteousness, 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 309 
 
 since Christ Jesus the Lord has made Himself under 
 the law, must be given away; for the law doth n3t 
 only bind him that is under it, to do justly, but to use 
 charity. (Rom. 5 : 17.) Wherefore he must, or oug)it 
 by the law, if he hath two coats, to give one to him 
 that hath none. Now, our Lord indeed hath two coats, 
 one for Himself, and one to spare ^ wherefore He freely 
 bestows one upon thosn that have nono. And thus, 
 Christiana and Mercy, and the rest of you that are here, 
 doth your pardon come by deed, or by the work of 
 another man. Your Lord Christ is He that worked, 
 and hath given away what He wrought for, to the nexn 
 poor beggar He meets. But again, in order to pardon 
 by deed, there must something be paid to God as a 
 price, as well as something prepared to cover us withal. 
 Sin has delivered us up to the just curse of a righteous 
 law. Now, from this curse, we must be justified by 
 way of redemption, a price being paid for the harmtS 
 we have done ; and this is by the blood of your Loro, 
 who came and stood in j^our place and stead, and died 
 your death for your transgressions. Thus has He rar*- 
 somed you from your transgressions by blood, and cov- 
 ered your p Ikited and deformed souls with righteous 
 ness (Rom. 8 : 34) ; for the sake of which, God passeth 
 by you and will not hurt you when He comes to jud^- 
 the world. (Gab 3 : 13.) 
 
 Chr. This is brave! Now I see that there was 
 something to be learned by our being pardoned by 
 word and deed. Good Mercy, let us labor to keep this 
 in mind ; and, my children, do you remember it also. 
 But, sir, was not this it that made my good Christian's 
 burden fall from off his shoulders, and that made him 
 giv(> three leaps for joy ? 
 
 Great. Yes ; it was the belief of this that cut those 
 itriugs that could not be cut by other means » and it 
 
mjQ THE PILGRIM'S 
 
 was to give him proof of the virtue of this, that he was 
 suffered to carry his burden to the cross. 
 
 Chk. I thought so ; for though my heart was light* 
 «ome and joyous before, yet It is ten times more light- 
 some and joyous now. And I am persuaded by what I 
 have felt, though I have felt but little as yet, that \i 
 the most burdened man in the world was here, and did 
 Bee and believe as I now do, it would make his heart 
 the more merry and blithe. 
 
 Great. There is not only comfort and the ease of a 
 burden brought to us by the bight and consideration of 
 these, but aci en Jeared affection begot in us by it : for 
 who can, if he doth but once think that pardon comes 
 not only by promise but thus, but be affected with the 
 way ajid means of his redemption, and so with the maa 
 |:hat hath wrought it for him ? 
 
 Chr. True; methinks it makes my heart bleed to 
 think that He should bleed for me. Oh, thou loving 
 One: Oh, thou blessed One. Thou deservest to have 
 me ; thou hast bought me. Thou deservest to have me 
 all: thou hast pai«d for me ten thousand times more 
 than I am worth. No marvel th t this made the tears 
 stand in my husband's eyes, and that it made him 
 trudge so nimbly on. I am persuaded he wished ma 
 with him : but, vile wretch that I was, I let him come 
 all alone. Oh, Mercy, that thy father and mother were 
 aere ; yea, and Mrs. Timorous also : nay, I wish now 
 With all my heart that here was Madam Wanton, too* 
 Surely, surely, their hearts would be affected; nor 
 could the fear of the one, nor the powerful lusts of the 
 other, prevail with them to go home again, and refuse 
 to become good pilgrims. 
 
 Great. You speak now in the warmth of your 
 affections. Will it, think you, be always thus witti 
 you ? Besides, this is not communicated to every one^ 
 
THE PIL GRIM S PR C CRESS. 3 1 1 
 
 nor to every one that did see jour Jesus bleed. There 
 were that stood by, and that saw the blood ran from 
 His heart to the ground, and yet were so far off this, 
 that, instead of lamenting, they laughed at Him, and, 
 instead of becoming His disciples, did harden their 
 hearts against Him. So that all that you have, my 
 daughters, you have by peculiar impression made by a 
 divine contemplating upon "what I have spoken to you. 
 Bemember, that twas told you, that the hen, by her 
 common call, gives no meat to her chickens. This you 
 have therefore by a special grace. 
 
 Now I saw, in my dream that they went on until 
 they were come to the place that Simple, and Sloth, 
 and Presumption, lay and slept in when Christian went 
 by on pilgrimage. And behold, they were hanged up 
 in irons a little way off on the other side. 
 
 Then said Mercy to him that was their guide and 
 conductor. What are these three men? and for what 
 are they hanged there? 
 
 Great. These three men were men of very bad 
 qualities. They had no mind to be pilgrims them- 
 selves, and whomsoever they could, they hindered. They 
 were for sloth and folly themselves, and whomsoever 
 they could persuade, they made so too; and withal, 
 taught them to pi'esume that they should do well at last 
 They were asleep when Christian went by; and now you 
 go by, they are hanged. 
 
 Mer. But could they persuade any to be of their 
 opinion ? 
 
 Great. Yes; they turned several out of the way. 
 There was Slowpace that they persuaded to do as they. 
 They also prevailed with one Shortwind, with one No- 
 heart, with one Lingerafterlust, and with one Sleepy- 
 head, and with a young woman, her name was Dull, to 
 turn out of the way and become as they. Besides, they 
 
g^^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 brought up an ill report of your Lord; persuading 
 others that he was a hard taskmaster. They also 
 brought up an evil report of the good land ; saying it 
 was not half so good as some pretended it was. They 
 also began to vilify his servants, and to count the best 
 of them meddlesome, troublesome busybodies. Fur- 
 ther, they would call the bread of God, husks ; the 
 jomforts of his children, fancies ; the travel and laboi 
 ibi pilgrims, things to no purpose. 
 
 >Jay, said Christiana, if they were such^ they shal\ 
 never be bewailed by me. They have but what they 
 deserve ; and I think it is well that they stand so near 
 the highway, that others may see and take warning. 
 But had it not been well if their crimes had been en- 
 giaven in some plate of iron or brass, and left here 
 Adhere they did their mischiefs, for a caution to other 
 bad men 
 
 GreaI?. So it is, as you may well perceive, if you 
 will go a little to the wall. 
 
 Meb. No, no ; let them hang, and their names ro<, 
 and their crimes live forever against them. I think tt 
 » high favor that they were hanged before we cama 
 hither. Who knows else what they might have doutf 
 to such poor women as we are ? 
 
 Then she turned it into a song, saying, — 
 
 ** Now, then, you three hang there, and be a siga 
 To all that shall against the truth combine \ 
 And let him that comes after fear this end, 
 If unto Pilgrims he is not a friend. 
 And tiiou, my soul, of all such men beware, 
 That unto holiness opposers are." 
 
 Thus they went on till they came to the foot of th« 
 hill DifiQculty : where, again, the good Mr. Greatheart 
 took an occasion to tell them of what happened thert 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 313 
 
 when Christian himself went by. So he had them first 
 to the spring. Lo, saith he, this is the spring that 
 Christian drank of before he went up this hill : and 
 then it was clear and good ; but now it is dirty with the 
 feet of some that are not desirous that pilgrims here 
 should quench their thirst. (Ezek. 34 : 18, 19.) Thereat 
 llercy said, And why so envious, trow ? But, said 
 their guide, it will do, if taken up and put into a vessel 
 that is sweet and good ; for then the dirt will sink to 
 the bottom, and the water come out by itself more clear. 
 Thus, therefore, Christiana and her companions wer^ 
 compelled to do. They took it up, and put it into an 
 earthen pot, and so let it stand till the dirt was gone to 
 the bottom, and then they drank thereof. 
 
 Next he showed them the two by-ways that were a& 
 fhe foot of the hill, where Formality and Hypocrisy lost 
 (hemselves. And, said he, these are dangerous paths. 
 *.rwo were here cast away when Christian came by ; 
 j*nd although, as you see, these ways are since stopped 
 np with chains, posts, and a ditch, yet there are those 
 that will choose to adventure here, rather than take 
 the pains to go up this hill. 
 
 Chr. *' The way of transgressors is hard." Prov^ 
 13: 15.) It is a wonder that they can get into these 
 ways without danger of breaking their necks. 
 
 Great. They will venture : yea, if at any time any 
 of the King's servants do happen to see them, and cIq 
 call upon them, and tell them that they are in the 
 wrong way, and do bid them beware of the danger, 
 then they railingly return them answer, and say, " As 
 for the word that thou hast spoken unto us in the nam© 
 of the King, we will not hearken unto thee ; but we 
 will certainly do whatsoever thing goeth out of our 
 own mouth." (Jer. 44 : 16, 17.) Nay, if you look a 
 little farther, you shall see that these ways are made 
 
314 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 cautioiiaiy enough, not only by i^nese posts, and ditch, 
 and chain, but also by being hedged up : yet they will 
 choose to go there. 
 
 Chr. They are idle ; they love not to take pains ; 
 up-hill way is unpleasant to them. So it is fulfilled 
 unto them, ai3 it is written, " The way of the slothful 
 man is as an htdge of thorns." (Pro v. 15 ; 19.) Yea, they 
 will rather choose to walk upon a snare than to go up 
 this hill, and the rest of this way to the city. 
 
 Then they set forward, and began to go up the hill, 
 and up the hill they went. But before they got to the 
 top, Christiana began to pant, and said, I dare say this 
 is a breathing hill : no marvel if they that love their 
 ease more than thtiir souls choose to themselves a 
 smoother way. 
 
 Then said Mercy^ I must sit down : also the least of 
 the children began to cry. Come, come, said Great* 
 heart, sit not down her^, for a little above is the Prince's 
 arbor. Then he took the little boy by th^ hand, and 
 led him up thereto. 
 
 When they were come to the arbor, they were very 
 willing to sit down, for they were all in a pelting heat. 
 Then said Mercy, " How sweet is rest to them that 
 labor." (Matt. 11 : 28.) And how good is the Prince 
 of Pilgrims to provide such resting-places for them ! 
 Of this arbor I have heard much ; but I never saw it 
 before. But here let us beware of sleeping ; for, as I 
 have heard, it cost poor Christian dear. 
 
 Then said Mr. Greatheart to the little ones. Come, 
 my pretty boys, how do you do ^' What think you now 
 of going on pilgrimage? Sir, said the least, I was 
 almost beat out of heart , but I thank you for lending 
 me a hand at my need. And I remember now what 
 my mother hath told me, namely, that the way to 
 heaven is as a ladder, and the way to hell is as down a 
 
THE PILGRIIifS PROGRESS. 315 
 
 fiill. But I had rather go up the ladder to life, than 
 down the hill to death. 
 
 Then said Mercy, But the proverb is, " To go doTvn 
 the hill is easy." But James said (for that was his 
 name), The day is coming when, in my opinion, going 
 down the hill will be hardest of all. 'Tis a good boy, 
 said his master ; thou hast given her a right answer 
 Then Mercy smiled ; but the little boy did blush. 
 
 Come, said Christiana, will you eat a bite to sweeten 
 your mouths, while you sit here to rest your legs ? for 
 I have here a piece of pomegranate, which Mr. Inter- 
 preter put into my hand just when I came out of hig 
 door. He gave me also a piece of an honeycomb, and a 
 little bottle of spirits. I thought he gave you some- 
 thing, said Mercy, because he called you aside. Yes, 
 so he did, said the other ; but, said Christiana, it shall 
 be still as I said it should, when at first we came from 
 home : thou shalt be a sharer in all the good that I 
 have, because thou so willingly didst become my com- 
 panion. Then she gave to them, and they did eat, both 
 Mercy and the boys. And said Christiana to Mr. 
 Greatheart, Sir, will you do as we ? But he answered, 
 You are going on pilgrimage, and presently I shall re- 
 turn ; much good may what you have do you : at home 
 I eat the same every day. 
 
 THE FOURTH STAGE. 
 
 Now, when they had eaten and drank, and had 
 chatted a little longer, their guide said to them. The 
 day wears away ; if you think good, let us prepare to 
 be going. So they got up to go, and the little boys 
 r^nc before ; but Christiana forgot to take her bottle 
 
g 1 6 THE PILGRIM 'S PROGRESS, 
 
 of spirits with her, so she sent her little boy back til 
 fetch it. Then, said, Mercy, I think this is a losing 
 place. Here Christian lost his roll ; and here Chris- 
 tiana left her bottle behind her. Sir, what is the cauae 
 of this ? So their guide made answer, and said, The 
 cause is sleep, or forgetfulness : some sleep when they 
 should keep awake, and some forget when they should 
 remember : and this is the very cause why often, at the 
 resting-places, some pilgrims in some things come ofif 
 losers. Pilgrims should watch, and remember what 
 they have already received, under their greatest enjoy- 
 ments ; but, for want of doing so, oftentimes their xfY 
 joicing ends in tears, and their sunshine in a cloud .• 
 Iritness the story of Christian at this place. 
 
 When they were come to the place where Mistrunt 
 and Timorous met Christian, to persuade him to go 
 back for fear of the lions, they perceived, as it were, a 
 stage ; and before it, towards the road, a broad plane 
 with a copy of verses written thereon ; and underneaiii 
 the reason of raising up that stage in that place ren- 
 dered. The verses were these ; — 
 
 " Let him that sees this stage take heed 
 Unto his heart and tongue ; 
 Lest, if he do not, here he speed 
 As some have long agone," 
 
 The words underneath the verses were : " This stage 
 was built to punish those upon, who, through timor- 
 ousness or mistrust, shall be afraid to go farther on pil- 
 grimage. Also, on this stage both Mistrust and Timor- 
 ous were burned through the tongue with a hot iron, 
 for endeavoring to hinder Christian on his journey. 
 
 Then said Mercy, This is much like to the saying of 
 the Beloved • " What shall be given unto thee, or what 
 shall be done unto ^-Aieen UiAixi false tonaue ? Sharp 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, ^^t 
 
 Arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper." (Psalm 
 120 : 3, 4.) 
 
 So they went on till they came within sight of the 
 lions. Now Mr. Greatheart was a strong man, so he 
 was not afraid of a lion. But, yet when they were 
 come up to the place where the lions were, the boys, 
 that went before, were now glad to cringe behind, for 
 they were afraid of the lions ; so they stepped back, 
 and went behind. At this their guide smiled, and said, 
 How now, my boys ; do you love to go before when no 
 danger doth approach, and love to come behind so soon 
 as the lions appear ? 
 
 Now, as they went on, Mr. Greatheart drew his 
 f^word, with intent to make a way for the pilgrims in 
 ^pite of the lions. Then there appeared one that, it 
 s^ems, had taken upon him to back the lions ; and he 
 mid to the pilgrims* guide, What is the cause of your 
 *^oming hither ? Now the name of that man was Grim, 
 4»r Bloodyman, because of his slaying of pilgrims ; and 
 \\Q was of the race of the giants. 
 
 Then said the pilgrims' guide. These women and 
 I children are going on pilgrimage, and this is the way 
 th.Qj must go ; and go it they shall, in spite of thee and 
 the lions. 
 
 Grim. This is not their way, neither shall they go 
 therein. I am come forth to withstand them, and to 
 that end will back the lions. 
 
 Now, to say the truth, by reason of the fierceness of 
 the lions, and of the grim carriage of him that did back 
 them, this way had of late lain much unoccupied, and 
 was almost grown over with grass. 
 
 Then said Christiana, Though the highways have 
 been unoccupied heretofore, and though the travellers 
 have been made in times past to walk through by-paths, 
 it must not be so now I am risen, — " Now I am risen a 
 Another in israel.^. (Jud^^es 5 s 6« 7.) 
 
jlS THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Then he swore, by the lions, that it should ; and 
 therefore bid them turn aside, for thej should not have 
 passage there. 
 
 But Greatheart their guide made first his approach 
 onto Grim, and laid so heavily on him with his sword 
 that he forced him to retreat. 
 
 Then said he that attempted to back the lions. Will 
 you slay me upon my own ground? 
 
 Great. It is the King's highway that we are in, 
 and in his way it is that thou has placed the lions ; but 
 these women, and these children, though weak, shall 
 hold on their way in spite of thy lions. And with that 
 he gave him again a downright blow, and brought him 
 upon his knees. With this blow also he broke his hel- 
 met, and with the next he cut off an arm. Then did 
 the giant roar so hideously that his voice frightened 
 fche women, and yet they were glad to see him lie 
 jiprawling upon the ground. Now the lions were 
 chained, and so of themselves could do nothing. Where- 
 xore, when old Grim, that intended to back them, was 
 dead, Mr. Greatheart said to the pilgrims. Come now, 
 Bnd follow me, and no hurt shall happen to you from 
 ih^ lions. They therefore went on, but the women 
 trembled as they passed by them ; the boys also looked 
 PS if they would die ; but they all got by without fur- 
 ther hurt. 
 
 Now, when they were within sight of the Porter's 
 lodge, they soon came up unto it ; but they made the 
 more haste after this to go thither, because it is danger* 
 ous travelling there in the night. Sc when they were 
 come to the gate the guide knocked, and the Porter 
 cried. Who is there ? But as soon as the guide had 
 said. It is I, he knew his voice, and came down ; for 
 the guide had oft before that come thither as a con« 
 !luctor of pilgrims. When he was come down, ha 
 
THE j^LG RIM'S yR(Jt>ilESS, C^ 
 
 opened the gate ; and seeing the guide standing just 
 before it (for he saw not the women, for they were be- 
 hind him), he said unto him, How now^ Mr. Greatheart, 
 what is your business here so late at night ? 
 
 I have brought, said he, some pilgrims hither, where, 
 by my Lord's commandment., they must lodge. I had 
 been here some time ago, had I not bet?n opposed by 
 the giant that did used to back the lions. But I, aftei 
 a long and tedious combat with him, ha\e cut him offf 
 and have brought the pilgrims hither in safety. 
 
 POR. Will you not go in, and stay till morning? 
 
 Gbeat. No ; I will return to my Lord to-night. 
 
 Chr. Oh, sir, I know not how to be willing yoii 
 should leave us in our pilgrimage. You have been s« 
 faithful and so loving to us, you have fought so stoutl;y 
 for us, you have been so hearty in counselling of ug\ 
 that I shall never forget your favor towards us. 
 
 Then said Mercy, Oh, that we might have thy com- 
 pany to our journey's end ! How can such poor womeo 
 as we hold out in a way so full of troubles as this waj 
 is, without a friend and defender ? 
 
 Then said James, the youngest of the boys. Pray, 
 sir, be persuaded to go with us, and help us, because 
 we are so weak, and the way so dangerous as it is. 
 
 Great. I am at my Lord's commandment. If he 
 shall allot me to be your guide quite through, I will 
 willingly wait upon you. But here you failed at firsts 
 for when he bid me come thus far with you, then you 
 should have begged me of him to have gone quita 
 through with you, and he would have granted youi 
 request. However, at present I must withdraw ; and 
 60, good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave children, 
 Adieu. 
 
 Then the Porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of 
 liez country, and of her kindred. And she said« I camo 
 
320 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 from the city of Destruction. 7 am a widow woman4 
 aud my husband is dead ; his name was Christian, the 
 pilgrim. How ! said the Porter, was he your husband? 
 Yes, said she, and these are his children ; and this, 
 pointing to Mercy, is one of my towns women. Then 
 the Porter rang his bell, as at such times he is wont, 
 and there came to the door one of the damsels, whose 
 name was Hamblemind ; and to her the Porter said, 
 Go tell it within, that Christiana, the wife of Christian, 
 and her children, are come hither on pilgrimage. She 
 went in, therefore, and told it. But, oh, what a noise 
 for gladness was there within, when the damsel did but 
 drop that word out of her mouth ! 
 
 So they came with haste to the Porter, for Christiana 
 stood still at the door. Then some of the most grave 
 ^id unto her. Come in, Christiana ; come in, thou wife 
 of that good man ; come in, thou blessed woman ; come 
 in, with all that are with thee. So she went in, and 
 ihey followed h^^ that were her children and com- 
 jtanions. Now, they were gone in, they were had 
 
 into a large room, wir . they were bidden to sit down : 
 ^o they sat down, and the chief of the house were called 
 to see and welcome the guests. Then they came in, 
 a ad, understanding who they were, did salute each one 
 with a kiss, and said, Welcome, ye vessels of the grace 
 of God ; welcome to us, your friends. 
 
 Now, because it was somewhat late, and because the 
 pilgrims were weary with their journey, and also made 
 faint with the sight of the fight, and of the terrible 
 lions, they desired, as soon as might be, to prepare to 
 go to rest. Nay, said those of the family, refresh your- 
 selves first with a morsel of meat; for they had pre» 
 pared for them a lamb, with the accustomed sauce be- 
 longing thereto (Exod. 12 : 21 ; John 1 : 29) ; for the 
 Porter had heard before of their coming, and had told 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 32t 
 
 it to them within. So when they had supped, and 
 ended their prayer with a psalm, they desired the^ 
 might go to rest. 
 
 But let us, said Christiana, if we may be so bold as 
 to choose, be in that chamber that was my hasband'3 
 when he was here. So they had them up thither, and 
 they all lay in a room. When they were at rest, Chris- 
 tiana and Mercy entered into discourse about things 
 that were convenient. 
 
 Chr. Little did I think once, when my husband 
 went on pilgrimage, that I should ever have followed 
 him. 
 
 Mer. And you as little thought of lying in his bed, 
 and in his chamber to rest, as you do now. 
 
 Chr. And much less did I ever think of seeing his 
 face with comfort, and of worshiping the Lord the King 
 with him ; and yet, now I believe I shall. 
 
 Mer. Hark ! Don't you hear a noise ? 
 
 Chr. Yes. It is, as I believe, a noise of music, for 
 ■joy that we are here. 
 
 Mer. Wonderful! Music in the house, music in the 
 heart, and music also in heaven, for joy that we are here ! 
 
 Thus they talked a while, and then betook them- 
 selves to sleep. So in the morning, when they were 
 awake, Christiana said to Mercy, What was the matter, 
 that you did laugh in your sleep to-night ? I suppose 
 you were in a dream. 
 
 Mer. So I was, and a sweet dream it was ; but are 
 you sure I laughed ? 
 
 Chr. Yes ; you laughed heartily. But prithee, 
 Mercy, tell me thy dream. 
 
 Mer. I was dreaming that I sat all alone in a soli- 
 tary place, and was bemoaning of the hardness of my 
 heart. Now I had not sat there long, but methought 
 many were gathered about to see me, and to hear whu6 
 
322 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 it was that I said. So they hearkened, and I went oil 
 
 bemoaning the hardness of my heart. At this, some ol 
 them laughed at me, some called me fool, and some 
 began to thrust me about. With that, methought I 
 looked up and saw on ^ coming with wings towards me* 
 So he came directly to me, and said, Mercy, what ailetb 
 thee ? Now, when he had heard me make my complaint 
 he said, Peace be to thee : be also wiped my eyes with 
 his handkerchief, and clad me in silver and gold. He 
 put a chain about my neck, and earrings in my ears, 
 and a beautiful crown upon my head. (Ezek. 16 s 11- 
 13.) Then he took me by the hand, and said, Mercy, 
 come after me. So he went up, and I followed, till we 
 came at a golden gate. Then he knocked ; and when 
 they within had opened, the man went in, and I fol- 
 lowed him up to a throne, upon which One sat ; and he 
 said to me, Welcome, daughter. The place looked 
 bright and twinkling, like the stars, or rather like the 
 gun, and I thought that I saw your husband there ; so 
 I awoke from my dream. But did I laugh ? 
 
