_x.^\ -^^^v^^' 
 
 ^N^|\\V^^ 
 
 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 'As I slept, I dreamed a dream." 
 
p[,ltemus' gdition 
 
 THE 
 
 PILGRIM'S Progress 
 
 
 JOHN BUNYAN 
 
 ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS BY FREDERICK BARNARD, J. D. LINTON, W. SMALL, ETC., 
 ENGRAVED BY DALZIEL BROTHERS 
 
 AND AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 By rev. WILLIAM LANDELS, D. D. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 HENRY ALTEMUS 
 
1^ ^^„0 
 
 ^%-^ 
 
 V 
 
 \* 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1890, 
 By henry ALTEMUS. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS " is, Avithout question, of all uninspired volumes, the most 
 extraordinary book in the English language. Regard being had to the condition of its 
 autlior, and the circumstances connected with its production, to its widespread popularity, and 
 its suitableness for readers of every class, there is none to compare with it. It is so well known, 
 that any information concerning either it or its author seems superfluous; and our ingenuity 
 is at a loss to know how to write an introduction for a book for which, above all others, no 
 introduction is required. 
 
 We shall probably find few readers who are not already acquainted with the leading facts of 
 Bunyan's life, and to whom a record of them would not appear like the rehearsal of an old 
 story. It may suffice, therefore, if we present, in few words, such a summary as will refresh the 
 memory, dwelling only on those which are fitted to shed a little light on his immortal production. 
 
 Born at Elstow in Bedfordshire in 1628, of parents who belonged to the humbler walks of 
 life, he received little early education worthy of the name ; but grew up in the ignorance which 
 was then, and in England is still, common to his class. At an early age he learned the trade of 
 tinker, and by that occupation earned his livelihood for a few years. Up to the time of his first 
 marriage he lived, if not a desperately profligate, yet a thoroughly godless and openly wicked life. 
 And though the character and conversation of his wife exerted a restraining influence, and awoke 
 in him some desire for reformation, no real, and but little apparent, change took place until some 
 time afterwards, when he became the subject of converting grace. The deep experiences through 
 which he had passed in connection with this change, combined with his natural gifts, qualified 
 hini for profitably addressing others ; and he very soon began, in an irregular way at first, to exer- 
 cise the ministry, which ultimately became his sole occupation, and in which he attained to a 
 proficiency unsurpassed by any preacher of his time. His preaching, and consequent absence 
 from the parish church, attracted the notice of the ecclesiastical authorities of the neighborhood, 
 at whose instigation he was thrown into prison for twelve years, where he tagged laces to support 
 his wife and blind child, and conceived and wrote the wonderful allegory by which he has ranked 
 himself for ever among the peers of the intellectual world, and secured for himself an ever- 
 widening and undying fame. After his release he preached with great acceptance and usefulness, 
 statedly at Bedford, occasionally in London and elsewhere ; and composed and published various 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 other works of great practical usefulness, some of which would no doubt have attained to a wide 
 popularity had they not been eclipsed by his greatest production. He diligently prosecuted his 
 labors until he was sixty years of age, when a severe cold caught in the discharge of a ministerial 
 
 duty a journey which he took for the purpose of reconciling a father and son who had quarrelled 
 
 — abruptly terminated his life. 
 
 In the circumstances we have thus briefly narrated — especially in his imprisonment — some 
 writers see the discipline and training which were necessary to fit him for writing " The Pilgrim's 
 Progress." But though we cannot question that whatsoever God did for him and whatsoever 
 men were permitted to do, had some effect in fitting him for whatever work he was destined to 
 perform, it seems to us that such a discovery is but one of numerous instances in which men 
 are wise after the event, and that Bunyan's great work is not to be accounted for except by a 
 profounder philosophy than such writers bring to the task. Few beforehand would have ventured 
 to predict, from anything in the antecedents of the man Bunyan, that he would be able to 
 produce such a book ; or that anything in his circumstances and upbringing and parentage would 
 produce such a man. He is a great creation, no more to be accounted for in such a manner than 
 is the creation of a world. Antecedents conduce to, but do not account for, it. He is a 
 phenomenon only to be understood on the principle that God, by a process which we cannot 
 trace, and sometimes by means which appear to us unsuitable, raises up great men for the 
 performance of great works. Not only does He make the foolish things of the world to confound 
 the wise, and the weak to confound the mighty, but gives us to find both wisdom and strength 
 where such qualities are least likely to exist. 
 
 It is a fact significant of the nature of the times, that Christian England, which ought to have 
 been proud to rank him among her favored sons, had no better treatment for this man than the 
 most relentless persecution, no better home for twelve years than a damp cell in the jail which 
 stood on the bridge over the Ouse at Bedford. His crime, as we have intimated, was that of 
 absenting himself from the Established Church, and holding meetings where he preached the 
 gospel, and conducted worship in a manner which appeared to him more in accordance than the 
 established service with New-Testament principles— one of the worst crimes, in the estimation of 
 the authorities, of which a man could be guilty. On the warrant of a Justice he was apprehended 
 at a meeting in Sansell, and, no bail being found, was thrown into prison to await his trial, which 
 took place seven weeks afterwards. His indictment set forth that " John Bunyan of the town of 
 Bedford, laborer, hath devilishly and perniciously abstained from coming to church to hear 
 Divine service, and is a common upholder of several unlawful meetings and conventicles, to the 
 great disturbance and distraction of the good subjects of this kingdom, contrary to the laws of our 
 sovereign lord the king." On this indictment, without any examination of witnesses, he was 
 found guilty. Justice Keeling, in a savage tone strangely unbecoming in a judge passing sentence, 
 said, " Hear your judgment : you must be had back 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 ; or be found to come back again 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 without special license from the king, you must stretch by the neck for it, I tell you plainly. 
 Jailor, take him away." 
 
 Bunyan's reply was as worthy of his Christian character, as the judge's manner was unworthy 
 of his exalted office. All that he had to say in answer to such brutal browbeating was, " If I was 
 out of prison to-day, I would preach again to-morrow, by the help of God!" Such a m":n was 
 evidently not to be frightened either by frowns or by threats ; so they had him back to prison, of 
 which he had already tasted the sweets. But not all the horrors of prison — not the pain of 
 separation from his wife and four children, could move his dauntless soul. He felt that 
 separation most keenly — no man could have felt it more. Especially was he solicitous about 
 his blind daughter, to whom he was all the more tenderly attached because of her heljDlessness. 
 " 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, nakedness, and a thousand calamities, though I 
 cannot now endure the wind should blow upon thee ! Oh, the hardships I thought my blind 
 one might go under would break my heart in pieces." Still he did not falter, for he could 
 commit her as well as himself to God ; and God's peace was with him. " Verily, as I was 
 going forth out of the doors, I had much ado to forbear saying to them that I carried the 
 peace of God along with me ; and, blessed be the Lord, I went away to prison with God's 
 comfort in my poor soul!" 
 
 His case seems to have given some trouble to the Justices. He was had up before them 
 repeatedly, and always remanded. They were either unwilling or afraid to carry out Justice 
 Reeling's threat of banishment. And as their prisoner would not promise to change his course, 
 they kept him where he was. His friends interceded for him. His wife, who was of a kindred 
 spirit with himself, came to London with a petition for his release, and had it presented to the 
 House of Lords. Although " a delicate young woman of retiring habits," she appeared before 
 the Judges and pleaded his cause " in language worthy of the most talented counsel." But all 
 their efforts were in vain. The one condition on which his release could be granted was the 
 condition with which the prisoner would not comply. " Will your husband leave preaching ?" 
 said Judge Twisden to his wife ; " if he will do so, then send for him." " My Lord," she replied, 
 " he dares not leave preaching, so long as he can speak." " My principles," says Bunyan on 
 another occasion, " are such as lead me to a denial to communicate in the tilings of the kingdom 
 of Christ with ungodly and open profane ; neither can T, in or by the superstitious inventions 
 of this world, consent that my soul should be governed in any of my approaches to God, because 
 commanded to the contrary, and commended for so refusing. Wherefore, excepting this one 
 thing, for which I ought not to be rebuked, I shall, I trust, in despite of slander and falsehood, 
 discover myself as a peaceable and obedient subject. But if nothing will do unless I make my 
 conscience a continual butchery and slaughter-shop — unless, putting out mine own eyes, I 
 commit me to the blind to lead me (as I doubt is desired by some) — I have determined, the 
 Almighty God being my help, and shield, yet to suffer, and if frail life shall continue so long, 
 even till the moss shall grow on mine eyebrows, rather than violate my faith and principles." 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He lay in prison for more than twelve years. Twelve years ! How easy to write the words ; 
 how difficult to grasp all that they mean ! The fifth part of his life at the season when life was 
 in its prime — when his appreciation of nature was keenest — when free exercise would have 
 proved the greatest luxury to a stalwart frame like his — when he would have entered with the 
 greatest zest into home enjoyments — when his physical system was full of bounding life and 
 capable of acting with the greatest vigor — the fifth part of his life spent within the limits of a 
 dungeon — the little cell which he aptly calls his den! What a testimony to the heroic endurance 
 of the man ! What a testimony to his country's disgrace ! It is sad to think that England, with 
 her Christian constitution, had no better treatment than this for one of her noblest sons, whose 
 worth, blinded as she was by fiunkeyisms and debaucheries in high places, she was unable to 
 recognize. 
 
 To Bunyan it mattered little what they did. Happier far was he in prison than the clergy- 
 man in his living, or the bishop in his palace, or the king on his throne. Yea, it may be 
 questioned if in all England there was a man so happy or so much to be envied as that prisoner 
 on Bedford Bridge. The " God's peace " — " God's comfort " — of which he speaks as dwelling in 
 his " poor soul," is not dependent on place or circumstances, cannot be disturbed by the 
 treatment he receives. He who hath it can defy the persecutor's rage. Do to him what you 
 will — strip him of his possessions and friends — drive him into exile — make him a homeless 
 wanderer — he is happier in his penury and homelessness than others in the abundance of their 
 wealth and comfort. The stream by whose side he strays lulls him with its melody. The 
 wild-flower blooming at his feet with its bewitching beauty, hath for him a quiet but charming 
 tale of One for whose care nothing is too minute. The mountains tower around in testimony 
 of his Father's power and faithfulness ; and the stars overhead are so many provinces in his 
 Father's boundless domain — yea, all nature doth minister to his pleasure, because all out\yard 
 things do " chime harmoniously with the movements of the harmonious soul." Or if, by prison 
 walls, as in Bunyan's case, he be shut out from nature's beauty — from daylight and the fragrant 
 air — still he has left to him God and himself. The soul's freedom is unimpaired. It can soon 
 soar above all restraint and enjoy Divine fellowship. No prison walls are so thick that prayer 
 cannot pierce them. No dungeon gloom so dark that it may not be radiated with celestial light. 
 
 "Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 Nor iron bars a cage ; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 That for a hermitage. 
 
 "For though men keep my outward man 
 Within their locks and bars, 
 Yet by the faith of Christ I can 
 Mount higher than the stars." 
 
 These were no meaningless sounds to him — no poetical expression of the feelings which he 
 supposed might be experienced— no rhapsodical or exaggerated description of what he actually 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 felt. Poetry apart, he elsewhere tells us of the glorious visions with which he was favored there. 
 "O the Mount Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the innumerable company of angels, and God 
 the judge of all ; Jesus the mediator, and the spirits of just men made perfect ! I have seen 
 here what I never can express. I have felt the truth of that Scripture, ' Whom having not seen, 
 ye love ; in Whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and 
 full of glory.' " Most of the day was spent in " tagging laces," with his blind girl by his side — 
 an employment which he learned in prison, that thereby he might help to support his family. 
 But when evening came, and the child was dismissed to her home with a parting benediction, 
 his soul, free to soar where it listed, saw those glorious visions, and indulged in those pious 
 meditations which are embodied in his immortal work. He had but to close his eyes, and he 
 was no more the prisoner, but the pilgrim whose progress he so graphically describes. Bedford 
 jail fades away, and his unfettered soul stands on some mount of vision where, from its 
 commencement to its close, the course of his pilgrim lies open to his view. There he sees the 
 City of Destruction, and remembers how he left it with the burden on his back — the Slough 
 of Despond, and the overhanging hill near the house of Mr. Legality, with its deep rifts and 
 flasliing fires. He recalls his entrance at the wicket-gate — his visit to the Interpreter's house — 
 his rapture when, standing at the foot of the Cross and gazing on the Crucified, his burden fell 
 from his shoulders and he was free. Again he is entertained at the Palace Beautiful, finds there 
 refreshment and repose, and at break of day wakes up singing in the chamber whose name is 
 Peace. Or he wanders among the Delectable Mountains with the shepherds for his companions ; 
 and from the hill Clear, looking through the glass of faith, discerns in the distance the pearly 
 gates, and golden turrets, and jasper walls, that surround the City of the Blest. Or he dwells in 
 the land of Beulah, where, not in imagination only, but in reality, his soul summers even now, 
 ripening for the heaven which is so near that already he inhales its fragrance, and walks in its 
 light, and holds converse with its shining ones — where the sun shineth night and day, and the 
 birds sing continually, and the flowers are ever fresh and fair, and the voice of the turtle is heard 
 in the land. Or, the river crossed, he climbs the hiU which leads up to the gate of the City, or 
 rather glides upward ; for the shining ones have clasped his hands, and the burden of mortality 
 left in the river no more clogs the movements of the ascending soul. The gates open at his 
 approach — the trumpets sound in honor of his coming. The bells of the city " ring again for 
 joy." " Angels meet him with harp and crown, and give him the harp to praise withal and the 
 crown in token of honor." And the hosts of the glorified standing round welcome him with 
 acclamations to their exalted fellowship, saying, " Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." 
 
 All these are real to him— more real than the prison walls that surround him, or his prison 
 garb, or prison fare. These are but the illusions which shall vanish ; those the realities which 
 shall endure. And, being so vividly presented to his mind, he is constrained to imprint them 
 on his page. Rousing himself from his reverie, but with beaming eye and radiant countenance, 
 for " he writes as if joy did make him write," he flings from his graphic and fluent pen those 
 vivid, brilliant pictures, over which, after his persecutors have perished, and his prison walls have 
 
lo INTRODUCTION. 
 
 crumbled into dust, and the painful circumstances of his earthly life have receded into the dim 
 and distant past, — in many lands and throughout all generations — in the closet and the chamber 
 — in the solitary hut and the crowded city — young and old, rich and jDoor, learned and illiterate, 
 shall bend with ever fresh delight. 
 
 Without question, Bunyan's imprisonment was made conducive for the furtherance of the 
 gospel. The Providence which controls the wrath of man, and makes it contribute to its own 
 purposes, so overruled the malice of his persecutors, as to make it serve the cause which they 
 sought to destroy. Not only may we see the Divine hand, in the fact that Bunj^an's imprison- 
 ment afforded him leisure for the composition of those works which have made his name 
 immortal; but an overruling Providence is specially seen, in some of the circumstances which 
 focilitated his work. Cruelties such as were perpetrated in other prisons would probably have 
 sliortened his days, or at least have rendered writing and study impossible ; but in the jail at 
 Bedford where he was confined, though the place was loathsome in the extreme, the jailer treated 
 the prisoners with such humanity that he incurred the displeasure of the Justices. Bunyan was 
 allowed to visit his family occasionally, and it was on one of his visits that the circumstance 
 occurred which most people would consider peculiarly providential. A neighboring priest heard 
 of his absence from prison, and immediately despatched a messenger that he might bear witness 
 against the jailer. Meanwhile Bunyan, feeling uneasy at home, had returned to prison sooner 
 than was intended, so that when the messenger demanded, " Are all the prisoners safe ?" the jailer 
 could answer "Yes." "Is John Bunyan safe?" "Yes." Bunyan, on being called, appeared; 
 and, said the jailer afterwards, " You may go out when you will, for you know much better when 
 to return than I can tell you." Thus were his health and life preserved, and the man who was 
 forbidden to speak to a few assembled in a peasant's cottage, furnished with facilities for writing a 
 book by wliich he speaks to millions in every land, and through all succeeding generations; 
 while the men who sought to silence him have been all forgotten. So do the enemies of the 
 gospel frustrate their own schemes. So does the right live on, emerging into ever-increasing 
 splendor, while the wrong sinks into merited oblivion. 
 
 The acceptance which his " Pilgrim's Progress " has met with is altogether unparalleled. 
 During the Author's lifetime many copies are said to have been circulated in England — and 
 that was at a time when books and readers were comparatively scarce. Several editions — some 
 of them got up, as booksellers would say, in very superior style— were published in North 
 America, and translations were issued in French and Flemish, Dutch, Welsh, Gaelic, and Irish. 
 Nor does time show any abatement of its popularity. Among all the competitors for public 
 favor which have since issued from the press, it retains its pre-eminence. There is scarcely a 
 known language into which it has not been rendered. Wherever English is spoken it is familiar 
 as a household word. Both the First and Second Parts may be had together new, and neatly 
 printed, for one penny, showing that notwithstanding the millions in circulation, and the new 
 editions which are constantly appearing, publishers can still reckon on a sale of hundreds 
 of thousands for one edition alone. It appears in all forms, and is read by all classes. Richly 
 
INTRODUCTION. ii 
 
 illustrated and elegantly bound, it adorns the drawing-room tables of the wealthy. Well 
 thumbed and sometimes tattered, as if from constant, if not careless, usage, it lies on the shelf 
 or the window-sill of the poor. Children are entranced with the interest of the story ; its 
 tranquil or gloomy scenes, its pictures of danger and conflict — of triumph and despair. Men 
 too illiterate to account for the fascination, are attracted to its pages. And learned men, who 
 have little sympathy with its religious purpose, feel the spell of its genius, and are compelled 
 to admire it for the beauty or the awfulness of its creations, its vivid embodiments, its clear 
 insight and keen satire, its terse Saxon style. The young Christian, just starting on his course, 
 reads it for guidance and encouragement in his own conflicts and perils ; and the aged saint 
 lingering for a while on the river's brink, before the messenger summons him into the presence 
 of the King, testifies to the accuracy with which it pictures the serene and mellowed joys of 
 the land of Bculah — the celestial air which the pilgrim breathes, the celestial fragrance which 
 is wafted from on high, the celestial visitants with whom he holds converse as he nears his 
 journey's end ; and the dull eye brightens, and the withered countenance glows with rapture, 
 as, by the pilgrim's passage of the river, and entrance at the gates, he is led to anticijiate his 
 own. It is wonderful that any man should have written a book of such universal and endur- 
 ing popularity. More wonderful still that it should have been written in prison by an unedu- 
 cated tinker, the descendant of a vagrant tribe — written spontaneously and unconsciously — 
 not as an effort, but as a relief from mental fulness — as the thoughts came crowding u]) 
 in all their freshness in an untrained but singularly original and fertile mind. 
 
 With all its popularity and excellence, it is easy to see that the book is not without 
 faults. Its theology, scriptural in the main, is colored by his own experience. The long and 
 jKiinful journey which Christian makes with his burden before he finds relief at the cross, 
 though it accords with fact often, is somewhat at variance with Scripture. The Second Part 
 shows some improvement on the First in this respect; but there, too, the cross is placed too 
 i-dT on the way. It should have been at the wicket-gate, and not at the farther side of the 
 Interpreter's house; for there is really no true progress heavenward until the cross is seen. 
 As an allegory, moreover, it presents, as it could scarcely fail, some obvious inconsistencies. 
 The wicket-gate is the proper entrance to the pilgrim's course ; and yet Hopeful enters it not 
 tlirough. the wicket-gate, but at Vanity Fair, which is far on the way. Faithful, again, leaves 
 it not by the river, which represents death, but is taken up in a chariot of fire. These and 
 such like discrepancies are obvious to every reader ; and the best excuse for them is that his 
 purpose rendered them unavoidable. It was not possible by any consistent allegory to set 
 forth so many distinct phases of spiritual life. 
 