 Chr. Laugh ! aye, and well you might, to see your- 
 self so well. For you must give me leave to tell you 
 that I believe it was a good dream ; and that, as you 
 have begun to find the first part true, so you shall find 
 the second at last. " God speaks once, yea, twice, yet 
 man perceiveth it not ; in a dream, in a vision of the 
 .night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumber- 
 ings upon the bed.'* (Job 33 : 14, 15.) We need notj 
 when abed, to lie awake to talk with God ; he can visit 
 ns while we sleep, and cause us then to hear his voice. 
 Our heart oftentimes wakes when we sleep, and God 
 can speak to that, either by words, by proverbs, by 
 signs and similitudes, as well as it one was awake. 
 
 Mer. Well, I am glad of mv dream ; for I nope ere 
 A)ng to see it fulfilled, to the makiusr me laugh again. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 323 
 
 Chr. I think it is now high time to rise, and to 
 know what we must do. 
 
 Mer. Pray, if they invite us to stay a while, let us 
 willingly accept of the proffer. I am the more willing 
 to stay a while here, to grow better acquainted with 
 these maids. Methinks Prudence, Piety, and Charityr 
 have very comely and sober countenances. 
 
 Chr. We shall see what they will do. 
 
 So, when they were up and ready, they came down, 
 and they asked one another of their rest, and if it was 
 comfortable or not. 
 
 Mer. Very good, said Mercy : it was one of the best 
 night's lodgings that ever I had in my life. 
 
 Then said Prudence and Piety, If you will be per- 
 suaded to stay here a while, you shall have what the 
 bouse will afford. 
 
 Aye, and that with a very good will, said Charity. 
 
 So they consented, and stayed there about a month 
 O'^ above, and became very proiStable one to another, 
 i^ind because Prudence would see how Christiana had 
 bcought up her children, she asked leave of her to 
 catechize them. So she gave her free consent. Then 
 si 16 began with her youngest, whose name was James. 
 
 And she said, Come, James, canst thou tell me who 
 made thee? 
 
 James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the 
 Holy Ghost. 
 
 Prud. Good boy. And canst thou tell who saved 
 thee? 
 
 James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the 
 Holy Ghost. 
 
 Prttd. Good boy still. But how doth God the 
 Father save thee ? 
 
 James. By His grace. 
 
 pRUD. How doth God the Son save thee? 
 
324 'T^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 James. By His righteousness, death, and blood, and 
 life. 
 
 Prud. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save thee? 
 
 James. By His illumination, by His renovation, and 
 by His preservation. 
 
 Then said Prudence to Christiana, " You are to be 
 commended for thus bringing up your children. 1 
 suppose I need not ask the rest these questions, since 
 the youngest of them can answer them so well. I will 
 therefore now apply m3"self to the next youngest. 
 
 Then she said, Come, Joseph (for his name was 
 Joseph), will you let me catechize you ? 
 
 Joseph. With all my heart. 
 
 Prud. What is' man ? 
 
 Joseph. A reasonable creature, so made by God, ag 
 D^y brother said. 
 
 Prud. What is supposed by this word, saved ? 
 
 Joseph. That man, by sin, has brought himself into 
 »4 state of captivity and misery. 
 
 Prud. What is supposed by his being saved by the 
 3Mnity ? 
 
 Joseph. That sin is so great and mighty a tyrant 
 that none can pull us out of its clutches but God ; and 
 that God is so good and loving to man, as to pull him 
 indeed out of this miserable state. 
 
 Prud. What is God's design in saving of poor men? 
 
 Joseph. The glorifying of His name, of His grace, 
 and justice, &c., and the everlasting happiness of His 
 creature. 
 
 Prud. Who are they that will be saved? 
 
 Joseph. They that accept of His salvation. 
 
 Prud. Good boy, Joseph ; thy mother hath taught 
 thee well, and thou hast hearkened unto what she has 
 jBaid unto thee. 
 
 Then said Prudence to Samuel, who was the eldest 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. %2% 
 
 but one, Come, Samuel, are you willing that I should 
 catechize you ? 
 
 Sam. Yes, forsooth, if you please. 
 
 Prud. What is heaven? 
 
 Sam. a place and state most blessed, because God 
 dwelleth there. 
 
 Prud. What is hell? 
 
 Sam. a place and state most woful, because it is 
 the dwelling-place of sin, the devil, and death. 
 
 Prud. Wiiy wouldst thou go to heaven ? 
 
 Sam. That I may see God, and serve Him without 
 weariness : that I may see Christ, and love Him ever- 
 lastingly ; that I may have that fullness of the Holy 
 Spirit in me which I can by no means here enjoy. 
 
 Prud. A very good boy, and one that has learned well, 
 
 Then she addressed herself to the eldest, whose 
 name was Matthew ; and she said to him, Come, Mat- 
 thew, shall I also catechize you ? 
 
 Matt. With a very good will. 
 
 Prud. I ask then, if there was ever anything that 
 had a being antecedent to or before God ? 
 
 Matt. No, for God is eternal ; nor is there anything, 
 excepting Himself, that had a being until the begin- 
 ning of the first day. For in six days the Lord made 
 heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is. 
 
 Prud. What do you think of the Bible ? 
 
 Matt. It is the holy word of God. 
 
 Prud. Is there nothing written therein but what 
 you understand ? 
 
 Matt. Yes, a great deal. 
 
 Prud. What do you do when you meet with places 
 therein that you do not understand ? 
 
 Matt. I think God is wiser than I. I pray also 
 that he will please to let me know all therein that he 
 knows will be for my good. 
 
326 "^HE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Prttd. How "believe you as touching the resurrec* 
 tion of the dead ? 
 
 Matt. I believe they shall rise the same that was 
 buried ; the same in nature, though not in corruption. 
 And I believe this upon a double account : first, be- 
 cause God has promised it ; secondly, because he is 
 able to perform it. 
 
 Then said Prudence to the boys. You must still 
 hearken to your mother ; for she can teach you more. 
 You must also diligently give ear to what good talk you 
 shall hear from others : for your sakes do they spe#<k 
 good things. Observe also, and that with carefulness^ 
 what the heavens and the earth do teach you; but 
 especially be much in meditation of that book which 
 was the cause of your lather's becoming a pilgrim. I, 
 for my part, my children, will teach yoa what I can 
 while you are here, and shall be glad if you will ask 
 me questions that tend to godly edifying. 
 
 Now, by that these pilgrims had been at this place 
 a week, Mercy had a visitor that pret3nded some good 
 will unto her, and his name was Mr. Brisk ; a man of 
 some breeding, and that pretended to religion, but a 
 man that stuck very close to the world. So he came 
 once or twice, or more, to Mercy, and offered love unto 
 her. Now Mercy was of a fair countenance, and there- 
 fore the more alluring. Her mind also was to be 
 always busying of herself in doing ; for when she had 
 nothing to do for herself, she would be making hose 
 and garments for others, and would bestow them upon 
 those that had need. And Mr. Brisk not knowing 
 where or how she disposed of what she made, seemed 
 to be greatly taken, for that he found her never idle. 
 I will warrant her a good housewife, quoth he to him- 
 self. 
 
 Mercy then revealed the business to the maidens 
 
THE PILG RIM'S PROGRESS. 32^ 
 
 that were of the house, and inquired of them concern*- 
 ing him, for they did know him better than she. b'ct 
 they told her that he was a very busy young man, an d 
 one who pretended to religion, but was, as they fearecf^ 
 a stranger to the power of that which is good. 
 
 Nay, then, said Mercy, I will look no more on him ; 
 for I purpose never to have a clog to my soul. 
 
 Prudence then replied, that there needed no matter 
 of great discouragement to be given to him ; her con- 
 tinuing so as she had begun to do for the poor, would 
 quickly cool his courage. 
 
 So the next time he comes he finds her at her old 
 work, making things for the poor. Then said he, 
 What, always at it ? Yes, said she, either for myself o f 
 for others. And what canst thou earn a day? said he 
 I do these things, said she, that I may be rich in good 
 works, laying up in store for myself a good foundation 
 against the time to come, that I may lay hold on eter- 
 nal life. (1 Tim. 6 : 17-49.) Why, prithee, what doesi 
 thou with them ? said he. Clothe the naked, said she. 
 With that his countenance fell. So he forebore to 
 come at her again. And when he was asked the reason 
 why, he said, that Mercy was a pretty lass, but troubled 
 with ill conditions. 
 
 When he had left her, Prudence said. Did I not tell 
 thee that Mr. Brisk would soon forsake thee ? yea, he 
 will rise up an ill report of thee ; for, notwithstanding 
 his pretence to religion, and his seeming love to Mercy, 
 yet Mercy and he are of tempers so different that I be- 
 lieve they will never come together. 
 
 Mer. I might have had husbands before now, though 
 I spoke not of it to any ; but they were such as did not 
 like my conditions, though never did any of them find 
 fault with my person. So they and I could not agree. 
 
 Pbud. Mercy in our days is but little set by, any 
 
325 THE I>ILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 further than as to its name : the practice which is se^ 
 forth by thy conditions, there are but few that can 
 abide. 
 
 Well, said Mercy, if nobody will have me, I will die 
 unmarried, or my conditions shall be to me as a hus- 
 band : for I cannot change my nature , and to have one 
 who lies cross to me in this, that I purpose never to ad- 
 mit of as long as I live. I had a sister named Bounti- 
 ful, that was married to one of these churls, but he and 
 she could never agree. But because my sister was re- 
 solved to do as she had begun, that is, to show kind^ 
 ness to the poor, therefore her husband first cried hei 
 jlown at the cross, and then turned her out of his 
 doors. 
 
 PRUD. And yet he was a professor, I warrant you. 
 
 Mer. Yes, such a one as he was ; and of such as 
 he the world is now full. But I am for none of them 
 all. 
 
 Now Matthew, the eldest son of Christiana, fell sick, 
 and his sickness was sore upon him, for he was much 
 pained in his bowels, so that he was with it at times 
 pulled, as it were, both ends together. There dwelt 
 also, not far from thence, one Mr. Skill, an ancient and 
 well-approved physician. So Christiana desired it, and 
 they sent for him, and he came. When he was entered 
 the room, and had a little observed the boy, he con- 
 cluded that he was sick of the gripes. Then he said to 
 his mother. What diet has Matthew of late fed upon ? 
 Diet ! said Christiana, nothing but what is wholesome. 
 The physician answered. This boy has been tampering 
 with something that lies in his stomach undigested, and 
 that will not away without means. And I tell you he 
 must be purged, or else he will die. 
 
 Then said Samuel, Mother, what was that which 
 my brother did gather up and eat as soon as we were 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 329 
 
 come from tne gate that is at the head of this way? 
 You know that there was an orchard on the left hand, 
 on the other side of the wall, and some of the trees hung 
 over the wall, and my brother did pluck and eat. 
 
 True, my child, said Christiana, he did take thereof 
 and did eat. Naughty boy as he was, I chid him, and 
 yet he would eat thereof. 
 
 Skill. I knew he had eaten something that was not 
 wholesome food ; and that food, to wit, that fruit, is 
 even the most hurtful of all. It is the fruit of Beel- 
 zebub's orchard. I do marvel that none did warn you 
 of it ; many have died thereof. 
 
 Then Christiana began to cry ; and she said. Oh, 
 naughty boy ! and, Oh, careless mother ! what shall I 
 do for my son ? 
 
 Skill. Come, do not be too much dejected ; the boy 
 may do well again, but he must purge and vomit. 
 
 Chr. Pray, sir, try the utmost of your skill with 
 him, whatever it costs. 
 
 Skill. Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable. 
 So he made him a purge, but it was too weak; it 
 was said it was made of the blood of a goat, the ashes 
 of a heifer, and some of the juice of hyssop. (Heb. 9 ; 
 13, 19 : 10, 1-4.) When Mr. Skill had seen that that 
 purge was too weak, he made one to the purpose. It 
 was made ex came et sanguine Christi * (John 6 : 54-57 ; 
 Heb. 9 : 14), (you kiiow physicians give strange medi- 
 cines to their patients) ; and it was made into pills, 
 with a promise or two, and a proportionable quantity 
 of salt. (Mark 9: 49.) Now, he was to take them 
 three at a time, fasting, in half a quarter of a pint of 
 the tears of repentance. (Zech. 12 : 10.) 
 
 When this potion was prepared, and brought to the 
 hoy, he was loth to take it, though torn with the griped 
 
 • Of the flesh and blood of Chiiat. 
 
,:y THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 as if he should be pulled in pieces. Come, come, said 
 the physician, you must take it. It goes against my 
 stomach, said the boy. I must have you take it said 
 his mother. I shall vomit it up again, said the boy. 
 Pray, sir, said Christiana to Mr. Skill, how does it 
 taste ? It has no ill taste, said the doctor ; and with 
 that she touched one of the pills with the tip of her 
 tongue. Oh, Matthew, said she, this potion is sweetei 
 than honey. If thou lovest thy mother, if thou lovest 
 thy brothers, if thou lovest Mercy, if thou lovest thy 
 life, take it. So, with much ado, after a short prayer 
 for the blessing of God upon it, he took it, and it 
 wrought kindly with him. It caused him to purge ; it 
 caused him to sleep, and to rest quietly ; it put him 
 into a fine heat and breathing sweat, and did quite rid 
 1dm of his gripes. So in a little time lie got up, and 
 \<ralked about with a staff, and would go from room to 
 joom, and talk with Prudence, Piety, and Charity, of 
 Ids distemper, and how he was healed. 
 
 So, when the boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr. 
 Skill, saying, Sir, what will content you for your pains 
 and care to and of my child ? And he said. You must 
 p^y the master of the College of Physicians (Heb. 13 : 
 1 1-15), according to rules made in that case and pro- 
 vided. 
 
 But, sir, said she, what is this pill good for else ? 
 
 Skill. It is a universal pill ; it is good against all 
 the diseases that pilgrims are incident to ; and when it 
 is well prepared, it will keep good, time out of mind. 
 
 Chr. Pray, sir, make me up twelve boxes of thems 
 for if I can get these, I will never take other physic. 
 
 Skill. These pills are good to prevent diseases, as 
 "i^ell as to cure when one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, 
 a7id stand to it, that if a man will but use this physic as 
 he should, it will make him live forever. (John 6 : oXe) 
 
THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. 331 
 
 But, good Christiana, thou must give these pills no 
 other way but as I have prescribed ; for if you do, they 
 will do no good. So he gave unto Christiana physio 
 for herself, and her boys, and for Mercy ; and bid Mat- 
 thew take heed how he ate any more green plums ; and 
 kissed them and went his way. 
 
 It was told you before, that Prudence bid the boys, 
 that if at any time they would, they should ask her 
 scrae questions that might be profitable, and she would 
 say something to them. 
 
 Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her, why 
 for the most part, physic should be bitter to our 
 palates. 
 
 Peud. To show how unwelcome the word of God 
 and the effects thereof are to a carnal heart. 
 
 Matt. Why does physic, if it does good, purge, and 
 cause to vomit? 
 
 Peud. To show that the Word, when it works, ef- 
 fectually, cleanseth the heart and mind. For, look, 
 what the one doth to the body, the other doth to the 
 soul. 
 
 Matt. What should we learn by seeing the flame 
 of our fire go upwards, and by seeing the beams and 
 sweet influences of the sun strike downwards ? 
 
 Peud. By the going up of the fire, we are taught 
 to ascend to heaven by fervent and hot desires. And 
 by the sun sending his heat, beams, and sweet infla 
 ences downwards, we are taught the Saviour of tlit? 
 world, though high, reaches down with his grace aiid 
 iove to us below- 
 
 Matt. Whence have the clouds their water? 
 
 pRUD. Out of the sea. 
 
 Matt. What may we learn from that? 
 
 Peud. That ministers should fetch their doctrine 
 froiD God. 
 
J32 TTTE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Matt. Why do they empty themselves upon the 
 earth ? 
 
 Prtjd. To show that ministers should give out what 
 they know of God to the world. 
 
 Matt. Why is the rainbow caused by the sun? 
 
 Prud. To show that the covenant of God's grace is 
 confirmed to us in Christ. 
 
 Matt. Why do the springs come from the sea to us 
 througti the earth? 
 
 Prud. To show that the grace of God comes to us 
 through the body of Christ. 
 
 Matt. Why do some of the springs rise out of the 
 tops of great hills ? 
 
 Prud. To show that the spirit of grace shall spring 
 up in some that are great and mighty, as well as in 
 many that are poor and low. 
 
 Matt. Why doth the fire fasten upon the candl 5- 
 wick? 
 
 Prud. To show that unless grace doth kindle upcn 
 the heart, there will be no true light of life in us. 
 
 Matt. Why are the wick, and tallow, and all, spent 
 to maintain the light of the candle ? 
 
 Prud. To show that body and soux, and all, should 
 be at the service of, and spend themselves to maintain 
 in good condition, that grace of God that is in us. 
 
 Matt. Why doth the pelican pierce her own breast 
 with her bill ? 
 
 Prud. To nourish her young ones with her blood, 
 and thereby to show that Christ the blessed so loved 
 His young (His people), as to save them from death 
 by His blood 
 
 Matt. What may one learn by hearing the cock to 
 crow? 
 
 Prud. Learn to remember Peter's sin, and Peter's 
 repentance. The cock's crowing shows, also, that ds^y 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 333 
 
 is coming on. Let, then, the crowing of the cock put 
 thee in mind of that last and terrible day of judgment. 
 
 Now about this time their month was out ; where- 
 fore they signified to those of the house, that it was con- 
 venient for them to put up and be going. Then said 
 Joseph to his mother, It is proper that you forget not 
 to send to the house of Mr. Interpreter, to pray him to 
 grant that Mr. Greatheart should be sent unto us, that 
 he may be our conductor for the rest of the way. Good 
 boy, said she, I had almost forgot. So she drew up a 
 petition, and prayed Mr. Watchful, the porter, to send 
 it by seme fit man to her good friend Mr. Interpreter ; 
 who, when it was come, and he had seen the contents 
 of the petition, said to the messenger, Go, t3ll them 
 that I will send him. 
 
 When the family where Christiana was, saw that 
 they had a purpose to go forward, they called the whole 
 house together, to give thanks to their King for sending 
 i\i them such profitable guests as these. Which done, 
 they said unto Christiana, And shall we not show thee 
 Si>mething, as our custom is to do to pilgrims, on which 
 thou mayest meditate when thou art upon the way ? 
 So they took Christiana, her children, and Mercy, into 
 the closet, and showed them one of the apples that Eve 
 ate of, and tJiat she also did give to her husband, and 
 that for the eating of which they were both turned out 
 of paradise, and asked her what she thought that was. 
 Jhen Christiana said, It is food or poison, I know not 
 which. So they opened the matter to her, and she held 
 up her hands and wondered. (Gen. 3:6; Rom. 7 : 24.) 
 
 Then they had her to a place and showed her 
 Jacob's ladder. (Gen. 28 : 12.) Now at that time there 
 were some angels ascending upon it. So Christiana 
 looked and looked to see the angels go up : so did the 
 xest of the company. Then they were going into bxt 
 
J34 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGPErS. 
 
 other place, to show them something else , but James 
 said to his mother, Pray, bid them stay here a little 
 longer, for this is a curious sight. So they turned 
 again, and stood feeding their eyes 'ththis so pleasing 
 a prospect. 
 
 After this, they had them into a place where did 
 hang up a golden anchor. So they bid Christiana take 
 it down ; for said they. You shall have it with you, for 
 it is of absolute necessity that you should, that you may 
 lay hold of that within the veil (Heb. 6 : 19), and stand 
 steadfast in case you should meet with turbulent 
 freather. (Joel 3 : 16.) So they were glad thereof. 
 
 Then they took them, and had them to the mount 
 upon which Abraham our father offered up Isaac his 
 son, and showed them the altar, the wood, the fire, and 
 the knife ; for they remain to be seen to this very day, 
 (Gen. 22: 9.) When they had seen it, they held up 
 their hands, and blessed themselves, and said, Oh, what 
 a man for love to his Master, and for denial to himself, 
 was Abraham ! 
 
 After they had showed them all these things, Pru- 
 dence took them into a dining-room, where stood a pair 
 of excellent virginals ; * so she played upon them, and 
 turned what she had showed them into this excellent 
 song, saying. — 
 
 ** Eve's apple we have showed you ; 
 
 Of that be you aware ! 
 You have seen Jacob's ladder, too, 
 
 Upon which Angels are. 
 An Anchor you received have ; 
 
 But let not these suffice, 
 Until with Abraham you have gave 
 
 Your best a sacrifice." 
 
 Now, about this time, one knocked at the door; SO 
 
 * A musical iustrumeat. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS:. 335 
 
 the Porter opened, aud behold, Mr. Greatheart was 
 there. But when he was come in, what joy was there 1 
 for it came now afresh again into their minds, how but 
 a while ago he had slain old Grim Bloodyman the giant, 
 and had delivered them from the lions. 
 
 Then said Mr. Greatheart to Christiana and to 
 Mercy, My Lord has sent each of you a bottle of wine, 
 and also some parched corn, together with a couple of 
 pomegranates ; he has also sent the boys some figs and 
 raisins ; to refresh you in your way. 
 
 Then they addressed themselves to their journey, 
 and Prudence and Piety went along with them. When 
 they came to the gate, Christiana asked the Porter if 
 any late went by. He said, No; only one, some time 
 since, who also told me, that of late there had been a 
 great robbery committed on the King's highway as you 
 go. But, said he, the thieves are taken, and will 
 shortly be tried for their lives. Then Christiana and 
 Mercy were afraid; but Matthew said. Mother, fear 
 nothing, as long as Mr. Greatheart is to go with us, 
 and to be our conductor. 
 
 Then said Christiana to the Porter, Sir, I am much 
 obliged to you for all the kindnesses that yoti have 
 showed to me since I came hither ; and, also, for that 
 you have been so loving and kind to my children. I 
 know not how to gratify your kindness; wherefore, 
 pray, as a token of my respect to you, accept of this 
 small mite. So she put a gold angel * in his hand ; and 
 be made her a low obeisance, and said, " Let thy gar- 
 ments be always white ; and let thy head want no oint- 
 ment." (Eccles. 9 : 8.) Let Mercy live and not die, 
 and let not her works be few. (Deut. 33 : 6.) And to 
 
 * A gold angel was a coin of the value of ten shillings sterling ; and, ac- 
 wrding to the comparative value of money in Bunyan's time, equal at least 
 o a guinea at the present time. 
 
336 THE PTLGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 the boys he said, Do you fly youthful lusts, and follow 
 after godliness with them that are grave and wise (2 
 Tim. 2 : 22) : so shall you put gladness into your 
 mother's heart, and obtain praise of all that are sober- 
 minded. So they thanked the Porter, and departed. 
 
 THE FIFTH STAGE. 
 
 Now I saw, in my dream, that they went forward 
 Until they were come to the brow of the hill ; where 
 Piety, bethinking herself, cried out, Alas, I have forgot 
 what I intended to bestow upon Christiana and her 
 companions : I will go back and fetch it. So she ran 
 and fetched it. While she was gone, Christiana thought 
 she heard, in a grove a little way ofP on the right hand, 
 a most curious melodious note, with words much like 
 
 these : — 
 
 " Through all my life thy favor is 
 So franlily show'd to me ; 
 That in thy house for evermore 
 My dwelling-place shall be." 
 
 And listening still, she thought she heard another 
 answer it, saying, — 
 
 " For why ? The Lord our God is good ; 
 His mei<jy is forever sure : 
 His truth at all times firmly stood. 
 And shall from age to age endure." 
 
 So Christiana asked Prudence who it was that made 
 those curious notes. (Song 2 : 11, 12.) They are, 
 answered she, our country birds : they sing these notes 
 but seldom, except it be at the spring, when the flowers 
 appear, and the sun shines warm, and then you may 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 337 
 
 hear tliem all day long. I often, said she, go out to 
 hear them : we also ofttimes keep them tame in our 
 house. They are very fine company for us when we are 
 melancholy: also, they make the woods, and groves, 
 and solitary places, desirable to be in. 
 