 Tlie wonder is not that there are inconsistencies in the allegory, but that these are so few 
 and the beauties of the book so manifold. " It is the highest miracle of genius," says Macaulay, 
 "that things which are not should be as though they were, that the imagination of one mind 
 should become the personal recollections of another. And this miracle the tinker has wrought. 
 There is no ascent, no declivity, no resting-place, no turnstile, with which we are not perfectly 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 acquainted." His characters, though some of them are mere embodiments of abstract qualities, 
 are painted with equal vividness. They are marked with individuality as much as if they 
 were real personages who had sat for their portraits. There is no danger of our mistaking one 
 for another ; and such is the impression they produce on our minds, that, when once we have 
 made acquaintance with them, they are not easily forgotten. Sterii as he is in his treatment of 
 wrong, and especially in peeling off the skin from sanctimonious villainy, what a depth of 
 tenderness there is in his nature, and what a keen appreciation of the beautiful he now and 
 again displays ! M'hen he writes of Christiana in the Second Part there is a preceptible soften- 
 ing in his tone ; and the incidents of the journey are suited to the delicacy of woman and the 
 tenderness of youth ; for the writer knew well, and had himself imbibed, the spirit of Him 
 Who " tempers the wind to the shorn lamb " — " Who gathers the lambs in His arms, and car- 
 ries them in His bosoui." The quiet beauty of some of his scenes, and the soft light which 
 falls on them, is perfectly charming ; and all the more noticeable as contrasted with the lurid 
 grandeur of others. What a sweet picture is that Palace Beautiful, with its waiting damsels 
 and its chamber of peace — " the country birds that, in the spring-time, sing all day long in a 
 most curious, melodious note," one carolling, as Christiana listens, with words much like 
 
 these, — 
 
 "Through all my life Thy favor is 
 
 So frankly showed to me, 
 
 That in Thy house for evermore 
 
 My dwelling-place shall be." 
 
 And another responding, — 
 
 "For why? The Lord our God is good; 
 His mercy is for ever sure: 
 His truth at all times firmly stood, 
 And shall from age to age endure." 
 
 Not less lovely, when Christiana passes through, is the Valley of Humiliation, green and fertile, 
 and " beautified with lilies," where " our Lord formerly had his country house, and loved to walk 
 the meadows, for he found the air was pleasant," where "laboring men have good estates," 
 where the shepherd boy doth sing his artless song, giving utterance to his heart's content, — 
 
 " He that is down needs fear no fall ; 
 He that is poor no pride ; 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide." 
 
 And tliat land of Beulah, so near the gates of the City with only the river between, where the 
 pilgrim, after the toils of the way, rests and ripens for glory, is so vividly presented to us, that, 
 forgetting our surroundings, we can sometimes fancy ourselves in it, soothed and refreshed by its 
 delicious influences, bathed in its golden light, and breathing its balmy air. And the Celestial 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 City itself, shining like the sun, Avith its bells and trumpets, its golden pavement, its white-robed 
 inhabitants, wearing crowns and waving palms, with " harps to play withal," — what reader does 
 not feel as if he stood with the writer looking in at the open gate, and, sympathizing with his 
 desire, when carried away by his own imaginings, he says, " which, when I had seen, I wished 
 myself among them." 
 
 But time would fail and space forbids us to expatiate on the beauties of the book. The more 
 we stud}' it, the more do we feel how much it deserves its matchless popularity ; and the more 
 cordiallj^ do we commend it to the careful perusal of our readers. Our desire and prayer is, 
 that some of them may be influenced by Bunyan's pleasant companionship and wise guidance 
 to commence, or, if they have commenced already, to persevere in and complete the pilgrimage 
 which he so graphically describes. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR 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 journey and the way to glory, 
 In more than twenty things, which I set down: 
 This done, I twenty more had in my crown ; 
 And then again began to multiply. 
 Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. 
 Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast, 
 I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last 
 Sliould prove ad infinitum, 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 mine own self to gratify. 
 
 Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
 In this my scribble; nor did I intend 
 
i6 THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 
 
 But to divert myself, in doing this, 
 
 From worser thoughts, which make me do amiss. 
 
 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 pull'd, it came; and so I penn'd 
 It down; until at last it came to be. 
 For length and breadth, the bigness which you see. 
 
 Well, when I had thus put my ends together, 
 I showed 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. Not 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 you 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 prove, then, who advised for the best. 
 Thus I thought fit to put it to the test. 
 
 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: 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 17 
 
 May I not write in such a style as this? 
 In such a method, too, and yet not miss 
 My 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, 
 Gives praise to both, and carpeth 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 thine: 
 They must be groped 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 cannot 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 a 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 nlay 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. 
 
i8 THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 
 
 Well, yet I am not fuU}^ satisfied, 
 Tliat this your book will stand when soundly tried. 
 
 Why, what's the matter? It is dark! What though? 
 But it is feigned. What of that, I trow? 
 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; metajjhors make us l)lind. 
 
 Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen 
 Of him that writeth things divirte to men: 
 But must I needs want solidness, because 
 By mctapliors I speak? Were not God's laws. 
 His gosj^el laws, in olden time held forth 
 By shadows, types, and metai^hors? 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 calves 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 
 Tliat 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 bereave. 
 My dark and cloudy words, they do but hold 
 The truth, as cabinets enclose the gold. 
 
 The prophets used much by metaphors 
 To set forth truth ; yea, whoso considers 
 Christ, His apostles too, shall plainly see 
 The truths to this day in such mantles be. 
 
 Am I afraid to say that Holy ^^'rit, 
 Which for its style and phrase puts down all wit. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 19 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 Tliat 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, Truth, although in swaddling-clouts I find. 
 Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind ; 
 Pleases the understanding, makes the will 
 Submit; the memory, too, it doth fill 
 With what both our imagination please; 
 Likewise it tends our troubles to appease. 
 
 Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use, 
 And old wives' fobles he is to refuse; 
 But yet grave Paul him nowhere did forbid 
 The use of parables, in which lay hid 
 That gold, those pearls, and precious stones that were 
 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. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 
 
 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 nowadays) 
 Thus to express my mind, thus to declare 
 Things unto thee that excellentest are. 
 
 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 nie. 
 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 iDrofit of my book, and then 
 Commit both me 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 
 Thej^ lose their labor, and like fools do die. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 
 
 This book will make a traveller of thee, 
 If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be ; 
 It will direct thee to the H0I3' Land, 
 If thou wilt its direction understand ; 
 Yea, it will make the slothful active be; 
 The lilind also delightful things to see. 
 
 Art thou for something rare and profitable. 
 Or wouldst thou see a truth within a fable ? 
 Art thou forgetful? 'NA'ouldst thou remember 
 From New-year's day to the last of December? 
 Then read my fancies; they will stick like burs. 
 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. 
 
 Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy? 
 Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly? 
 Wouldst thou read riddles and their explanation, 
 Or else be drowned in thy contemplation? 
 Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see 
 A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee? 
 Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep? 
 Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep? 
 Wouldst thou lose thyself and catch no harm. 
 And find thyself again without a charm? 
 Wouldst read thyself, and read thou knowest not what, 
 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. 
 
 PART I. 
 
'I saw a man clothed with rags." 
 
 24 
 
THE PILGEIM'S PEOGEESS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 AS I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was 
 /v a Den, and I 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 
 tiice from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. (Isa. Ixiv. 6 ; 
 Luke xiv. 33 ; Psalm xxxviii. 4 ; Hab. ii. 2.) 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 ii. 37; xvi. 30, 31.) 
 
 In this plight, therefore, he went home and refi-ained 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 : ray dear wife, said he, and you the cliildren of my 
 bowels, I, your dear friend, am in myself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon 
 me ; moreover, I am for certain informed that this our city will be burned with fire from 
 heaven; in which fearful overthrow, both myselfj with thee, my wife, and you, my sweet 
 babes, shall miserably come to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some way— of ,fscape 
 can be found, whereby we may be delivered. At this his relations were sore amazed ; not for 
 that they believed that what he said to them was true, but because they thought that some 
 frenzy distemper had got into his head ; therefore, it drawing towards 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 ; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. 
 
'He brake his mind to his wife and cliildren." 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 27 
 
 So, when the morning was come, they would know how he did. He told them, Worse and 
 Avorse: he also set to talking to them again; but they began to be hardened. They also 
 thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and surly carriages to him ; sometimes they 
 would deride, sometimes they would chide, and sometimes 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 soli- 
 tarily in the fields, sometimes reading, and some- 
 times 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 he read, he burst out, as he had done before, cry- 
 ing, " What shall I do to be saved ?" 
 
 I saw also that he looked this way and that 
 way, as if he would ruii ; yet he stood still, because, 
 as I perceived, he could not tell which way to go. 
 I looked then, and saw a man named Evangelist 
 coming to him, who 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. ix. 27) ; and I find that I 
 am not willing to do the first (Job xvi. 21), nor able 
 to do the second. (Ezek. xxii. 14.) 
 
 " Christian no sooner leaves the World but meets 
 
 Evangelist, who lovingly him greets 
 
 With tidings of another : and doth show ,< tt 1 ,- 1 ■ i/- ^ . • 1 t 
 
 He began to retire himseli to his chamber 
 Him how to mount to that from this below." . „ 
 
 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 faU into Tophet. (Isa. xxx. 33.) And, Sir, if I be not 
 fit to go to prison, I am not fit, I am sure, to go to judgment, 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 parchment roll, and there was written 
 within, " Flee from the wrath to come." (Matt. iii. 7.) 
 
 The man, therefore, read it, and looking upon Evangelist 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. vii. 13, 14.) The man said. No. Then said the other, Do you 
 see yonder shining light? (Psalm cxix. 105; 2 Peter i. 19.) He said, I think I do. Then said 
 
THE PILGROrS PROGRESS. 
 
 29 
 
 Evangelist, Keep that light io j'our 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, 
 Ijut his wife and children, perceiving it, began to cry 
 after him to return ; but the man put his fingers in 
 his ears, and ran on, crying. Life ! life ! eternal life ! 
 (Luke xiv. 26.) So he looked not behind him, but 
 tied towards the middle of the plain. (Gen. xix. 
 17.) 
 
 The neighbors also came out to see him run (Jer. 
 XX. 10) ; and, as he ran, some mocked, others threat- 
 ened, and some cried after him to return ; and, 
 among those that did so, there were two that re- 
 solved 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, however, 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 ? Thej' said. To 
 
 persuade you 
 
 Obstinate. 
 
 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 : I 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 
 neighbors, and go along with me. 
 
 Obst. What ! said Obstinate, and leave our friends and 
 iiur comforts behind us? 
 
 Chr. Yes, said Christian, for that was his name, 
 because that all which you shall forsake is not worthy 
 to be compared with a little of that which I am seeking 
 to enjoy (2 Cor. v. 17) ; 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 xv. 17.) Come away, 
 and prove my words. 
 
 Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave 
 all the world to find them? 
 
 f'liR. I seek an inheritance incorruj)tible, undefiled, 
 and that fadeth not away (1 Peter i. 4), and it is laid up 
 
30 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 in heaven, and safe there (Heb. xi. 10), to be bestowed, at the time appointed, on thcni that 
 diligently seek it. Rend it so, if you will, in my hook. 
 
 (liksT. Tush! .'said Obstinate, away with your book; will you go l)a(k witii un or no? 
 
 Chr. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my hand to the plougii. (Liil 
 ix. 62.) 
 
 OB.'iT. Come, then, neighbor Pliable, let us turn again, and go home without him ; there if 
 a comiiany of these crazy-beaded coxcombs, that, when they take a fancy by the end, arc 
 wiser in their own eyes than seven men that can render a reason. (Prov. xxvi. 16.) 
 
 Pli. Then said Pliable, Don't revile; if what the good Christian says is true, the things )■ 
 looks after are better than ours; my heart inclines to go with my ntighbor. 
 
 Oust. What! more fools still! Be ruled by me, andgol)ack; who knows whither such a 
 brain-sick fellow will lead you ? Go back, go back, and be wise. 
 
 Cur. 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 here in this 
 book; and for the truth of what is expressed therein, behold, all is confinned by the bl<>."! 
 of him that made it. (Heb. xi. 17-22; xiii. 20.) 
 
 Pli. Well, neighbor Obstinate, saith Pliable, I begin to come to a point; I intend to j;.' 
 along with this good man, and to cast in my lot with him : but, my good companion, ilo you 
 know the way to this desired place? 
 
 Chr. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist, 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 i>lace, said Obstinate: I will be no companion of such 
 misled, fantastical fellows. 
 
 Now, I saw in my dream, that, when Obstinate was gone back. Christian and Plialjle went 
 talking over the plain ; and thus they began their discourse. 
 
 Chr. Come, neighbor Pliable, how do you do? I am glad you are persuaded to go along 
 with me. Had even Oi>stinate 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. 
 
 Cur. I can better conceive of them with my mind, than speak of them with my tongui , 
 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 ; for it was made by him that cannot lie. (Titus i. 2.) 
 
 Pli. Well said ; what things are they ? 
 
 Chr. There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, and everlasting life to be given us, that 
 we may inhabit that kingdom for ever. (^Isa. xlv. 17 ; John x. 28. 29.) 
 
 Pli. Well said; and what else? 
 
 Chr. There are crowns of glorj' to be given us, and garments that will make us shine like 
 the sun in the firmament of heaven. (2 Tim. iv. 8 ; Rev. iii. 4 ; Matt. xiii. 43.) 
 
 I'r.i. This is very pleasant; and what else? 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 31 
 
 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. xxv. 6-8 ; Rev. vii. 17 ; xxi. 4.) 
 
 Pli. And what company shall we have there? 
 
 C!hr. There we shall be with seraphims and cherubims, creatures that will dazzle your eyes 
 to look on them. (Isa. vi. 2.) There also you shall meet with thousands and ten thousands that 
 have gone before us to that place ; none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy ; every one 
 walking in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance for ever. (1 Thess. iv. 
 1(>, 17 ; Rev. v. 11.) In a word, there we shall see the elders with their golden crowns (Rev. iv. 
 4) ; there we shall see the holy virgins with their golden harps (Rev. xiv. 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 that they bare to the Lord of the place, all well, and clothed with immortality 
 as with a garment. (John xii. 25; 2 Cor. v. 4.) 
 
 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? 
 
 Chr. The Lord, the Governor of the country, hath recorded that in this book ; the substance 
 of which is, If we be truly willing to have it, he wiU bestow it upon us freely. (Isa. Iv. 1 2 • 
 John vi. 37 ; vii. 37 ; Rev. xxi. 6 ; xxii. 17. ) 
 
 Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these things : come on, let us mend 
 our pace. 
 
 Chr. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden that is on my back. 
 
 Now, I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk they drew near 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 with dirt ; and Christian, because of the burden that was on his back 
 began to sink in the mire. 
 
 Pll Then said Pliable, Ah ! neighbor Cliristian, where are you now ? 
 
 Chr. Truly, said Christian, I do not know. 
 
 Pli. At this Pliable began to be offended, and angrily said to his fellow. Is this the happi- 
 ness you have told me all this while of? If we have such ill speed at our first setting out, what 
 may we expect betwixt this 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 endeav- 
 ored to struggle to that side of the slough that was still further 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 go this way b}' 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 ? 
 3 
 
32 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Chk. Fear fuUowuil mc so hard, that I Htd the nixt way, anil fell in. 
 
 Help. Thin said lie, Give nie thy hand: so lie gave him his hand, and he drew him out, 
 and set him ujion sound ground, and hid him go on hi.s way. (Psalm xl. 2.) 
 
 Then I stejjped to him that j)luoked him out, and said. Sir, wherefon-, since over this i)lace 
 is the way from tiie City of Destruetion to yonder gate, is it that this plat is not nienditi, that 
 jioor travellers might go thither with more seeurity? And he said unto me. This miry slough is 
 such a place as cannot be mended ; it is the descent whither the scum and filth that attends con- 
 viction for sin doth continually run, and therefore it is cidletl the Slough of I)es])ond; for still, as 
 the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many fears, and doubts 
 and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them get together, and settle in this place. And 
 this is the reason of the badness of this ground. 
 
 It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain so bad. (Isa. xxxv. 3, 4.) 
 His laborers also have, by the direction of His Majesty's surveyors, been for above these sixteen 
 hundred years employed about this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have been mended : yea, 
 and to my knowledge, said he, here have been swallowed up at least twenty thousand cartloads, 
 yea, millions of wholesome instructions, that have at 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 Despon<l still, and so 
 will be when they have done what they can. 
 
 True, there are, by the direction of the Ljiwgiver, 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 stejjs 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 tlie gate. 
 (1 Sam. xii. 23.) 
 
 Now, I saw in my dream, that by this time Pliable was got home to his house again, so 
 that his neighbors came to visit him ; and .some of them called him wise man for coming ba< k 
 and some called him fool for hazarding himself with Christian: others again did mock at hi- 
 cowardliness; saying. Surely, since you began to venture, I would not have been so base to 
 have given out for a few difficulties. So Pliable sat sneaking among them. But at last he got 
 more confidence, and then they all turned their tales, and began to deride poor Christian behind 
 his back. And thus much concerning 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 cro.«sing the way of each 
 other. The gentleman's name that met him was Mr. Worldly M'iseman ; lie dwelt in the town of 
 Carnal Policy, a very great town, and also hard-by, from whence Christian came. This man, 
 then, meeting with Christian, and having an inkling of him, — for Christian's setting forth from 
 the City of Destruction was much noised abroad, not only in the town where he dwelt, but, al.'^" 
 it began to be the town talk in some other places, — Mr. Worldly Wiseman, therefore, having sonn 
 guess of him, by beholding his laborious going, by observing his sighs and groans, and the like, 
 began thus to enter into some talk with Christian. 
 
 WoBLi). How now, good fellow, whither away after this burdened manner? 
 
■' Christian still endeavored to struggle to that side of ilie 
 
 that \vas liuthest from his own house." 
 33 
 
34 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Cur. a burdened manner, indeed, ns ever, I tliink, jioor creature had! And whereas ynu 
 ask me, Wliither awuy? I tell you, Sir, I am going to yonder wicket-gate before me; for tlui' 
 as I am informed, I shall be put into a way to pet rid of my heavy burden. 
 
 World. Hast thou a wife and 
 cliildren? 
 
 Chr. Yes; but I am so laden with 
 this burden, that I cannot take that 
 pleasure in them as formerly ; me- 
 thinks I nm as if I had none. (1 Cor. 
 vii. -J!).) 
 
 World. Wilt thou liearken unto 
 me if I give thee counsel? 
 
 C'liR. If it l>e good, I will ; for I 
 stand in need of good counsel. 
 
 World. I would advise thee, then, 
 that thou with all speed get thyself 
 rid of thy burden ; for thou wilt never 
 be settled in thy mind till then ; nor 
 canst thou enjoy the benefits of the 
 blessing which God has bestowed 
 upon thee till then. 
 
 Chr. That is that which I seek 
 for. even to be rid of this heavy bur- 
 den ; but get it off myself, I cannot; 
 nor is there any man in our country 
 that can take it off my shoulders ; therefore am I 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? 
 
 Chb. a man that appeared to me to be a very great and honorable person ; his name, as 
 I remember, is Evangelist. 
 
 World. I beslirew him for his counsel ! there is not a more dangerous and troublesome 
 way in the world than is that unto 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, in the way which thou gocst, wearisomeness, i)ainfulness, liunger. jierils, 
 nakedness, sword, lions, dragons, darkness, and, in a word, death, and what not ! These things 
 are certainly true, having been confirmed by many testimonies. .Vnd why should a man so 
 carelessly cast away himself, by giving heed to a stranger? 
 
 Chr. Why, Sir, this burden upon my back is more terrible to me than are all these things 
 which you have mentioned ; nay, methinks I care not what I meet with in the way, if so be I 
 can also meet with deliverance from niv luirden. 
 
 Worldlv Wiseman. 
 
THE PILCxRIM'S PROGRESS. 35 
 
 World. How earnest thou by the burden at first? 
 
 Chr. By reading this book in my hand. 
 
 World. I thought so ; and it is hapj^ened unto thee as to other weak men, who, meddUng- 
 with things too high for them, do suddenly fall into thy distractions ; which distractions do 
 not only unman men, as thine, I perceive, has done thee, but they run them upon desperate- 
 ventures to obtain they know not what. 
 
 Chr. I know what I would obtain; it is ease for 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 of what 
 thou desirest, without the dangers that thou in this way wilt run thj'self into ; yea, and the 
 remedy is at hand. Besides, I will add, that, instead of those dangers, thou shalt meet with 
 much safety, friendship, and content. 
 
 Chr. Pray, Sir, open this secret to me. 
 
 World. Why, in yonder village — the village is named Morality — there dwells a gentleman 
 whose name is Legality, a very judicious man, and a man of a very good name, that has skill 
 to help men off with such burdens as thine are from their shoulders : yea, to' my knowledge, 
 he hath done a great deal of good this way ; ay, and besides, he hath skill to cure those that 
 are somewhat 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 ; and if thou art not minded to go back to thy former habitation, as, indeed, I would 
 not wish thee, thou mayest send for thy wife and children to thee to this village, w.here there 
 are houses now stand empty, one of which thou mayest have at reasonable rates ; provision is 
 there also cheap and good ; and that which will make thy life the more happy is, to be sure, 
 there thou shalt live by honest neighbors, in credit and good fashion. 
 
 Now was Christian somewhat at a stand ; but presently he concluded. If this be true, which 
 this gentleman hath said, my wisest course is to take his advice ; and with that he thus further 
 spoke. 
 
 Chr. Sir, which is my w;iy to this honest man's house? 
 
 World. Do you see 3^ondcr 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 Mr. 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 further, lest the hill should 
 fall on his head ; wherefore there he stood still, and wotted not what to do. Also his burden 
 now seemed heavier to him than while he was in his way. There came also flashes of fire out 
 of the hill, that made Christian afraid that he should be burned. (Exod. xix. 16, 18.) Here, 
 therefore, he sweat and did quake for fear. (Heb. xii. 21.) 
 
 " When Christians unto carnal men give ear, 
 Out of tlieir way tliey go, and pay for't dear; 
 
36 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 For Master Worldly Wiieman can but ahow 
 A Kuint the way to bondage and to woe." 
 
 And now he hegiin to he sorry that he liad taken Mr. Worldly \Vi.«eman'!? counsel. And 
 with that he .saw Evangelist coming to meet him ; at the sight also of whom he began to hlush 
 for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer and nearer; and coming up to him, he looketl u|)on 
 him with a severe and dreadful countenanee, and thus began to rejison with Christian. 
 
 Evan. What dost 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 of Destruction? 
 
 CiiK. Yes, dear Sir. I am the man. 
 
 Ev.KX. Did not I direct thee the way to the little wicket-gate? 
 
 Chr. Yes, dear Sir, said Christian. 
 
 Ev.\N. How is it, then, that thou art so quickly turned aside? for thou art now out of 
 the way. 
 
 Chr. I met witii a gentleman so soon as I had got over the Slough of Despond, who 
 j>ersuaded nie that I might, in the village before me, find a man that could take off my burden. 
 
 Ev.\x. \\'hat was he? 
 
 Cur. He looked like a gentleman, and talked much to me. and got meat 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. 
 
 EvAX. What said that gentleman to you? 
 
 Chr. Why, he asked me whither I was going? And I told him. 
 
 EvAX. And what said he then? 
 
 Chr. He asked me if I had a family? And I told him. Rut, said I, I am so loaden witli 
 the burden that is on my back, that I cannot take i)leasure 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 aiu therefore going" to yonder gate, to receive further direction how I may 
 get to the i>lace 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 burden. But when I 
 came to this place, and liehelil things as they are, I stopped for fear (as I said) of danger: but I 
 now know not what to do. 
 
 EvAX. Then, said Evangelist, stand still a little, that I may show thee the words of Got!. 
 So he stood trembling. Then said Evangelist, " See that ye refuse not him that speaketh. For 
 if they escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more .ihall iwt we e^a/tf. if we 
 turn away from him tiiat fpcokrlh from heaven." (Heb. xii. '2.'>.) He said, moreover, " Now the 
 just shall live by faith : but if nu;/ vinn draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him." 
 (Heb. X. .'l*<.) 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 perdition. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 37 
 
 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, " All manner of sin and 
 blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men " (Matt. xii. 31 ; Mark iii. 28) ; " Be not faithless, but 
 believing." (John xx. 27.) Then did Christian again a little revive, and stood up trembling, as 
 at first, before Evangelist. 
 
 Then Evangelist proceeded saying. Give more earnest heed to the things that I shall tell 
 thee of. I will now 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 doctrine of this world (1 John iv. 5), (therefore he always goes to 
 the town of Morality to church) : and partly because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth 
 him best from the cross. (Gal. vi. 12.) And because he is of this carnal temper, therefore he 
 seeketh to prevent 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. 
 And (3) 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 ; 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 xiii. 24), the gate to which I send 
 thee ; for " strait is the gate that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it." (Matt. vii. 14.) 
 From this little wicket-gate, and from the way thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to the 
 bringing 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 liis laboring to render the cross odious unto thee ; for thou ait 
 to prefer it " before the treasures in Egypt." (Heb. xi. 2.5, 26.) Besides, the King of glory hath 
 told thee, that he that " will save his life shall lose it." (Mark viii. 35 ; John xii. 2.5 ; Matt. x. 39.) 
 And, " He that cometh after me, and hateth not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, 
 and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple." (Luke xiv. 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 thee, and also how unable that 
 person was to deliver thee from thy burden. 
 
 He to whom thou was sent for ease, being by name Legality, is the son of the bondwoman 
 which now is, and is in bondage with her children (Gal. iv. 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 cannot be justified by the works of the law ; for by the deeds of the 
 law no man living can be rid of 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 cannot 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 salvation, by turning thee from 
 
38 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 the way in wliich I hail set thee. After tlii."», Evangelist called aloud to the heavens for con- 
 finnution of what he had said : and with that there came words and fire out of the inounUiin 
 under whicli jtoor Christian stood, that made the hair of his flesh stand up. The words were 
 tlius pronounced: "As many as are of the works of the law are under the curse; for it is 
 written, Cursed is every one that continucth not in all thinp* which are written in the book 
 of the law to do them." (CJal. iii. 10.) 
 
 Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and began to cry out lanientiddy ; even cursing 
 the time in whicii he met with Mr. Worldly Wiseman ; still calling himself a thousand fools for 
 hearkening to his counsel : he also was greatly ashamed to think that this gentleman's argu- 
 ments, flowing only from the flesh, should have the prevalency with him as to cause him to 
 forsake the right way. This done, he applied himself again to Evangelist in words and sense 
 as follow : — 
 
 Chk. Sir, what tliink you? Is there hoi>e? May I now go back and go up to the wicket- 
 _ite? 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 forbidden patlis ; yet will the 
 man at the gate receive thee, for he has good-will for men ; only, said he, take heed that thou 
 turn not aside again, " lest thou perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little." 
 (Psalm ii. 12.) 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 
 si)ake he to any man by the way ; nor, if any asked him, would he vouchsafe them an answer. 
 He went on like one that was all the while treading on forbidden ground, and could by no 
 means tliink himself safe, till again he was got into the way which he left, to follow Mr. Worldly 
 Wiseman's counsel. So, in process of time Christian got up to the gate. Now, over the gate it 
 was written, " Knock, and it shall be opened unto you." (Matt. vii. 8.) 
 
 " lie that will enter in mnst first without 
 Stand knucking at the (Jate, nor neol he doubt 
 That is A KNOCKKR but to enter in ; 
 For God can love him, and forgive his sin." 
 
 He knocked, therefore, more than once or twice, saying, — 
 
 "May I now onler here? Will he within 
 Open I" sorrow nie, thoneh I have lieen 
 An nnileserving relwl? Then shall I 
 Not fail to sing his liLsting praise on high." 
 
 At last tliere came a grave person to the gate named Good-will, wlio asked who was there? 
 oiui whence he came? and what he would have? 
 
 CiiR. 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 infonned that by this gate is the way thither, know if you are willing to let me in ? 
 
 GiM)D-wiLL. I am willing with all my heart, said he; and with tlmt he opened the gate. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 39 
 
 So when Christian was stepping in, the other 
 gave him a pull. Then said Christian, What 
 means that? The other told him. A little dis- 
 tance from this gate, there is erected a strong 
 castle, of which Beelzebub is the captain ; from 
 thence both he and them that are with him shoot 
 arrows at those that come up to this gate, if haply 
 they may die before they can enter in. 
 
 Then said Christian, I rejoice and tremble. 
 So when he was got in, the man of 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-will. An open door is set before thee, 
 and no man can shut it. 
 
 Chr. Now I begin to reap the benefits of my 
 hazards. 
 
 ' Beelzebub and them that are with liim shoot 
 arrows." 
 
 Good-will. But how is it that you came alone? 
 
 Chr. Because none of my neighbors saw their 
 danger as I saw mine. 
 
 Good-will. Did any of them know of your 
 coming ? 
 
 Chr. Yes ; my M^fe and children saw me at the 
 first, and called after me to turn again ; also some 
 of my neighbors stood crying and calling after me 
 to return ; but I put my fingers in mj^ ears, and so 
 came on my way. 
 
 Good-will. But did none of them follow you 
 to persuade you to go back ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable ; but 
 when they saw that they could not prevail. Obsti- 
 nate went railing back, but Pliable came with me 
 a little waj'. 
 
 Good-will. But why did he not come 
 through ? 
 
40 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Chk. We, iiidi'dJ, came both together, until we came to the Slough of Despond, into tlu- 
 whicli we also suddenly fell. And then was my neighhor, Pliable, discouraged, and would nut 
 adventure further. Wherefore, getting out again on that side next to liis own house, he tolil wi< 
 I should po.ssess the brave country alone for liim : so he went his way, and I came mine — 
 he after Obstinate, and I to this gate. 
 
 Good-will. Then said Good-will, Alas, poor mun! is the celestial glory of so small esteem 
 with him, that he counteth it not worth running the hazards of a few diflicultii'S to obtjiin it? 
 
 Chr. Truly, said Ciiri.stian, I have said the truth of Pliable, and if I should also say all 
 the truth of myself, it will appear there is no betterment betwi.xt him and myself. It is true, 
 he went back to his own house, but I also turned aside to go in the way of death, being ikt- 
 Buaded thereto by the carnal arguments of one Mr. Worldly Wiseman. 
 
 Good-will. Oh! did he light upon you? What! he would have had you a sought 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 ; I went to find out Mr. IjCgalitj', until I thought that the 
 mountain that stiinds by his house would have fallen upon my head ; wherefore, there I was 
 forced to stop. 
 
 Good-will. That mountain lias been the death of many, and will be the death of many 
 more ; it is well you escai)ed 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 (iod's mercy that bi- 
 .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 here! 
 
 G<K)D-wiLL. We make no objections against any, notwithstimding all that they have done 
 before they came hither. They are " in no wise cast out" (John vi. 37); and therefore, good 
 Christian, come a little way with me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. 
 Look before thee; dost thou see this narrow way? Th.\t is the way thou must go; it was cjist 
 up by patriarchs, prophets, Christ and his apostles ; and it is as straight as a rule can make it. 
 This is the way thou must go. 
 
 Chr. But, said Christian, are there no turnings or windings, by which a stranger may lose 
 his way? 
 
 Good-will. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon this, and they are crooked and wide. 
 But thus thou maycst distinguish the riglit from the wrong, the right only being stniight and 
 narrow. (Matt. vii. 14.) 
 
 Then I saw in my 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 lie 
 by any means get it off without help. 
 
 He told him. As to thy burden, be content to bear it. until thou comest to the jilace of 
 deliverance; for there it will fall from thy back of itself. 
 
 Then Christian began to gird uj) his loins, and to address himself to his journey. So the 
 other told him. That by that he was gone some distance from the gate, he would come at the 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 41 
 
 house of the Interpreter, at whose door he should knock, and he would show him excellent 
 things. Then Christian took his leave of his friend, and he again bid him God-speed. 
 
 Then he went on till he came to the house of the Interpreter, where he knocked over and 
 oyer; at last one came to the door, and asked who was there. 
 
 Che. Sir, here is a traveller, who was bid by an acquaintance 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 a little time, came to Christian, and asked him 
 what he would have. 
 
 Chr. Sir, said Christian, I am a man that am 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 head of this 
 way, that if I called here, you would show me excellent things, such as would be a help to me 
 in my journey. 
 
 Inter. Then said the Interpreter, Come in ; I will show that which will be profitable to 
 thee. So he commanded his man 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 up against the wall ; and this was the fashion of it. 
 It had eyes lifted up to heaven, the best of books in his hands, the law of truth was written 
 ujjon his lips, the world was behind his back. It stood as if it pleaded with men, and a crown 
 of gold did hang over his head. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, What meaneth this? 
 
 Inter. The man whose picture this is, is one of a thousand ; he can beget children (1 Cor. 
 iv. 15), travail in birth with children (Gal. iv. 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 as if he pleaded with men ; and whereas 
 thou seest the world as cast behind him, and that a crown hangs over his head, that is to show 
 thee that slighting and despising 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, because the man whose picture this 
 is, is the only man whom the Lord of the place whither thou art going, hath authorized to be 
 thy guide in all difiicult 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 thee 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 had reviewed 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 choked. Then said the Interpreter to a damsel that 
 stood by. Bring hither the 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 sanc- 
 tified by the sweet grace of the gospel ; the dust is his original sin and inward corruptions, 
 
42 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 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 Gcspel. Now, whereas thou sawest, tiiat so soon n- 
 the first began to sweep, the dust did so fly about that the room by iiinj could not be cleanseil. 
 but that thou wast almost choked therewith ; this is to show tliee, that the law, instead of cleans- 
 ing the heart (by its working) from sin, doth revive, put strength into, and increase it in the soul. 
 even as it doth discover and forbid it, for it doth not give power to subdue. (Rom. vii. 6; 1 On. 
 XV. .56 ; Rom. v. 211.) 
 
 Again, as thou sawest the damsel sprinkle the room with water, upon which it wa.s cleansed 
 with pleasure ; this is to show thee, that when the gospel comes, in the sweet and jirecious 
 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 soul made clean 
 through tiie faith of it, and consequently fit for the King of glory to inhabit. (John xv. 3 ; Eph. 
 V. -JC) ; Acts XV. 9 ; Rom. xvi. 2-5, 26 ; John xv. 13.) 
 
 I saw, moreover, in my dream, tliat the Interpreter took him by the hand, and had him into 
 a little room, where sat two little cliildren, each one in his chair. The name of the eldest was 
 Passion, and the name of the other Patience. Passion seemed to be much discontented ; 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 beginning of the next ye;ir; 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 jjoured 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 lie had lavished all away, and had nothing left him 
 but rags. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Exjiound this matter more fully to me. 
 
 Inter. So he said, Tiiese two lads are figures: Passion, of the men of this world; and 
 Patience, of the men of that which is to come ; for as here thou seest, Passion will have all 
 now this year, that is to say, in tiiis world ; so are the men of this world : they must have all 
 their good things now, they cannot stay till next year, that is, until the next world, for tlieir 
 portion of good. The proverb, " A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," is of more 
 authority with them than are all thtf 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 witli 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. First, because he stays for the best tilings. Second, and also because he will 
 have the glory of his when the other has nothing but rags. 
 
 Inter. Nay, you may add another, to wit, the glory of the next world will never wear out 
 but these are suddenly gone. Therefore Passion had not so much reason 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 place to last, because last must have his time to come ; 
 but la.st gives place to nothing; for there is not another to succeed. Tie, therefore, that hath 
 his jiortion first, must needs have a time to spend it ; but he that hath his portion last, must 
 
THE PILGROrS PROGRESS. 43 
 
 have it lastingly ; therefore it is said of Dives, " Thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good 
 things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented." 
 (Luke xvi. 25.) 
 
 Chr. Then I perceive it is not best to covet things that are now, but to wait for things to 
 come. 
 
 Inter. You say the truth : " For the things which are seen are temporal ; but the things 
 which are not seen are eternal." (2 Cor. iv. 18.) But though this be so, yet since things present 
 and our fleshly 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 continued 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 the wall, and one standing by it, always casting much 
 water upon it, to quench it: yet did the fire Ijurn 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 water upon it to extinguish and put it out, is the Devil ; but in that thou seest the 
 fire notwithstanding burn higher and hotter, thou shalt also see the reason of that. So he had 
 him about to the back side of the wall, where he saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, 
 of the which he did also continually cast, but secretl}', into the fire. 
 Then said Christian, What means this? 
 
 The Interpreter answered. This is Christ, who continually, 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. xii. 9.) And in that thou 
 sawest that the man stood behind the wall to maintain the fire, that is to teach thee that it is 
 hard for the tempted to see how this work of grace is maintained in the soul. 
 
 I saw also, that the Interpreter took him again by the hand, and led him into a pleasant 
 place, where was builded a stately palace, beautiful to behold ; at the sight of which Christian 
 was greatly delighted. He 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 towards 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 distance from the door, at a tableside, with a book and his inkhorn before him, to 
 take the name of him that should enter therein : he saw also, that in the doorway stood many 
 men in armor to keep it, being resolved to do the men that would enter what hurt and mischief 
 they could. Now was Christian somewhat 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 an helmet upon his head, and rush toward 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 attempted to keep him out, he cut his way through them all (Acts xiv. 22), and pressed 
 
44 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 forwani 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, sjiying, — 
 
 " Come in, come in ; 
 Eternal glory thou Hlmlt 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, st^iv, sjiid the Interpreter, till I have shown 
 thee a little more, and after that thou shalt go on thy way. So he took him hy 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 
 ground, his hands folded together, and lie sighed as if he would V)reak his heart Then said 
 Christian, What means this? At which the Interpreter hid him talk with the man. 
 
 Then said Christian to tiie man, W'iiat art thou? The man answered. I am what I was 
 not once. 
 
 Chr. What wast thou once? 
 
 Max. The man said, I was once a fair and flourishing profe.'ssor, 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. (Luke viii. 13.) 
 
 CiiK. Well, hut what art thou now? 
 
 M.\N. I am now a man of despair, and am shut up in it, as in this inm cage. I cannot get 
 out. Oh, now I cannot ! 
 
 CuK. But how camest thou in this condition? 
 
 Max. I left off to watch and he sober; I laid the reins upon the neck of my lusts; I 
 sinned against the hght of the Word 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 Interjireter. Nay, said Christian, jiray. Sir, do you. 
 
 Lntkr. Then said the Interpreter, Is there no hope, but you must be kept in the iron cjige 
 of despair? 
 
 Max. No, none at all. 
 
 I.VTER. Why, the Son of the blessed is very pitiful. 
 
 Max. I have crucified him to myself afresh (Heb. vi. (>) ; I have despised his person 
 (I>uke xi.\. 14); I have despised his righteousness; I have "counted his blood an unholy 
 tiling; I have done despite to the Spirit of grace." (Heb. x. 28, 29.) Therefore I have shut 
 myself out of all the promises, and there now remains to me nothing but threatenings. dread- 
 ful tlireatenings, fearful threatenings of certain judgment and fiery indignation, which shall 
 devour me as an adversary. 
 
 I.NTER. For what did you bring yourself into this condition? 
 
 Max. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this world; in the enjoyment of which I did 
 
'There sat a man in an iron cage." 
 
46 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 then promise myself much delight; but now every one of those tilings also bite me, and gna\\ 
 
 me like a burning worm. 
 
 I.NTKK. But canst thou not now" repent and turn? 
 
 Ma.n. God hath denied me repentjince. His Word gives me no encouragement to believ. 
 
 yea, himself hath shut me up in this iron cage; nor can all the men in the world let me oui 
 
 O eternity, eternity ! how shall I grapple with the misery that I must meet with in eternity I 
 IxTER. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this man's misery be remembered by 
 
 thee, and l)e an everlasting caution to thee. ' 
 
 C'hr. Well, said Chri><tian, this is fearful! God help me to watch and be sober, and !■ 
 
 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? 
 
 I.s'TER. Tarry till I shall show thee one thing more, and then thou shalt go on thy way. 
 
 So he took Christian by the hand again, and lod him into a chamber, where there was oiit 
 
 rising out of bed ; and as he \mt on his raiment, he shook and trembled. Then said Cliristian, 
 
 Why doth this man thus tremble? The Interpreter then bid him tell to Christian the reason 
 
 of his so doing. So he began and said, This night, 
 as I was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold the 
 heavens grew exceedingly 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 rate, ujion which 
 I heard a great sound of a trumi>et. and saw also a 
 man sit ujKin a cloud, attended with the thousanils 
 of heaven; they were all in flaming fire: also the 
 heavens were in a burning flame. I lieard then a 
 voice, saying, " Ari.«e, ye dead, and come to judg- 
 ment ;" and with that the rocks rent, the graves 
 opened, and the dead that were therein came forth. 
 Some of them were exceeding glad, and looked \i\*- 
 ward; and some sought to hide themselves under 
 the mountiiins. (ICor. xv. 52; 1 Thess. iv. ICi; .lude 
 14; John V. 28,29; 2 Thess. i. 7,.S; Rev. x.\. 11-14 ; 
 Isa. xxvi. 21; Micah vii. Ki, 17; Psalm xcv. 1-3; 
 Dan. vii. 10.) Then I saw the man that sat ujum 
 the cloud open the book, and bid the world draw 
 near. Yet there was, by reason of a fierce flame 
 which issued out and came from before him, a 
 convenient distance betwixt him and them, as be- 
 twixt the judge and tiie prisoners at the bar. (Mai. 
 iii. 2, 3 ; Dan. vii. 9, 10.) I heard it also proclaimed 
 
 to them that attended on the man that sat on the cloud. " Gather together the t»in>s, the chafl'. an.l 
 
 stubble, and cast tliem into the burning lake." (Matt. iii. 12; xiii. 30; Mai. iv. 1.) And witli that. 
 
 irjj^^H 
 
 ■^^" 
 
 ""^^ 
 
 n 
 
 ^m' 
 
 ■JilM^ffiT ' .- 
 
 if- 
 
 * 
 
 ^«^ 
 
 "The IwUoiiilcss jiit iijieiK 
 slootl." 
 