 By this time Piety was come again. So she said to 
 Christiana, Look here, I have brought thee a scheme of 
 of all those things that thou hast seen at our house, 
 upon which thou mayest look when thou findest thyself 
 forgetful, and call those things again to remembrance 
 for th}^ edification and comfort. 
 
 Now they began to go down the hill into the Valley 
 of Humiliation. It was a steep hill, and the way was 
 slippery ; but they were very careful ; so they got down 
 pretty well. When they were down in the valley, 
 Piety said to Christiana, This is the place where Chris- 
 tian, your husband, met with the foul fiend Apollyon, 
 and where they had that dreadful fight that they had. 
 I know you cannot but have heard thereof. But be of 
 good courage; as long as you have heie Mr. Great- 
 heart to be your guide and conductor, we hope you will 
 fare the better. So when these two had committed the 
 pilgrims unto the conduct of their guide, he went 
 forward, and they went after. 
 
 Then said Mr. Greatheart, We need not be so afraid 
 of this valley, for here is nothing to hurt us, unless we 
 procure it to ourselves. It is true, Christian did here 
 meet with Apollyon, with whom he also had a sore com- 
 bat : but that fray was the fruit of those slips which he 
 got in his going down the hill ; for they that get slips 
 there, must look for combats here. And hence it is, 
 that this valley has got so hard a name. For the com- 
 mon people, when they hear that some frightful thing 
 has befallen such a one in such a place, are of opinion 
 that that place is haunted with some foul fiend or evil 
 
338 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 spirit ; when, alas ! it is for the fruit of their own doing 
 that such things do befall them there. This Valley of 
 Humiliation is of itself as fruitful a place as any the 
 crow flies over ; and I am persuaded, if we could hit 
 upon it, we might find, somewhere hereabouts, some- 
 thing that might give us an account why Christian was 
 so hardly beset in this place. 
 
 Then said James to his mother, Lo, yonder stands a 
 pillar, and it looks as if something was written thereon ; 
 let us go and see what it is. So they went, and found 
 there written, " Let Christian's slips, before he came 
 hither, and the battles that he met with in this place, 
 be a warning to those that come after." Lo, said their 
 guide, did not I tell you that there was something here- 
 abouts that would give intimation of the reason why 
 Christian was so hard beset in this place ? Then turn- 
 ing himself to Christiana, he said. No disparagement to 
 Christian more than to many others whose hap and lot 
 it was. For it is easier going up than down this hill, 
 and that can be said but of few hills in all these parts 
 of the world. But we will leave the good man ; he is 
 at rest : he also had a brave victory over his enemy* 
 Let Him grant, that dwelleth above, that we fare no 
 worse, when we come to be tried, than he. 
 
 But we will come again to this Valley of Humilia- 
 tion. It is the best and most fruitful piece of ground 
 in all these parts. It is fat ground, and, as you see, 
 consisteth much in meadows ; and if a man was to come 
 here in the summer-time, as we do now, if he knew 
 not anything before thereof, and if he also delighted 
 himself in the sight of his eyes, he might see that which 
 would be delightful to him. Behold how green this 
 valley is ; also, how beautiful with lilies. (Song 2 : 1.) 
 I have known many laboring men that have got good 
 estates in this Vailsy cf Humiliation ; for Grod resistcth 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 335 
 
 the proud, but giveth grace to the humble. (James 
 4 : 6 ; 1 Pet. 5 : 5.) Indeed, it is a very fruitful soil^ 
 and doth bring forth by handfuls. Some also have 
 wished that the next way to their Father's house were 
 here, that they might be troubled no more with either 
 hills or mountains to go over ; but the way is the way, 
 and there is an end. 
 
 Now, as they were going along and talking, they 
 espied a boy feeding his father's sheep. The boy was 
 in very mean clothes, but of a fresh and well-favored 
 countenance ; and as he sat by himself, he sung. Hark, 
 said Mr. Greatheart, to what the shepherd's boy saitbo 
 So they hearkened, and he said, — 
 
 *' He that is down need fear no fall ; 
 He that is low no pride ; 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide. 
 
 •* I am content with what I have, 
 Little be it or much ; 
 And, Lord ! contentment still I crave^ 
 Because thou savest such. 
 
 •* Fullness to such a burden is. 
 That go on pilgrimage : 
 Here little, and hereafter bliss. 
 Is best from age to age." 
 
 Then said the guide. Do you hear him ? I will dare 
 to say this boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of 
 that herb called heart' s-ease in his bosom, than he that 
 is clad in silk and velvet. But we will proceed in our 
 discourse. 
 
 In this valley our Lord formerly had his country- 
 house: he loved much to be here. He loved also to 
 walk these meadows, for he found the air was pleasant* 
 Besides, here a man shall be free from the noise, and 
 
340 THE PTLGRTM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 from the hurryings of this life: all states are full oi 
 noise and confusion ; only the Valley of Humiliation is 
 that empty and solitary place. Here a man shall not 
 be so let and hindered in his contemplation as in other 
 places he is apt to be. This is a valley that nobody 
 walks in but those that love a pilgrim's life. And 
 though Christian had the hard hap to meet here with 
 ApoUyon, and to enter with him in a brisk encounter, 
 yet I must tell you, that in former times men have met 
 with angels here (Hos. 12: 4, 5), have found pearls 
 here (Matt. 13 : 46), and have in this place found the 
 words of life. 
 
 Did I say our Lord had here in former days his 
 country-house, and that he loved here to walk ? I will 
 add — in this place, and to the people that love and 
 trace these grounds, he has left a yearly revenue, to be 
 faithfully paid them at certain seasons, for their main- 
 tenance by the way, and for their further encourage- 
 ment to go on in their pilgrimage. 
 
 Now, as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. Great- 
 heart, Sir, I perceive that in this valley my father and 
 Apollyon had their battle ; but whereabout was the 
 fight? for I perceive this valley is large. 
 
 Great. Your father had the battle with Apollyon 
 at a place yonder before us, in a narrow passage, just 
 beyond Forgetful Green. And indeed that place is the 
 most dangerous place in all these parts. For if at any 
 time pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they for- 
 get what favors they have received, and how unworthy 
 they are of them. This is the place, also, where others 
 have been hard put to it. But more of the place when 
 we are come to it ; for I persuade myself that to thia 
 day there remains either some sign of the battle, or 
 some monument to testify that such a battle there wa^ 
 fought. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 341 
 
 Then said Mercy, I think I am as well in this valley 
 as I have been anywhere else in all our journey : the 
 place, methinks, suits with my spirit. I love to be in 
 such places, where there is no rattling with coaches, 
 nor rumbling with wheels. Methinks, here one may, 
 without much molestation, be thinking what he is, 
 whence he came, what he has done, and to what the 
 King has called him. Here one may think, and break 
 at heart, and melt in one's spirit, until one's eyes be* 
 come as the fish-pools of Heshbon. (Song 7 : 4.) They 
 that go rightly through this valley of Baca, make it a 
 well ; the rain that God sends down from heaven upon 
 them that are here, also filleth the pools. This valley 
 is that from whence also the King will give to his 
 their vineyards ; and they that go through it shall 
 sing, as Christian did, for all he met with Apollyon. 
 (Psalm 84: 4-7; Hos. 2: 15.) 
 
 'Tis true, said their guide ; I have gone through 
 this valley many a time, and never was better than 
 when here. I have also been a conductor to several 
 pilgrims, and they have confessed the same. " To this 
 man will I look," saith the King, " even to him that is 
 poor, and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my 
 word." (Isa. m : 2.) 
 
 Now they were come to the place where the afore- 
 mentioned battle was fought. Then said the guide to 
 Christiana, her children, and Mercy, This is the place; 
 on this ground Christian stood, and up there came 
 Apollyon against him. And, look, did I not tell you? 
 here is some of your husband's blood upon these stones 
 to this day. Behold, also, how here and there are 
 yet to be seen upon the place, some of the shivers of 
 Apollyon's broken darts. See, also, how they did beat 
 the ground with their feet as they fought, to make good 
 their places against each other; how also with their 
 
5>2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 by-blows they did split the very stones in pieces 
 Verily, Christian did here play the man, and showed 
 aimself as stout as Hercules could, had he been here, 
 even he himself. When Apollyon was beat, he made 
 his retreat to the next valley, that is called the Yalley 
 of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come 
 aeon. Lo, yonder also stands a monument, on which 
 is engraven this battle, and Christian's victory, to his 
 fame throughout all ages. So, because it stood just on 
 the wayside before them, they stepped to it, and read 
 the writing, which, word for word, was this : — 
 
 " Hard by here was a battle fought. 
 Most strange, and yet most true ; 
 Christian and Apollyon sought 
 Each other to subdue. 
 
 •* The man so bravely play'd the maQ^ 
 He made the fiend to fly ; 
 Of which a monument I stand. 
 The same to testify." 
 
 When they had passed by this place, they cane 
 opon the borders of the Shadow of Death. This valley 
 was longer than the other ; a place also most strangely 
 haunted with evil things, as many are able to testify. 
 But these women and children went the better through 
 it, because they had daylight, and because Mr. Great 
 heart was their conductor. 
 
 When they were entering upon this valley, they- 
 thought they heard a groaning, as of dying men ; a 
 very great groaning. They thought also that they did 
 hear words of lamentation, spoken as of some in ex- 
 treme torment. These things made the boys to quake ; 
 the women also looked pale and wan ; but their guide 
 bid them be of good comfort. 
 
 80 they went on a little farther, and they thought 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 343 
 
 that they felt the ground begin to shake under them, 
 as if some hollow place was there. They heard also a 
 kind of hissing, as of serpents, but nothing as yet ap- 
 peared. Then said the boys, Are we not yet at the 
 end of this doleful place ? But the guide also bid them 
 be of good courage, and look well to their feet; lest 
 haply, said he, you be taken in some snare. 
 
 Now James began to be sick ; but I think the cause 
 thereof was fear : so his mother gave him some of that 
 glass of spirits that had been given her at the Inter- 
 preter's house, and three of the pills that Mr. Skill had 
 prepared, and the boy began to revive. Thus they 
 went on till they came to about the middle of the val- 
 ley ; and then Christiana said, Methinks I see something 
 yonder upon the road before us, a thing of a shape such 
 as I have not seen. Then said Joseph, Mother, wh.'tt 
 is it? An ugly thing, child, an ugly thing, said she. 
 But, mother, what is it like? said he. 'Tis like I can- 
 not tell what, said she ; and now it is but a little way 
 off. Then said she, It is nigh. 
 
 Well, well, said Mr. Greatheart, let them that are 
 most afraid keep close to me. So the fiend came on, 
 and the conductor met it ; but when it was come to 
 him, it vanished to all their sights. Then remembered 
 they what had been said some time ago : " Resist the 
 devil, and he will flee from you." (James 4 : 7.) 
 
 They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed. 
 But they had not gone far, before Mercy, looking be- 
 hind her, saw, as she thought, something most like a 
 lion, and it came at a great padding pace after : and it 
 had a hollow voice of roaring ; and at every roar it 
 gave, it made the valley echo, and all their hearts to 
 ache, save the heart of him that was their guide. So it 
 came up and Mr. Greatheart went behind, and put the 
 pilgrims all before him. The lion also came oa apacCi 
 
344 "^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 and Mr. Greatheart addressed himself to give him battle. 
 (1 Pet. 5 : 8, 9.) But when he saw that it was deter- 
 mined that resistance should be made, he also drew 
 back, and came no farther. 
 
 Then they went on again, and their conductor went 
 before them, till they came to a place where was cast 
 np a pit the whole breadth of the way ; and before they 
 could be prepared to go over that, a great mist and a 
 darkness fell upon them, so that they could not see. 
 Then said the pilgrims, Alas ! what now shall we do ? 
 But their guide made answer. Fear not ; stand still, and 
 see what an end will be put to this also. So they stayed 
 there, because their path was marred. They then also 
 thought that they did hear more apparently the noise 
 and rushing of the enemies : the fire, also, and the 
 smoke of the pit were much easier to be discerned. 
 Then said Christiana to Mercy, Now I see what my 
 poor husband went through. I have heard much of 
 this place, but I never was here before now. Poor 
 Qian ! he went here all alone in the night; he had night 
 almost quite through the way ; also, these fiends were 
 busy about him, as if they would have torn him in 
 pieces. Many have spoken of it : but none can tell 
 what the valley of the Shadow of Death should mean 
 until they come in it themselves. The heart knoweth 
 its own bitterness ; and a stranger intermeddleth not 
 with its joy. (Prov. 11 : 10.) To be here is a fearfuJ 
 thing. 
 
 Great. This is like doing business in great waters, 
 or like going down into the deep. This is like being 
 in the heart of the sea, and like going down to the 
 bottoms of the mountains. Now, it seems as if the 
 earth, with its bars, were about us forever. But let 
 them that walk in darkness, and have no light, trust 
 in the name of the Lord, and stay upon their God 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 345 
 
 (laa. 50 : 10.) For my part, as I have told you already, 
 I have gone often through this valley, and have been 
 much harder put to it than now I am : and yet you see 
 I am alive. I would not boast, for that I am not my 
 owa saviour ; but I trust we shall have a good deliver- 
 ance. Come, let us pray for light to Him that can 
 lighten our darkness, and that can rebuke not only 
 these, but all the Satans in hell. 
 
 So they cried and prayed, and God sent light and 
 Ieliveran«e, for there was now no let in their way ; no, 
 ^ot there where but now they were stopped with a pit. 
 Tet they were not got through the valley. So they 
 went on still, and met with great sticks and loathsome 
 smells, to the great annoj^ance of them. Then said 
 Mercy to Christiana, It is not so pleasant being here 
 as at the gate, or at the Interpreter's, or at the house 
 where we lay last. 
 
 Oh, but, said one of the boys, it is not so bad to go 
 through here, as it is to abide here always ; and, foT 
 aught I know, one reason why we must go this way to 
 the house prepared for us, is, that our home might be 
 ?nade the sweeter to us. 
 
 Well said, Samuel, quoth the guide ; thou hast no^ 
 spoke like a man. Why, if ever I get out here again, 
 said the boy, I think I shall prize light and good way 
 better than I ever did in all my life. Then said the 
 guide. We shall be out by and by. 
 
 So on they went, and Joseph said. Can not we see 
 to the end of this valley as yet ? Then said the guide. 
 Look to your feet, for we shall presently be among the 
 snares. So they looked to their feet, and went on : but 
 they were troubled much with the snares. Now, when, 
 they were come among the snares, they espied a man 
 cast into the ditch on the left hand, with his flesh all 
 rent and torn. Then said the guide. That is one Heed' 
 
346 "^^E PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 less, that was going this way : he has lain there a great 
 whil\ There was one Takeheed with him when he 
 was *aken and slain, but he escaped their hands. You 
 can not imagine how many are killed hereabouts ; and 
 yet men are so foolishly venturous as to set out lightly 
 on pilgrimage, and to come without a guide. Poor 
 Cb istian ! It was a wonder that he here escaped: but 
 he was beloved of his God. Also, he had a good heart 
 of his own, or else he could never have done it. 
 
 Now they drew towards the end of this way ; and 
 just there where Christian had seen the cave when he 
 went by, out thence came forth Maul, a giant. This 
 Maul did use to spoil young pilgrims with sophistry ; 
 and he called Greatheart by his name, and said unto 
 him, How many times have you been forbidden to do 
 these things ? Then said Mr. Greatheart, What things ? 
 What things ! quoth the giant ; you know what things : 
 but I will put an end to your trade. 
 
 But, pray, said Mr. Greatheart, before we fall to it, 
 let us understand wherefore we must fight. Now the 
 women and children stood trembling, and knew not 
 what to do. Quoth the giant, You rob the country, 
 and rob it with the worst of thefts. These are but gen- 
 -erals, said Mr. Greatheart ; come to particulars, man. 
 
 Then said the giant. Thou practise^t the craft of a 
 kidnapper : thou gatherest up women and children, and 
 carriest them into a strange country, to the weakening 
 of my master's kingdom. But now Greatheart replied, 
 I am a servant of the God of heaven : my bii?>iness i« to 
 persuade sinners to repentance. I am commardr^d to 
 do my endeavors to turn men, women, and chi''dren, 
 from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan 
 unto God ; and if this be indeed the ground of thy 
 quarrel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt. 
 
 Then the giant came up, and Mr. Greatheart went 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 347 
 
 to meet him : and as he went he drew his sword, but 
 the giant had a club. So, without more ado, they fell 
 to it, and at the first blow the giant struck Mr. Great- 
 heart down upon one of his knees. With that the 
 women and children cried out. So Mr. Greatheart re- 
 covering himself, laid about him in full lusty manner, 
 and gave ihe giant a wound on his arm. Thus he 
 fought for the space of an hour, to that height of heat 
 that the breath came out of the giant's nostrils as the 
 heat doth out of a boiling caldron. 
 
 Then they sat down to rest them ; but Mr. Great- 
 heart betook himself to prayer. Also, the women and 
 children did nothing but sigh and cry all the time that 
 the battle did last. 
 
 When they had rested them, and taken breath, they 
 both fell to it again : and Mr. Greatheart, with a blow, 
 fetched the giant down to the ground. Nay, hold, let 
 me recover, quoth he : so Mr. Greatheart fairly let him 
 get up. So to it they went again, and the giant missed 
 but little of all to breaking Mr. Greatheart's skull with 
 his club. 
 
 Mr. Greatheart seeing that, runs to him in the full 
 heat of his spirit, and pierceth him under the fifth rib. 
 With that the giant began to faint, and could hold up 
 his club no longer. Then Mr. Greatheart seconded his 
 blow, and smit the head of the giant from his shoulders. 
 Then the women and children rejoiced, and Mr. Great- 
 lieart also praised God for the deliverance He had 
 wrought. 
 
 When this was done, they amongst them erected a 
 pillar, and fastened the giant's head thereon, and wrota 
 under in letters that passengers might read,— 
 
 ** He that did wear this head was 000 
 That pilgrims did misuse ; 
 
34£ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 He stopped their way, he spared nonOf 
 He did them all abuse ; 
 
 Until that I, Greatheart, arose, 
 The pilgrim's guide to be ; 
 
 Until that I did him oppose 
 That was their enemy." 
 
 THE SIXTH STAGE. 
 
 Now I saw that they went on to the ascent that wa4 
 a little way off, cast up to be a prospect for pilgrims 
 That was the place from whence Christian had the first 
 sight of Faithful, his brother. Wherefore, here the}< 
 sat down and rested. They also here did eat and drink, 
 and make merry, for that they had gotten deliveranod 
 from this so dangerous an enemy. As they sat thus 
 and did eat, Christiana asked the guide if he had cauglt 
 no hurt in the battle. Then said Mr. Greatheart, No, 
 save a little on my flesh : yet that also shall be so fat 
 from being to my detriment, that it is at present a pro(i 
 of my love to my master and you, and shall be a meani 
 by grace, to increase my reward at last. 
 
 Chr. But were you not afraid, good sir, when yon 
 saw him come with his club ? 
 
 Great. It is my duty, said he, to mistrust my own 
 ability, that I may Lave reliance on Him who is stronger 
 than all. 
 
 Chr. But what did you think when he fetched you 
 down to the ground at the first blow? 
 
 Great. Why, I thought, quoth he, that so my Mas- 
 ter Himself was served, and yet He it was that con 
 quered at last. (2 Cor. 4: 10, 11 ; Rom. 8 : 37.) 
 
 Matt. When ycu all have thought what you plea;&ft 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 34Q 
 
 I think God has been wonderfully good unto us, both 
 in bringing us out of this valley, and in delivering vd 
 out of the hand of this enemy. For my part, I see nf 
 reason why we should distrust our God anymore, sinc"^ 
 He has now, and in such a place as this, given us suc'K 
 testimony of His love. Then they got up, and wen*^ 
 forward. 
 
 Now a little before them stood an oak ; and under 
 it, when they came to it, they found an old pilgrim fast 
 asleep. They knew that he was a pilgrim by his 
 clothes, and his staff, and his girdle. 
 
 So the guide, Mr. Greatheart, awaked him ; and the 
 old gentleman, as he lifted up his eyes, cried out. What's 
 the matter ? Who are you ; and what is your business 
 here? 
 
 Great. Come, man, be not so hot ; here are non« 
 but friends. 
 
 Yet the old man gets up, and stands upon his guard 
 and will know of them what they are. Then said th*^< 
 guide, My name is Greatheart. I am the guide of these 
 pilgrims that are going to the Celestial Country. 
 
 Then said Mr. Honest, I cry you mercy. I feared 
 that you had been of the company of those that some 
 time ago did rob Littlefaith of his money; but, now I 
 look better about me, I perceive you are honester 
 people. 
 
 Great. Why, what would or could you have done 
 to have helped yourself, if indeed we had been of that 
 company ? 
 
 Hon. Done ! Why, I would have fought as long as 
 breath had been in me. And, had I so done, I am sure 
 you could never have given me the worst on't ; for a 
 Christian can never be overcome, unless he shall yield 
 of himself. 
 
 Well said, Father Honest, quoth the guide ; for by 
 
jjo THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 this I know thou art a cock of the right kind, for then 
 hast said the truth. 
 
 Hon. And by this, also, I know that thou knowest 
 what "^rue pilgrimage is ; for all others do think that 
 we are the soonest overcome of any. 
 
 Great. Well, now we are so happily met, pray, let 
 me crave your name, and the name of the place you 
 came from. 
 
 Hon. My name I cannot tell you ; but, I came from 
 the town of Stupidity. It lieth about four degrees be* 
 yond the city of Destruction. 
 
 Great. Oh, are you that countryman? Then I 
 deem T have half a guess of you. Your name is Old 
 Honesty, is it not? 
 
 So the old gentleman blushed, and said. Not honesty 
 in the abstract, but Honest is my name ; and I wish 
 that my nature may agree to what I am called. But, 
 sir, said the old gentleman, how could you guess that 
 I am such a man, since I came from such a place ? 
 
 Great. I had heard of you before, by my Master ^ 
 for He knows all things that are done on the earth. 
 But I have often wondered that any should come from 
 your place ; for your town is worse than is the city of 
 Destruction itself. 
 
 Hon. Yes, we lie more oft from the sun, and so are 
 more cold and senseless. But were a man in a moun- 
 tain of ice, yet if the Sun of Righteousness will arise 
 upon him, his frozen heart shall feel a thaw ; and thus 
 it has been with me. 
 
 Great. I believe it. Father Honest, I believe it ; for 
 I know the thing is true. 
 
 Then the old gentleman saluted all the pilgrims 
 with a holy kiss of charity, and asked them their names, 
 and how they had fared since they set out on their pil- 
 grimage. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 35* 
 
 Then said Christiana, My name I suppose you have 
 heard of; good Christian was my husband, and thesa 
 four are his children. 
 
 But can you think how the old gentleman was taken, 
 when she told him who she was? He skipped, he 
 smiled, he blessed them with a thousand good wishes,! 
 saying,— 
 
 Hon. I have heard much of your husband, and of 
 his travels and wars which he underwent in his days. 
 Be it spoken to your comfort, the name of your husband 
 rings all over these parts of the world. His faith, his 
 courage, his enduring, and his sincerity under all, have 
 made his name famous. Then he turned him to the 
 boys, and asked them of their names, which they told 
 him. Then said he unto them, Matthew, be thou like 
 Matthew the publican, not in vice, out in virtue. (Matt- 
 10 : 3.) Samuel, said he, be thou like Samuel the pro- 
 phet, a man of faith and prayer. (Psalm 99 : 6.) Joseph, 
 said he, be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house, chaste, 
 and one that flees from temptation. (Gen. 39.) And 
 James, be thou like James the just, and like James the 
 brother of our Lord. (Acts 1 : 13, 14.) 
 
 Then they told him of Mercy, and how she had left 
 her town and her kindred to come along with Chris* 
 tiana and with her sons. At that the old honest man 
 said, Mercy is thy name : by mercy shalt thou be sus- 
 tained and carried through all those difficulties that 
 shall assault thee in th" way, till thou shalt come 
 thither where thou shalt look the Fountain of Mercy 
 in the face with comfort. All this while the guide, 
 Mr. Greatheart, was very well pleased, and smiled upon 
 his companions. 
 
 Now, as they walked along together, the guide 
 auked the old gentleman if he did not know one IVIr. 
 P'earing, that came on pilgrimage out of his parts. 
 
5^2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had the 
 root of the matter in him ; but he was one of the most 
 troublesome pilgrims that ever I met with in all my days. 
 
 Great. I perceive you knew him, for you have 
 given a very right character of him. 
 
 Hon. Knew him ! I was a great companion of his ; 
 I was with him most an end ; when he first began to 
 think upon what would come upon us hereafter, I was 
 with him. 
 
 Great. I was his guide from my master's house to 
 the gates of the Celestial City. 
 
 Hon. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one. 
 
 Great. I did so ; but I could very well bear it ; for 
 men of my calling are oftentimes intrusted with the 
 conduct of such as he was. 
 
 Hon. Well, then, pray let us hear a little of him, 
 and how he managed himself under your conduct. 
 
 Great. Why, he was always afraid that he should 
 come short of whither he had a desire to go. Every- 
 tJiing frightened him that he heard anybody speak of, 
 if it had but the least appearance of opposition in it. I 
 heard that he lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for 
 above a month together ; nor durst he, for all he saw 
 several go over before him, venture, though they, many 
 of them, offered to lend him their hands. He would 
 not go back again, neither. The Celestial City — he 
 said he should die if he came not to it ; and yet he was 
 dejected at every difficulty, and stumbled at every straw 
 that anybody cast in his way. Well, after he had lain 
 at the Slough of Despond a great while, as I have told 
 you, one sunshiry morning, I don't know how, he ven- 
 tured, and so got over ; but when he was over, he would 
 scarce believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of Despond 
 in his mind, a slough that he carried everywhere with 
 him, or else he could never have been as he was. So 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^53 
 
 he came up to the gate, you know what I mean, that 
 stands at the head of this way, and there, also, he stood 
 a great while before he would venture to knock. When 
 the gate was opened, he would give back, and give 
 place to others, and say that he was not worthy. For, 
 for all he got before some to the gate, yet many of 
 them went in before him. There the poor man would 
 stand shaking and shrinking ; I dare say it would have 
 pitied one's heart to have seen him. Nor would he go 
 back again. At last he took the hammer that hanged 
 on the gate in his hand, and gave a small rap or two ; 
 then one opened to him, but he shrunk back as before. 
 He that opened stepped out after him, and said. Thou 
 trembling one, what wan test thou ? With that he fell 
 down to the ground. He that spoke to him wondered 
 to see him so faint, so he said to him. Peace be to thee ; 
 up, for I have set open the door to thee ; come in, for 
 thou art blessed. With that he got up, and went in 
 trembling ; and when he was in, he was ashamed to 
 show his face. Well, after he had been entertained 
 there a while, as you know how the manner is, he was 
 bid go o» his way, and also told the way he should 
 take. So he went on till he came to our house ; but as 
 he behaved himself at the gate, so he did at my master 
 the Interpreter's door. He lay thereabout in the cold 
 a good while, before he would adventure to call ; yet he 
 would not go back : and the nights were long and cold 
 then. Nay, he had a note of necessity in his bosom to 
 Ts^'^ master to receive him, and grant him the comfort of 
 his house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant 
 conductor, because he was himself so chicken-hearted 
 a man ; and yet, for all that, he was afraid to call at 
 the door. So he lay up and down thereabouts, till, 
 poor man, he was almost starved ; yea, so great was his 
 dejection, that though he saw several others, for knock- 
 
354 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 mg, get in, yet he was afraid to venture. At last, t 
 think, I looked out of the window ; and perceiving a 
 man to be up and down about the door, I went out to 
 him, and asked what he was ; but, poor man, the water 
 stood in his eyes ; so I perceived what he wanted. I 
 went therefore in, and told it in the house, and we 
 showed the thing to our Lord : so he sent me out again, 
 to entreat him to come in ; but, I dare say, I had hard 
 work to do it. At last he came in : and I will say that 
 for my Lord, he carried it wonderfully lovingly to him. 
 There were but a few good bits at the table, but some 
 of it was laid upon his trencher. Then he presented 
 the note; and my Lord looked thereon, and said his 
 desire should be granted. So, when he had Ijeen there 
 a good while, he seemed to get some heart, and to be a 
 little more comfortable. For my master, j^ou must 
 know, is one of very tender bowels, especially to them 
 that are afraid ; wherefore he carried it so towards him 
 as migh '< tend most to his encouragement. Well, when 
 he had had a sight of tne things of the place, and was 
 ready to take his journey to go to the city, my Lord, 
 as he did to Christian before, gave him a bottle of 
 spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we 
 set forward, and I went before him ; but the man was 
 but of few words, only he would sigh aloud. 
 
 When we were come to where the three fellows 
 were hanged, he said that he doubted that that would 
 be his end also. Only he seemed glad when he saw the 
 cross and sepulchre. There, I confess, he desired to 
 stay a little to look ; and he seemed for a while after to 
 be a little cheery. When he came to the hill Difficulty, 
 he made no stick at that, nor did he much fear the 
 lions ; for you must know, that his troubles were not 
 about such things as these ; his fear was about his ac* 
 ceptance at last. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 355 
 
 I got him at the house Beautiful, I think, before he 
 was willing. Also, when he was in, I brought him ac- 
 quainted with the damsels of the place ; but he was 
 ashamed to make himself much in company. He de- 
 sired much to be alone ; yet he always loved good talk, 
 and often would get behind the screen to hear it. He 
 also loved much to see ancient things, and to be ponder- 
 ing them in his mind. He told me afterwards, that he 
 lo\ ed to be in those two houses from which he came 
 last, to wit, at the gate, and that of the Interpreter, but 
 that he durst not be so bold as to ask. 
 
 When we went also from the house Beautiful, down 
 the hill, into the Valley of Humiliation, he went down 
 as well as ever I saw a man in m}/ life ; for he cared 
 not how mean he was, so he might be happy at last. 
 Yea, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that 
 valley and him ; for I never saw him better in all his 
 pilgrimage than he was in that valley. 
 
 Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and 
 kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley. (Lam. 
 8 : 27-29.) He would now be up every morning by 
 break of day, tracing and walking to and fro in the 
 valley. 
 
 But when he was come to the entrance of the Val- 
 ley of the Shadow of Death, I thought I should have 
 lost my man : not for that he had any inclination to go 
 back ; that he always abhorred ; but he was ready to 
 die for fear. Oh, the hobgoblins will have me ! the 
 hobgoblins will have me ! cried he ; and I could not 
 beat him out of it. He made such a noise, and such an 
 outcry here, that had they but heard him, it was enough 
 to encourage them to come and fall upon us. 
 
 But this I took very great notice of, that this valley 
 was as quiet when we went through it, as ever I knew 
 it before or since. I suppose those enemies here had 
 
356 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 now a special check from our Lord, and a command not 
 to meddle until Mr. Fearing had passed over it. 
 
 It would be too tedious to tell you all : we will 
 therefore only mention a passage or two more. When 
 he was come to Vanity Fair, I thought he would have 
 fought with all the men in the fair. I feared there we 
 should have been knocked on the head, so hot was he 
 against the fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he 
 was very wakeful. But when he was come at the river 
 where was no bridge, there again he was in a heavy 
 case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned for- 
 ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he 
 had come so many miles to behold. 
 
 And here also I took notice of what was very re- 
 markable : the water of that river was lower at this 
 time than ever I saw it in all my life. So he went over 
 at last, not much above wetshod. When he was going 
 up to the gate, I began to take leave of him, and to 
 wish him a good reception above. So he said, I shall, 
 I shall. Then parted we asunder, and I saw him no 
 inore. 
 
 Hon. Then it seems he was well at last r 
 
 Great. Yes, yes ; I never had doubt about him. He 
 was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept 
 very low; and that made his life so burdensome to him- 
 self, and so troublesome to others. (Psalm 88.) He 
 was, above many, tender of sin : he was so afraid of 
 doing injuries to others, that he often would deny him- 
 self of that which was lawful, because he would not 
 offend. (Rom. 14 : 21 ; 1 Cor. 8 : 13.) 
 
 Hon. But what should be the reason that such a 
 good man should be all his days so much in the dark ? 
 
 Great. There are two sorts of reasons for it. One 
 is, the wise God will have it so : some must pipe, and 
 6ome must weep. (Matt. 11 : 16.) Now Mr. Fearing 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 357 
 
 «ras one that played upon the bass. He and his fellows 
 Bound the sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than 
 the notes of other music are : though indeed, some say, 
 the bass is the ground of music. And for my part, I 
 care not at all for that profession which begins not in 
 heaviness of mind. The first string that the musician 
 usually touches is the bass, when he intends to put all 
 in tune. God also plays upon this string first, when 
 He sets the soul in tune for himself. Only there was 
 the imperfection of Mr. Fearing : he could play upon 
 no other music but this till towards his latter end. 
 
 [I make bold to talk thus metaphorically for the 
 ripening of the wits of young readers, and because, in 
 the book of Revelation, the saved are compared to a 
 company of musicians, that play upon their trumpets^ 
 and harps, and sing their songs before the throne. 
 Rev. 5 : 8 ; 14 : 2, 3.] 
 
 Hon. He was a very zealous man, as one may see 
 by the relation which you have given of him. Difficul- 
 ties, lions, or Vanity Fair, he feared not at all. It was 
 only sin, death, and hell, that were to him a terror, be- 
 cause he had some doubts about his interest in that 
 Celestial Country. 
 
 Great. You say right. Those were the things that 
 were his troublers ; and they, as you have well ob- 
 served, arose from the weakness of his mind thereabout, 
 not from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a 
 pilgrim's life. I dare believe that, as the proverb is, ha 
 could have bit a firebrand, had it stood in his v^ay ,• but 
 the things with which he was oppressed, no man ever 
 yet could shake off with ease. 
 
 Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr. Fearing 
 has done me good. I thought nobody had been like 
 me ; but I see there was some semblance betwixt thia 
 good man and me ; only we differed in two things. HIm 
 
358 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 troubles were so great that they broke out ; but mine 
 I kept within. His also lay so hard upon him they 
 made him that he could not knock at the houses pro- 
 vided for entertainment ; but my trouble was always 
 such as made me knock the louder. 
 
 Mer. If I might also speak my heart, I must say 
 that something of him has also dwelt in me. For I have 
 ever been more afraid of the lake, and the loss of a 
 place in Paradise, than I have been of the loss of other 
 things. O, thought I, may I have the happiness to have 
 a habitation there ! 'Tis enough, though I part with 
 all the world to win it. 
 
 Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that made 
 me think that I was far from having that within me 
 which accompanies salvation. But if it was so wit a 
 such a good man as he, why may not it also go wed 
 with me ? 
 
 No fears no grace, said James. Though there is not 
 always grace where there is the fear of hell, yet, to be 
 sure, there is no grace where there is no fear of God. 
 
 Great. Well said, James ; thou hast hit the mark, 
 For the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom ; and", 
 to be sure, they that want the beginning, have neithe^r 
 middle nor end. But we will here conclude our di.5- 
 course of Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this 
 farewell. 
 
 ** Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear 
 
 Thy God, and wast afraid 
 Of doing anything, while here, 
 
 That would have thee betrayed. 
 And didst thou fear the lake and pit ? 
 
 Would others do so too ! 
 For as for them that want thy wit, 
 
 They do themselves undo." 
 
 Now I saw that they still went on in their talk* 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 355 
 
 For after Mr. Greatheart had made an end with Mr. 
 Fearing, Mr. Honest began to tell them of another, but 
 his name was Mr. Selfwill. He pretended himself to 
 be a pilgrim, said Mr. Honest ; but I persuade myself 
 he never came in at the gate that stands at the head of 
 the way. 
 
 Gbeat. Had you ever any talk with him about it ? 
 
 Hon. Yes ; more than once or twice ; but he would 
 always be like himself, self-willed. He neither cared 
 for man, nor argument, nor yet example. What his 
 mind prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing 
 else could he be got to do. 
 
 Great. Pray, what principles did he hold ? for \ 
 suppose you can tell. 
 
 Hon. He held that a man might follow the vices as 
 well as the virtues of pilgrims ; and that if he did both, 
 he should be certainly saved. 
 
 Great. How ? If he had said, it is possible for th«? 
 best to be guilty of the vices, as well as to partake of 
 the virtues of pilgrims, he could not much have been 
 blamed ; for, indeed, we are exempted from no vice al> 
 solutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. 
 But this, I perceive, is not the thing ; but if I under- 
 stand you right, your meaning is, that he was of opia- 
 ion that it was allowable so to be. 
 
 Hon. Aye, aye ; so I mean, and so he believed and 
 practised. 
 
 Great. But what grounds had he for his so saying? 
 
 Hon. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his 
 warrant. 
 
 Great. Prithea, Mr. Honest, present us with a few 
 particulars. 
 
 Hon. So I will. He said, to have to do with other 
 men's wives had been practiced by David, God's be- 
 loved ; and therefore he could do it. He said, to havo 
 
^5o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 more women than one was a thing that Solomon prao 
 ticed, and therefore he could do it. He said, that 
 Sarah and the godly mid wives of Egypt lied, and so 
 did saved Rahab, and therefore he could do it. He 
 said that the disciples went at the bidding of their 
 Master, and took away the owner's ass, and therefore 
 he could do so too. He said, that Jacob got the inher 
 itance of his father in a way of guile and dissimulation, 
 and therefore he could do so too. 
 
 Great. High base, indeed ! And are you sure he 
 was of this opinion ? 
 
 Hon. I heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for 
 it, bring arguments for it, &c. 
 
 Great. An opinion that is not fit to be with any 
 allowance in the world \ 
 
 Hon. You must understand me rightly. He did not 
 say that any man might do this ; but that they who had 
 the virtues of those that did such things, might also do 
 the same. 
 
 Great. But what more false than such a conclusion? 
 For this is as much as to say, that because good men 
 heretofore have sinned of infirmity, therefore he had 
 allowance to do it of a presumptuous mind ; or that if, 
 because a child, by the blast of the wind, or for that it 
 stumbled at a stone, fell down and defiled itself in the 
 mire, therefore he might wilfully lie down and wallow 
 like a boar therein. Who could have thought that any 
 one could so have been blinded by the power of lust ? 
 But what is written must be true : they " stumble at 
 the word, being disobedient ; whereunto also they were 
 appointed." (1 Pet. 2; 8.) His supposing that such 
 may have the godly men's virtues, who addict them- 
 selves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the 
 other. To eat up the sin of God's people (Hos. 4 : 8^ 
 as a dog eats up filth, is no sign that one is possessed 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 361 
 
 witb their virtues. Nor can I believe that one who is 
 of thi5 opinion can at present have faith or love in him. 
 But I know you have made strong objections against. 
 him. Prithee, what can he say for himself ? 
 
 Hon. Why, he says to do this by way of opinion, 
 seems abundantly more honest than to do it, and yet, 
 hold contrary to it in opinion. 
 
 Great. A very wicked answer. For though to let 
 loose the bridle to lusts, while our opinions are against 
 such things, is bad ; yet, to sin, and plead a toleration 
 ao to do, is worse ; the one stumbles beholders accident- 
 ally, the other leads them into the snare. 
 
 Hon. There are many of this man's mind, that have 
 mot this man's mouth ; and that makes going on pil- 
 grimage of so little esteem as it is. 
 
 Great. You have said the truth, and it is to be la- 
 mented : but he that feareth the King of Paradise shall 
 come out of them all. 
 
 Chr. There are strange opinions in the world. I 
 know one that said, it was time enough to repent when 
 we come to die. 
 
 Great. Such are not over wise : that man would 
 have been loath, might he have had a week to run 
 twerty miles in his life, to defer his journey to the last 
 houi of that week. 
 
 Hon. You say right ; and yet the generality of them 
 who count themselves pilgrims do indeed do thus. I 
 am, as you see, an old man, and have been a traveller in 
 this road many a day , and I have taken notice of many 
 things. 
 
 I have seen some that have set out as if they would 
 drive all the world before them, who yet have, in a 
 a few days, died as they in the wilderness, and so never 
 got sight of the promised land. I have seen some that 
 Slave promised nothing at first setting out to be pilgrims,. 
 
362 ^TffS PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 and who one would have thought could not have lived 
 a day, that have yet proved very good pilgrims. I have 
 seen some who have run hastily forward, that again 
 have, after a little time, run just as fast back again. I 
 have seen some who have spoken very well of a pil- 
 grim's life at first, that after a while have spoken as 
 much against it. I have heard some, when they first 
 set out for Paradise, say positively, there is such a 
 place, who, when they have been almost there, have 
 come back again, and said there is none. I have heard 
 some vaunt what they would do in case they should be 
 opposed, that have, even at a false alarm, fled faith, the 
 pilgrim's way, and all. 
 
 Now, as they were thus on their way, there came 
 one running to meet them, and said. Gentlemen, and 
 J ou of the weaker sort, if you love life, shift for your- 
 selves, for the robbers are before you. 
 
 Then said Mr. Greatheart, They be the three thfxt 
 siet upon Littlefaith heretofore. Well, said he, we are 
 ;eady for them. So they went on their way. Now 
 I hey looked at every turning when they should have 
 laet with the villains ; but whether they heard of Mr. 
 (.rreatheart, or whether they had some other game, they 
 Clime not up to the pilgrims. 
 
 Christiana then wished for an inn to refresh herself 
 and her children, because they were weary. Then said 
 Mr. Honest, There is one a little before us, where a 
 rery honorable disciple, one Gains, dwells. (Rom. 16 : 
 23.) So they all concluded to turn in thither i and the 
 rather, because the old gentleman gave him so good a 
 report. When they came to the door they went in, not 
 knocking, for folks use not to knock at the doors of an 
 inn. Then they called for the master of the house, and 
 he came to them. So they asked if they might lie ther* 
 that oighU 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 363 
 
 Gaius . Yes, gentlemen, if you be true men, for my 
 house is for none but pilgrims. 
 
 Then were Christiana, Mercy, and the boys the 
 fflaore glad, for that the innkeeper was a lover of pil- 
 grims. So they called for rooms, and he showed them 
 one for Christiana and her children and Mercy, and an- 
 other for Mr. Greatheart and the old gentleman. 
 
 Then said Mr. Greatheart, Good Gains, what hast 
 thou for supper ? for these pilgrims have come far to- 
 day, and are weary. 
 
 It is late, said Gains, so we can not conveniently go 
 out to seek food ; but such as we have you shall be 
 welcome to, if that will content. 
 
 Great. We will be content with what thou hast in 
 the house ; forasmuch as I have proved thee, thou art 
 never destitute of that which is convenient. 
 
 Then he went down and spake to the cook, whose 
 siame was Taste-that-which-is-good, to get ready supper 
 for so many pilgrims. This done, he comes up again, 
 saying. Come, my good friends, you are welcome to me, 
 and I am glad that I have a house to entertain you in : 
 and while supper is making ready, if you please, let us 
 entertain one another with some good discourse. So 
 they all said. Content. 
 
 Then said Gains, Whose wife is this aged matron '^ 
 and whose daughter is this young damsel ? 
 
 Gkeat. This woman is the wife of one Christian, a 
 pilgrim of former times ; and these are his four children. 
 The maid is one of her acquaintance, one that she hath 
 persuaded to come with her on pilgrimage. The boys 
 take all after their father, and covet to tread in his 
 steps ; yea, if they do but see any place where the old 
 pilgrim hath lain, or any print of his foot, it ministereth 
 joy to their hearts, and they covet to lie or tre*»'d iu the 
 same. 
 
364 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Then said Gaius, Is this Christian's wife, and are 
 these Christian's children ? I knew your husband's 
 father, yea, also his father's father. Many have been 
 good of this stock *, their ancestors dwelt first at An- 
 tioch. (Acts 11 : 26.) Christian's progenitors (I sup- 
 pose you have heard your husband talk of them) were 
 very worthy men. They have, above any that I know, 
 showed themselves men of great virtue and courage for 
 the Lord of the pilgrims, his ways, and them that loved 
 him. I have heard of many of your husband's relations* 
 that have stood all trials for the sake of the truth, 
 Stephen, that was one of the first of the family from 
 whence your husband sprang, was knocked on the head 
 with stones. (Acts 7 : 59, 60.) James, another of this 
 generation, was slain with the edge of the sword. (Acts 
 12 : 2.) To say nothing of Paul and Peter, men an- 
 ciently of the family from whence your husband came, 
 there was Ignatius, who was cast to the lions ; Roma- 
 Dus, whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones ; and 
 Poly carp, that played the man in the fire. There was 
 he that was hanged up in a basket in the sun for the 
 wasps to eat ; and he whom they put into a sack, and 
 cast into the sea to be drowned. It would be impossi- 
 ble utterly to count up all of that family who have 
 suffered injuries and death for the love of a pilgrim's 
 life. Nor can I but be glad to see that thy husband 
 Las left behind him four such boys as these. I hope 
 they will bear up their father's name, and tread in their 
 father's steps, and come to their father's end. 
 
 Great. Indeed, sir, they are likely lads : they seem 
 to choose heartily their father's ways. 
 
 Gatus. That is it that I said. Wherefore Christian's 
 family is like still to spread abroad upon the face of the 
 ground, and yet to be numerous upon the face of the 
 ^arth ; let Christiana look out some damsels for he? 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 365 
 
 Bons, to whom they may be betrothed, &c., that the 
 name of their father, and the house of his progenitors, 
 may never be forgotten in the world. 
 
 Hon. 'Tis pity his family should fall and be ex- 
 tinct. 
 
 Gaius. Fall it can not, but be diminis led it may % 
 but let Christiana take my advice, and that is the waj 
 to uphold it. And, Christiana, said this innkeeper, I 
 am glad to see thee and thy friend Mercy together here, 
 a lovely couple. And if I may advise, take Mercy into 
 a nearer relation to thee : if she will, let her be given 
 to Matthew, thy eldest son. It is the way to preserve 
 a posterity in the earth. So this match was concluded, 
 and in process of time they were married ; but more of 
 that hereafter. 
 
 Gaius also proceeded, and said, I will now speak on 
 the behalf of women, to take away their reproach. Foi 
 as death and the curse came into the world by a woman 
 (Gen. 3), so also did life and health. God sent fort\i 
 his Son, made of a woman. (Gal. 4 : 4.) Yea, to show 
 how much they that came after did abhor the act of 
 the mother, this sex in the Old Testament coveted 
 <)hildren, if happily this or that woman might be tho 
 mother of the Saviour of the world. I will say ag-ain, 
 that when the Saviour was come, women rejoiced in 
 him, before either man or angel. (Luke 1 : 42-46.) 1 
 read not that ever any man did give unto Christ so 
 much as one groat ; but the women followed him and 
 ministered to him of their substance. (Luke 8 : 2, 3.) 
 'Twas a woman that washed his feet with tears (Luke 
 7 : 37-50), and a woman that anointed his body at the 
 burial. (John 11 : 2 ; 12 : 3.) They were women who 
 wept when he was going to the cross (Luke 23 : 27), 
 and women that followed him from the cross (Matt. 27i 
 65, 56 ; L'lke 23 : 55), and sat over against his sepul 
 
3<56 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 chre when he was buried. (Matt. 27 : 61.) They were 
 women that were first with him at his resurrection- 
 morn (Luke 24 : 1), and women that brought tidings 
 first to his disciples that he was risen from the dead. 
 (Luke 24 • 22, 23.) Women, therefore, are highly fav- 
 ored, and ,^ how by these things that they are sharers 
 with us in the grace of life. 
 
 Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was 
 almost ready, and sent one to lay the cloth, and the 
 trenchers, and to set the salt and bread in order. 
 
 Then said Matthew, The sight of this cloth, and of 
 this forerunner of the supper, begetteth in me a greater 
 appetite for my food than I had before. 
 
 Gaius. So let all ministering doctrines to thee in 
 this life beget in thee a greater desire to sit at the sup- 
 per of the great King in his kingdom , for all preach- 
 ing, books, and ordinances here, are but as the laying 
 of the trenchers, and the setting of salt upon the board, 
 when compared with the feast which our Lord will 
 make for us when we came to his house. 
 
 So supper came up. And first a heave-shoulder and 
 a wave-breast were set on the table before them ; to 
 show that they must begin their meal with prayer and 
 praise to God. The heave-shoulder David lifted up his 
 heart to God with ; and with the wave-breast, where 
 his heart lay, with that he used to lean upon his harp 
 when he played. (Lev. 7 : 32-34; 10 : 14, 15; Psalm 
 25 , 1 , Heb. 13 : 15.) These two dishes were very 
 fresh and good, and they all ate heartily thereof. 
 
 The next they brought up was a bottle of wine, as 
 red as blood. (Deut. 32 : 14 ; Judges 9:13; John 
 15 : 5.) So Gaius said to them, Drink freely : this is 
 the true juice of the vine, that makes glad the heart of 
 God and man. So they drank and were merry. 
 
 The next was a dish of milk well crumbed ; Gaiod 
 
THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS, 367 
 
 said, Let the boys have that, that they may grow there- 
 by. (1 Pet. 2 : 1, 2.) 
 
 Then they brought up, in course, a dish of buttei 
 and honey. Then said Gains, Eat freely of this, for 
 this is good to cheer up and strengthen your judgments 
 and understandings. This was our Lord's dish when 
 he was a child : " Butter and honey shall he eat, that 
 he may know to refuse the evil, and choose the good." 
 (Isa. 7 : 15.) 
 
 Then they brought them up a dish of apples, and 
 they were very good-tasted fruit. Then said Matthew, 
 May we eat apples, since it was such by and with 
 which the serpent beguiled our first mother ? 
 
 Then said Gains, — 
 
 *' Apples were they with which we were beguil'd, 
 Yet sin, not apples, hath our souls defil'd : 
 Apples forbid, if ate, corrupt the blood ; 
 To eat such, when commanded, does us good ; 
 Drink of His flagons then, thou church, His dove, 
 And eat His apples, who are sick of love." 
 
 Then said Matthew, I made the scruple, because I 
 a while since was sick with the eating of fruit. 
 
 Gaius. Forbidden fruit will make you sick; but 
 not what our Lord has tolerated. 
 
 While they were thus talking, they were presented 
 with another dish, and it was a dish of nuts. (Song 
 6 ; 11.) Then said some at the table, Nuts spoil tender 
 teeth, especially the teeth of children. Which, when 
 Gaius heard, he said, — 
 
 " Hard texts are nuts (I will not call them cheaters), 
 Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters : 
 Open the shells, and you shall have the meat : 
 They here are brought for you to crack and eat." 
 
 Then were they very merry, and sat at the table 
 
368 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 a long time, talking of many things. Then said th« 
 old gentleman, My good landlord, while we are crack- 
 ing your nuts, if you please, do you open this riddle :— 
 
 " A man there was, though some did count him mad> 
 The more he cast away the more he had." 
 
 Then they all gave good heed, wondering what good 
 Gains would say. So he sat still a while, and then 
 thus replied ; — 
 
 " He who bestows his goods upon the poor, 
 Shall have as much again, and ten times more." 
 
 Then said Joseph, I dare say, sir, I did not think 
 you could have found it out. 
 
 Oh, said Gains, I have been trained up in this way 
 a great while : nothing teaches like experience. I have 
 learned of my Lord to be kind, and have found by ex- 
 perience that I have gained thereby. There is thaiG 
 scattereth, and yet increaseth ; and there is that with- 
 boldeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty. 
 There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing : 
 there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches. 
 (Prov. 11 : 24 ; 13 : 7.) 
 
 Then Samuel whispered to Christiana, his mother, 
 and said, Mother, this is a very good man's house : let 
 us stay here a good while, and let my brother Matthew 
 be married here to Mercy, before we go any farther. 
 The which Gains the host overhearing, said. With a 
 very good will, my child. 
 
 So they stayed there more than a month, and Meroy 
 was given to Matthew to wife. While they stayed 
 here, Mercy, as her custom was. would be making: coats 
 and garments to give to the poor, by which she brought 
 a very good report upon the pilgrims. 
 
 But to return again to our story. After supper th3 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 3^^ 
 
 lads desired a bed, for they were weary with travelling. 
 Then Gains called to show them their chamber; but 
 Mercy said, I will have them to bed. So she had them 
 to bed, and they slept well : but the rest sat up all night: 
 for Gains and they were such suitable company, that 
 they could not tell how to p^irt. After much talk of 
 their Lord, themselves, and their journey, old Ml 
 Honest, he that put forth the riddle to Gains, began to 
 nod. Then said Greatheart, What, sir, you begin to be 
 drowsy ; come, rub up, now, here is a riddle for you. 
 Then said Mr. Honest, Let us hear it. Then replied 
 Mr. Greatheart, — 
 
 *' He that would kill, must first be overcome. 
 Who live abroad would, first must die at home," 
 
 Ha, said Mr. Honest, it is a hard one : hard to ex- 
 pound, and harder to practice. But come, landlor»i, 
 said he, I will, if you please, leave my part to you : do 
 you expound it, and I will hear what you say. 
 
 No, said Gains, it was put to you, and it is expected 
 you should answer it. Then said the old gentleman,- - 
 
 ** He first by grace must conquer'd be. 
 
 That sin would mortify ; 
 Who that he lives would convince me, 
 
 Unto himself must die." 
 
 It is right, said Gains ; good doctrine and experi- 
 ence teach this. For, first, until grace displays itself, 
 and overcomes the soul with its glory, it is altogether 
 without heart to oppose sin. Besides, if sin is Satan's 
 cords, by which the soul lies bound, how should it 
 make resistance before it is loosed from that infirmity ? 
 Secondly, Nor will any one that knows either reason or 
 grace, believe that such a man can be a living mon 
 nment of grace that is a slave to his own corruptions* 
 
J7Q THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
 
 And now it comes into my mind, I will tell you a story 
 worth the hearing. There were two men that went on 
 pilgrimage : the one began when he was young, the 
 other when he was old. The young man had strong 
 corruptions to grapple with ; the old man's were weak 
 with the decays of nature. The young man trod his 
 steps as even as did the old one, and was every way as 
 light as he. Who now, or which of them, had their 
 graces shining clearest, since both seemed to be alike ? 
 
 Hon. The young man's, doubtless. For that which 
 makes head against the greatest opposition, gives best 
 demonstration that it is strongest ; especially when it 
 also holdeth pace with that which meets not half so 
 much, as to be sure old age does not. Besides, I have 
 observed that old men have blessed themselves with 
 this mistake ; namely, taking the decays of nature for 
 a gracious conquest over corruptions ; and so have been 
 apt to beguile themselves. Indeed, old men ''bat are 
 gracious are best able to give advice to them that are 
 young, because they have seen most of the emptiness o^, 
 things ; but yet, for an old and a young man to set out 
 both together, the young one has the advantage of the 
 fairest discovery of a work of grace within him, though 
 the old man's corruptions are naturally the weakest. 
 
 Thus they sat talking till break of day. 
 
 Now, when the family were up, Christiana bid her 
 son James that he should read a chapter. So he read 
 the 53d of Isaiah. When he had done, Mr. Honest 
 asked why it was said that the Saviour is said to come 
 " out of a dry ground " ; and also, that " he had no form 
 nor comeliness in him.'* 
 
 Then said Mr. Greatheart, To the first I answer, be- 
 cause the church of the Jews, of which Christ came, 
 had then lost almost all the sap and spirit of religion. 
 To the second I say, the words are spoken in the per- 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 3^^ 
 
 Bon of Unbelievers, who, because they want the eye 
 that can see into our Prince's heart, therefore they 
 judge of him by the meanness of his outside; just like 
 those who, not knowing that precious stones are cov- 
 ered over with a homely crust, when they have found 
 one, because they know not what they have found, cast 
 it away again, as men do a common stone. 
 
 Well, said Gaius, now you are here, and since, as I 
 know Mr. Greatheart is good at his weapons, if you 
 please, after we have refreshed ourselves, we will walk 
 into the fields, to see if we can do any good. About a 
 mile from hence there is one Slaygood, a giant, that; 
 doth much annoy the King's highway in these parts; 
 aud I know whereabout his haunt is. He is master of 
 a number of thieves: 'twould be well if we could cleao: 
 these parts of him. 
 
 So they consented and went : Mr. Greatheart with 
 Ids sword, helmet, and shield i and the rest with speais 
 and staves. 
 
 When they came to the place where he was, they 
 found him with one Feeblemind in his hand, whom his 
 servants had brought unto him, having taken him in 
 the way. Now the giant was rifling him, with a pur- 
 ]^ose after that to pick his bones , for he was of ths 
 nature of flesh-eaters. 
 
 Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Greatheart and his 
 friends at the mouth of his cave, with their weapons, 
 he demanded what they wanted. 
 
 Great. We want thee •, for we are come to revenge 
 the quarrels of the many that thou hast slain of the 
 pilgrims, when thou hast dragged them out of the 
 King's highway : wherefore, come out of thy cave. So 
 he armed himself and came out, and to battle they 
 went, and fought for above an hour, and then stood 
 fitill to take wind. 
 
jyg THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 Then said the Giant, Why are you here on my 
 ground ? 
 
 Great. To revenge the blood of pilgrims, as I told 
 thee before. 
 
 So they went to it again, and the giant made Mr. 
 Greatheart give back; but he came up again, and in 
 the greatness of his mind he let flj- with such stoutness 
 ftt the giant's head and sides, that he made him let his 
 weapon fall out of his hand. So he smote him, and 
 slew him, and cut off his head, and brought it away to 
 the inn. He also took Feeblemind the pilgrim, and 
 brought him with him to his lodgings. When they 
 were come home, they showed his head to the family, 
 and set it up, as they had done others before, for a tei> 
 ror to those that should attempt to do as he hereafter. 
 
 Then they asked Mr. Feeblemind how he fell into 
 his hands. 
 
 Feeble. Then said the poor man, I am a sickly 
 man, as you see : and because death did usually once a 
 day knock at my door, I thought I should never be well 
 at home ; so I betook myself to a pilgrim's life, and 
 have travelled hither from the town of Uncertain, where 
 I and my father were born. I am a man of no strength 
 at all of body, nor yet of mind, but would, if I could, 
 though I can but crawl, spend my life in the pilgrim's 
 way. When I came at the gate that is at the head of 
 the way, the Lord of that place did entertain me freely; 
 neither objected he against my weakly looks, nor against 
 my feeble mind ; but gave me such things as were 
 necessary for my journey, and bid me hope to the end. 
 When I came to the house of the Interpreter, I re- 
 ceived much kindness there : and because the hill of 
 ■ Difficulty was judged too hard for me, I was carried up 
 that by one of his servants. Indeed, I have found 
 much relief from pilgrims, though none were willing 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 373 
 
 to go SO softly as I am forced to do : yet still, as they 
 came on, they bid me be of good cheer, and said, that it 
 was the will of their Lord that comfort should be given 
 to the feeble-minded (1 Thess. 5 : 14) ; and so went on 
 their own pace. When I was come to Assault-lane, 
 then this giant met with me, and bid me prepare for an 
 encounter. But, alas ! feeble one that I was, I had 
 more need of a cordial ; so he came up and took me. 
 J conceited he would not kill me. Also, when he had 
 got me into his den, since I went not with him will" 
 ingly, I believed I should come out alive again; for 
 I have heard, that not any pilgrim that is taken captive 
 by violent hands, if he keeps heart-whole towards his 
 Master, is, by the laws of Providence, to die by the 
 hand of the enemy. Robbed I looked to be, and 
 Tobbed to be sure I am ; but I have, as you see, es- 
 caped with life, for the which I thank my King as the 
 author, and you as the means. Other brunts I also 
 look for ; but this I have resolved on, to wit, to run 
 when I can, to go when I cannot run, and to creep 
 when I cannot go. As to the main, I thank Him that 
 loved me, I am fixed ; my way is before me, my mind 
 is beyond the river that has no bridge, though I am, as 
 you see, but of a feeble mind. 
 
 Then said old Mr. Honest, Have not you, some time 
 ago, been acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim ? 
 
 Feeble. Acquainted with him ! Yes ; he came from 
 the town of Stupidity, which lieth four degrees to the 
 northward of the city of Destruction, and as many oflf 
 of where I was born : yet we were well acquainted, for, 
 indeed, he was my uncle, my father's brother. He and 
 I have been much of a temper : he was a little shorter 
 than I, but yet we were much of a complexion. 
 
 Hon. I perceive you knew him, and I am apt to be* 
 heve also that you were related one to another ; foJf 
 
2^^ TffE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 you have his whitely look, a cast like his witir yom 
 eye, and your speech is much alike. 
 
 Feeble. Most have said so that have known us 
 both : and, besides, what I have read in him I have for 
 the most part found in myself. 
 
 Come, sir, said good Gains, be of good cheer ; ycu 
 are welcome to me, and to my house. What thou hast 
 a mind to, call for freely ; and what thou wouldst have 
 my servants do for thee, they will do it with a ready 
 mind. 
 
 Then said Mr. Feeblemind, This is an unexpected 
 favor, and as the sun shining out of a very dark cloud. 
 Did Giant Slaygood intend me this favor when he 
 stopped me, and resolved to let me go no farther? 
 Did he intend, that, after he had rified my pockets, I 
 should go to Gains mine host ? Yet so it is. 
 
 Now, just as Mr. Feeblemind and Gains were thus 
 m talk, there came one running, and called at the door, 
 and said, that about a mile and a half off there was one 
 Mr. Notright, a pilgrim, struck dead upon the place 
 where he was, with a thunderbolt. 
 
 Alas ! said Mr. Feeblemind, is he slain ? He over- 
 took me some days before I came so far as hither, and 
 would be my company-keeper. He was also with me 
 when Slaygood the giant took me, but he was nimble 
 of his heels, and escaped ; but it seems he escaped to 
 die, and I was taken to live. 
 
 ** What one would think doth seek to slay outright, 
 Ofttimes delivers from the saddest plight. 
 That very Providence whose face is death, 
 Doth ofttimes to the lowly life bequeath. 
 I taken was, he did escape and flee ; 
 Hands cross' d gave death to him and hfe to me.** 
 
 Now, about this time Matthew and Mercy were 
 married ; also, Gains gave his daughter Phebe to 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 375 
 
 James, Matthew's brother, to wife; after which time 
 they yet stayed about ten days at Gaius' house, spend- 
 ing their time and the seasons like as pilgrims URe 
 to do. 
 
 When they were to dej^irt, Gains made them a 
 feast, and they did eat and drink, and were merryc 
 Now the hour was come that they must be gone? 
 wherefore Mr. Greatheart called for a reckoning. But 
 Gains told him, that at his house it was not the custom 
 for pilgrims to pay for their entertainment. He boarded 
 them by the year, but looked for his pay from the good 
 Samaritan, who had promised him, at his return, what- 
 soever charge he was at with them, faithfully to repay 
 him. (Luke 10 : 34, 35.) Then said Mr. Greatheart to 
 him,— 
 
 Great. Beloved, thou doest faithfully whatsoever 
 thou doest to the brethren, and to strangers, who have 
 borne witness of thy charity before the church, whom 
 if thou yet bring forward on their journey, after ^ 
 godly sort, thou shalt do well. (3 John ^^Q.) Then 
 Gains took his leave of them all, and his children, and 
 particularly of Mr. Feeblemind. He also gave hin 
 something to drink by the way. 
 
 Now Mr. Feeblemind, when they were going out of 
 the door, made as if he intended to linger. The which, 
 when Mr. Greatheart espied, he said. Come, Mr. Feeble- 
 mind, pray do you go along with us : I will be your 
 conductor, and you shall fare as the rest. 
 
 Feeble. Alas ! I want a suitable companion. You 
 are all lusty and strong, but I, as you see, am weako 
 I choose, therefore, rather to come behind, lest, by 
 reason of my many infirmities, I should be both a bur- 
 den to myself and to you. I am, as I said, a man of a 
 weak and feeble mind, and shall be offended and mads 
 weak at that which ethers can bear. I shall like no 
 
•..(5 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 fenghing ; \ shall like no gay attire ; I shall like nd 
 unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so weak a man as 
 to be offended with that which others have a liberty 
 to do. I do not yet know all the truth : I am a very 
 ignorant Christian man. Sometimes, if I hear some 
 rejoice in the Lord, it troubles me because I cannot do 
 so too. It is with me as it is with a weak man among 
 the strong, or as with a sick man among the healthy, 
 or as a lamp despised; so that I know not what to 
 do. "He that is ready to slip with his feet is as a 
 lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease." 
 (Job 12: 5.) 
 
 But, brother, said Mr. Greatheart, I have it in com- 
 mission to comfort the feeble-minded, and to support 
 the weak. You must needs go along with us , we will 
 wait for you ; we will lend you our help ; we will 
 den}^ ourselves of some things, both opinionative and 
 practical, for your sake ; we will not enter into doubtful 
 disputations before you ; we will be made all thingb 
 to you, rather than you shall be left behind. (1 Thess. 
 6: 14; Rom. 14:1; ICor. 8: 9-13; 9: 22.) 
 
 Now, all this while they were at Gains' door ; and 
 behold, as they were thus in the heat of their discourse, 
 Mr. Readytohalt came by, with his crutches in his 
 band, and he also was going on pilgrimage. 
 
 Then said Mr. Feeblemind to him, Man, how earnest 
 thou hither? I was but now complaining that I had 
 not a suitable companion, but thou art according to 
 my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr. Readytohalt; 
 I hope thou and I may be some help. 
 
 Ready. I shall be glad of thy company, said the 
 other ; and, good Mr. Feeblemind, rather than we will 
 part, since we are thus happily met, I will lend thee 
 one of ray crutches. 
 
 Feeble. Nay, said he, though I thank thee for thy 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 3^^ 
 
 good will, I am not inclined to halt before I am lame. 
 Howbeit, I think, when occasion is, it may help me 
 against a dog. 
 
 Ready. If either myself or my crutches can do thee 
 a pleasure, we are both at thy command, good Mr^ 
 Feeblemind, 
 
 Thus, therefore, they went on. Mr. Greatheart and 
 Mr. Honest went before, Christiana and her children 
 went next, and Mr, Feeblemind came behind, and 
 Mr. Readytohalt with his crutches. Then said Mr. 
 Honest, — 
 
 Hon. Pray, sir, now we are upon the road, tell ua 
 &ome profitable things of some that have gone on pil 
 grimage before us. 
 
 Great. With a good wilh I suppose you ha"va 
 l'\eard how Christian of old did meet with Apollyon in 
 the Valley of Humiliation, and also what hard work he 
 b^d to go through the Valley of the Shadow of Death* 
 Also, I think you cannot but have heard how Faithful 
 Wis put to it by Madam Wanton, with Adam the First, 
 with one Discontent, and Shams; four as deceitful 
 vMlains as a man can meet with upon the road. 
 
 Hon. Yes, I have heard of all this ; but, indeed, 
 good Faithful was hardest put to it with Shame: he 
 was an unwearied one. 
 
 Great. Aye ; for, as the pilgrim well said, he of all 
 men had the wrong name. 
 
 Hon. But pray, sir, where was it that Christian and 
 Faithful met Talkative ? That same was also a notabla 
 one. 
 
 Great. He was a confident fool ; yet many follow 
 his ways. 
 
 Hon. He had like to have beguiled Faithful. 
 
 Great. Aye; but Chri&tian put him into a way 
 quickly to find him out. 
 
378 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Thus they went on till they came to the place where 
 Evangelist met with Christian and Faithful, and pro- 
 phesied to them what should befall them at Vanity 
 Fair. Then said their guide, Hereabouts did Christian 
 and Faithful meet with Evangelist, who prophesied to 
 them of what troubles they should meet with at Vanity 
 Fair. 
 
 Hon. Say you so ? I dare say it was a hard chapter 
 that then he did read unto them. 
 
 Great. It was so ; but he gave them encourage- 
 ment withal. But what do we talk of them? They 
 were a couple of lion-like men : they had set their faces 
 like a flint. Do not you remember how undaunted 
 tAey were when they stood before the judge ? 
 
 Hon. Well : Faithful bravely suffered. 
 
 Great. So he did, and as brave things came on't ; 
 for Hopeful, and some others, as the story relates it, 
 were converted by his death. 
 
 Hon. Well, but pray go on ; for you are well aG« 
 q^uainted with things. 
 
 Great^ Above all that Christian met with after h« 
 had passed through Vanity Fair, one Byends was the 
 aj'ch one. 
 
 Hon. Byends ! what was he ? 
 
 Great. Avery arch fellow, a downright hypocrite; 
 one that would be religious, whichever way the world 
 went ; but so cunning, that he would be sure never to 
 lose or suffer for it. He had his mode of religion for 
 every fresh occasion, and his wife was as good at it as 
 he. He would turn from opinion to opinion ; yea, and 
 plead for so doing, too. But, so far as I could learn^ 
 he came to an ill end with his by-ends ; nor did I ever 
 hear that any of his children were ever of any esteem 
 with any that truly feared God. 
 
 Now by this time they were come within sight of 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 375 
 
 Ihe town of Vanity, where Vanity Fair is kept. So, 
 when they saw that they were so near the town, they 
 -eonsulted with one another how they should pass 
 through the town ; and some said one thing, and some 
 another. At last Mr. Greatheart said, I have, as you 
 ■may understand, often been a conductor of pilgrims 
 throu(]fh this town. Now, I am acquainted with one 
 Mr. Mnason (Acts 21 : 16), a Cyprusian by nation, an 
 old disciple, at whose house we may lodge. If yoij 
 think good, we will turn in there. 
 
 Content, said old Honest ; Content, said Christiana ; 
 Content, said Mr. Feeblemindj and so they said alL 
 Now you must think it was eventide by that they got 
 to the outside of the town ; but Mr. Greatheart knew 
 the way to the old man's house. So thither they came, 
 and he called at the door, and the old man within knew 
 his tongue as soon as ever he heard it ; so he opened 
 the door, and they all came in. Then said Mnason, 
 their host. How far have ye come to-day? So they 
 said, From the house of Gaius, our friend. I promise 
 you, said he, you have gone a good stitch. You may 
 well be weary ; sit down. So they sat down. 
 
 Then said their guide. Come, what cheer, good sirs? 
 I dare say you are welcome to my friend. 
 
 Mnas. I also, said Mr. Mnason, do bid you wel- 
 come ; and whatever you want, do but say, and we wiU 
 do what we can to get it for you. 
 
 Hon. Our great want, a while since, was harbor and 
 good company, and now I hope we have both. 
 
 Mnas. For harbor, you see what it is , but for good 
 company, that will appear in the trial. 
 
 Great. Well, said Mr. Greatheart, will you have 
 the pilgrims up into their lodging ? 
 
 I will, said Mr. Mnason. So he had them to their 
 respective places; and also showed them a very fail 
 
,So THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 dining-room, where they might be, and sup togethei 
 until the time should come to go to rest. 
 
 Now, when they were seated in their places, aixd 
 were a little cheery after their journey, Mr. Honest 
 asked his landlord if there was any store of good people 
 , in the town. 
 