 1, jiist whereabout 1 
 
" His burden fell off his back, and began to tumble." 
 
48 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 the bottomless j)it opened, just whereabout I stood ; out of the mouth of which there came, in an 
 abundant manner, smoke and coals of fire, witii hideous noises. It was also wiid to the same 
 persons, "Gather my wiieat into tlie pirner." (Luke iii. 17.) And with that I saw many aitched 
 uj) and carried away into tiie clouds, but I was left behind. (1 Thess. iv. 16, 17.) I also BOU(;iit to 
 hide myself, but I could not, for the man tiiat sat upon the cloud still kept his eye upon me; 
 my sins also came into my mind : and my conscience did accuse me on every side. (R«jn>. ii. 
 14, 15.) Upon this I awaked from my sleep. 
 
 C"hk. But what was it that made you so afraid of this si);ht? 
 
 Ma.n. Why, I thought that the day of ju<lpnien( was come, and that I was not ready for 
 
 it; but this frigiited me most, that tlie an>;els gathered up several and left me liehind; also 
 
 the pit of hell opened her mouth just where I stood. >Iy 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 tiiey put mo in hope and fear. 
 
 Intkr. Well, keep all things so in thy mind that they may l)e as a goad in thy sides, to 
 prick thee forward in the way thou must go. Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and 
 to address himself to his journey. Then said the Interpreter, The Comforter be always with 
 tliee, good Christian, to guide thee in the way that leads to the City. So Christian went on his 
 way, saying,— 
 
 "Here 1 have seen things nire and prolitalile; 
 Things pleasant, dreadrul, things to make me slalile 
 In what I have begun to take in hand ; 
 Then let me think on them, and understand 
 Wherefore they slii>we<l me were, and let me be 
 Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee.'' 
 
 Now I .saw in my dream, that the highway up which Christian was to go, was fenced on 
 either side with a wall, and that wall was called Salvation. (Isa. xxvi. 1.) Up tltis way, there- 
 fore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great difficulty, because of the load on his 
 back. 
 
 He ran thus till he came to a place somewhat ascending, and upon that place stood a cro.«s. 
 and a little below, in tlie bottom, a sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just as Ciiristian 
 came up with the cross, his Inirden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from off his back, 
 and began to tumble, and so continued to do till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where 
 it fell in, and I saw it no more. 
 
 Then wtis Christian glad and lightsome, and said with a merry heart, " He hath given me 
 rest by his sorrow, and life Ity his death." Then he stood still a 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 the waters 
 down his cheeks. (Zech. xii. 10.) Now, as he stood looking and weejiing, 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 ii. T)); the second stripped him of his rags, and clothed him "with 
 change of rainietit " (Zech. iii. 4) ; the third also set a mark on his forehead, and gave him a 
 
50 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 roll with a seal upon it, which he bade him look on a? he ran, and that he should give it in at 
 the Celestial Gate. (Eph. i. 13.) So they went their way. 
 
 "Who's this? the Pilgrim. Howl 'tis verj* tnie, 
 Old thingK are past awny, all's beoume new. 
 niraiige? he's another man, upon my worJ, 
 They be line feathers that make a tine bird." 
 
 Then Christian jiave thne leaps for joy. and went on gin>:ing, — 
 
 "Thus far I did come laden with my sin: 
 Nor could aught case the grief that I was in 
 Till I came hither: What a jilace is this.' 
 Must here be the l^pinning of my bli.ss? 
 Must here the burden fall from off my back? 
 Must here the strings that bound it to me crack? 
 Blest cros« ! blest sepulchre ! blest rather be 
 The man that there was put to shame for me I" 
 
 I paw then in niy dream, that he went on thus, even until he came at a hottom, where he 
 (WW, A little out of the way, three men fast asleep, with fetters upon their heels. The name of 
 tiic one wa.s Simple, another Sloth, and 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, for the Dead Sea is under 
 Y„u — a gulf tliat hath ito liottom. (Prov. xxiii. 34.) Awake, therefore, and come away; be willing 
 ^also, and I will help you off with your irons. He also told them. If he that "goeth about like 
 41 roaring lion "comes by, you will certainly become a prey to his teeth. (1 Peter v. 8.) 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 Presumption said, " Every tub must stand upon its 
 own bottom; what is the answer else that I should give thee?"' And so they lay down to sleep 
 auain, and Christian went on his way. 
 
 Yet was he 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 w:ith their irons. And as he was troubled thereabout, he espied 
 two men come tumlding over the wall, on the left hand of the narrow way ; and they made up 
 apace to him. The name of the one was Formalist, and the name of the other Hypocrisy. 
 So, as I said, they drew uji unto him, who thus entered with them into discourse. 
 
 Chb. Gentlemen, whence came you, and whither go you"? 
 
 FouM. and Ilvr. We were born in the land of Vainglory, and are going for i)raise to .Mount 
 Zion. 
 
 Cur. Why came you not in at the gate which standeth at the beginning of the way? Know 
 you not that it is written, that he that cometh not in by the door, " but elimbeth up some other 
 way, the same is a thief and a robber '' ? (John x. i.) 
 
 FoKM. and Hvp. They said. That to go to the gate for entrance was, Ijy all their country- 
 
THE PILGRLAI'S PROGRESS. 
 
 51 
 
 men, counted too far about; and that, therefore, 
 their usual way was to make 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 the Lord of the city whither we are bound, 
 thus to violate his revealed will? 
 
 Form, and Hyp. They told him that, as for 
 that, he needed not to trouble his head thereabout ; 
 what they did they had custom for; and could 
 produce, if need were, testimony that would wit- 
 ness it for more than a thousand years. 
 
 Chr. But, said Christian, will your practice 
 stand a trial at law ? 
 
 Form, and Hyp. They told him, That custom, 
 it" being of so long a standing as above a thousand 
 years, would, doubtless, now be admitted as a tiling 
 legal by any impartial judge ; and besides, said the}', 
 if we get into the way, what's matter which way we 
 get in ? if we are in, we are in ; thou art but in the 
 way, who, as we perceive, came in at the gate ; and 
 
 Hypocrisy. 
 
 we are also in the way, that came tumbling over 
 the wall ; wherein, now, is thy condition better than 
 ours ? 
 
 Chr. 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 con- 
 ference one with another; save that these two men 
 told Christian, that as to laws and ordinances, they 
 doubted not but 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. 
 
52 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 t'liK. Bv law> and onHnances you will not l>e saved, since you came not in by the d<K>r. 
 (Gal. ii. Hi.) And as for tlii--^ coat tliat is on my buck, it was given nu> 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 hia 
 kimlncss to me; for I had nothing but rags before. And besides, thus 1 comfort myself as I go: 
 Surelv, think I, when I come to the gate of the city, the Lord thereof will know me for gowl, 
 since I have his coat on my back — a coat tiiat he gave me freely in tiie day that he stripjK'd me 
 of mv rags. I have, moreover, a mark in my forehead, of wiiich, ]>erhai>s, you have taken no 
 notice, which one of my Lord's most intimate associates fixed there in tlie day that my burden 
 fell oft" mv shoulders. I will tell you, moreover, that I had then given me a roll, sealed, to 
 comfort me bv reading as I go on the way ; I was also bid to give it in at the Celestial (iatc, in 
 token of my certjiin going in after it; all which things, I doubt, you want, and want them 
 because yi>u came not in at the gate. 
 
 To these things they gave him no answer; only tliey looked ujion each other, and laughed. 
 Then I saw that they went on all, save that Christian kept before, who had no more talk but with 
 him.«elf, and that .sometimes sighingly and sometimes comfortably ; also he would be oflen 
 reading in the roll that one of the Shining Ones gave liim, by which lie 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 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 
 l).)ttom 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 Dilficulty. Christian now went to the si)ring, and drank thereof, to 
 refresh himself (Isa. xlix. 10), and then began to go up the hill, saying,— 
 
 "The hill, though high, I covet to asrend, 
 The difficulty will not me offend ; 
 Vor I jierceive the way to life lies liere. 
 Come, pluck up heart, let's neither faint nor fear; 
 Better, though difficult, the right way to go, 
 Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe." 
 
 The other two also ciime to the foot of the hill; but when they saw that the hill was steep 
 and high, and that there were two other ways to go ; and supposing also that these two ways 
 might meet again, with that 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 ways was Danger, and the 
 name of the other Destruction. So the one took the way which is called Danger, which led him 
 into a great wood, an<l 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. 
 
 "Shall they who wrong begin yet riglitly end? 
 Shall they at all have safety for their friend? 
 No, no; in licadslrong manner they set out. 
 And headloug will they fall at last, no doubt." 
 
 ' I looked, then, after Cliristian, to .«ee him go up the hill, where I perceived he fell from run- 
 ning to going, and from going to clambering upon his hands ami his knees, because of the steep- 
 
" He fell from running to going, and from going to clambering upon his hands 
 
 of the place." 
 
 his knees, because of the steepness 
 53 
 
54 
 
 THK PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ness of the place. Now, about the midway to tlie 
 toj) of the hiy was a pleasant arbor, made by the 
 Lord of the hill for the refreshing of wiary trav- 
 ellers ; thither, therefore, Cliristian got, where also 
 he sat down to rest him. Then he pulled his 
 roll out of his bosom, and read therein to his 
 comfort; he also now began afresh to take a re- 
 view of the coat or garment tliat was given hint 
 as he stood by the cross. Thus ]>leasing him- 
 self a while, he at last fell into a slumber, and 
 thence into a fast sleep, which detained him in 
 that place until it was almost night; and in his 
 sleep his roll fell out of his hand. Now, as he 
 was sleeping, there came one to him, and awaked 
 him, saying, "Go to the ant, thou sluggard; con- 
 sider her ways, and be wise." (Prov. vi. 6.) And 
 with that Christian started up, and sped him on 
 his way, and went ajiace, till ho came to tlie lop 
 of the hill. 
 
 "He stumblcU and fell, and rose no more." 
 
 Now, when he was got up to the top of the 
 hill, there came two men running to meet him 
 amain ; the name of the one was Timorous, and of 
 the other Mistrust; to wiiom 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 difficult place; 
 but, said he, the further we go, the more flanger 
 we meet with ; wherefore wc turned, ami are go- 
 ing back again. 
 
 Yes, said Mistrust, for just before us life a 
 coujile of lions in the way, whether sleeping or 
 waking we know n<it, and we could not think, if 
 we came within reach, but they would i)resently 
 pull us in pieces. 
 
 Cuk. Then said Christian, You make me 
 afraid, but whither shall I fly to be safe? If I 
 go back to mine own country, that is prepared for 
 fire and brimstone, and I shall certainly perish 
 
 'He at last lell into a slumber.' 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 55 
 
 there. If I can get to the Celestial City, I am sure to be in safety there. I ninst venture. To 
 go back is nothing but death; .to go forward 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, think- 
 ing again of what he had heard from 
 the men, he felt in his bosom for his 
 roll, that he might read therein, and 
 be comforted; but he felt, and found 
 it not. Then was Christian in great 
 distress, and knew not what 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 per- 
 plexed, and knew not what to do. At 
 last he bethought himself that he had 
 slept in the arbor that is on the side 
 of the hill ; and, falUng down upon his 
 knees, he asked God's forgiveness for 
 that his 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 for his weariness. 
 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 
 comfort so many times in his journey. 
 He went thus, till he came again with- 
 in sight of the arbor where he sat 
 
 and slept ; but that sight renewed his sorrow the more, by bringing again, even afresh, his evil 
 of sleeping into his mind. (Rev. ii. 5 ; 1 Thess. v. 7, 8.) Thus, therefore, he now went on be- 
 wailing his sinful sleep, saying, " wretched man that I am !" that I should sleep in the day- 
 time! that I should sleep in the midst of difficulty! that I should so indiilge 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 pilgrims I 
 
56 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 How many steps have I took in vain ! Tlius it happened to Israel, for their sin ; they were 
 'Bent back nguin by tiie way of tiie Hetl Sea ; and 1 am made to tread tliose steps with sorrow, 
 
 whicli I niifjlit liave trod witii delight, 
 liad it not been for this sinful sleep. 
 How far might I have been on my 
 way by this time! I am made to 
 tread tho.se steps thrice over, which I 
 needed not to have trod but once ; yea, 
 now also I am like to be benighted, 
 for tiie day is almost spent. Oil, 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 last, as 
 Christian would have it, looking sor- 
 rowfully down under the .settle, there 
 he espied his roll ; the which he, with 
 trembling and haste, catcJied up, and 
 put it into his bosom. But who can 
 tell how joyful this man was when he 
 bad gotten his roll again ! for this roll 
 v.as the assurance of his life and ac- 
 ciptance at the <lesired haven. There- 
 fore he laid it up in his bosom, gave 
 tlianks to God for directing his eye to 
 the jilace where it lay. and with joy 
 and tears betook himself again to his 
 journey. But oh, how nimbly now 
 (lid 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. O thou sinful sleej): how, 
 for thy sake am I like to be l)enighted 
 in my journey. I must walk witliout tlie sun ; darkness must cover the i>ath of my feet ; and 
 I must hear the noise of the doleful creatures, because of my sinful sleep. (1 Thess. v. 6, 7.) 
 Now also he remembered the story that Mistrust and Timorous told him of, how they were 
 frighted with the sight of the lions. Tiien said Christian to himself again, These beasts range in 
 tlie night for their prey; and if they should meet with me in the dark, how should I shift thorn? 
 How should I escape being by them torn in jneces? Thus he went on his way. But while 
 
 Timorous. 
 
>'M 
 
 U\ 
 
 mi 
 
 "Tlie lions were chaiaeJ, but he saw not the chain 
 
 57 
 
58 
 
 THE I'lLCKIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 lie was thus lu'wiiilin;] 
 
 Watchful the Porter. 
 
 his iiiiliaiipy miscarringe, he \\(l up liia eyes, and behold there wa- 
 
 very stately ])alaoe before him, the name of whiih 
 was Ikautiful: and it stoiid jusst 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 pa.ssage, which was about a 
 furlong ofl' of the i)orter's Iwlge; 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, for he thought 
 nothing but death was before him. But the j>orter 
 at the lodge, whose name is Watchful, perceiving 
 that Christian made a halt as if he would go 
 back, cried unto him, saying, Is thy strength so 
 small? (Mark xiii. 34-37.) 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 
 had none. Keep in the midst of the jiatli. and no 
 hurt shall come unto thee. 
 
 "Difficulty is behind, Fear is l>eforc. 
 Though he's got on the hill, the lions roar; 
 A Christian man is never long at ease, 
 When one Tright's gone, another doth him seize." 
 
 Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the lions, but taking good heed to the 
 directions of the porter ; he heard them roar, but they did him no harm. Then he clajjped liis 
 hands, and went on till he came and stood before the gate where the jtorter was. Then said 
 Christian to the porter. Sir, what house is this? And may I lodge here to night? The porter 
 answered, This house was luiilt liy the I.<)rd of the hill, and he built it for the relief and 
 security of pilgrims. The jwler also asked whence he was, and whither he was going. 
 
 CiiK. 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. 
 
 I'oR. What is your name? 
 
 Chk. My name is now Christian, but my name at the first was Gracele.'is; I came of the 
 race of Japlieth, whom (iod will juTsuade to dwell in the tent.s of Shem. (Gen. ix. 27.1 
 
 PoR. But how doth it happen that you come so late? The sun is set. 
 
 CiiK. 1 had been lure .sooner, but that — ''wretched man that I am !"— I .«lei)t in the arbor 
 
'This man is on a journey from the City of Destruction to Mount Zion." 
 
6o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 that stands on the luU-siilc ; nay, I had, notwithstanding that, bwn here much sooner, hut that, 
 in niv sleep, I lost my evidence, and came witiiout it to the brow of the hill ; and then feeling 
 for it, and finding it not, I was forced with sorrow of heart to go hack to the place where I slept 
 my sleep, where 1 found it, and now I am come. 
 
 PoK. Well, I will call out one of the virgins of this place, who will, if she like.x your U\\\i, 
 bring you in to the rest of the family, according to the rules of the house. So Watchful, thi 
 jjorter, rang a bell, at the sound of whicli came out at the door of the house, a grave and In an 
 tiful damsel, named Discretion, and asked why she was called. 
 
 The 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 a discourse had with him, mayest do as seemeth 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 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 
 perceive, this place was built by the Ix)rd of the hill, for the relief and security of pilgrims. 
 So she smiled, but the water stood in her eyes ; and after a little pause, 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 more discourse with him, had him into the family ; and many 
 of them, meeting him at the threshold of the house, said, " Come in, thou blessed of the Ix)rdi" 
 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 sometliing to drink, and consented together, that until supper was ready, some 
 of them should have some particular discourse with Christian, for the best improvement of 
 time; and they appointed Piety and Prudence and Charity to discourse with him; and thus 
 they began : — 
 
 Piety. Come, good Christian, since we liave been so loving to you, to receive you in our 
 house this night, let us, if perhaps we may better ourselves thereby, talk with you of all things 
 that have happened to you in your pilgrimage. 
 
 Cur. With a very goo<l will, and I am glad that you arc 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 cars : 
 to wit, that unavoidable destruction did attend me. if I abode in 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 fears of destruction, I did 
 not know whither to go; but by chance there came a man, eveu 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 ilid you not come by the house of the Interpreter? 
 
 CiiR. Yes, and di<l see such things there, the remembrance of which will stick by me as 
 long as I live; especially three things; to wit, how Christ, in despite of Satan, maintains his 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 6i 
 
 work of grace in the heart ; how the man had smned himself quite out of hopes of God's 
 mercy ; 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 that all that you saw at the house of the Interpreter? 
 
 Chk. No ; he took me and had me where he showed me a stately palace, and how the 
 people were clad in gold that were in it ; and how there came 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 further to go. 
 
 Piety. And what saw j'ou else in the way? 
 
 Chr. Saw ! why, I went but a little further, and I saw one, as I thought in my mind, 
 hang bleeding upon the tree ; and the very sight of him made my burden fall off my back 
 (for I groaned under a very heavj^ 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, for then I 
 could not forbear looking, three Shining Ones came to me. One of them testified that my sins 
 were forgiven me ; another stripped me of my rags, and gave me this broidered coat which you 
 see ; and the third set the mark which you see in my forehead, and gave me this sealed 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 tlie best ; yet some other matters I saw, as, 
 namely : I saw three men. Simple, Sloth, an^ Presumption, lie asleep a little 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 know but 
 that after all I might have gone back again; but now, I thank God I am here, and I thank 
 you for receiving of me. 
 
 Then Prudence thought good to ask him a few .questions, and desired his answer to them. 
 
 Prud. Do you not think sometimes of the country from whence you came ? 
 
 Chr. Yes, 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, an heavenly." (Heb. xi. 1-5, 16.) 
 
 Prud. Do you not yet bear away with you some of the things that then you were con- 
 versant withal? 
 
 Chr. Yes, but greatly against my will ; especially my inward and carnal cogitations, with 
 which all my countrymen, as well as myself, were delighted ; but now all those things are my 
 grief; and might I but choose mine own things, I would choose never to think of those things 
 more; but when I would be doing of that which is best, that which is worst is with me. 
 (Rom. vii.) 
 
62 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 PuvD. Do you not find sometimes, as if those things were vun<juished, wliich at other times 
 are your perplexity? 
 
 Chk. Ye:<, hut that is seldom ; hut they are to me golden hours in which such things 
 happen to me. 
 
 I'kid. Can you rememher hy what means you lin<l your annoyances, at times, as if they 
 were vanquished ? 
 
 ("hr. Yes, when I tliiiik wliat I saw at tlie cross, tliat will do it; and when I look upon 
 my hroidered coat, tiiat will do it ; also when I look into the roll that I carry in my hosom, that 
 will do it; and when my thoughts wax wann ahout whither I am going, that will do it. 
 
 PiuD. And what is it that makes you so desirous to go to Mount Zion? 
 
 t'liR. Why, there I hojjc to see him alive that did hang dead on the cross; an<l there I 
 hope to he rid of all those things that to tiiis day are in me an annoyance to me; there, they 
 say, there is no death ; and there I shall dwell with such company as I like hest. (Isa. xxv. 8; 
 Rev. xxi. 4.) For, to tell you truth, I love him, hecause I wjis hy him eased of my hurden; 
 and I am weary of my inward sickness. I would fain be where I shall die no more, and with 
 the company that shall continually cry, " Holy, Holy, Holy !" 
 
 Then said Charity to Christian, Have you a family? Are )-ou a married man? 
 
 Chk. I have a wife and four small children. 
 
 Char. And why did you not bring them along with you? 
 
 Chr. Then Christian wept, and said, Oh, how willingly would I have done it ! hut they 
 were all of them utterly averse to my going on pilgrimage. 
 
 Char. But you should have tiilked to them, and endeavored to have shown them the 
 danger of being ))ehind. 
 
 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. xix. 14.) 
 
 Char. And did you i)ray 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 w'ere very dear unto me. 
 
 Char. But did you tell them of your own sorrow, and fear of destruction? for I sujijiose 
 that destruction was visible enough to you. 
 
 Chr. Yes, over, and over, and over. They might also see my fears in my countenance, in 
 my tears, and also in my trendiling under the apprehension of the judgment that did hang over 
 our heads; but all was not sufficient to jircvail with them to come with me. 
 
 Citar. Rut what could they say for tliemselves, why they came not ? 
 
 Chk. Why, my wife was afraid of losing this world, and my children were given to the 
 ftKjlish 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 hy words used by way of 
 persuasion to bring them away with you? 
 
 Chr. Indeed, I cannot conunend my life; for I am conscious to myself of many failings 
 therein ; I know also, that a man by his conversation may soon overthrow, what by argument or 
 persuasion he doth labor to fasten ujwn others for their good. Yet this I can say, I was very 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. " 63 
 
 wary of giving them occasion, by any unseemly action, to make them averse to going on pilgrim- 
 age. 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 iii. 12) ; and if thy wife and children have been offended with thee for this, 
 they thereby show themselves to be implacable to good, and " thou hast delivered thy soul from 
 their blood." (Ezek. iii. 19.) 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that thus they sat talking together until supper was ready. So 
 •when they had 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, whei'efore he did what he did, and why he 
 had builded that house. And by what they said, I perceived that he had been a great warrior, 
 and had fought with and slain " him that had the power of death," but not without great danger 
 to himself, which made me love him the more. (Heb. ii. 14, 15.) 
 
 For, as they said, and as I believe (said Christian), he did it with the loss of much blood; 
 but that which put 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 they heard him say 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. ii. 8; Psalm cxiii. 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 window opened toward the sun-rising: the name of the chamber was Peace; 
 where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang, — 
 
 "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 they had him 
 into the study, where they showed him records of the greatest antiquity ; in which, as I remem- 
 ber my dream, they showed him first the pedigree of the Lord of the hill, that he was the son 
 of the Ancient of Days, and came by that eternal generation. Here also was more fully 
 recorded the acts that he had done, and the names of many hundreds that he had taken int(? 
 6 
 
64 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 his service ; and liow he had placed them in sucli habitations, that could neither by length of 
 days, nor decays of nature, be dissolved. 
 
 Then they read to him some of the worthy acta that some of hi.-^ sen'ant* had done: a.-^. 
 how they had "subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, st4iiiped tlj' 
 mouths of lions, tiuenchcd the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weak 
 ness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, and turned to flight the armies of tlie alien."'. 
 (Heb. xi. 33, 34.) 
 
 They then read again, in another part of tlic records of the hou.se, where it was showed how 
 willing their Ltird was to receive into his favor any, even any, though they in time past had 
 offered great affronts to his person and proceedings. Here also were several other historii'S of 
 many other famous things, of all wliich Christian had a view ; as of things both ancient and 
 modern ; together with prophecies and predictions of things that have their certain accomplish- 
 ment, both to the dread and amazement of enemies, and the comfort and solace of pilgrims. 
 
 The next day they took him and had him into the armory, where tliey showed him all 
 manner of furniture, whicii their Lord had provided for pilgrims, as sword, shield, helmet, 
 breastplate, dll-praycr, and shoes that would not wear out. And there was liere enough of this 
 to harness out as many men for the servnce of their Lord as there be stars in the heaven for 
 multituile. 
 
 They also showed him some of the engines with which some of his servants had done 
 wonderful things. Tiiey showed him Moses' rod ; the hammer and nail with which Jael slew 
 Sisera ; the pitchers, trumpets, and lamps too, with whicli Gideon put to flight the armies oi 
 Midian. Then they showed him the ox's goad wherewith Shamgar slew six hundred men. 
 They showed him also the jaw-bone with which Samson did such mighty feats. They showed 
 him, moreover, the sling and stone with which David slew Goliath of Gath ; and the sword, also, 
 with which their Lord will kill the Man of Sin, in the day that he shall rise uj) to the prey. 
 They showed him, besides, many excellent things, with which Christian was much delighted. 
 Tliis done, they went to their rest again. 
 
 Tlien I saw in my dream, that on the morrow he got up to go forward ; but tliey 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 tliey 
 were nearer tiie desired haven than tl>e ]>lace where at i)rescnt lie was ; so he consented and 
 stayed. When the morning was up, tliey had him to the top of the liouse, and bid him lo.k 
 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 and fountains, 
 very delectable to behold. (Isa. xxxiii. 10, 17.) Then he asked the name of the country. They 
 said it was Inimanuel's I^and ; and it is as common, said they, as this liill is, to and for all the 
 pilgrims. And when thou comest there from thence, said they, thou mayest see to the gate of 
 the Celestial City, as the siiepherds th«t 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 tlie armory. So they did ; and when they came there, they 
 harnessed him from head to foot with what was of proof, lest, perhaps, he should meet with 
 assaults on the way. He bwing, therefore, tlius accoutred, walketh out with his friends to tlie 
 
' Then they read to him some of the worthy acts that some of his servant* had do 
 
66 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 gate ; and there he asked the jwrter if he saw any pilgrim pass by. Then the porter answered, 
 Yes. 
 
 CuK. Pray, did you know him? said he. 
 
 PoR. I aski'd liim liis nanu-, and he told me it was 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 tliink he may be before ? 
 
 PoR. He is got by this time below tlie hill. 
 
 Chr. Well, .'<aid Christian, good Porter, the Lord be with thee, and add to all thy blessing.- 
 much increase, for the kindness that thou hast showed to me. 
 
 Then he began to go forward ; but Discretion, Piety, Charity, and Prudence, would accom- 
 pany him down to the foot of the hill. So they went on together, reiterating their fonner di;*- 
 courses, till they came to go down the hill. Then said Christian, As it was difficult cominir 
 up, so, 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 Humiliation, as thou art now, and to catch 
 no .slip by the way ; therefore, said they, are we come out to accompany thee down the hilL So 
 he began to go down, but very warily ; yet he cauglit a slip or two. 
 
 Tlien I saw in my dream that these good companions, when Christian was gone to the bot- 
 tom of the hill, gave him a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and a cluster of raisins; and then 
 he went on his way. 
 
 But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was hard put to it ; for he had gone 
 but a little way, before he esiiicd 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 back; and therefon 
 thought tliat to turn the back to him might give liim tlie greater advantage with e:ise to pieric 
 him with his darts. Therefore he resolved to venture and stand his ground ; for, thought he, 
 had I no more in mine eye than the saving of my life, it would be tlie best way to stand. 
 
 So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the monster was hideous to behold ; he was 
 clothed with scales, like a fisli (and they are his pride), he had wings like a dragon, 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 uji to Christian, he beheld him with a disdainful countenance, and tliu.-- 
 began to question with liim. 
 
 Apol. Whence came you ? and whither are you bound ? 
 
 Chr. I am come from the City of Destruction, which is the place of all e\-il. and am goini: 
 to the City of Zion. 
 
 Apol. By this I perceive tliat thou art one of my subjects, for all that country is mine, 
 and I am the prince and god of it. How is it, then, that thou hast run away from thy king? 
 Were it not that I hope thou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee now, at one blow 
 to the ground. 
 
 Chr. I was born, indeed, in your dominions, but your ser^•ice w.as hard, and your wagts 
 such as a man could not live on, " for the wages of sin Ik death " (Rom. vi. 23) ; therefore, 
 when I was come to years, I did as other considerate persons do, look out, if, perhaps, I might 
 mend mvself. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 67 
 
 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 back ; what our 
 country will afford, I do here promise 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? 
 
 Apol. Thou hast done in this, according to the proverb, " Changed a bad for a worse •"' 
 but it is ordinary 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 to me, and yet I am willing to pass by all, if now thou wilt 
 yet turn again and go back. 
 
 Chr. What I promised thee was in my nonage; and, besides, I count the Prince under 
 whose banner now I stand is able to absolve me; yea, and to pardon also what I did as 
 to my compliance with thee ; and besides, thou destroying ApoUyon ! to speak truth, I 
 like his service, his wages, his servants, his government, his company and country, better 
 than thine; and, therefore, leave off to persuade me farther; I am his servant and I will 
 follow him. 
 
 Apol. Consider, again, when thou art in cool blood, what thou art like to meet with in 
 the way that thou goest. Thou knowest that, for the most part, his servants come to an ill 
 end, because they are transgressors against me and my ways. How many of them have been 
 put to shameful deaths; and, besides, thou countest his service better than mine, whereas he 
 never came yet from the place where he is to deliver any that served him out of their 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 ; and so 
 I will deliver thee. 
 
 Chr. His forbearing at present to deliver them is on purpose to try their love, whether 
 they will cleave to him to the end ; and as for the ill end thou sayest 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 unfoithful in thy service to him ; and how dost thou think 
 to receive wages of him ? 
 
 Chr. Wherein, Apollyon! have I been unfaithful to him? 
 
 Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou wast almost choked in the Gulf of 
 Despond ; thou didst attempt wrong ways to be rid of thy burden, whereas thou shouldest have 
 stayed till thy Prince had taken it off; thou didst sinfully sleep and lose thy choice thing; 
 thou wast, also, almost persuaded to go back, at the sight of the lions ; and when thou talkest 
 of thy journey, and of what thou hast heard and seen, thou art inwardly desirous of vainglory 
 in all that thou sayest or doest. 
 
 Chr. 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 
 
68 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 in thy country, for tlierc I sucked thcin in ; and I Imve groaned under thetn, been sorry for 
 them, and have obtained pardon of my Prince. 
 
 Ai'OL. Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, sayinj;, I am an enemy to this 
 Prince; I liate his person, liis laws, and people; 1 am come out on purpose to withstand thee. 
 
 Chr. AjMillyon, beware what you do; for I am in the king's highway, the way of holi- 
 ness; therefore take heed to yourself. 
 
 Apoi,. Then Apollyon .straddled <iuito over the whole breadth of the way, and said, I am 
 void of fear in this matter: prei)are thyself to die; for I swear l)y my infernal den, that thou 
 shalt go no further; here will I spill thy soul. 
 
 Ami with that he threw a tiaming dart at his brea.st; but Christian had a shield in li; 
 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, throwing darts as thick as hail ; by the which, notwithstanding 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, anil Christian again took 
 courage, and resisted as inanfully as he could. This sore combat lasted for above half a day, 
 even till Christian 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 opjwrtunity, began to gather up close to Christian, and wrest- 
 ling with him, gave him a dreadful fall ; and with that Christian's sword Hew out of his band. 
 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 fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly 
 stretched out his hand for bis sword, and caught it. saying, " Rejoice not again.st me, O mine 
 enemy: when I fall I shall arise'' (Micah vii. 8); and with that gave him a deadly thrust, 
 which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound. Christian perceiving 
 that, made at him again, saying, " Nay, in all the.<e things we are more than conquerors through 
 him that loved us."' (Rom. viii. 37.) And with that Apollyon spread forth bis dragon's wings, 
 and spoil him away, that Christian for a sea.son saw him no more. (James iv. 7.) 
 
 In this comliat no man can imagine, unless be had seen and heard as I did, what yelling 
 and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the fight — be 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 he perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his 
 two-edged sword ; then, indeed, be did smile, and look upward ; but it was the dreadfulest 
 sight that ever I saw. 
 
 " A more nne<)ual iimtcli can liardly Ite, — 
 Chrinlmn must fight an Angel ; but yon soe. 
 The valiant man h_v handling Swonl ami Shield, 
 Doth make him, tho' a Dragon, quit the field." 
 
 So when the battle was over. Christian said, " I will here give thanks to him that delivered 
 me out of the mouth of the lion, to him that did help me against Apollyon." And so he 
 did, saying, — 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 69 
 
 "Great Beelzebub, the captain of this fiend, 
 Design'd ray ruin ; therefore to this end 
 He sent Iiim harness'd out: and he with rage 
 That Iiellisli 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 battle, 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 hand; for he said, I know not but 
 some other enemy may be at hand. But he met 
 with no other affront from Apollyon quite through 
 this valley. 
 
 Now, at the end of this valley was another, 
 called tlie 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 jjlace. 
 The prophet Jeremiah thus describes it: "A wil- 
 derness, a land of deserts and of pits, a land of 
 drought, and of the shadow of death, a land that 
 no man " (but a Christian) " passed through, and 
 where no man dwelt." (.Jer. ii. 6.) 
 
 Now here Christian was worse put to it than 
 in his fight with Apollyon : as by the sequel you 
 shall see. 
 
 I saw then in my dream, that when Christian 
 was got to the borders of the Shadow of Death, 
 there met him two men, children of them that 
 brought up an evil report of the good land (Num. xiii.), making haste to go back ; to whom 
 Christian spake as follows : — 
 
 Chr. Whither are you going? 
 
 Men. They said, Back ! back ! and we would have you to 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 
 
 " Therefore to him let me give lasting praise." 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 durst; and indeed we were almost past coming back; for had wc gone a little further we had 
 not lieen here to bring the news to thee. 
 
 CiiR. But what liave you met with? said Christian. 
 
 Mk.n. Why, we were almost in the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; but that, by goo<l hap, 
 we looked before us, and saw the danger before we came to it. (Psalm xliv. 19; cvii. 10.) 
 Chr. But what have you seen? said Christian. 
 
 Me.\. Seen ! Why, the Vidley itself, which is as dark as pitch ; we also saw there the 
 hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the pit ; we heard also in that Vallej' a continual liowling 
 and yelling, as of a peoi)le under unuttenible misery, who there sat bound in aflliction and 
 irons ; and over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of confusion. Death also doth always 
 spread his wings over it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without order. 
 (Job iii. r>; x. 26.) 
 
 Chr. Then, said Christian, I perceive not yet, 
 by what you have said, but that tliis is my way to 
 the desired haven. (Jer. ii. 6.) 
 
 Mk.n. Be it thy way ; we will not choose it for 
 ours. So they parted, and Christian went on his 
 way, but still with his sword drawn in his hand, 
 for fear lest he should be a.^saulted. 
 
 I saw then in my dream so far as this v;Uley 
 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 both have there 
 miserably perished. (Psalm Ixix. 14, 15.) Again, 
 behold, on the left hand, there was a very danger- 
 ous quag, into which, if even a good man falls, he 
 can find no bottom for his foot to stand on. Into 
 that quag king David once did fall, and had no 
 doul>t therein been smothered, had not hk that 
 is able plucked him ovit. 
 
 The pathway was here also exceedingly narrow, 
 
 and therefore good Christian was the more put to 
 
 it ; for wiien 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 
 
 paiij o 8. ^^^ escape the mire, without great carefulness he 
 
 would be ready to fall into the ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard him lure sigh bitterly ; for, 
 
 liesides the dangers mentioned above, the pathway was here so dark, that ofttinies, when he lift, 
 
 up his foot to set forward, he knew not where or ujuin what he should set it next. 
 
 " Poor man I wliere art llioii now ? ihy ilay is nighL 
 Good man, be not cast down, thou yet art right. 
 
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"One of the wicked ones got behind liini, and whisperingly suggested many gr 
 
 evous blasjiheniies to hiiu.' 
 71 
 
72 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Thy way lo Heaven lies by the gates of Hell ; 
 Cheer up, hold out, with thee it iihall go well." 
 
 About the midst of this valley, I perceived the mouth of hell to he, and it stood also hard 
 by the way-side. Now, thought Christian, what shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and 
 smoke would come out in such abundance, with sparks nn<l liide<^)U8 noises (thinp* that cared not 
 for Ciiristian's swortl, as did AjMillyon before), that he was forced to put up liis sword, and betake 
 himself to another weapon called All-prayer. (Eph. vi. IS.) 80 he cried in my hearing, "O 
 Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul!" (Psalm cxvi. 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 sliould 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 together ; and, coming to a place where he thought he heard a company of fiends 
 coming forward to meet him, he 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 
 valley ; he remembered also how he had already vanquished many a danger, and that the danger 
 of going back 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 almost at him, he crietl 
 out with a mo.«t vehement voice, " I will walk in the strength of the Ix)rd God !"' so they gave 
 back, and came no further. 
 
 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 it. Just when he was come over 
 against the mouth of the burning pit, one of the wicked ones got behind him, and stepped up 
 softly to him, ami wliisperingly suggested many grievous blasphemies to him, which he verily 
 thought had j)rocecded 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, 1 ■ 
 thought he heard the voice of a man, as going before him, saying, "Though I walk through tl' 
 valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evi\, for thou art with me." (Psalm xxiii. 4.) 
 
 Then he was 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. 
 
 Sicondli/, For that lie perceived Goil was with them, though in that dark and dismal state; 
 and why not, thought, he, with me? though, by reason of the imi)ediment that attends this 
 place, I cainiot i)erceive it. (Job ix. 11.) 
 
 TJiirdlji, For that he hoped, could he ovtrtake them, 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 shallow of death into the morning." (Amos v. 8.) 
 
 Now morning being come, he looked back, not out of desire to return, but to see, by the light 
 of the day, wliat liazards he had gone through in the dark. So he saw more perfectly the ditch 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 11 
 
 that was on the one hand, and tlie quag that was on the other ; also how narrow the waj' was 
 which led betwixt them both ; also now he saw the hobgoblins and satyrs and dragons of the 
 pit, but all afar off (for after break of day, they 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 xii. 22.) 
 
 Now was Christian much afi'ected with his deliverance from all the dangers of his solitary 
 way ; which dangers, though he feared them more before, yet he saw them more clearly now, 
 because the light of the day 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 part 
 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 where 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 shelvings down there, that, had 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 ris- 
 ing. Then said he, " His candle shineth upon my 
 head, and by his light I walk through darkness." 
 (Job xxix. 3.) 
 
 In this light, therefore, he came to the end 
 of the valley. Now I saw in my dream, that 
 at the end of this 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, 
 etc., lay there, were cruelly put to death. But 
 by this place Christian went without much dan- 
 ger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have 
 learnt since, that PAGAN 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, grinning at pilgrims as they 
 go by, and biting his nails because he cannot 
 come at them. 
 
 So I saw that Christian went on his way; yet, at the sight of the Old Man that sat in 
 the mouth of the cave, he could not tell what to think, especially because he spake to him, 
 though he could not go after him, saying, " You will never mend till more of you be burned." 
 
 'He can now do little more than sit in his cave's 
 mouth, grinning at pilgrims." 
 
74 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 But he held his peace, and set a good face on it, and so went by and catched no hurt. Then 
 
 sang Chrii-tian, — 
 
 " O worlil of wonders ! ( I can gay no leas) 
 That I sliouWI Im! preserTed in that distreia 
 Tlial I have met wilh here! O bleawd be 
 Tliat liand llial from it hatli deliver'd inel 
 Ihingers in darknens, devils, hell, and sin, 
 I)id conipatis nie, while I this vale was in: 
 Yea, snures and pits, and tra|>s, and nets, did lie 
 My path about, that worthless, silly I 
 Mi^lit have been cateh'd, entangled, and cast down; 
 Uul since I live, let Jtsi's wear the crown." 
 
 Now, as Christian went on liis way, lie came to a little ascent, whicli was cast up on purpose 
 tliat pilgrims might see before them. Up there, therefore. Christian went, and looking forward, 
 he saw Faithful before him, upon his journey. Then said Christian aloud, "IIo! ho! Sohol 
 stay, and I will be your companion!" At that. Faithful looked l)ehind him ; to whom Christian 
 cried again, " Stay, stay, till I come up to you." But Faithful answered, " No, I am upon my 
 life, an<l 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 vain-glor- 
 iously smile, because he had gotten the start of his brother; l)Ut not t;tking 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 tlius Christian began: — 
 
 Chr. My honored and well-beloved brother, Faithful, I am glad that I have overtaken you; 
 and that God has so tempered our spirits, that we can walk as companions in this so pleasant 
 a path. 
 
 Faith. I had thought, dear friend, to have had your company quite far from our town ; but 
 you did get the start of me, wherefore I was forced to come thus much of the way alone. 
 
 Cnn. How long did you stay in the City of Destruction, before you set out after me on your 
 pilgrimage? 
 
 F.\iTH. Till I could stay no longer; for there was great talk jtresently after you were gone 
 out, that our city would in a short time, with fire from heaven, be burned down to the ground. 
 
 CiiR. 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 come out to escape the danger? 
 
 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 sjieak 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 at the Slough of Despond, 
 
' He could not rise again iintil Faithful came up to help him." 
 
76 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 where, as some said, he fell in ; but lie would not be known to have so done ; but 1 am sure he 
 was soundly bedabbled with that kind of dirt. 
 
 Chk. And wliat said the neighbors to him? 
 