 ^ Mnas. We have a few : for, indeed, the}^ are but r 
 few when compared with them on the other side. 
 \ Hon. But how shall we do to see some of them ? 
 for the sight of good men to them that are going on 
 pilgrimage, is like the appearing of the moon and stars 
 to them that are sailing upon the seas. 
 1 Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot, and hi 5 
 ♦ daughter Grace came up. So he said unto her, Grace?, 
 ^^go you, tell my friends, ]Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holyma^i, 
 'iMr. Lovesaints, Mr. Darenotlie, and Mr. Penitent, th>tt 
 "•'I have a friend or two at my house who have a mird 
 this evening to see them. So Grace went to call theui, 
 and they came, and after salutation made, they sat 
 down together at the table. 
 
 Then said Mr. Mnason their landlord. My neighbors, 
 I have, as you see, a company of strangers come to my 
 house i they are pilgrims . they come from afar, and 
 are going to Mount Zion. But who, quoth he, do you 
 think this is? pointing his finger to Christiana. It is 
 Christiana, the wife of Christian, the famous pilgrim, 
 who, with Faithful his brother, was so shamefullr 
 handled in our town. At that they stood amazed, say- 
 ing, We little thought to see Christiana when Grace 
 came to call us; wherefore this is a very comfortable 
 surprise. 7 hey tJ^«en asked her of her welfare, and if 
 these young men were her husband's sons. And when 
 she had told them they were, they said. The King 
 whom you love and serve make you as your father, and 
 bring you \A ere he is in peace. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 381 
 
 Then Mr. Honest (when they were all sat downj 
 asked Mr. Contrite and the rest, in what posture their 
 town was at present. 
 
 CONT. You may be sure we are full of hurry in 
 fair-time. 'Tis hard keeping our hearts and spirits in 
 good order when we are in a cumbered condition. He 
 that lives in such a place as this is, and has to do with 
 such as we have, has need of an item to caution him to 
 take heed every moment of the day. 
 
 Hon. But how are j^our neighbors now for quietness? 
 
 CoNT. They are much more moderate now than 
 formerly. You know how Christian and Faithful were 
 used at our town ; but of late, I say, they have been 
 far more moderate. I think the blood of Faithful lieth 
 as a load upon them till now ; for, since they burned 
 him, they have been ashamed to burn any more. In 
 ^.hose days we were afraid to walk the street ; but now 
 we can show our heads. Then the name of a professor 
 was odious ; now, especially in some parts of our town 
 < for you know our town is large) religion is counted 
 honorable. 
 
 Then said Mr. Contrite to them. Pray, how fareth it 
 Ivith you in your pilgrimage ? how stands the country 
 affected toward you ? 
 
 Hon. It happens to us as it happeneth to wayfaring 
 men : sometimes our way is clean, sometimes foul ; 
 sometimes up hill, sometimes down hill ; we are seldom 
 d,t a certainty. The wind is not always on our backs, 
 nor is every one a friend that we meet with in the 
 way. We have met with some notable rubs already, 
 and what are yet behind we know not ; but, for the 
 most part, we find it true that has been talked of old, 
 A good man must suffer trouble. 
 
 CoNT. You talk of rubs ; what rubs have you met 
 mthal? 
 
382 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Hon. Nay, ask Mr. Greatheart, our guide ; for he 
 can give the best account of that. 
 
 Great. We have bee« beset three or four times^ 
 already. First, Christiana and her children were beset 
 by two ruffians, who they feared would take away their 
 lives. We were beset by Giant Bloodyman, Giant 
 Maul, and Giant Slaygood. Indeed, we did rather 
 beset the last than were beset by him. And thus it 
 was : after we had been some time at the house of 
 Gaius mine host, and of the whole church, we were- 
 minded upon a time to take our weapons with us, and 
 go see if we could light upon any of those that are 
 enemies to pilgrims ; for we heard that there was a 
 notable one theaeabouts. Now Gaius knew his haunt 
 better than I, because he dwelt thereabout. So we 
 looked, and looked, till at last we discerned the mouth 
 of his cave: then we were glad, and plucked up our 
 spirits. So we approached up to his den ; and lo, 
 'when we came there, he had dragged, by mere force, 
 iuto his net, this poor man, Mr. Feeblemind, and was- 
 about to bring him to his end. But when he saw us, 
 supposing, as we thought, he had another prey, he left 
 the poor man in his hole, and came out. So we fell to 
 it full sore, and he lustily laid about him ; but, in con- 
 clusion, he was brought down to the ground, and his 
 head cut off, and set up by the wayside for a terror 
 to such as should after practice such ungodliness. 
 That I tell you the truth, here is the man himself to 
 affirm it, who was as a lamb taken out of the mouth of 
 the lion. 
 
 Then said Mr. Feeblemind, I found this true, to my 
 cost and comfort: to my cost, when he threatened to 
 pick my bones every moment ; and to my comfort, 
 when I saw Mr. Greatheart and his friends, with theil 
 weapons, approach so near for my deliverance. 
 
TTTE PTLGRTM'S PROGRESS. 38 j 
 
 Then said Mr. Holyman, There are two things that 
 they have need to possess who go on pilgrimage; 
 courage, and an unspotted life. If they have not 
 courage, they can never hold on their way ; and if their 
 lives be loose, they will make the very name of a 
 pilgrim stink. 
 
 Then said Mr. Lovesaints, I hope this caution is 
 not needful among you ; but truly there are many that 
 go upon the road, who rather declare themselves 
 strangers to pilgrimage, than strangers and pilgrims 
 on the earth. 
 
 Then said Mr. Darenotlie, 'Tis true; they have 
 neither the pilgrim*s weed, nor the pilgrim's courage ; 
 they go not uprightly, but all awry with their feet; 
 one shoe goeth inward, another outward ; and their 
 hosen are out behind : here a rag, and there a rent, to 
 the disparagement of their Lord. 
 
 Pen. These thiags, said Mr. Penitent, they ought to 
 be troubled for ; nor are the pilgrims like to have that 
 gTace put upon them and their Pilgrim's Progress as 
 they desire, until the way is cleared of such spots ami 
 blemishes. 
 
 Thus they sat talking and spending the time until 
 supper was set upon the table, unto which they went^ 
 and refreshed their weary bodies : so they went to rest. 
 
 Now they stayed in the fair a great while, at the 
 house of this Mr. Mnason, who, in process of time, gave 
 his daughter Grace unto Samuel, Christiana's son, ta 
 wife, and his daughter Martha to Joseph. 
 
 The time, as I said, that they stayed here, was long, 
 for 5t was not now as in former times. Wherefore the 
 pilgrims grew acquainted with many of the good people 
 of the town, and did them what service they could. 
 Mercy, as she was wont, labored much for the poor: 
 wherefore their bellies^ and backs blessed her, and sha 
 
284 7^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 vas there an ornament to her profession. And^ to sa^ 
 the truth for Grace, Phebe, and Martha, they were all 
 of a very good nature, and did much good in their 
 places. They were, also, all of them very fruitful ; so 
 that Christian's name, as was said before, was like to 
 live in the world. 
 
 While they lay here, there came a monster out of 
 the woods, and slew many of the people of the town. 
 It would also carry away their children, and teach them 
 to suck its whelps. Now no man in the town durst so 
 much as face this monster; but all fled when they 
 heard the noise of his coming. The monster was like 
 unto no one beast on the earth. Its body was like a 
 dragon, and it had seven heads and ten horns. (Rev. 
 13 : 1.) It made great havoc of children, and yet it 
 was governed by a woman. (Rev. 17 : 3.) This mon- 
 ster propounded conditions to men ; and such men as 
 loved their lives more than their souls, accepted of those 
 conditions. So they came under. 
 
 Now Mr. Greatheart, together with those who came 
 to visit the pilgrims at Mr. Mnason's house, entered 
 into a covenant to go and engage this beast, if perhaps 
 they might deliver the people of this town from the 
 paws and mouth of this so devouring a serpent. 
 
 Then did Mr. Greatheart, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy- 
 man, Mr. Darenotlie, and Mr. Penitent, with their 
 weapons, go forth to meet him. Now the monster at 
 first was very rampant, and looked upon these enemies 
 with great disdain ; but they so belabored him, being 
 sturdy men at arms, that they made him make a retreat. 
 So they came home to Mr. Mnason's house again. 
 
 The monster, you must know, had his certain sea^ 
 sons to come out in, and to make his attempts upon the 
 children of the people of the town. At these seasons 
 did these valiant worthies watch him, and did still con- 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 385 
 
 timially assault him ; insomuch that in process of time 
 he became not only wounded, but iame. Also, he has 
 not made that havoc of the townsmen's children as 
 formerly he had done ; and it is verily believed by some 
 that this beast will die of his wounds. 
 
 This, therefore, made Mr. Greatheart and his fellows 
 of great fame in this town ; so that many of the people 
 that Y/anted their taste of things, yet had a reverent 
 esteem and respect for them. Upon this account, there- 
 fore, it was, that these pilgrims got not much hurt 
 here. True, there were some of the baser sort, that 
 could see no more than a mole, nor understand 
 any more than a beast; these had no reverence for 
 these men, nor took they notice of their valor and ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 THE SEVENTH STAGE. 
 
 Well, the time grew on that the pilgrims must go 
 on their way ; wherefore they prepared for their journey. 
 They sent for their friends ; they conferred with them ; 
 they had some time set apart therein to commit each 
 other to the protection of their Prince. There were 
 again that brought them of such things as they had, 
 that were fit for the weak and the strong, for the 
 women and the men, and so laded them with such 
 things as were necessary. (Acts 28 ; 40.) Then they 
 set forward on their way; and their friends accom- 
 panying them so far as was convenient, they again com- 
 mitted each other to the protection of their King, and 
 parted. 
 
 They, therefore, that were of the pilgrims' company 
 
386 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 went on, and Mr. Greatheart went before them. Now, 
 the women and children being weakly, they were 
 forced to go as they could bear, by which means Mr. 
 Readytohalt and Mr. Feeblemind, had more to sympa-^ 
 thize with their condition. 
 
 When they were gone from the townsmen, and when 
 their friends had bid them farewell, they quickly came 
 to the place where Faithful was i)ut to death. There- 
 fore they made a stand, and thanked Him that had en- 
 abled him to bear his cross so well ; and the rather, be- 
 cause they now found that they had a benefit by such 
 a manly suffering as his was. 
 
 They went on, therefore, after this, a good way 
 farther, talking of Christian and Faithful, and how 
 Hopeful joined himself to Christian after that FaithfuX 
 was dead. 
 
 Now they were come up with the hill Lucre, wher*^ 
 the silver mine was which took Demas off from hi 4 
 pilgrimage, and into which, as some think, Byends fell 
 and perished; wherefore they considered that. Bui 
 when they were come to the old monument that stood 
 over against the hill Lucre, to wit, to the pillar of salf., 
 that stood also within view of Sodom and its stinking 
 lake, they marvelled, as did Christian before, that men 
 of such knowledge and ripeness of wit as they were, 
 should be so blinded as to turn aside here. Only they 
 considered again that nature is not affected with the 
 harms that others have met with, especially if that 
 thing upon which they look has an attracting virtue 
 upon the foolish eye. 
 
 I saw now, that they went on till they came to the 
 river that was on this side of the Delectable Mountains 
 to the river where the fine trees grow on both sides, 
 and whose leaves, if taken inwardly, are good against 
 Burfeitsi where the meadows are green all the jeai 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 387 
 
 long, and where they might lie down safely. (Psa. 
 23 : 2.) 
 
 By this river-side, in the meadows, there were cotes 
 and folds for sheep, a house built for the nourishing 
 and bringing up of those lambs, the babes of those 
 women that go on pilgrimage. (Heb. 5 : 2.) Also, 
 there was here one that was intrusted with them, who 
 could have compassion ; and that could gather these 
 lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and 
 gently lead those that were with young. (Isa. 40 : 11.) 
 Now, to the care of this man Christiana admonished her 
 f(»ur daughters to commit their little ones, that by these 
 waters they might be housed, harbored, succored, and 
 nourished, and that none of them might be lacking in 
 time to come. (Jer. 23 : 4.) This man, if any of them 
 g^) astra}^ or be lost, will bring them again ; he will 
 also bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen 
 them that are sick. (Ezek. 34 : 11-16.) Here they will 
 never want meat, drink, and clothing ; here they will 
 be kept from thieves and robbers 5 for this man will die 
 before one of those committed to his trust shall be lost. 
 Besides, here they shall be sure to have good nurture 
 and admonition, and shall be taught to walk in right 
 paths, and that you know is a favor of no small account. 
 Also here, as you see, are delicate waters, pleasant 
 meadows, dainty flowers, variety of trees, and such as 
 i)ear wholesome fruit : fruit, not like that which Mat- 
 chew ate of, that fell over the wall out of Beelzebub's 
 garden ; but fruit that procureth health where there is 
 none, and that continueth and increaseth it where it is. 
 So they were content to commit their little ones to him ; 
 and that which was also an encouragement to them so 
 to do, was, for that all this was to be at the charge of 
 the King, and so was as an hospital to young children 
 andoipbaos* 
 
,88 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Now they went on. And when they were come to 
 By-path Meadow, to the stile over which Christian went 
 with his fellow Hopeful, when they were taken by Giant 
 Despair and put into Doubting Castle, they sat down, 
 and consulted what was best to b3 done : to wit, now 
 they were so strong, and had got such a man as Mr^ 
 Greatheart for their conductor, whether they had not 
 best to make an attempt upon the giant, demolish his 
 castle, and if there were any pilgrims in it, to set them at 
 liberty before they went any farther. So one said one 
 thing, and another said the contrary. One questioned 
 if it was lawful to go upon unconsecrated ground, 
 another said they might, provided their end was good ; 
 but Mr. Greatheart said. Though that assertion offered 
 jiast cannot be universally true, yet I have a command- 
 ment to resist sin, to overcome evil, to fight the good 
 fight of faith : and I pray, with whom should I fight 
 this good fight, if not with Giant Despair? I will 
 therefore attempt the taking away of his life, and the 
 demolishing of Doubting Castle. Then said lie, Who 
 •^vill go with me? Then said old Honest, I will. And 
 60 will we too, said Christiana's four sons, Matthew, 
 Samuel, Joseph, and James; for they were young men 
 and strong. (1 John 2: 13,14.) So they left the 
 women in the road, and with them Mr. Feeblemind, 
 and Mr. Readytohalt with his crutches, to be their 
 guard until they came back; for in that place the Giant 
 Despair dwelt so near, they keeping in the road, a little 
 child might lead them. (Isa. 11 : 6.) 
 
 So Mr. Greatheart, old Honest, and the four young 
 men, went to go up to Doubting Castle, to look for 
 Giant Despair. When ihe3/ carae at the castle-gat€, 
 they knocked for entrance with an unusual noise. At 
 that the old giant comes to the gate, and Diffidence his 
 Ufife follows. Then said he, Who ana what is he that 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 389 
 
 is so hardy, as, after this manner, to molest the Giant 
 Despair ? Mr. Greatheart replied, It is I, Greatheart, 
 one of the King of the Celestial Country's conductors 
 of pilgrims to their place ; and I demand of thee that 
 thou open thy gates for my entrance : prepare thyself 
 also to fight, for I am come to ti4,ke away thy head, and 
 to demolish Doubting Castle. 
 
 Now Giant Despair, because he was a giant, tnought 
 no man could overcome him : and again thought he, 
 Since heretefore I have made a conquest of angels, shall 
 Greatheart make me afraid ? So he harnessed himself, 
 and went out. He had a cap of steel upon his head, a 
 breastplate of fire girded to him, and he came out in 
 iron shoes, with a great club in his hand. Then thes9 
 six men made up to him, and beset him behind and bo- 
 fore: also, when Diffidence the giantess came up to help 
 him, old Mr. Honest cut her down at one blow. The^n 
 they fought for their lives, and Giant Despair was 
 brought down to the ground, but was very loth to 
 die. He struggled hard, and had, as they say, 2^ 
 many lives as a cat ; but Greatheart was his death, 
 for he left him not till he had severed his head from his 
 shoulders. 
 
 Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Castle, and 
 that you know might with ease be done, since Giant 
 Despair was dead. They were seven days in destroy- 
 ing of that ; and in it of pilgrims they found one Mr. 
 Despondency, almost starved to death, and one Much- 
 afraid, his daughter : these two they saved alive. But 
 it would have made you wonder to have seen the dead 
 bodies that lay here and there in the castle-yard, and 
 how full of dead men's bones the dungeon was. 
 
 When Mr. Greatheart and his companions had per- 
 formed this exploit, they took Mr. Despondency, and 
 liis daughter Muchafraid, into their protection; for 
 
jgo THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 they were honest people, though they were prisoners in 
 Doubting Castle to that tyrant Giant Despair. They^ 
 therefore, I sa}^ took with them the head of the giant 
 (for his body they had buried under a heap of stones)^ 
 and down to the road and to their companions they 
 came, and showed them what they had done. Now, 
 when Feeblemind and Readytohalt saw that it was the 
 head of Giant Despair indeed, they were very jocund 
 and merry. Now Christiana, if need was, could play 
 upon the viol, and her daughter Mercy upon the lute*. 
 60, since they were so merry disposed, she played them 
 a lesson, and Readytohalt would dance. So he tool; 
 Despondency's daughter, Muchafraid ^oj the hand, andl 
 to dancing they went on the road. True, he could not 
 dance without one crutch in his hand, but I promiiie 
 you he footed it well: also, the girl was to be com- 
 mended, for she answered the music handsomely. 
 
 As for Mr. Despondency, the music was not so much 
 to him ; he was for feeding rather than dancing, for 
 that he was almost starved. So Christiana gave him 
 some of her bottle of spirits for present relief, and then 
 prepared him something to eat ; and in a little time the 
 old gentleman came to himself, and began to be finely 
 revived. 
 
 Now I saw, in my dream, when all these things were 
 finished, Mr. Greatheart took the head of Giant Des- 
 pair, and set it upon a pole by the highway-side, right 
 over against the pillar that Christian erected for a 
 caution to pilgrims that came after, to take heed of en- 
 tering into his grounds. 
 
 Then he writ under it, upon a marble stone, these 
 verses following ; — 
 
 ** This is the head of him whose name only 
 In former times did pilgrims terrifv. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRE'SS. aa; 
 
 Sis castle's down, and Diffidence his wift. 
 Brave Mr. Greatheart has bereft of life. 
 
 Despondency, his daughter Muchatraia, 
 Greatheart for them also the man has play*d. 
 Who hereof doubts, if he'll but cast his eye 
 Up hither, may his scruples satisfy. 
 This head also, when doubting cripples di^nce. 
 Doth show from fears they have deliverance.'" 
 
 When these men had thus bravely showed them« 
 ajelves against Doubting Castle, and had slain Giant 
 Despair, they went forward, and went on till they cam*' 
 to the Delectable Mountains, where Christian and 
 Hopeful refreshed themselves with the varieties of the 
 place. They also acquainted themselves with the 
 shepherds there, who welcomed them, as they had done 
 Christian before, unto the Delectable Mountains. 
 
 Now the shepherds seeing so great a train follow 
 Mr. Greatheart (for with him they were well acquaint* 
 ed), they said unto him. Good sir, you have got a goodlj^ 
 company here ; pray, where did you find all these ? 
 
 Then Mr. Greatheart replied : 
 
 ** First, here is Christiana and her train, 
 Her sons, and her sons' wives, who, like the wa$n» 
 Keep by the pole, and do by compass steer 
 From sin to grace, else they had not been here. 
 Next, here's old Honest come on pilgrimage ; 
 Beadytohalt too, who, I dare engage. 
 True-hearted is ; and so is Feeblemind, 
 Who willing was not to be left behind ; 
 Despondency, good men, is coming after. 
 And so also is Muchafraid, his daughter. 
 May we have entertainment here, or must 
 We farther go ? Let's know whereon to trust." 
 
 Then said the shepherds, This is a comfortable com- 
 pany. You are welcome to us \ for we have for the 
 ^bie« ^ well as for the strong. Our Piincd hae an 
 
392 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 eye to what is done to the least of these ; therefore 
 infirmity must not be a block to our entertainment 
 (Matt. 25 : 40.) So they had them to the palace-dooi 
 and then said unto them, Come in, Mr. Feeblemind ^ 
 Come in, Mr. Readytohalt ; Come in, Mr. Despondency, 
 and Mrs. Muchafraid, his daughter. These, Mr. Great, 
 heart, said the shepherds to the guide, we call in by 
 name, for that they are most subject to di-aw back ; but 
 as for you, and the rest, that are strong, we leave you 
 to your wonted liberty. Then said Mr. Greatheart, 
 This day I see that grace doth shine in your faces, and 
 that you are my Lord's shepherds indeed ; for that you 
 have not pushed these diseased neither with side nor 
 shoulder, but have rather strewed their way into the 
 palace with flowers, as you should. (Ezek. 34 : 21.) 
 
 So the feeble and wea.c went in, and Mr. Greatheart 
 and the rest did follow. When they were also stjt 
 do.yn, the shepherds said to those of the weaker sort. 
 What 3s it that you would have ? for, said they, all 
 things must be managed here to the supporting of the 
 weak, as well as to the warning of the unruly. So they 
 made them a feast of things easy of digestion, and that 
 were pleasant to the palate, and nourishing ; the which 
 when they had received, they went to their rest, each 
 one respectively unto his proper place. 
 
 When morning was come, because the mountains 
 Were high and the day clear, and because it was the 
 custom of the shepherds to show the pilgrims, before 
 their departure, some rarities, therefore, after they were 
 ready, and had refreshed themselves, the shepherds 
 took them out into the fields, and showed them first 
 what they had shown to Christian before. 
 
 Then they had them to some new places. The first 
 was Mount Marvel, where they looked, and beheld a 
 aian at a distance that tumbled tba hills about wit^ 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 393 
 
 words. Then they asked the shepherds what that 
 should mean. So they told them, that that man was 
 the son of one Mr. Greatgrace, of whom you read in 
 the first part of the records of the Pilgrim's Progress ; 
 and he is set there to teach pilgrims how to believe 
 down, or to tumble out of their ways, what difficulties 
 •they should meet with, by faith. (Mark 11 : 23, 24.) 
 Then said Mr. G^^atheart, I know him : he is a man 
 above many. 
 
 Then they had them to another place, called Mount 
 Innocence. And there they saw a man clothed all in 
 white ; and two men. Prejudice and 111 will, continually 
 casting dirt upon him. Now behold, the dirt, what- 
 g^oever they cast at him, would in a little time fall off 
 again, and his garment would look as clean as if no 
 (\irt had been cast thereat. Then said the pilgrims, 
 What means this ? The shepherds answered, This man 
 itt named Godlyman, and his garment is to show the 
 innocency of his life. Now, those that throw dirt at 
 liim are such as hate his well-doing ; but, as you see, 
 the dirt will not stick upon his clothes : so it shall be 
 with him that liveth innocently in the world. Who- 
 ever they be that would make such men dirty, they 
 Inbor all in vain ; for God, by that a little time is spent, 
 will cause that their innocence shall break forth as the 
 light, and their righteousness as the noonday. 
 
 Then they took them, and had them to Mount Char- 
 ity, where they showed them a man that had a bundle 
 of cloth lying before him, out of which he cut coats 
 and garments for the poor that stood about him ; yet 
 his bundle, or roll of cloth, was never the less. Then 
 said they. What should this be? This is, said the 
 shepherds, to show you that he who has a heart to give 
 of his labor to the poor, shall never want wherewithal. 
 fcle that watereth shall be watered himself. And the 
 
394 ^^^ PTLGRTM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 cake that the widow gave to the prophet did not cause 
 bhat she had the less in her barrel. 
 