 Faith. He hath, since Ins going back, been had 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. 
 
 CiiK. But why should they be so set against him, since they also desjiise the way that ho 
 fi >rsook ? 
 
 F.\iTii. Oh, they say, hang him, he is a tum-coat ! he was not true to his profes.«ion. I 
 think God has stirred up even his enemies to hiss at him, and nuike him a proverb, because he 
 hath forsaken the way. (Jer. xxix. IS, 15t.) 
 
 Chr. Had you no talk with him before you came out? 
 
 F.\iTH. 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 sjiake not to him. 
 
 CuK. Well, at my first setting out, I had hopes of that man; but now I fear he will perish 
 in the overthrow of the city; for it is ha])pened to him according to the true proverb, "The dog 
 M turned to his own vomit again ; and the sow that was washed, to her wallowing in the mire." 
 (2 Peter ii. 22.) 
 
 Faith. These are my fears of him too; but who can hinder that which will be? 
 
 CiiK. Well, neighbor Faithful, said Christian, let us leave him, and tiilk 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 a 
 mischief. 
 
 Chk. It was well you e.<5cai)ed her net; Joseph was hard put to it by her, and he e.«caped 
 her as you did ; but it had like to have cost him his life. (Gen. xxxix. 11-13.) But what did 
 slie do to you? 
 
 Faith. You cannot think, but that you know something, 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 jironiise you the content of a good conscience. 
 
 Faith. You know what I mean ; all carnal and fleshly content. 
 
 Chr. Thank God you have escaped her: "The abhorred of the Lord shall fall into her 
 ditch." (Psalm xxii. 14.) 
 
 Faith. Nay, I know not whether I diil wholly e.scajie her or no. 
 
 Chr. Wiy, I trow, you did not consent to her desires? 
 
 Faith. No, not to defile myself; for I remembered an old writing that I had seen, which 
 said, " Her steps take hold on hell." (Prov. v. 5.) So I shut mine eyes, because I would not 
 be bewitched with her looks. (Job xxxi. 1.) Then she railed on me, and I went my way. 
 
 Chr. Did you meet with no other assault as you came? 
 
 Faith. When I came to the foot of the hill called Difliculty, I met with a very aged man, 
 who asked me what I was, and whither bound. I told him that I am a pilgrim, going to tlie 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 77 
 
 Celestial City. Then said the old man, Thou lookest like an honest fellow ; wilt thou be con- 
 tent to dwell with me for the wages that I shall give thee ? Then I asked him his name, and 
 where he dwelt. He said his name was Adam the First, and that he dwelt in the town of 
 Deceit. (Eph. iv. 22.) I asked him then what was his work, and what the wages 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 what other servants he had. So he told 
 me, that his house was maintained with all the dainties in the world ; and that his servants 
 were those of his own begetting. Then I asked if he had any children. He said that he had 
 but three daughters : the Lust of the Flesh, the Lust of the Eyes, and the Pride of Life, and 
 that I should marry them all if I would. (1 John ii. 16.) 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 conclusion came the old man and you to at last? 
 
 Faith. Why, at first, I found myself somewhat inclinable to go with the man, for I thought 
 he spake 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 Inirning hot into my mind, whatever he said, and however he flat- 
 tered, 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 
 tliat 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 myself 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. vii. 24.) So I went on my way 
 up the hill. 
 
 Now when I had got about half way up, I looked behind, and saw one coming after me, 
 swift as the wind ; so he overtook me just about the place where the settle stands. 
 
 Chr. Just there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest me ; but being overcome with sleep, I 
 there lost this roll out of my bosom. 
 
 Faith. But, good brother, hear me out. So soon as the man overtook me, he 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 my.self 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 foot as dead as before. So, when I came to my- 
 self again, I cried him mercy; but he said, I know not how to show mercy; and with that 
 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 in his side; then I concluded that he was our Lord. So T 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 first time that he has met with me. It was 
 
78 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 he that came to me when I dwelt securely at home, mul tliat t">l«l me he would hum my 
 house over my head if I stayed there. 
 
 Chr. But did you not see the house that stood there on the top of the iiill, on the side of 
 whicli Moses met you? 
 
 Faith. Yes, ami the lions too, before I came at it: but for the lion.s, I tliink they were asleep, 
 
 for it was about noon; and l)etausi' I had so much 
 of the day before me, I i>assed by the jKtrter, and 
 came down the hill. 
 
 Chr. He told me, indeed, that he saw you po 
 by, but I wished you had called at the house, for 
 tiny would have showed you so many rarities, 
 that you would scarce have forgot them to the day 
 of your death. But pray tell me. Did you meet 
 nobody 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 without honor. He told me more- 
 over, that there to go was the way to disobey 
 all my friends, as Pride, Arrogancy, Self-conceit, 
 Worldly-glory, with others, who, he knew, as he 
 said, would be very much oftcnded. if I made such 
 a fool of myself as to wade through this valley. 
 Chr. \Vel\, and how did you an.«wer him? 
 F.\iTH. I told him that although all these 
 that he named might claim kindred of me, and 
 that rightly, for indeed they were my relations 
 accoriling to the flesh ; j'et since I became a pil- 
 grim, they have disowned me, as 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 
 before 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 bo accounted by the wisest, than choose that which he 
 esteemed most worthy 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 in my pilgrimage, 
 he, I think, bears the wrong name. The others would be said nay, after a little argunient^ition, 
 and somewhat else ; but this bold-faced Shame would never have done. 
 Chr. 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 ; 
 
 Discontent 
 
8o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 anil that for a man to watcli over liis words and ways, so iw to tie up himself from that hectoring 
 lilnrtv that the brave spirits of tlie times accustom themselves untt>, would make him the 
 ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but few of tlie mighty, rich, or wise, were ever of 
 my opinion (1 Cor. i. 2(5; iii. 18; Phil. iii. 7, 8) ; nor any of them neither (John vii. 48), before 
 they were persuaded to be fools, and to be of a voluntary fondness, to venture the loss of all, for 
 noliody knows what. He, moreover, objected the base and low estate and condition of those 
 tliat were chieHy the pilgrims, of the times in which they lived ; also their iRnorance and want 
 of undersUmding in all natural science. Yea, he did hold mo to it at that rate also, about a 
 great many more things than here I relate ; as, that it was a i>hame to sit whining and mourning 
 under a sermon, and a sfuime to come sighing and groaning home ; that it was a sfmmf to ask my 
 neighbor forgiveness for petty faults, or to make restitution where I have t^iken from any. He 
 said, also, that religion made a man grow strange to the great, because of a few vices, which he 
 called l>y finer names; and made him own and respect the base because of the same religious 
 fraternity. And is not this, said he, a ithamef 
 
 CiiR. And what did you say to him? 
 
 Faith. Say ! I could not tell what to say at the first. Yea, he put me so to it, that my 
 blood came up in my face ; even this Shame fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite oflF. 
 But at last I began to consider that " that which is highly esteemed among men, is had in 
 abomination with God." (Luke xvi. 15.) And I thought again, this Shame tells me what men 
 are; but it tells nie nothing what God or the Word of God is. And I thought, moreover, that 
 at the day of doom, we sliall not be doomed to death or life according to the hectoring spirits of 
 tlie world, but according to the wisdom and law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God 
 says is best, indeed is best, though all the men in the world are against it Seeing, then, that 
 God prefers his religion ; seeing God prefers a tender conscience ; seeing thej' that make them- 
 selves 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 Ixird ? How then shall I look him 
 in the face at his coming? Should I now be ashamed of his ways and servants, how can I 
 expect the blessing? (Mark viii. 38.) But, indeed, this Shame was a bold villain; I could scarce 
 shake him out of my company ; yea, he would be haunting 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 
 it was but in vain to attempt further in this business; for those things that he disdained, in those 
 did I sec most glory ; and so at last I got past this importunate one. And when I had shaken 
 him 1)11', then I l)egan to sing, — 
 
 "The trials tlmt iIhk* men do meet withal 
 That are <)l>e«licnt to the heavenly call, 
 Are nianifoUl, and onited to the fle«h, 
 And come, and come, and come i^^in aTrexh ; 
 That now, or Kome time else, we by them may 
 Be taken, overcome, and cast away. 
 Oh, let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims then 
 lie vigilant, and quit themselves like men." 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 8i 
 
 Chr. I am glad, my brother, that thou didst withstand 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 audacious, 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. iii. 35.) 
 
 Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help against Shame, who would have us to be 
 valiant for the truth upon the earth. 
 
 Chr. You say true ; but did you meet 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. 
 
 Chr. It was well for you. I am sure it fared far 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 
 Apollyon ; ye.i, I thought verily he would have killed me, especially when he got me down and 
 crushed me under him, as if he would have crushed me to pieces ; for as he threw me, my 
 sword flew out of my hand ; na}', he told me he was sure of me : but I cried to God, and he 
 heard me, and delivered 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 broke, and the sun rose, and I went 
 through that which was behind with far more ease and quiet. 
 
 Moreovei^ I saw in my dream, that as they went on. Faithful, as he chanced to look on one 
 side, saw a man whose name is 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 companion. 
 
 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 that 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 things 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 man hath any delight in things that are wonderful)? For instance, if a 
 man doth delight to talk of the history or the mystery of things ; or if a man doth love to 
 
'A iiiaii wliotic name is Talkutirc' 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 83 
 
 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 be profited by such things in our talk should be that which 
 we 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 tilings 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, etc. 
 Besides, by this a man may learn, by talk, 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. 
 
 Talk. Alas! the want of this is the cause why 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 God ; no man 
 obtaineth to them by human industry, or only by the talk of them. 
 
 Talk. All this 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. 
 
 Faith. 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! Surely 
 this man will make a very excellent pilgrim. 
 
 Chr. At this Christian modestly smiled, and said. This man, with whom you are so taken, 
 will beguile, with that 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. 
 
 Faith. Whose son is he? And whereabout does he dwell? 
 
 Chr. He is the son of one Say-well ; he dwelt in Prating Row ; and is known of all that 
 are acquainted with him, by the name of Talkative in Prating Row ; and notwithstanding his 
 fine tongue, he is but a sorry fellow. 
 
 Faith. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man. 
 
84 THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS. 
 
 Chh. That is to them wl»o have not thorough acquaintance witli him ; for he is best abruud; 
 near home, he is uply enough. Your saying that he is a pretty man brings to my mind what 
 I have observed in the work of the painter, whose pictures show best at a distance, 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 (although I smiletl) in this matter, or that I should 
 accuse any falsely ! I will give you a further discovery of him. This man is for any com|mny, 
 and for any tjilk ; as he tiilketh now with you, so will he t;ilk when he is on the ale-bench ; and 
 the more drink he hath in his crown the more of 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 maybe sure of it; remember the proverb, "Tliey say and do not" 
 (Matt, xxiii. 3.) But the " kingdom of God is not in word, but in power." (1 Cor. iv. 20.) He 
 talkcth 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 observed him both at home and abroad ; and I 
 know what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty of religion as the white of an egg 
 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 know him ; it can hardly have a good word in all that end of the town where he dwells, 
 through him. (Rom. ii. 24, 25.) Thus say the common people that know him, A saint abroad, 
 anil a devil at home. His poor family finds it so ; he is such a churl, such a railcr 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 
 dealing 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 findeth 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 employ them in 
 much, or speak to their commendations 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 prevent not, the 
 ruin of many more. 
 
 Faith. Well, my brother, I am bound to believe you ; not only because you say you know 
 him, but also because, like a Christian, you make your reports of men. For I cannot 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 he received this report at their hands only that are enemies to religion, I 
 should have thought it had 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 own knowledge, I can prove him guilty of. Besides, good men are ashamed of him ; they 
 can neither call him brother nor friend ; the very naming of him among them makes them blush, 
 if they know him. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 85 
 
 Faith. Well, I see that saying and doing are two things, and hereafter I shall better observe 
 this distinction. 
 
 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 unspotted from 
 the world." (James i. 27; see vers. 22-26.) This Talkative is not aware of; he thinks that hear- 
 ing and saying will make a good Christian, and thus he deceiveth his own soul. Hearing is but 
 as the sowing of the seed ; talking 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, xiii., xxv.) 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; and you know men at harvest regard nothing but fruit. Not that anything can be 
 accepted that is not of faith, but I speak this to show you how insignificant the profession of 
 Talkative will be at that day. 
 
 Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by which he describeth the beast that is 
 clean. (Lev. xi. ; Deut. xiv.) He is such a one that parteth the hoof and cheweth the cud ; not 
 that parteth the hoof only, or that cheweth the cud onlJ^ 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 a dog or bear, and there- 
 fore he is unclean. 
 
 Chr. You have spoken, for aught I know, the true gospel sense of those texts. And I will 
 add another thing : Paul calleth some men, yea, and those great talkers, too, " sounding brass and 
 tinkling cymbals," that is, as he expounds them in another place, " things without life, giving 
 sound." (1 Cor. xiii. 1-3 ; xiv. 7.) Things without life, that is, without the true faith and grace of 
 the gospel ; and consequently, things that shall never be placed in the kingdom of heaven among 
 those that are the children of life ; though their sound, by their talk, be as if 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 to 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 the 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 conversation. 
 
 Faith. 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 
 
86 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 question, let it be tliis: Hnw doth tlie saviiiK grace of God discover itflelf, when it is in the heart 
 of man? 
 
 Talk. I perceive, tliun, that our talk must be about the power of things. Well, it is a very 
 good question, and 1 shall he willing tt> 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. Si-condly 
 
 Faith. Nay, hold, let us consider of one at once. I think you should rather say, It shows 
 itself by inclining the soul to abhor its sin. 
 
 Talk. Why, what difference is there between crying out against, and abhorring of sin? 
 
 Faith. Oh, a great deal. A man may cry out against sin of policy, but he cannot abhor it, 
 but by virtue of a godly antipathy against it. I have heard many cry out against sin in the 
 pulpit, who yet can abide it well enough in the heart, house, and conversation. Joseph's mistress 
 cried out with a loud voice, as if she had licen very holy ; but she would willingly, notwith- 
 standing that, have committed uncleanness with him. (Gen. xxxix. 15.) Some cry out against 
 sin, even as the mother cries out against her child in her lap, when she calleth it slut and 
 naughty girl, and then foils 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? 
 
 Talk. Great knowledge of gospel mysteries. 
 
 Faith. This sign should have been first; but first or hist, 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. (1 Cor. xiii.) Yea, if a man have all knowledge, he may yet be nothing, and so con- 
 sequently be no child of God. When Christ said, " Do you know all these things ?" and the 
 disciples had answered, Yes ; he addeth, " 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 
 attended 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 pleasetli 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 is, therefore, 
 knowledge and knowledge. Knowledge that resteth in the bare speculation of things; and 
 knowledge that is accompanied with the grace of fixith and love; which puts a man upon 
 doing even the will of God from the heart : the first of these will serve the talker ; l)Ut without 
 tlie otlier the true Christian is not content. "CJive me understanding, and I shall keep thy law; 
 yea, I shall oVtserve it with my whole heart." (Psalm cxix. 34.) 
 
 Talk. You lie at the catch again ; this is not for edification. 
 
 Faith. Well, if you please, propound another sign how this work of grace discovereth 
 itaelf where it is. 
 
 Talk. Not I, for I see we shall not agree. 
 
 Faith. Well, if you will not, will you give me leave to do it? 
 
 Talk. You may use your liberty. 
 
 Faith. A work of grace in the soul discoveretli itself, either to him that hath it, or to 
 standers by. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 87 
 
 To him that hath it thus : It gives him conviction of sin, especially of 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 
 mercy at God's hand, by faith in Jesus Christ). (John xvi. 8 ; Rom. vii. 24 ; John xvi. 9 ; Mark 
 xvi. 16.) This sight and sense of things worketh in him sorrow and shame for sin ; he findeth, 
 moreover, revealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the absolute necessity of closing with 
 him for life, at the which he findeth hungerings and thirstings after him ; to which hungerings, 
 etc., the promise is made. (Psalm xxxviii. 18 ; Jer. xxxi. 19 ; Gal. ii. 16 ; Acts iv. 12 ; Matt, 
 v. 6; Rev. xxi. 6.) Now, according to the strength or weakness of his faith in his Saviour, 
 so is his joy and peace, so is his love to holiness, so are his desires to know him more, and 
 also to serve him in this world. But though I say it discovereth itself thus unto him, yet it is 
 but seldom that he is able to conclude that this is a w^ork of grace ; because his corruptions now, 
 and his abused reason, make his mind to misjudge in this manner; therefore, in him that hath 
 this work, there is required a very sound judgment before he can, with steadiness, conclude that 
 this is a work of grace. 
 
 To others, it is thus discovered : — 
 
 (1) By an experimental confession of his faith in Christ. (Rom. x. 10; Phil. 1. 27; Matt, 
 v. 19.) 
 
 (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 hypocrite or talkative person 
 may do, but by a practical subjection, in faith and love, to the power of the Word. (John xiv. 
 1.5 ; Psalm 1. 23 ; Job xlii. 5, 6 ; Ezek. xx. 43.) 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 this description of it? and doth your 
 life and conversation testify the same ? or standeth your religion in word or in 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. 
 
 Talk. Then Talkative at first began to blush ; but, recovering himself, thus he replied : You 
 come now to experience, to conscience, and God; and to appeal to him for justification of what 
 is spoken. This kind of discourse 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 because I knew not that you had aught else 
 but notion. Besides, to tell you all the truth, I have heard of you, that you are a man whose 
 
88 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 religion lies in talk, and that your conversation gives this your mouth-profession the lie. They 
 say, you are a spot among Christians ; and that religion fareth the worse for your ungodly 
 conversation ; that some have already stunihled at your wicked ways, and that more are in 
 danger of being destroyed thereby; your religion, and an ale-house, and covetousness, and 
 uncleanness, and swearing, and lying, and vain-company keeping, etc., will stand together. The 
 proverb is true of you which is said of a wliore, that she is a shame to all women ; so are you 
 a sliiime to all professors. 
 
 T.M.K. Since vou are ready to take up reports and to judge so mshly as you do, I cannot 
 but conclude vou are some peevish or melancholy man, not (it to be discoursed with ; anil ."o 
 adieu. 
 
 CiiR. Then came up 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 company than reform 
 his life. But he is gone, iis 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 continuing (as I suppose he will do) as he 
 is, he would have been but a blot 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 ; however, I have dealt plainly with him, and so am clear of his ])lood, if he 
 perisheth. 
 
 Chr. You did well to talk so plainly to him as you did ; there is but little of this faithful 
 dealing with men nowadays, and that makes religion to stink so in the nostrils of many, as it 
 doth ; for they are these talkative fools whose religion is only in word, and are debauched and 
 vain in their conversation, that (being so much admitted into the fellowship of the godly) do 
 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 Faitliful say, — 
 
 "How Talkative at first lifts up his pliimcMl 
 How bniviOy doth lie s|>eak ! How lie presumes 
 To drive down all liefore him I But so i*K)n 
 As Kailhriil Utiks of heart-work, like the nuxtn 
 That's past the full, into the wane he poes, 
 ,\nd so will all, Imt he that liKABT-woRK knows." 
 
 Thus they went on talking of what they had seen by the way, and so made that way easy 
 which would otiierwise, no doubt, have been tedious to them ; for now they went through a 
 wilderness. 
 
 Now, when they were got almost quite out of this wilderness. Faithful chanced to cast his 
 eye back, and espied one coming after them, and he knew him. Oh ! said Faithful to his 
 brother. Who comes yonder? Then Ciiristian looked, and said. It is my good friend Evangelist. 
 Ay, and my good friend too, said Faithful, for it was he that set me the way to the gate. 
 Now was Evangelist come up to them, and thus saluted them: — 
 
 EvAiS. Peace be with you, dearly beloved ; and peace be to your helpers. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 89 
 
 Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist ; the sight of thy countenance brings to my 
 remembrance thy ancient kindness and unwearied laboring for my eternal good. 
 
 Faith. And a thousand times welcome, said good Faithful. Thy company, O sweet 
 Evangelist, how desirable it is to us poor pilgrims ! 
 
 Evan. Then said Evangelist, How hath it fared with you, my friends, since the time of our 
 last parting? What have you met with, and how have you behaved yourselves? 
 
 Then Christian and Faithful told him of all tilings that had happened to them in the way ; 
 and how, and with what difficulty, they had arrived to that jjlace. 
 
 Evan. Right glad am I, said Evangelist, not that you have met with trials, but that you have 
 been victors ; and for that you have, notwithstanding many weaknesses, 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 sowed and they that reaped 
 shall rejoice together; that is, if you hold out : "for in due season ye shall reap, if ye faint not;" 
 (John iv. 36 ; Gal. vi. 9.) The crown is before you, and it is an incorruptible one ; " so run that 
 you may obtain it." (1 Cor. ix. 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 fast, therefore, that you 
 have ; let no man take your crown. (Rev. iii. 11.) You are not yet out of the gun-shot of the 
 devil ; you have not resisted unto blood, striving against sin ; let the kingdom be always before 
 you, and believe steadfastly concerning 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 
 thereof, " for they are deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked ;" set your faces like a 
 flint; you have all power in heaven and earth on your side. 
 
 Chr. Then Christian thanked him for his exhortation ; 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 consented. 
 So Evangelist began as followeth : — 
 
 Evan. My sons, you have heard, in the words 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 in 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 immediately 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 will 
 strain hard but they will kill you ; and be 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, although 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 because 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 ful- 
 filled what I have here related, then remember your friend, and quit yourselves like men. 
 
90 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ami commit the keeping of your souls to your God in well-doing, as unto a faithful 
 Creator. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the wilderness, they presently saw 
 u town hefore 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 heareth the name of Vanity Fair, hccausc 
 the town whore it is kept is lighter than vanity ; and also because all that is there sold, or that 
 Cometh tliither, is vanity. As is the saying of the wise, "all that cometh is vanity." (Eccles. i. ; 
 ii. 11, 17; xi. 8; Isa. xi. 17.) 
 
 This fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of ancient stjinding; I will show you the 
 original of it. Almost five thousjind j'ears agone, there were pilgrims walking to the Ceh'stial 
 City, as these two honest persons are ; and lk'elzel)ub, ApoUyon, and Ix*gion, with their com- 
 panions, perceiving by the path that the pilgrims made, tliat tiieir 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 tliat it should liust all the year long ; therefore at this fair are all such merchan- 
 dise sold, as houses, lands, trades, places, honors, preferments, titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, 
 pleasures, and delights of all sorts, sis whores, bawds, wives, husbands, children, masters, servants, 
 lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls, precious stones, and what not. 
 
 And, moreover, at this fair there is at all times to be seen juggling, 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 fiiirs of less moment, there are several rows and streets, under their proper 
 names, where such and such wares are vended ; so here likewise you have the proper places, 
 rows, streets (viz., countries and kingdoms), where the wares of this fair are soonest to be found. 
 Here is the HriUiin Kow, the French Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the German Row, 
 where several sorts of vanities are to be sold. But, as in other fairs, some one commodity is as 
 the chief of all the fair, so the ware of Rome and her merchandise is greatly i)romoted in this 
 fair; only 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 will go to the City, and yet not go through this town, must needs "go 
 out of the world." (1 Cor. v. 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, it wjis 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 ho wont through the town. (Matt, 
 ix. 8 ; Luke iv. .S-7.) 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 the 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 those vanities. This fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of long stimding, and a ver>' 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 OS it were in a hubbub about them; and that for several reasons: for, — 
 
92 THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS. 
 
 P'irst, The pilgrims were clotlied with such kin<l of raiment as was diverse from the raiment 
 of any that traded in that fair. The people, tluTefore, of the fair, made a great gazing upon 
 them : some said they were fools, some tlu-y were bedlams, and some they were outlandish men. 
 (1 Cor. ii. 7, H.) 
 
 Secondly, Anil as they wondered at their apparel, so they did likewise at their siieech: for 
 few could understjind what they said ; they natundly 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 otiier 
 they seemed l>arbarians each to the other. 
 
 Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the mcrchandi.sers 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," and look upwards, signifying that their trade and traflie was in 
 heaven. (Psalm cxix. M ; Phil. iii. 19, '20.) 
 
 One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriage of the men, to saj* unto them. What will ye 
 buy? But they, looking upon him, answered, " We buy the truth." (Prov. xxiii. 2.3.) At that 
 there was an occa.sion 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 
 liubliub and a great stir in the fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was word pres- 
 ently brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came down and deputed some of his most 
 trusty friends to tjike these men into examination, about whom the fair was almost overturned. 
 So the nun were brought to examination ; and they that sat uj)on them, asked them whence 
 they came, wliithcr they went, and what they did there, in such an unusual garb. The men 
 told them that they were pilgrims and strangers in the world, and that they were going to their 
 own country, which was the heavenly Jerusalem (Heb. ix. i;}-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 buj' the truth. But they that were appointed to examine them did not believe 
 them to be any other than bedlams and mad, or else such as came to put all things into a con- 
 fusion in the fair. Therefore they took them and beat them, and besmeared them with dirt, and 
 put them into the cage, that they might be made a spectacle to all the men of the fair. 
 
 "Behold Vanity Fair! the pilRrims there 
 
 Are chain'd and stand lK>side: 
 
 Even so it won our Lord |)ai»'d here, 
 
 .Vnd on Mount Calvary died." 
 
 ^\\ 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, blcissing, and giving gotxl 
 words for ba<l, and kindness for injuries done, some men in the fair that were more obser\-ing, 
 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 angry manner, let fly at them again, 
 counting them as bad as the men in the cage, and telling them that they seemed confederates, 
 
THE PIIvGRIM'S PROGRESS. 93 
 
 and should be made partakers of their misfortunes. The others replied, 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 tlie men they had abused. Thus, after divers words had passed on both sides, the men 
 behaving themselves all the while very wisely and soberly before them, they fell to some blows 
 among themselves, and did harm one to another. . Then were these two poor men brouglit before 
 their examiners again, and there charged as being guilty of the late hubbub that had been in tlie 
 fair. So they beat them pitifully, and hanged irons upon them, and led them in chains up and 
 down the fair, for an example and a terror to others, lest any should speak in their behalf, or 
 join themselves unto theni. But Christian and Faithful behaved themselves 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 greater rage, insomuch that they concluded the 
 death of these two men. Wherefore they threatened, that the 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 
 fiiir. 
 
 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, therefore, 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, 
 even 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 of him that ruleth all things, 
 with much content, they abode in the condition in which they were, until they should be other- 
 wise disposed of 
 
 Then a convenient time being appointed, they brought them forth to their trial, in order to 
 their condemnation. When the time was come, they were brought before their enemies and 
 arraigned. The judge's name was Lord Hate-good. Their indictment was one and the same in 
 substance, though somewhat varying in form, the contents whereof were this : — 
 
 " That they were enemies to and disturbers of their trade ; that they had made commotions 
 and divisions in the town, and had won a party to their own most dangerous opinions, in 
 contempt of the law of their prince." 
 
 "Now, Faithful, play the man, speak for thy God: 
 Fear not the wicked's malice, nor their rod : 
 Speak boldly, man, the truth is on thy side: 
 Die for it, and to life in triumph ride." 
 
 Then Faithful began to answer, that he had only set himself against that which hath 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 his angels. 
 
'^"5 '"" if '!'!«*'. *i^f'n* 
 
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 m. r^'-w 1 
 
 Si 
 
 liiN 
 
 
Envy. 
 
 Superstition. 
 
 
 Picktliank. 
 THE WITNESSES. 
 
 95 
 
96 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Then proclaination was made, tlial llicy thai liad uuglit to f>ay for tlicir lord the king aj^aitisi 
 the prisoner at the l)ar, should forthwith api>ear and give in their evidence. So tliere eiiinc in 
 tliree witnesses, to wit, Envy, Suj)erstiti(>n, and Pickthank. They were then uskcd if they knew 
 the prisoner at tiic bar; and wliat they had to say for their lord the king against him. 
 
 Then stood forth Knvy, and sai<l to this elleet : .My Ix)rd, 1 have known this man a long 
 time, and will attest upon my oath hefore this honorable liencli that he is 
 
 JiDtiE. Hold! <iive me his oath. (So they sware him.) Then he said, — 
 
 E.wv. My Lord, this man, notwitlistanding his plausible name, is one of the vilest men in 
 our country. He neither regardeth prince nor jieople, law nor custom ; but doth all that he can 
 to possess all men with certain of ids disloyal notions, which he in the genenil calls jirinciples of 
 faith and holiness. And, in particular, I heard iiim once myself ntlinn tiiat Christianity and the 
 customs of our town of Vanity were diametrically opposite, and could not be reconciled. Hy 
 which saying, my Lord, lie dotli at once not only conihnin all our laudable doings, but us in 
 the doing of them. 
 
 JuDtiE. Then did the Judge say to him. Hast tliou any more to say ? 
 
 Envv. My Lord, I could say much more, only I would not be tedious to the court. Yet, if 
 need be, when tlie other gentlemen have given in their evidence, rather than anything shall be 
 wanting that will despatch him, I will enlarge my testimony against liim. So he wsis bid to 
 eUmd by. 
 
 Tlien tliey called Superstition, and bid him look upon the jmsoncr. They also asked, what 
 tie could say for tlieir lord the king against him. Then they sware him ; so he began. 
 
 Sri'EK. My Lord, I have no great acquaintance with tliis man, nor do I desire to have 
 furtlicr knowledge of him ; however, tliis I know, that he is a very i)estilent fellow, from some 
 discourse that, tlie other day, I had with him in this to\Vn ; for then, talking with him, I heard 
 him say, that our religion was naught, ami such by wiiich a man could by no means plejise God. 
 Which sayings of his, my Lord, your Lordshij) very well knows, what neces.sarily thence will 
 follow, to wit, that we do still worship in vain, are yet in our sins, and finally shall be damned ; 
 and this is that wliich I have to .say. 
 
 Then was Pickthank sworn, and bid say what he knew, in behalf of tiieir lord the king, 
 against the jirisoner at tiie bar. 
 
 Pick. My Lord, and you gentlemen all, tliis fellow I have known of a long time, and have 
 heard hini s|)cak things that ought not to be sjioke; for he hath railed on our noble jirinee 
 Heelzcbul), and hath spoken contemptibly of his honorable friends, whose names are the Lord 
 Old Man, the Lord I'arnal Delight, the Lord Luxurious, the I^ord Desire of Vain-Glory, my old 
 l..ord Lechery, Sir Having (Jreedy, with all the rest of our nobility ; and he hath said, moreover, 
 that if all men were of his mind, if jjossible, there is not one of these noblemen shouhl have 
 any longer a being in this town. Besides, he hath not been afraid to rail on you, my Ix)rd, who 
 are now apiwinted to be his judge, calling you an ungodly villain, with many other such like 
 vilifying terms, with which he hath bespattered most of tlie gentry of our town. 
 
 When this Pickthank had told his tjile, the Judge directed his spcecli to the prisoner at the 
 bar, saying. Thou runagate, heretic, and traitor, hast thou heard what these honest gentlemen 
 have witnessed against thee'? 
 
98 THE PILCRIMS I'ROGRESS. 
 
 Faith. May I speak a few words in my own (kfenco? 
 
 JiixiK. yirrah ! Sirrah! thou dcHer\'est to live no longer, but to he shiin immediately ujKjn 
 the place; yet, that all men may see our gentleness towards thee, let us hear what tliou, vile 
 runajjate, hast to say. 
 
 F.\ITH. 1. I say, then, in answer to what Mr. Envy hath spoken, I never said aught hut 
 tliis, That what rule, or laws, or customs, or j>eople, were Hat against the Wortl of (Jotl, are 
 dianutrically 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 recantation. 
 
 2. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and his charge against me, I said only this, 
 That in the worship of God there is required a Divine faith ; but there 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 revelation, 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 (avoiding terms, as that I am said to rail, and 
 the like), that the prince of this town, with all the rabblement, his attendants, by this gentleman 
 named, are more fit for a being in hell, than in this town and country : and so, the Ix)rd have 
 mercy upon me ! 
 
 Then the Judge called to tlie jury (who all this while stood by, to hear and obser\'e): 
 Gentlemen of the jury, you see this man about whom so great an uproar hath been made in this 
 town. You have also heard what these worthy gentlemen have witnessed against him. Also 
 you have heard his reply and confession. It licth now in your breasts to hang liini or save his 
 life; but yet I think meet to instruct you into our law. 
 
 There was an Act made in the days of Pharaoh the Great, servant to our prince, that lest 
 those of a contrary religion should multiply and grow too strong for him, their males should be 
 thrown into the river. ( Kxod. i.) There was also an Act made in the days of Nebuchadnezzar 
 the Great, another of his servants, that whosoever would not fall down and worship his golden 
 image, should lie thrown into a fiery furnace. (Dan. iii.) There was al.xo an Act made in the 
 days of Darius, that whoso, for some time, called upon any god but liim, should be cast into the 
 lions' den. (Dan. vi.) Now the subst^vnce of these laws this rebel has broken, not only in 
 thougiit (which is not to be borne), but also in word and deed ; which must therefore nei-ds be 
 intolerable. 
 
 For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a supposition, to prevent mischief, no crime 
 being yet apparent; but here is a crime apparent. For the second and third, you see he 
 disputeth against our religion ; and for the treason he hath confessed, he deser\'eth to die the 
 death. 
 
 Then went the jury out, whose names were, Mr. Blind-man, Mr. No-gootl. Mr. Malice, Mr. 
 lx)ve-lust, Mr. Live-loo.se, Mr. Heady, Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. 
 Hate-light, and Mr. Implacable; who every one gave in his ](rivate verdict against him among 
 themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before the Judge. 
 And first, among themselves. Mr. Blind-man, the foreman, said, I see clearly that this man is 
 a heretic. Then said Mr. No-good, Away with such a fellow from the earth. Ay, said Mr. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 99 
 
 Malice, for I hate the very looks of him. Then said Mr. Love-lust, I could never endure him. 
 Nor I, said Mr. Live-loose, for he would always be condemning my way. Hang him, hang him, 
 said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, said Mr. High- 
 mind. My heart riseth against him, said Mr. 
 Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hang- 
 ing is too good for him, said Mr. Cruelty. Let 
 us despatch him out of the way, said Mr. Hate- 
 light. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have 
 all the world given me, I could not be reconciled 
 to him; therefore, let us forthwith bring him in 
 guilty of death. And so they did ; therefore he 
 was presently condemned to be had from the place 
 where 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 according to their law ; and, first, they scourged 
 him, then they buffeted him, then they lanced his 
 flesh with knives ; after that, they stoned him with 
 stones, then 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 mul- 
 titude a chariot and a couple of horses, waiting for 
 Faithful, who (so soon as his adversaries had des- 
 patched him) was taken up into it, and straight- 
 
 I .y/ 
 ''I,' ' ii i li/, 
 "They burned him lo 
 
 way was carried up through the clouds, with sound of trumpet, the nearest way to the celestial 
 gate. 
 
 " Brave Faithful, bravely done in word and deed ; 
 
 Judge, witnesses, and jury have, instead 
 
 Of overcoming thee, but shown their rage : 
 
 When they are dead, thou'It live from age to age." 
 
 But as for Christian, he had some respite, and was remanded back to prison. So he there 
 remained for a space ; but he that overrules all things, having the power of their rage in his own 
 hand, so wrought it about, that Christian for that time escaped them, 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." 
 
loo THE PII/^RIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Now I saw in my ilroam, tlmt (.'hristiiin wi-nt not forth alone, for thi-re was one whose nume 
 was Hopeful (heing made so by the heholding of Christian and Faithful in their wordu 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 liear testi- 
 mony to the truth, and another rises out of his ashes, to be a companion with Christian in his 
 pilgrimage. This Hopeful also told Christian, that tlierc were many more of the men in the 
 fair, that would take their time and follow atler. 
 
 So I saw that (juickly after they were got out of the fair, they overtook one that was going 
 l)eforc them, whose name Wiis By-ends: so they said to him. What countryman. Sir? and how 
 far go you tliis way? He told them that he came from the town of Fair-i'i>pech. and he was 
 going to the Celestial City, but told theni not his name. 
 
 Chk. From Fair-speech ! said Christian. Is there any good tliat lives there? (Prov. xxvi. 25.) 
 
 Bv-Kxns. Yes, said By-ends, I hope. 
 
 CiiK. Pray, Sir, what may I call you? said Christian. 
 
 Bv-EXi)s. I am a stranger to you, and you to me : if you be going this way, I shall be glad 
 of your company ; if not, I must be content. 
 
 Chu. This town of Fair-speech, said Christian, I have heard of; and. as I remember, they 
 say, it is a wealthy place. 
 
 Bv-E.\D.s. Yes, I will assure you that it is; and I have very many rich kindred there. 
 
 CiiR. Pray, who are your kindred there? if a man may be so bold. 
 
 Bv-E.ND.s. Almost the whole town ; and in particular, my I..ord Turn-about, my I>ord Tinie- 
 ser^'er, my Ixirtl Fair-speech (from whose ancestors that town first took its name), also Mr. 
 Smooth-man, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Anything; and the parson of our parish, Mr. Two- 
 tongues, was my mother's own brother by father's side ; and to 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 anotlier, and I got most of my estate by the same occujiation. 
 
 Chr. Are you a marrietl man? 
 
 Bv-EXD.s. Yes, and my wife is a virtuous woman, the daughter of a virtuous woman ; she 
 was my Lady Feigning's daughter, therefore she came of a very lionorable family, and is arrived 
 to such a pitch of breeding, that she knows how to carry it to all. even to prince and peasant. 
 It is true we somewhat differ in religion from those of the stricter sort, yet but in tw() small 
 points : first, we never strive against wind and tide ; secondly, we are always most zealous when 
 religion goes in his silver slippers ; we love much to walk with him in the street, if tlie sun 
 shines, and the people a|>))laud him. 
 
 Then Christian stepjied a little a.side to his fellow. Hopeful, saying. It runs in my mind that 
 this is one By-ends of Fair-sjieech ; and if it be he, we have as 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 some- 
 thing more than all the world doth ; and if I take not ray mark ami.ss, I deem I have half a 
 guess of you: Is not your name Mr. By-ends of Fair-speech? 
 
 Bv-EXDs. This is not my name, but indeed it is a nickname that is given me by some that 
 
"There was one whose name was Hopeful, who joined himself unto him." 
 
 101 
 
I02 THK PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 cnniiot iil)i(le me: ami 1 must be content to bear it as a reproacb, ua other ^rood men have borne 
 theirs before me. 
 
 CiiR. But did you never pive an occasion to men to call you by this name? 
 
 Bv-E.NDS. 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 jumj) in my judgment with the present way of the 
 times, whatever it was, and my chance was to get thereby ; but if things are thus cast U|)on me, 
 let me count them a bles.xing; but let not the malicious load me therefore with rcjiroaeh. 
 
 Chr. 1 thought, indeed, that you were tiie 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. 
 
 Bv-Kxi)s. Well, if you will thus imagine, I cannot help it; you shall find me a fair company- 
 keeper, if you will still admit me your associate. 
 
 CiiR. If you will gt) 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, as well as when in his silver 
 -li]ipiTs ; and stjiiid by him, too. when bound in irons, as well as when he walketh the streets 
 witirapplau.>*e. 
 
 By-kxi)s. 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 further, unless you will do in what I propound as we. 
 
 Then said By-ends, I shall never desert my old principles, since they are harmless and 
 jirofitid)le. If I may not go with you, I must do ixs I did before you overtook 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 Hopeful forsook him, and kept their distance 
 before him ; but one of them looking back, sjiw three men following by Mr. By-ends, and behold, 
 as they came up with him, he made them a very low conyi ; and they also gave him a com- 
 ]ilin)ent. The men's names were Mr. Hold-the-world, Mr. Money-love, and Mr. Save-all ; men 
 tliat Mr. By-ends had fonnerly been acquainted with ; for in their minority they were school- 
 fellows, and were taught by one Mr. Gripe-man. a schoolmaster in I/Ove-gain, which is a market 
 t<)W!i in the county of Coveting, in the north. This .school ma.ster taught them the art of getting, 
 either by violence, cozenage, flattery, lying, or by putting on a guise of religion ; and thi^se four 
 gentlemen had attained much of the art of their master, so that they could each of them have 
 kei)t such a school themselves. 
 
 Well, when they had, as I .said, thus saluted eaeh other, Mr. Money-love said to Mr. By-ends, 
 Who are they upon the road before us? (for Christian and Hopeful were yet within view.) 
 
 Bv-K.\ns. They are a couple of far countrymen, that, after their mode, are going on 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 Mo.NKV-LovK. Alas! Why did they not stay, that we might have their good company? for 
 they, and we, and you. Sir, I hope, are all going on a pilgrinLige. 
 
 Bv-K.sns. We are so, indeed ; but the men before us are so rigid, and love so much of their 
 own notions, and do also so lightly esteem the opinions of otliers, that let a man be never so 
 godly, yet if he jumps not with them in all things, they thrust him quite out of their company. 
 
 Save-all. That is bad, but we read of some that are righteous ovennuch ; and such men's 
 
I04 THE PIIvGRIMS PROGRESS. 
 
 rifiiiliK'ss prevails with them to judnu and roixU'iiiii all l>ut themselves, lint, 1 }>ray, what, and 
 how many, were the thinps wherein you diflered? 
 