 They had them also to the place where they saw one 
 Fool and one Wantwit washing an Ethiopian, with in- 
 tention to make him white ; but the more they washed 
 him, the blacker he was. Then they asked the shep- 
 herds what that should mean. So they told them, say- 
 ing, Thus it is with the vile person ; all means used to 
 get such a one a good name shall, in conclusion, tend 
 but to make him more abominable. Thus it was with 
 the pharisees ; and so it shall be with all hypocrites. 
 
 Then said Mercy, the wife of Matthew, to Christiana 
 her mother. Mother, I would, if it might be, see the 
 hole in the hill, or that commonly called the By-way to 
 Hell. So her mother brake her mind to the shepherds. 
 Then they went to the door ; it was on the side of an 
 hill ; and they opened it, and bid Mercy hearken a 
 while. So she hearkened, ar I heard one saying. Cursed 
 be my father, for holding of my feet back from the way 
 of peace and life. Another said, Oh, that I had been 
 torn in pieces before I had, to save my life, lost my soul ! 
 And another said, If I were to live again, how would I 
 deny myself, rather than to come to this pla^e I Then 
 there was as if the very earth groaned and quaked un- 
 der the feet of this young woman for fear ; so she looked 
 white, and came trembling away, saying, Blessed be he 
 and she that is delivered from this place I 
 
 Now, when the shepherds had shown them all these 
 things, then they had them back to the palace, and en- 
 tertained them with what the house would afford. But 
 Mercy, being a young and married woman, longed for 
 something that she saw there, but was ashamed to ask. 
 Her mother-in-law then asked her what she ailed, for 
 she looked as one not well. Then said Mercy, There 
 is a looking-glass hangs up in the dining-room, off wluoh 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 395 
 
 I cannot take my mind ; if therefore, I have it not, I 
 think I shall miscarry. Then said her mother, I will 
 mention thy wants to the shepherds, and they will not 
 deny thee. But she said, I am ashamed that these men 
 should know that I longed. Nay, my daughter, said 
 she, it is no shame, but a virtue, to long for such a 
 thing as that. So Mercy said. Then, mother, if you 
 please, ask the shepherds if they are willing to sell it. 
 
 Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would 
 present a man, one way, with his own features exactly; 
 and turn it but another way, and it would show one 
 the very face and similitude of the Prince of pilgrims 
 himself. Yes, I have talked with them that can tell, 
 and they have said that they have seen the very crown 
 of thorns upon his head by looking in that glass ; they 
 have therein also seen the holes in his hands, his feet, 
 and his side. Yea, such an excellency is there in this 
 glass, that it will show him to one where they have a 
 mind to see him, whether living or dead ; whether in 
 earth, or in heaven ; whether in a state of humiliation, 
 or in his exaltation ; whether coming to suffer, or com- 
 ing to reign. (James 1 : 23 ; 1 Cor. 13 : 12 ; 2 Cor. 3 : 18.) 
 
 Christiana therefore went to the shepherds apart 
 (now the names of the shepherds were Knowledge, 
 Experience, Watchful, and Sincere,) and said unto 
 them. There is one of my daughters, a breeding woman, 
 that I think doth long for something that she hath seen 
 :m this house ; and she thinks that she shall miscarry if 
 she should by you be denied. 
 
 Experience. Call her, call her, she shall assuredly 
 have what we can help her to. So they called her, and 
 said to her, Mercy, what is that thing thou wouldst 
 have** Then she blushed, and said, The great glass 
 that hangs up in the dining-room. So Sincere ran and 
 fetched il, and with a joyful consent it was given her. 
 
396 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Then she bowed her head, and gave thanks ; and sai<i^ 
 By this I know that I have obtained favor in youi 
 eyes. 
 
 They also gave to the other young women such 
 fchings as they desired, and to their husbands great com- 
 mendations, for that they had joined with Mr. Greats 
 heai't in the slaying of Giant Despair, and the demoL 
 iahing of Doubting Castle. 
 
 About Christiana's neck the shepherds put a brace- 
 Let, and so did they about the necks of her four daugh- 
 ters ; also, they put ear-rings in their ears, and jewels 
 on their foreheads. 
 
 When they were minded to go thence, they let them 
 ^o in peace, but gave not to them those certain cautions 
 which before were given to Christian and his companion. 
 The reason was for that these had Greatheart to Ite 
 their guide, who was one that was well acquainted wit h 
 things, and so could give them their cautions more seas- 
 onably, to wit, even when the danger was nigh tl/e 
 approaching. What cautions Christian and his com- 
 panion had received of the shepherds, they had ako 
 lost by that the time was come that they had need 1o 
 put them in practice. Wherefore, here was the advarv 
 hige that this company had over the other. 
 
 From thence they went on singing, and they said,— 
 
 •* Behold how fitly are the stages set, 
 
 For their relief that pilgrims are become ; 
 And how they us receive without one let, 
 That make the other life our mark and home ! 
 
 ** What novelties they have to us they give, 
 
 That we, though pilgrims, joyful lives may Uv©t 
 They do upon us, too, such things bestow, 
 That sho*^ we nilgrims *''*e, where'er we go*" 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 35* 
 
 THE EIGHTH STAGE. 
 
 When they were gone frcm the shepherds, they 
 'S^nickly came to the place where Christian met with 
 ©ne Turnaway, that dwelt in the town of Apostasy. 
 Wherefore of him, Mr. Greatheart, their guide, now put 
 them in mind, saying. This is the place where Christian 
 met with one Turnaway, who carried with him the 
 character of his rebellion at his back. And this I have 
 to say concerning this man : he would hearken to no 
 ^Bounsel, but once a falling, persuasion could not stop 
 him. When he came to the place where the cross and 
 sepulchre were, he did meet with one that bid him look 
 there ; but he gnashed with his teeth, and stamped, and 
 said he was resolved to go back to his own town. Be- 
 fore he came to the gate, he met with Evangelist, who 
 offered to lay hands on him, to turn him into the way 
 4gain ; but this Turnaway resisted him, and having 
 ilone much despite unto him, he got away over the wall, 
 aad so escaped his hand. 
 
 Then they went on ; and just at the place where 
 Littl:faith formerly was robbed, there stood a man 
 with his sword drawn, and his face all over with blood 
 Then said Mr. Greatheart, Who art thou ? The man 
 made answer, saying, I am one whose name is Valiant- 
 for-truth. I am a pilgrim, and am going to the Celes- 
 tial City. Now, as I was in my way, there were three 
 men that did beset me, and propounded unto me these 
 three things: 1. Whether I would become one of 
 them. 2. Or go back from whence I came. 3. Or die 
 i?pon the place. (Prov. 1 : 11-14.) To the first I 
 iuiswered, I had been a true man for a long season, anu 
 
39S THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 therefore it could not be expected that I should now 
 cast in my lot with thieves. Then they demanded 
 what I would say to the second. So I told them the 
 place from whence I came, had I not found incom- 
 modity there, I had not forsaken it at all ; but finding 
 it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable 
 for me, I forsook it for this way. Then they asked me 
 what I said to the third. And I told them my life cost 
 far more dear than that I should lightly give it away. 
 Besides, you have nothing to do thus to put things to 
 my choice ; wherefore at your peril be it if j^ou meddle. 
 Then these three, to wit, Wildhead, Inconsiderate, and 
 Pragmatic, drew upon me, and I also drew upon them. 
 So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of 
 above three hours. They have left upon me, as you 
 see, some of the marks of their valor, and have also 
 carried away with them some of mine. They are but 
 just now gone : I suppose they might, as the saying is, 
 hear your horse dash, and so they betook themselves 
 to flight. 
 
 Great. But here was great odds, three against one. 
 
 Valiant. 'Tis true ; but little or more are nothing 
 to him that has the truth on his side : " Though an 
 host should encamp against me," said one (Psa. 27 : 3), 
 *'my heart shall not fear: though war should rise 
 against me, in this will I be confident," &c. Besides, 
 said he, I have read in some records, that one man has 
 fought an army : and how many did Samson slay with 
 the jawbone of an ass ! 
 
 Then said the guide. Why did you not cry out, that 
 some might have come in for your succor? 
 
 Valiant. So I did to ray King, who I knew could 
 hear me, aLd afford invisible help, and that was suffi- 
 sient for me. 
 
 Then said Greatheart to ^Ir. Valiant-for-truth, Thow 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, ^9 
 
 hast worthily behaved thyself ; let me see thy sword. 
 So he showed it him. 
 
 When he had taken it in his hand, and looked 
 thereon a while, he said, Hal it is a right Jerusalem 
 blade. 
 
 Valiant. It is so. Let a man have one of thesrt 
 blades, with a hand to wield it, and skill to use it, and 
 he may venture upon an angel with it. He need not 
 fear its holding, if he can but tell how to lay on. Its 
 edge will never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones, and 
 soul, and spirit, and all. (Heb. 4 : 12.) 
 
 Great. But you fought a great while; I wondetr 
 you was not weary. 
 
 Valiant. I fought till my sword did cleave to my 
 hand; and then they were joined together as if a sword 
 grew out of my arm ; and when the blood ran througl^ 
 my fingers, then I fought with most courage. 
 
 Great. Thou hast done well ; thou hast resisteOt 
 unto blood, striving against sin. Thou shalt abide b} 
 us, come in and go out with us ; for we are thy com 
 panions. Then they took him and washed his wounds^ 
 and gave him of what they had, to refresh him ; and SG 
 they went on together. 
 
 Now, as they went on, because Mr. Greatheart wa» 
 delighted in him (for he loved one greatly that he foundl 
 to be a man of his hands), and because there were ii^ 
 company those that were feeble and weak, therefore ht? 
 questioned with him about many things; as, first, whan 
 countryman he was. 
 
 Valiant. I am of Darkland ; for there was I born, 
 and there my father and mother are still. 
 
 Great. Darkland ! said the guide ; doth not that 
 Jie on the same coast with the city of Destruction? 
 
 Valiant. Yes, it doth. Now, that which caused 
 we to come on pilgrimage was this. We had one Mx« 
 
40O 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Telltrue oome into our parts, and he told it aV»out what 
 Christian had done, that went from the city of Destruc- 
 tion , namely, how he had forsaken his wife and chil 
 dren, and had betaken himself to a pilgrim's life. It was 
 also confidently reported, how he had killed a serpent 
 that did come out to resist him in his journey ,- and 
 how he got through to whither he intended. It was 
 also told what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, 
 especially when he came to the gates of the Celestial 
 City ; for there, said the man, he was received with 
 sound of trumpet by a company of shining ones. He 
 told also how all the bells in the city did ring for joy 
 at his reception, and what golden garments he was 
 clothed with ; with many other things that now I shall 
 forbear to relate. In a word, that man so told the 
 story of Christian and his travels that my heart fell into 
 a burning haste to be gone after him \ nor could father 
 or mother stay me. So I got from them, and am come 
 thus far on my way. 
 
 Great. You came in at the gate, did you not ? 
 
 Valiant, Yes, yes ; for the same man also told us, 
 that all would be nothing if we did not begin to eater 
 this way at the gate. 
 
 Look you, said the guide to Christiana, the pilgrim- 
 age of your husband, and what he has gotten thereby, 
 is spread abroad far and near. 
 
 Valiant. Why, is this Christian's wife ? 
 
 Great. Yes, that it is , and these also are his four 
 sons. 
 
 Valiant. What, and going on pilgrimage, too ? 
 
 Great. Yes, verily, they are following after. 
 
 Valiant. It glads me at the heart. Good man 
 how joyful will he be when he shall see them that 
 would not go with him, yet to enter after him in at th« 
 gates into the Celestial City. 
 
THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. 40I 
 
 Great. Without doubt it will be a comfort to him ; 
 for, next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be a 
 joy to meet there his wife and children. 
 
 Valiant. But now you are upon that, pray let me 
 hear your opinion about it. Some make a question 
 whether we shall know one another when we are there. 
 
 Geeat. Do you think they shall know themselves 
 then, or that they shall rejoice to see themselves in that 
 bliss? And if they think they shall know and do this, 
 why not know others, and rejoice in their welfare also ? 
 Again, since relations are our second self, though that 
 state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not 1 e 
 rationally concluded that we shall be more glad to st^e 
 them there than to see they are wanting ? 
 
 Valiant. Well, I perceive whereabouts you are jts 
 to this. Have you any more things to ask me aboNt 
 my beginning to come on pilgrimage*^ 
 
 Great. Yes; were your father andmother williiig 
 that you should become a pilgrim ? 
 
 Valiant. Oh, no, they used all means imaginable 
 to persuade me to stay at home. 
 
 Great. Why, what could they say against it ? 
 
 Valiant. They said it was an idle life ; and if I 
 myself were not inclined to sloth and laziness, I would 
 never countenance a pilgrim's condition. 
 
 Great. And what did they say else ? 
 
 Valiant. Why, they told me that it was a danger- 
 ous way ; yea, the most dangerous way in the world, 
 said they, is that which the pilgrims go. 
 
 Great. Did they show you wherein this way is so 
 'dangerous ? 
 
 Valiat. Yes , and that in many particulars. 
 
 Great. Name some of them. 
 
 Valiant. They told me of the Slough of Despond, 
 where Christian was well nigh smothered. They tol4 
 
409 THE PILGRIM'S l^ROGRESS. 
 
 me, that there were archers standing ready in Beelzebub 
 Castle to shoot them who should knock at the wicket* 
 gate for entrance. They told me also of the wood and 
 dark mountains, of the hill Difficulty; of the lions; 
 and also of the three giants, Bloodyman, Maul, and 
 Slaygood. They said, moreover, that there was a foui 
 fiend haunted the Valley of Humiliation , and that 
 Christian was by him almost bereft of life. Besides, 
 said they, you must go over the Valley of the Shadow 
 of Death, where the hobgoblins are, where the light is 
 darkness, where the way is full of snares, pits, traps, 
 and gins. They told me also of Giant Despair, of 
 Doubting Castle, and of the ruin that the pilgrims met 
 with there. Further, they said I must go over the En- 
 chanted Ground, which was dangerous , and that, after 
 all this, I should find a river over which there was no 
 bridge , and that that river did lie betwixt me and the 
 Celestial Country. 
 
 Great. And was this all ? 
 
 Valiant. No. They also told me that this way 
 was full of deceivers, and of persons that lay in wait 
 there to turn good men out of the path. 
 
 Great. But how did they make that out ? 
 
 Valiant. They told me that Mr. Wordly Wiseman 
 did lie there to wait to deceive. They said, also, that 
 there were Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the 
 road. They said, also, that Byends, Talkative, or De- 
 mas, would go near to gather me up , that the Flatterer 
 would catch me in his net j or that, with green-headed 
 Ignorance, I would presume to go on to the gate, from 
 whence he was sent back to the hole that was in the 
 side of ths hill, and made to go the by-way to hell. 
 
 Great. I promise you this was enough to discoui> 
 a^ you ; but did they make an end there? 
 
 Valiant. No, stay. They told me also of man^ 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 403 
 
 that had tried that way of old, and that had gone a 
 great way therein, to see if they could find something 
 of the glory there that so many had so much talked of 
 from time to time, and how they came back again, and 
 befooled themselves for setting a foot out of doors in 
 that path, to the satisfaction of all the country. And 
 they named several that did so, as Obstinate and Pli 
 able, Mistrust and Timorous, Turnaway and old Athe- 
 ist, with several more ; who, they said, had some or 
 them gone far to see what they could find, but not one 
 of them had found so much advantage by going as 
 amounted to the weight of a feather. 
 
 GiiEAT. Said they anything more to discourage you ? 
 
 Valiant. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing, 
 who was a pilgrim, and how he found his way so soli- 
 tary that he never had a comfortable hour therein ; 
 also, that Mr. Despondency had like to have bee a 
 6'barved therein. Yea, and also (which I had almost 
 forgot), that Christian himself, about whom there has 
 b-een such a noise, after all his adventures for a celes- 
 tial crown, was certainly drowned in the Black River, 
 and never went a foot farther ; however, it was smoth» 
 ered. up. 
 
 Great. And did none of these things discourage 
 you? 
 
 Valiant. No; they seemed but as so many nothings 
 ^ me. 
 
 Great. How came that about ? 
 
 Valiant. Why, I still believed what Mr. Telltrue 
 had said ; and that carried me beyond them all. 
 
 Great. Then this was your victory, even your faith ? 
 
 Valiant. It was so. I believed, and therefore came 
 out, got into the way, fought all that set themselve* 
 (gainst me, and, bj believiug, am come to this place. 
 
404 1^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 " Who would true valor see, 
 Let him come hither ; 
 One here will constant be. 
 
 Come wind, come weatho^ 
 There's no discouragement 
 Shall make him once relent 
 His first avow'd intent 
 
 To be a pilgrim. 
 
 ** Whoso beset him round 
 With dismal stories, 
 Do but themselves confound | 
 
 His strength the more is. 
 No lion can him fright, 
 He'll with a giant fight, 
 But he will have a right 
 
 To be a pilgrim. 
 
 ** Hobgoblin nor foul fiend 
 Can daunt his spirit ; 
 He knows he at the end 
 
 Shall life inherit. 
 Then fancies fly away, 
 He'll not fear what men say ; 
 He'll labor night and day 
 To be a pilgrim. 
 
 By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, 
 where the air naturally tended to make one drowsy. 
 And that place was all grown o\^r with briers and 
 thorns, excepting here and there, where was an en- 
 chanted arbor, upon which if a man sits, or in which if 
 a man sleeps, it is a question, some say, whether ever he 
 shall rise or wake again in this world. Over this forest, 
 therefore, they went, both one and another, and Mr. 
 Greatheart went before, for that he was the guide ; and 
 Valiant-for-truth came behind, being rear-guard, for fear 
 lest peradventure some fiend, or dragon, or giant, or 
 thief, should fall upon tUeir rear, and so do mischief 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 405 
 
 They went on here, each man with his sword drawn m 
 Jiis hand; for they knew it was a dangerous place. 
 Also, they cheered up one another as well as they could. 
 Feeblemind, Mr. Greatheart commanded should come 
 up after him ; and Mr. Despondency was under the eye 
 of Mr. Valiant. 
 
 Now they had not gone far, but a great mist and 
 darkness fell upon them all ; so that they could scarce, 
 for a great while, the one see the other. Wherefore 
 they were forced, for some time, to feel one for another 
 by words ; for they walked not by sight. But anyone 
 must think, that here was but sorry going for the best 
 of them all ; but how much worse for the women and 
 children, who, both of feet and heart, were but tender ! 
 "iet so it was, that, through the encouraging words of 
 mm that led in the front, and of him that brought them 
 tip behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along. 
 
 The way also here was very wearisome, through dirt 
 And slabbiness. Nor was there, on all this ground, so 
 i\iuch as one inn or victualling-house wherein to refresh 
 the feebler sort. Here, therefore, was grunting, and 
 I uffing, and sighing, while one tumbleth over a bush, 
 another sticks fast in the dirt, and the children, some of 
 them, lost their shoes in the mire ; while one cries out, 
 1 am down ; and another. Ho, where are you ? and a 
 third. The bushes have got such fast hold on me, I think 
 I can not get away from them. 
 
 Then they came at an arbor, warm, and promising 
 much refreshing to the pilgrims ; for it was finely 
 wrought above-head, beautified with greens, furnished 
 with benches and settles. It also had in it a soft couch, 
 whereon the weary might lean. This, you must think, 
 all things considered, was tempting ; for the pilgrims 
 already began to be foiled with the badness of the way; 
 but there was noi one of them that made so much as a 
 
4o6 THE PILGRIM :: PROGRESS. 
 
 motion to stop there. Yea, for aught I could perceive, 
 they continually gave so good heed to the advice of 
 their guide, and he did so faithfully tell them of dangers, 
 and of the nature of the dangers when they were at 
 -^hem, that usually, when they were nearest to them, 
 they did most pluck up their spirits, and hearten one 
 another to deny the flesh. This arbor was called The 
 Slothful's Friend, and was made on purpose to allure, 
 if it might be, some of the pilgrims there to take up 
 their rest when weary. 
 
 I saw then, in my dream, that they went on in this 
 their solitary ground, till they came to a place at which 
 a man is apt to lose his way. Now, though when it 
 was light their guide could well enough tell how to miss 
 those ways that led wrong, yet in the dark he was put 
 to a stand. But he had in his pocket a map of all ways 
 heading to or from the Celestial City ; wherefore he 
 struck a light (for he never goes without his tinder-box 
 also), and takes a view of his book or map, which bids 
 him to be careful in that place to turn to the right hand. 
 And had he not been careful here to look in his map, 
 they had all, in probability, been smothered in the mud ; 
 for just a little before them, and that at the end of the 
 cleanest way too, was a pit, none knows how deep, full 
 of nothing but mud, there made on purpose to destroy 
 the pilgrims in. 
 
 Then thought T with myself. Who that goeth on 
 pilgrimage but would have one of these maps about 
 him, that he may look, when he is at a stand, which is 
 the way he must take ? 
 
 Then they went on in this Enchanted Ground till 
 they came to where there was another arbor, and it was 
 built by the high way -side. And in that arbor there lay 
 two men, whose names were Heedless and Toobold. 
 Xhese two went thus far on pilgrimage \ but here, being 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 407 
 
 wearied with their journey, they sat down to rest them* 
 selves, and so fell fast asleep. When the pilgrims saw 
 them, they stood still, and shook their heads , for they 
 knew that the sleepers were in a pitiful case. Then 
 they consulted what to do, whether to go on and leave 
 them in their sleep, or to step to them and try to awake 
 them ; so they concluded to go to them and awake 
 them, that is, if they could ; but with this caution, 
 -namely to take heed that they themselves did not sit 
 down nor embrace the offered benefit of that arbor. 
 
 So they went in, and spake to the men, and called 
 each by his name, for the guide, it seems, did know 
 them ; but there was no voice nor answer. Then the 
 guide did shake them, and do what he could to disturb 
 them. Then said one of them I will pay you when I 
 take my money. At which the guide shook his head. 
 I will fight so long as I have my sword in my hand, said 
 the other. At that, one of the children laughed. 
 
 Then said Christiana, What is the meaning of this ? 
 The guide said. They talk in their sleep. If you 
 strike them, beat them, or whatever else you do to them, 
 they will answer you after this fashion ; or, as one of 
 them said in old time, when the waves of the sea did 
 beat upon him, and he slept as one upon the mast of a 
 ship, When I awake, I will seek it yet again. (Prov. 
 23 : 34, 35.) You know, when men talk in their sleep, 
 they say anything ; but their words are not governed 
 either by faith or reason There is an incoherency in 
 their words now, as there was before, betwixt then 
 going on pilgrimage and sitting down here. This, then, 
 is the mischief of it : when heedless ones go on pilgrim^ 
 age, 'tis twenty to one but they are served thus. For 
 this Enchanted Ground is one of the last refuges that 
 the enemy to pilgrims has ; wherefore it is, as you see, 
 placed almost at the end of the way, and so it standeth 
 
4c8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 against us with the more advantage. For when, thinks 
 the enemy, will these fools be so desirous to sit dowx 
 as when they are weary ? and when so like to be weary 
 as when almost at their journey's end ? Therefore it 
 is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is placed so nigb 
 to the land Beulah, and so near the end of their racec 
 Wherefore let pilgrims look to themselves, lest it hap 
 pen to them as it has done to these, that, as you see> 
 are fallen asleep, and none can awake them. 
 
 Then the pilgrims desired with trembling to go for- 
 ward ; only they prayed their guide to strike a light, 
 that they might go the rest of their way by the help of 
 the light of a lantern. So he struck a light, and they 
 went by the help of that through the rest of tMs way, 
 though the darkness was very great. (2 Pet. 1 : 19.) 
 J»ut the children began to be sorely weary, and they 
 cried out unto Him that loveth pilgrims, to make their 
 v-'ay more comfortable. So by that they had gone a 
 I'ttle farther, a wind arose that drove away the fog, so 
 tiae air became more clear. Yet they were not off (by 
 much) of the Enchanted Ground ; only now they could 
 pee one another better, and the way wherein they 
 thould walk. 
 
 Now, when they were almost at the end of this 
 ground, they perceived that a little before them was a 
 solemn noise, as of one that was much concerned. Sc 
 they went on and looked before them: and behold, thej 
 saw, as they thought, a man upon his knees, with hands 
 and eyes lifted up, and speaking, as the}^ thought, earn- 
 estly to One that was above. They drew nigh, but 
 could not tell what he said ; so they went softly till he 
 had done. When he had done, he got up, and began 
 to run towards the Celestial City. Then Mr. Great- 
 heart called after him, saying, Soho ! friend, let us have 
 jour company, if you go, as I suppose you do, to th© 
 
THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS, 409 
 
 Celestial City. So the man stopped, and they came up 
 to him. But as soon as Mr. Honest saw him, he said, I 
 know this man. Then said Mr. Valiant-for-truth, 
 Prithee, who is it ^ It is one, said he, that comes from 
 whereabout I dwelt. His name is Standfast . he is cer- 
 tainly a right good pilgrim. 
 
 So they came up to one another , and presently 
 Standfast said to old Honest, Ho, Father Honest, are 
 you there ? Ay, said he, that I am, as sure as you are 
 there. Right glad am I, said Mr. Standfast, that i have 
 found you on this road. And as glad am I, said the 
 other, that I espied you on your knees. Then Mr, 
 Standfast blushed, and said. But why, did you see me? 
 Yes, that I did, quoth the other, and, with my heart, 
 was glad at the sight. Why, what did you think? 
 said Standfast. Think ! said old Honest ; what could I 
 t^ink? I thought we had an honest man upon the 
 r\)ad, and therefore should have his company by and 
 by. If you thought not amiss, said Standfast, how 
 fcappy am I ! But if I be not as I should, 'tis I alone 
 Blast bear it. That is true, said the other; but your 
 fear doth further confirm me that things are right be- 
 twixt the Prince of Pilgrims and your soul. For ha 
 eaith, " Blessed is the man that feareth always." (Prov» 
 28. 14.) 
 
 Valiant. Well, but, brother, I pray thee tell us 
 what was it that was the cause of thy being upon thy 
 knees even now? was it for that some special mercy 
 laid obligations upon thee, or how ? 
 
 Stand. Why, we are, as you see, upon the En- 
 chanted Ground ; and as I was coming along, I was 
 musing with myself of what a dangerous nature the 
 road in this place was, and how many that had come 
 even thus far on pilgrimage, had here been stopped and 
 been destroyed. I thought also of the manner of the 
 
410 ^^^ P^L GRIM 'S FROGRESSo 
 
 death with which this place destroyetii men. Thoed 
 that die here, die of no violent distemper the death 
 which such die is not grievous to them. For he that 
 goeth away in a sleep, begins that journey with desire 
 and pleasure. Yea, such acquiesce in the will of that 
 disease. 
 
 Then Mr. Honest, interrupting him, said, Did yoil 
 see the two men asleep in the arbor ? 
 
 Stand. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Toobold 
 there, and for aught I know, there they will lie til'i 
 they rot. (Prov 10:7.) But let me go on with my 
 tale. As I was thus musing, as I said, there was one in 
 very pleasant attire, but old, who presented herself to 
 me, and offered me three things, to wit her body, hej 
 purse, and her bed. Now, the truth is, I was both 
 weary and sleepy. I am also as poor as an owlet, and 
 that perhaps the witch knew. Well, I repulsed her 
 once and again, but she put by my repulses, and smiled. 
 Then I began to be angry ; but she mattered that 
 nothing at all. Then she made ofPers again, and said, 
 if I would be ruled by her, she would make me great 
 and happy , for, said she, I am the mistress of the world 
 and men are made happy by me. Then I asked her 
 name, and she told me it was Madam Bubble. This 
 set me further from her , but she still followed me with 
 enticements. Then I betook me, as you saw, to my 
 knees, and with hands lifted up, and cries, I prayed to 
 Him that had said he would help. So just as you came 
 up, the gentlewoman went her way. Then I continued 
 to give thanks for this my great deliverance ; for I verily 
 believe she intended no good, but rather sought to make 
 stop of me in my journey. 
 
 Hon. Without doubt her desis^ns were bad. But 
 stay, now you talk of her, methinks I either have aeeil 
 her, or have read some story of her« 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 411 
 
 Stand. Perhaps j'-ou have done both. 
 
 Hon. Madam Bubble ! Is she not a tall, cornel v 
 iiame, somewhat of a swarthy complexion ? 
 
 Stand. Right, you hit it • she is just such a one. 
 
 Hon. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give 
 you a smile at the end of a sentence? 
 
 Stand. You fall right upon it again, for these are 
 her very actions. 
 
 Hon. Doth she not wear a great purse by her sidej. 
 and is not her hand often in it, fingering her money, as 
 if that was her heart's delight ? 
 
 Stand. *Tis just so ; had she stood by all thi 3 
 while you could not more amply have set her forti 
 before me, nor have better described her features. 
 
 Hon. Then he that drew her picture was a good 
 Hmner, and he that wrote of her said true. 
 
 Great. This woman is a witch, and it is by virtitw 
 of her sorceries that this ground is enchanted. Wh >- 
 ever doth lay his head down in her lap, had as good la y 
 it down on that block over which the axe doth hang i 
 and whoever lay their eyes upon her beauty are counted 
 the enemies of God. This is she that maintaineth in 
 their splendor all those that are the enemies of pilgrims. 
 (James 4 : 4.) Yea, this is she that hath bought off 
 many a man from a pilgrim's life. She is a great gos- 
 siper ; she is always, both she and her daughters, at one 
 pilgrim's heels or another, now commanding, and then 
 preferring, the excellences of this life. She is a bold 
 and impudent slut : she will talk with any man. She 
 always laughed poor pilgrims to scorn, but highly com- 
 mends the rich. If there be one cunning to get money 
 in a place, she will speak well of him from house to 
 house. She loveth banqueting and feasting mainly 
 well i she is always at one full table or another. She 
 liaft given it out in some places that she is a goddess : 
 
(|lf THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 and therefore, some do worship her. She has her time 
 and open places of cheating ; and she will say, and avow 
 it, that none can show a good comparable to hers. She 
 promiseth to dwell with children, if they will but ^ove 
 her and make much of her» She will cast out of her 
 purse gold like dust in some places and to some persons. 
 She loves to be sought after, spoken well of, and to lie 
 in the bosoms of men. She is never weary of commend- 
 ing her commodities, and she loves them most that think 
 best of her. She will promise to some crowns and king- 
 doms, if they will but take her advice ; yet many hath 
 she brought to the halter, and ten thousand times more 
 to hell. 
 
 Stand. Oh, said Standfast, what a mercy is it that 
 I did resist her ; for whither might she have drawn me 1 
 
 Great. Whither ? nay, none but God knows 
 whither. But, in general, to be sure, she would have 
 drawn thee into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which 
 drown men in destruction and perdition. (1 Tim. 6 : 9.) 
 'Twas she that set Absalom against his father, and 
 Jeroboam against his master. 'Twas she that persuaded 
 Judas to sell his Lord ; and that prevailed with Demas 
 to forsake the godly pilgrim's life. None can tell of the 
 mischief that she doth. She makes variance betwixt 
 rulers and subjects, betwixt parents and children, be- 
 twixt neighbor and neighbor, betwixt a man and his 
 wife, betwixt a man and himself, betwixt the flesh and 
 the spirit. Wherefore, good Mr. Standfast, be as your 
 name is, and when you have done all, stand. 
 
 At this discourse there was, among the pilgrims, a 
 mixture of joy and trembling ; but at length they broki 
 out and sung, — 
 
 •* What danger is the pilgrim in t 
 Bow many are his foes I 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 4, j 
 
 How many ways there are to sin 
 No living mortal knows. 
 
 ** dome in the ditch are spoiled ; yea, can 
 Lie tumbling in the mire : 
 Some, though they shun the frying-pan, 
 Do leap into the fire." 
 
 After this, I beheld until they were come into ^J';^^• 
 land of Beulah, where the sun shineth night and diiy. 
 Here, because they were weary, they betook themselves 
 a while to rest. And because this country was common 
 for pilgrims, and because the orchards and vineyards 
 that were here belonged to the King of the Celestial 
 Country, therefore they were licensed to make bo'd 
 with any of his things. But a little while soon refresh';d 
 them here ; for the bells did so ring, and the trumpets 
 continually sound so melodiously, that they could not 
 sleep, and yet they received as much refreshing as ii 
 they had slept their sleep ever so soundly. Here, also, 
 all the noise of them that walked the streets was. More 
 pilgrims are come to town ! And another would answer 
 saying, And so many went over the water, and were let 
 in at the golden gates to-day ! They would cry again. 
 There is now a legion of shining ones just come to 
 town, by which we know that there are more pilgrims 
 upon the road ; for here they come to wait for them, 
 and to comfort them, after all their sorrow. Then tho 
 pilgrims got up, and walked to and fro. But how were 
 their ears now filled with heavenly noises, and their eyes 
 delighted with celestial visions I In this land they 
 heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smelt nothing, 
 tasted nothing, that was offensive to their stomach or 
 mind ; only when they tasted of the water of the river 
 over which they were to go, they thought that it tasted 
 a little bitterish to the palate ; but it proved sweetej 
 wben it was dow»* 
 
^X4 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 
 
 In this place there was a record kept of the names 
 of them that had been pilgrims of old, and a history of 
 all the famous acts that they had done. It was here 
 also much discoursed, how the river to seme had had 
 its flowings, and what ebbings it has had while others 
 had gone over. It has been in a manner dry for some^ 
 while it has overflowed its banks for uthers. 
 
 In this place the children of the town would go into 
 the King's gardens, and gather nosegays for the pilgrims, 
 and bring them to them with much affection. Here, 
 also, grew camphire, with spikenard and saffron, calfv* 
 mus and cinnamon, with all the trees of frankincense, 
 myrrh, and aloes, with all chief spices. With these thitf 
 pilgrims' chambers were perfumed, while they stayed 
 here; and with these were their bodies anointed, 1o 
 prepare them to go over the river, when the time a])- 
 pointed was come. 
 
 Now, while they lay here, and waited for the goo a 
 hour, there was a noise in the town that there was a 
 pv^st come from the Celestial City, with matter of great 
 importance to one Christiana, the wife of Christian the 
 pilgrim. So inquiry was made for her, and the house 
 was found out where she saw. So the post presentei 
 her with a letter. The contents were: Hail, good 
 woman ; I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth for 
 thee, and expecteth that thou shouldst stand in His 
 presence, in clothes of immortality, within these tea 
 days. 
 
 When he had read this letter to her, he gave her 
 therewith a sure token that he was a true messenger, 
 and was come to bid her make haste to be gone. The 
 token was, an arrow with the point sharpened with love, 
 let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so 
 effectually with her that, at the time appointed, sbfd 
 must be goue« 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 415 
 
 When Christiana saw that her time was come, and 
 ^at she was the first of this company that was to go 
 Dver, she called for Mr. Greatheart, her guide, and told 
 him how matters were. So he told her he was heartily 
 glad of the news, and could have been glad had the 
 post come for him. Then she bid him that he should 
 give advice how all things should be prepared for her 
 journey. So he told her, saying, Thus and thus it must 
 be, and we that survive will accompany you to the river- 
 side. 
 
 Then she called for her children, and gave then: her 
 blessing, and told them that she had read with comfort 
 the mark that was set in their foreheads, and was glad 
 to see them with her there, and that they had kept 
 their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to 
 the poor that little she had, and commanded her sons 
 ^nd daughters to be ready against the messenger 
 should come for them. 
 
 When she had spoken these words to her guide, and 
 to her children, she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, 
 and said unto him, Sir, you have in all places showed 
 yourself true-hearted ; be faithful unto death, and my 
 King will give you a crown of life. (Rev. 2 : 10.) I 
 would also entreat you to have an eye to my children ; 
 and if at any time you see them faint, speak comfort^ 
 ably to them. For my daughters, my son's wives, they 
 have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the promise upoa 
 «hem will be their end. But she gave Mr. Standfast 
 i ring. 
 
 Then she called for old Mr. Honest, and said of him, 
 '* Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!" 
 (John 1: 47.) Then said he, I wish you a fair day 
 when you set out for Mount Sion, and shall be glad to 
 «ee that you go over the river dry-shod. But she an- 
 swered, Come wet, come dry, I long to be gone ; foJ 
 
^l6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 however the weather is in my journe3% I shall have 
 time enough when I come there to sit down and rest 
 X? «?.nd dry me. 
 
 Then came in that good man Mr. Readytohalt, to 
 see her. So she said to him, Thv travel hitherto has 
 been with difficulty; but that will make thy rest the 
 sweeter. Watch, and be ready; for at an hour when 
 you think not, the messenger may come. 
 
 After him came Mr. Despondency and his daughter 
 Muchafraid, to whom she said, You ought, with thank- 
 fulness, forever to remember your deliverance from 
 the hands of Giant Despair, and out of Doubtinfj 
 Castle. The effect of that mercy is, that you ar« 
 brought with safety hither. Be ye watchful, and cast 
 Eway fear ; be sober, and hope to the end. 
 
 Then she said to Mr. Feeblemind, Thou wast deliv' 
 ered from the mouth of Giant Slaygood, that the a 
 mightest live in the light of the living, and see tbf 
 King with comfort. Only I advise thee to repent c^f 
 thine aptness to fear and doubt of His goodness, bo- 
 fore He sends for thee ; lest thou shouldst, when Hs 
 comes, be forced to stand before Him for that fauU 
 with blushing. 
 
 Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. 
 So the road was full of people to see her take her 
 |ourney. But behold, all the banks beyond the river 
 vere full of horses and chariots, which were come 
 down from above to accompany her to the city gate. 
 60 she came forth, and entered the river, with a beckon 
 of farewell to those that followed her The last words 
 chat she was heard to say were, I come. Lord, to be 
 with Thee and bless Thee I So her children and friends 
 returned to their place, for those that waited fo? 
 Christiana had carried her out of their sight. So sh^ 
 went and ealled, rnd entered in at the gat^ with al' 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 41^ 
 
 ahe ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had 
 entered with before her. At her departure, the chiL 
 dren wept. But Mr. Greatheart and Mr. Valiant 
 played upon the well-tuned cymbal and harp for joy. 
 So all departed for their respective places. 
 
 In process of time there came a post to the town 
 again, and his business was with Mr. Ready toh? It. So 
 he inquired him out, and said, I am come from Hina 
 whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon 
 crutches j and my message is to tell thee, that He 
 expects thee at His table to sup with Him in his king' 
 dom, the next day after Easter ; wherefore preparo 
 thyself for this journey. Then he also gave him a 
 token that he was a true messenger, saying, " I have 
 broken thy golden bowl, and loosed thy silver cord * 
 (Eccles. 12: 6.) 
 
 After this, Mr. Readytohalt called for his fello\»v 
 pilgrims, and told them, saying, I am sent for, an«f 
 God shall surely visit you also. So he desired Mi. 
 Valiant to make his will. And because he had nothint 
 to bequeath to them that should survive him but his 
 crutches, and his good wishes, therefore thus he said. 
 These crutches I bequeath to my son that shall tread 
 in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may- 
 prove better than I have been. Then he thanked Mr. 
 Greatheart for his conduct and kindness, and so ad- 
 dressed himself to his journey. When he came to the 
 brink of the river, he said, Now I shall have no more 
 need of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and 
 horses for me to ride on. The last words he was 
 heard to say, were, Welcome, life! So he went his 
 way. 
 
 After this, Mr. Feeblemind had tidings brought him 
 that the post sounded his horn at his chamber-door. 
 Then he came in, and told him, saying, I am come to 
 
4i8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 tell thee that thy Master hath need of thee, and tfeal 
 m a very little time thou must behold His face in 
 brightness. And take this as a token of the truth of 
 my message : " Those that look out at the windows 
 shall be darkened." (Eccles. 12:3.) Then Mr. Feeble- 
 mind called for his friends, and told them what errand 
 had been brought unto him, and what token he had 
 received of the truth of the message. Then he said» 
 Since I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what pur- 
 pose should I malxO a will ? As for my feeble mind, 
 that I will leave behind me, for that I shall have no 
 need of in the place whither I go, nor is it worth be* 
 stowing upon the poorest pilgrims: wherefore, when 
 I am gone, I desne that you, Mr. Valiant, would bury 
 it in a dunghill. This done, and the diiy being come 
 on which he was to depart, he entered the river as the 
 rest. His Jast words were, Hold out, faith and pa- 
 tience 1 So he went over to the other side. 
 
 \Vhen days had many of them passed away, Mr. De- 
 spondency was sent for; for a post was come, and 
 brought this message to him : Trembling man ! these 
 are to summon thee to be ready with the King by the 
 next Lord's day, to shout for joy for thy deliverance 
 from ail thy doub tings. And, said the messenger^ 
 that my message is true, take this for a proof: so he 
 gave him a grasshopper to be a burden unto him. 
 (Eccles. 12 : 5.) 
 
 Now Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose name was 
 Muchafraid, said, when she heard what was done, that 
 she would go with her father. Then Mr. Despondency 
 said to his friends. Myself and my daughter,- you know 
 what we have been, and how troublesomely we have 
 behaved ourselves in every company My will and my 
 daughter's is, that our desponds and slavish fears be 
 bji no man ever received, from the day of our de 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, ^j^ 
 
 jparture, forever; for I know that after my death thej 
 will ofter themselves to others. For, to be plain with 
 yea, they are ghosts which we entertained when we 
 iirst began to be pilgrims, and could never shake them 
 off after ; and they will walk about, and seek entertain* 
 ment of the pilgrims : but for our sakes, shut the doors 
 upon them. 
 
 When the time was come for them to depart, they 
 went up to the brink of the river. The last words of 
 Mr. Despondency were. Farewell, night ; welcome, day I 
 His daughter went through the river singing, but non% 
 could understand what she said. 
 
 Then it came to pass, a while after, that there was \ 
 post in the town that inquired for Mr. Honest. So 1; e 
 came to the house where he was, and delivered to h a 
 hand these lines : Thou art commanded to be read f 
 against this day seven-night, to present thyself befoi e 
 thy Lord at his Father's house. And for a token thi>t 
 mj message is true, ** All the daughters ot music shall 
 be brought low." (Eccles. 12; 4.) Then Mr. Hone«i 
 called for his friends, and said unto them, 1 die, bit 
 shall make no will. As for my honesty, it shall go wiljj 
 tne ; let him that comes after be told of this. 
 
 When the day that he was to be gone was come, be 
 Addressed himself to go over the river. Now the river 
 at that time overflowed its banks in some places ; but 
 Mr. Honest, in his lifetime, had spoken to one Good- 
 conscience to meet him there, the which he also did, 
 and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The 
 last words of Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns 1 So he 
 left the world. 
 
 After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-fop- 
 truth was taken with a summons by the same post aa 
 the other, and had this for a token that the summona 
 was true, ** That his pitcher was broken at the fountam.*" 
 
^Q 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
 
 (Eccles. 12 : 6.) When he understood it, he called W 
 his friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am 
 going to my Father's ; and though with great difficulty 
 £ have got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all th« 
 trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My sword 
 I give to him that shall succeed me in ray pilgrimage, 
 ind my courage and skill to him that can get it. My 
 i'narks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness foi 
 Kie that I have fought His battles who will now be my 
 rewarder. 
 
 When the day that he must go hence was come, 
 many accompanied him to the river-side, into which, i 9 
 he went, he said, " Death, where is thy sting ? " An J 
 as he went down deeper, he said, " Grave, where is th f 
 victory ? " (1 Cor. 15 r 55.) So he passed over, and aJ 
 the trumpets sounded for him on the other side. 
 
 Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Standfasts 
 This Mr. Standfast was he whom the rest of the pi t- 
 grims found upon his knees in the Enchanted Grounct, 
 And the post brought it him open in his hands; the 
 contents thereof were, that he must prepare for ft 
 change of life, for his Master was not willing that he 
 should be so far from him any longer. At this Mr. 
 Standfast was put into a muse. Nay, said the mes- 
 senger, you need not doubt of the truth of my message; 
 for liere is a token of the truth thereof, " Thy wheel is 
 broken at the cistern." (Eccles. 12 : 6.) Then he called 
 to him Mr. Greatheart, who was their guide, and said 
 unto him, Sir, although it was not my hap to be much 
 in your good company during the days of my pilgrimage, 
 yet, since the time I knew you, you have been profitable 
 to me. When I came from home, I left behind me a 
 wife and five small children ; let me entreat you, at 
 your return (for I know that you will go and return to 
 four Master's house, in hones that you mav vet Iw « 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 421 
 
 ^-uuacLv^r to more ot the holy pilgrims), that you ser.d 
 to my family, and let them be acquainted with all that 
 hath and shall happen unto me. Tell them, moreover, 
 of my happy arrival at this place, and of the present 
 late blessed condition I am in. Tell them also ot 
 Christian and Christiana his wife, and how she and hei 
 children came after her husband, Tell them also oi 
 what a happy end she made, and whither she is gone* 
 I have little or nothing to send to my family, unless it- 
 be prayers and tears for them ; of which it will suffice 
 that yon acquaint them, if peradveuture they may 
 prevail. 
 
 When Mr. Standfast had thus set things in ordej, 
 and the time being come for him to liaste him away, li 1 
 also went down to the river. Now there was a gre^fc 
 calm at that time in the river ; wherefore Mr. Standfast, 
 when he was about half way in, stood a while, an 1 
 talked with his companions that had waited upon hiu 
 thither. And he said, This river has been a terror t^) 
 many ; yea, the thoughts of it also have often frighr^ 
 ened me ; but now methinks 1 stand easy ; my foot is 
 fixed upon that on which the feet of the priests thai 
 bare the ark of the covenant stood while Israel went 
 over Jordan. (Josh. 3: 17.) The waters indeed are 
 to the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold : yet the 
 thoughts of what I am going to, and of the convoy that 
 waits me on the other side, do lie as a glowing coal at 
 my heart, i see myself now at the end of my journey 
 my toilsome days are ended. I am going to see that 
 head which was crowned with thorns, and that face 
 which was spit upon for me. I have formerly lived by 
 hearsay and faith ; but now I go where I shall live by 
 sight, and shall be with Him in whose company I de« 
 light myself. I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of j 
 *iid wherever I have seen the print of His shoe in tha 
 
42« THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^ 
 
 aartii, there I have coveted to set my foot too. His 
 
 name nas been to me as a civet-box ; vea, sweeter than 
 %A perfumes, His voice to me has been most sweet 
 and His countenance I have more desired than they 
 that have most desired the light of the sun. His word* 
 \ did use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against 
 jny faintings. He hath held me, and hath kept mo from 
 mine iniquities : yea, my steps hath He strengthened ir. 
 His way. 
 
 Now, while he was thus in discourse, his count©' 
 Eance changed ; his strong man bowed under him : and 
 after he had said, Take me, for I come unto Thee, he 
 leased to be seen of them. 
 
 But glorious it was to see how the open region wm 
 SUed with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and 
 pipers, with singers and players upon stringed instra 
 ments, to welcome the pilgrims as they went up, anc 
 lollowed one another in at the beautiful gate of the city. 
 
 As for Christiana's children, the four boys tha^ 
 Christiana brought, with their wives and children, I did 
 not stay where I was till they were gone over. Also» 
 since I came away, I heard one say that the}^ were yet 
 alive, and so would be for the increase of -h^ ^hjUvAv 
 in that place where they were, for a cime. 
 
 Should it be my lot to go that way agam, ^ ma;^ 
 giye those that desire it an account of wha'; T lu^r** a» 
 «il«et abouL Mp«*«»tinj^ ^ ^id my reader 
 
 F.4JRF.WELX^ 
 
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