 Hv-Kxos. Why, they, after their head.-^lronj;; manner, eonelude that it is duty to rush on their 
 journey all weathers; and I am for waiting for wind and tide. They are for hauirding all for 
 God at aclaj); and I am for taking all advantages to secure my life and eiitiite. They arc for 
 holding their notions, though all other men are against them ; hut I nm for religion in what, and 
 so far i\s the times, and my safety, will hear it. They are for Religion when in rags and contempt; 
 but I am for him when he walks in his golden slippers, in the sunshine, and with applause. 
 
 Mr. Hoi,i>-thk-W()ULD. Ay, and hold you there still, good Mr. By-ends; for, for my jiart, I 
 can count him hut a fool, that, having the liberty to keep what he has, shall be so unwise as to 
 lose it. Ijct us be wise as serpents ; it is best to make hay when 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 content to tjike fair weather along with us. For my part, I like that religion best 
 that will st4\nd with the security of God's good blessings unto us : for who can imagine, that is 
 ruled by his rea.son, 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 Solomon 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 described them. 
 
 Mr. 8avk-.\ll. I think that we are all agreed in this matter, and therefore there needs no 
 more words about it. 
 
 Mr. Moxev-lovk. No, there needs no more words about this matter, indeed; for he that 
 believes neither Scripture nor reason (and you see we have both on our side), neither knows 
 his own liberty nor seeks his own safety. 
 
 Mr. Bv-exd.s. My brother, 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 tratlesman, etc., should have an advant^ige lie before him, 
 to get the good l)le.ssings of this life, yet so as that he can by no means come by them except, 
 in appearance at least, he becomes extraordinarily zealous in some points of religion that he 
 meddled not with before; may he not use these means to attain his end, and yet be a right 
 honest man? 
 
 Mr. Moxkv-love. I see the bottom of your question ; and with thesie gentlemen's good 
 leave, I will endeavor to shape you an answer. And first, to sj)cak to your question as it con- 
 cerns a minister himself: Suppose a minister, a worthy man, pos.«es.sed but of a very small 
 benefice, and ha.s in his eye a greater, more fat, and i)lum]) by far ; he has also now an oppor- 
 tunity of getting of it, yet so as by being more studious, by preaching more frequently, and 
 zealou.sly, and, Ijecause the temper of the people requires it, by altering of some of his prin- 
 ciples? for my |)art. I see no reason but a man may do this (provided he has a call), ay. and 
 more a great deal besides, and yet be an honest man. For why, — 
 
 1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful (this cannot be ccmtradicted), since it is set 
 before him by Providence; so thm, hr mny tret it. if he can, making no question for con- 
 science' sake. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 105 
 
 2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him more studious, a more zealous preacher, 
 etc., and so makes him a better man; yea, makes him better improve his parts, which is accord- 
 ing 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 principles, this argueth — (1) That he is of a self-denying temper ; (2) Of a sweet 
 and winning deportment ; and so (3) more fiit for the ministerial 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 has improved in his parts and industry thereby, be 
 counted as one that pursues his call, and the oj^portunity put into his hand to do good. 
 
 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 10 his shop ; for my 
 part, I see no reason but that this may be lawfully 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. 
 
 8. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming religious, 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 this Mr. Money-love to Mr. By-ends' 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. By-ends before. 
 So they called after them, and they stopped, and stood still till they came up to them ; but they 
 concluded, as they went, that not Mr. By-ends, but old Mr. Hold-the-world, should propound the 
 question to them, because, as they supposed, their answer to him would be without the 
 remainder of tliat heat that was kindled betwixt Mr. By-ends and them, at their jjarting a little 
 before. 
 
 So they came up to each other, and after a short salutation, Mr. Hold-the-world projiounded 
 the question to Christian and his fellow, and bid them to answer it if they could. 
 
 Che. Then said Christian, Even a babe in religion may answer ten thousand such questions. 
 For if it be unlawful to follow Christ for loaves (as it is in the sixth of John), how much more 
 aljominable 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 Ham or and Shechem had a mind to the daughter and cattle of Jacob, 
 and saw that there was no ways for them to come at them, but bj^ becoming circumcised ; they 
 say to their companions, if every male of us be circumcised, shall not their cattle, and their 
 substance, and every beast of theirs, be ours? Their daughter and their cattle were that which 
 they sought to obtain, and their religion the stalking-horse thej' made use of to come at them. 
 Read the whole story. (Gen. xxxiv. 20-23.) 
 
 2. The hypocritical Pharisees were also of this religion ; long prayers were their pretence, 
 
io6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 but to got widows' houses was tliuir iiitfiit; iind fin-iitcr (ianinatioii was irom umi liiiir juiIi.'iihiu. 
 (Luke XX. 4(), 47.) 
 
 ;i. Judiis tlie devil wii« also of this religion ; he was religious for the Jiag, that he might he 
 possessed of what was therein ; but he was lost, aist away, and the very son of perdition. 
 
 4. Simon the wizard was of this religion too; for he would have ha<l the Holy (Jhost, that 
 he migiit have got money therewith ; and his sentence from Peter's mouth was according. (Acts 
 viii. lit-22.) 
 
 r>. Neither will it go out of my mind, but that that man that takes up religion for the world, 
 will throw away religion for the world ; for so surely as Judas resigned the world in becoming 
 religious, so surely di<l he also sell religion and his Master for the same. To answer the question, 
 therefore, aflirmatively, as I perceive you have dt)ne, and to accept of, as authentic, such answer, 
 is both heathenish, hyjiocritical, and devilish ; 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 approved of the soundness of (."hristian's answer ; so there was a great silence among them. 
 Mr. By-ends and his company also staggered and kept behind, that Christian and Hoj^eful might 
 outgo them. Then said Christian to his fellow. If these men cannot stand before the sentence 
 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? 
 y> Then Christian and Hopeful outwent them again, and went till they came at a delicate plain 
 
 called Ease, where they went witii much content ; but that jdain was but narrow, so they were 
 quickly got over it. Now at the further side of that plain was a 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 brink 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 ofl' the road, over against the silver mine, stood Demas 
 (gentleman-like) to call to passengers to come and see; who said to Christian and his fellow, 
 Ho! turn aside hither, and I will show you a thing. 
 
 CiiR. What thing so deser\'ing as to turn us out of the way to see it? 
 
 Dem.\h. Here is a silver mine, and .some digging in it for treasure. If you will come, witli a 
 little pains you may richly provide for yourselves. 
 
 Hope. Then said Hopeful, I^et us go see. 
 
 Chk. 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 hindcroth them 
 in their pilgrimage. Then Christian called to Demas, saying. Is not the place dangerous? Hath 
 it not hindered many in their pilgrimage? (Hos. xiv. 8.) 
 
 Dkmas. Not very dangerous. excei>t to those that are careless (but withal, he blushed 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 By-ends comes up, if he hath the same invitation as we, he 
 will turn in thither to see. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 107 
 
 Chr. No doubt thereof, for his priiicijjles 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. iv. 10) ; and why seekest thou to bring us into the like condemna- 
 tion ? 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 fraternity ; and that if they would tarry a 
 little, he also himself would walk with them. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, What is thy name? Is it not the same by the 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-grandfather, and Judas your father ; and you 
 have trod in their steps. (2 Kings v. 20 ; Matt. xxvi. 14, 15 ; xxvii. 1-5.) It is but a devilish 
 prank that thou usest ; thy father was hanged for a traitor, and thou deservest no better reward. 
 Assure thyself, that when we come to the King, we will tell him of this thy behavior. Thus 
 they went their way. 
 
 By this time By-ends 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 
 never were seen again in the way. Then sang Christian, — 
 
 " By-ends and silver Demas both agree ; 
 One calls, the other runs, that he may be 
 A sharer in his lucre ; so these do 
 Take up in this world and no further go." 
 
 Now I saw that, just on the other side of this plain, the pilgrims caine to a place where 
 stood aii old monument, hard by the highway side, at the sight of which they were both con- 
 cerned, 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 
 upon it, but could not for a time tell what they should make thereof At last Hopeful espied, 
 written above the head thereof, a writing in an unusual hand ; but he, 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 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. xix. 26.) Which sudden and amazing sight gave them occasion of this 
 discourse. 
 
 Chr. Ah, my brother! this is a seasonable sight; it came opportunely to us after the invi- 
 tation which Demas gave us to come over to view the Hill Lucre ; and had we gone over, as he 
 
io8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 dttiirc'd us, miuI us tliou Wiist iiiclinin); to du, my brother, wc hud, fur uu^ht I know, been made 
 ourselves like this wumun, a spectiu-le for those that shall come after to )>chold. 
 
 IIoi'K. I am sorry that I wiis so foolish, and um made to wonder tliat I um not now as 
 I^t's wife: for wherein wus the difference betwixt iur sin and mine? She only looked buck; 
 ami I had a desire to go see. Let grace be adored, uiid let me be ushamed that ever sueli a 
 thing should be in mine heart. 
 
 Chk. Ijet us take notice of what we sec here for our hel]) 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 slie is turned into a pillar of .^alt. 
 
 Hoi'K. True; and she may be to us both caution and example; caution, that we would 
 shun her sin ; or a sign of what judgment will overtake such as shall not be prevented by this 
 cautiiin ; so Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, with the two hundred and fifty men that i»erished in 
 their sin, diil also become a sign or example to others to beware. (Num. xxvi. .9, 10.) But above 
 all, I muse at one thing, to wit, how Demas and his fellows cjui sUuid 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 i)illar of salt; especially since the judg- 
 ment which overtook her did make her an example, within sight of where they are; for they 
 cannot choo.se but see her, did they but lift uj) their eyes. 
 
 Chr. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth that their hearts are grown desi)erate 
 in the case ; and I cannot tell who to compare them to so fitly, as to them that pick pockets in 
 the j)resence of the judge, or that will cut purses under the gallows. It is said of the men of 
 Sodom, that they were sinners exceedingly, because they were sinners before the Lord, that is, 
 in his eyesight, and notwithstanding the kindnesses that he had showed them (Gen. xiii. 18); 
 for the land of Sodom was now like the garden of Eden heretofore. (Gen. xiii. 13.) Thi.s, there- 
 fore, i>rovoked him the more to jealousy, and made their plague Jis hot as the fire of the Lord 
 out of heaven could make it. And it is most rationally to be concluded, that such, even such 
 as these are, that shiill sin in the sight, yea, and that too in despite of such exanijiles that are 
 set continually before them, to caution them to the contrary, must l>e partakers of severest 
 judgment.^. 
 
 HoPK. Doubtless thou hast said the truth ; but what a mercy is it, that neither thou, but 
 especially I, am not made myself this exami)le! This ministereth occasion to us to thank God, 
 to fear before Him, and always to remendier Toot's wife. 
 
 I saw, then, that they went on their way to a pleasant river; wiiich David the king called 
 " the river of God,'' but John, " the river of the water of life." (Psalm Ixv. 9 ; Rev. xxii. ; Ezek. 
 xlvii.) Now their way lay just upon the bank of the river; here, therefore. Christian and his 
 companion walked with great delight; they drank also of the water of the river, which was 
 plea.sant and enlivening to their weary spirits : besides, on the banks of this river, on either 
 side, were green trees, that bore all manner of fruit ; and the leaves of the trees were good for 
 medicine ; with the fruit of these trees they were also much delighted ; and the leaves they ate 
 to prevent surfeits and other disea.ses that are incident to those that heat their blood by tnivels. 
 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 tbey lay down, and slept ; for here they might lie down 
 
"They stood looking and looking upon it, but could not tell what they should make tliereolV 
 
 109 
 
THK PIUiRI.M'S PROGRESS. 
 
 safely. When tlu y .iwoke, they gntliered again of the fruit of the trees, and drank again of 
 the water of the river, and then lay down again to sleep. (Psalm xxiii. 2; Isa. xiv. 30.) Thus 
 they did several days and nights. Then they sang, — 
 
 " K«h(il(l yv how iheiie crvMal Ktreama do glide. 
 To coiiifiirt pilgrims by llie liighwar side; 
 The meadows gret-ii, livsidv ihfir frnKmnt sniell, 
 Yiehl ilniiitie^ for llieiii : and he lliut van tell 
 What |ilc-:LsaiU fruit, yea, leaves, thotc trees di> yield, 
 Will eouii 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 dejjarted. 
 
 Now, I belield in my dream, tiiat they had not journeyed far. hut the river and the way 
 for a time parted ; at wliieh 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 discouraged because of the way." (Num. xxi. 4.) Wherefore, 
 still as they went on, they wished for a better way. Now, a little before them, there wits on the 
 
 left hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to go 
 over into it; and that meadow is called By-path 
 Meadow. Then said Christian to his fellow. If 
 this meadow lieth along by our wayside, lot us go 
 over into it. Then he went to the stile to si-e. 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 ciisiest going; come, good 
 Hopeful, and let us go over. 
 
 HoPK. Rut how if this jiath should lead us out 
 of the way ? 
 
 Chr. That is not like, said the other. Look, 
 doth it not go along by the wayside? ^o Hojieful, 
 being persuaded by this fellow, went after liiiji over 
 the stile. When they were gone over, and were got 
 into the i)ath, they found it very easy for their 
 feet; and withal, they, looking before them, espieil 
 a man walking as they did, and bis name was 
 Vain-confidence ; so they called aftf r him, an»l 
 asked him whither that way led. He said. To the 
 Celestial Gate. Ixjok, said Christian, did not I tell 
 you so? By this you may see we are right. So 
 they followed, and he went before them. But, 
 behold, the night came on, and it grew very dark ; 
 80 that they that were behind lost the sight of him that went before. 
 
 He, therefore, that went before (Vain-contidence by name), not seeing the way before him, 
 
 Vain-confidence. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. iii 
 
 fell into a deep pit (Isa. ix. 16), which was on purpose there made, by the Prince of those 
 grounds, to catch vain-glorious fools withal, and was dashed in pieces with his fall. 
 
 Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they called to know tlie matter, but there 
 was none to answer, only they heard a groaning. Then said Hopeful, Where are we now? 
 Then was his fellow silent, as mistrusting that he liad led him out of the way ; and now it began 
 to rain, and thunder, and lighten in a very dreadful manner ; and the water rose amain. 
 
 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 it at the very first, and therefore 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 have brought thee out of the way, and 
 that I have put thee into such imminent danger ; pray, my brother, forgive me ; I did not do it 
 of an evil intent. 
 
 HopK. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee ; and I believe, too, that this shall be for 
 our good. 
 
 Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother ; but we must not stand thus : 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 be any danger, I may be first therein, 
 because by my means we are both gone out of the way. 
 
 Hope. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first ; for your mind being troubled may lead you 
 out of the way again. Then, for their encouragement, they heard the voice of one saying, " Set 
 thine heart toward the highway, even the way which thou wentest; turn again." (.Jer. xxxi. 21.) 
 But. by this time the waters were greatly risen, by reason of which the way of going back was 
 very dangerous. (Then I thought that it is easier going out of the way, when we are in, than 
 going in when we are out.) Yet they adventured to go back, but it was dark, and the flood was 
 so high, that in their going back they had like to have been drowned nine or ten times. 
 
 Neitlier could they, with all the skill they had, get again to the stile that night. Wherefore, 
 at last, lighting under a little shelter, they sat down there until the day-break ; but, being weary, 
 they fell asleep. Now 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. They told him 
 they were pilgrims, and that they had lost their way. Then said the Giant, You have this night 
 trespassed 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 also had 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. (Psalm Ixxxviii. 18.) Here, then, they lay from Wednesday morning till Saturday 
 night, 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. Now in this place 
 
iia Tine riLGRiM's progress. 
 
 Christian had double sorrow, bucausu it was through liis unadvised counsel that they were 
 bruugiit into thii> distress. 
 
 "The pilgrims now, to gratify the flesh, 
 Will oevk iu eai-v; but oh! how they afrmh 
 I>o thert'by plunge lliiMnitclves new gricfii into I 
 Who seek to please the llesh, theinavlvtM undo."^ 
 
 Now, (Jiant l)osj)air had a wife, and her name was DiHidence. So when he was pone to bed, 
 he tohl his wife what he had done ; to wit, that he had t;iken a eouple of jirisoners and cast thena 
 into his dungeon, for tresjnissing on his grounds. Then he asked her also what he had best to do 
 further to them. So she asked him what they were, whence they aime, and whither they were 
 bound ; and he ttild her. Then she counselled him that when he arose in the morning he should 
 beat them without any mercy. So, when he arose, he getteth hira 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 tiuy never gave him a word of distaste. Then he falls ujwn them, and beats 
 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 condole their misery and to mourn 
 undtT tiu'ir distress. So all that day tiiey spent the time in nothing but sighs and lamentations. 
 The next night, she, talking with her liusl>and about them furtiier, and inuUrstjinding they were 
 yet alive, ilid 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 sorv witli 
 the stripes that he had given them the day before, he told them, that since they were never likely 
 to come out of tiiat place, their only way would be forthwith to make an end of themselves, 
 either with knife, halter, or poison, for why, said he, siioubl you choose life, seeing it is attended 
 with so inucli 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 tlicm himself, but that he fell into 
 one of his tits (for he sometimes, in sunshiny weather, fell into fits), and lost for a time the use 
 of his hands ; wherefore he withdrew, and left them as before, to consider what to do. Then did 
 the prisoners consult between themselves, whether it wa.«i the best to take his counsel or no ; and 
 thus they began to discourse: — 
 
 Chk. Ikother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we now live is miserable. 
 For my part I know not whether is best, to live thus, or to die out of hand. " My soul chooseth 
 strangling rather than life," and the grave is more ea.sy for me than this dungeon. (Job vii. 1.5.) 
 Shall we l)e ruled by the Giant? 
 
 lIoPK. Indeed, our present condition is dreadful, and death would be far more welcome to 
 nie than thus for ever to abide; but yet, let us consider, the Lord of the country to which we are 
 going liatii said. Thou slialt do no murder: no, not to another man's jterson : much more, then, 
 are we forbidden to tiike his counsel to kill ourselves. Besides, he that kills anothiT can but 
 commit murder upon his l)0(ly ; but for one to kill himself is to kill liody and soul at once. .\nd, 
 m<|(reover, my brother, thou talkest of ease in the grave; but ha^t thou forgotten the hell, whither 
 for certain tiie murilerers go? For " no murderer bath eternal life," etc. And let us consider, 
 again, that all the law is not in the hand of Giant Despair. Uthers, so far as I can understand, 
 
Giant Despair. 
 
114 'i'lJJ-- I'n.f'.Ki.Ms I'R<)(;ri-:.s.s. 
 
 have been taken by him, as well as wc ; and yet have esca]>(d out of liis hand. Who knows but 
 that <io<l that made the wr)rld may cause that fJiant Despair may die? or that, at some time or 
 other, he may forget to lock us in? or that he may, in a short time, have another of his (its 
 before us, and may lose the use of his limbs? and if ever that slioubl come to pass again, for 
 my part, I am resolved to jiluek up the lu-art of a man, and to try my utmost to get from under 
 his ])and. I was a fool tiiat I did not try to do it before; but, however, my brother, let us be 
 patient, and endure a while. Tiie time may come that may give us a ha|>py rt'lease; but let 
 us not be our own murderers. With these words. Hopeful at jiresent did nuKlenite 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 he came there he found them 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 tiiis 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 to take it or no. Now Christian again seemed to be for doing it, but Hopeful 
 made bis second reply as followeth : — 
 
 HdPK. My brotiier, said he, rememberest thou not how valiant thou hast been hert^tofore? 
 AjioUyon coulii not crush thee, nor could all that thou didst hear, or see, or feel in tlie Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death. What hardship, terror, and amazement hast thou already gone through ! 
 An<l art thou now notiiing but fear! Thou seest that I am in the dungeon with thee, a far 
 weaker man by nature than thou art; also, this Giant has wounded me as well as thee, ami hath 
 also cut ofl" tlie 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 ])layedst 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 becomes not a Christian to be found in) bear up with patience as well as 
 we can. 
 
 Now, night being come again, and the Giant and his wife being in bed, she asked him 
 concerning the prisoners, and if they had fciken his counsel. To which he replied. They are 
 .sturdy rogues, and choose rather to bear all hardships, than to make away with thenjselves. Then 
 .«aid she. Take them into the castle-yard to-morrow, and show them the bones and skulls of those 
 that thou hast already despatched, and make them believe, ere a week conies to an end, thou also 
 will tear them in pieces, as thou hast done their fellows Ijcfore them. 
 
 So when the morning was come, the (Jiant 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 in 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 
 
••.So they continued togetlier in tlie dark tliat ilay, in their sad and doleful condition." 
 
 115 
 
ii6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 IiuhImuuI, the (iiant, wiTc pot to beil, tlicy bepnn to rtnow their di«'<)urs»' of tlii-ir prisonf rx ; and 
 withal the olil (Jiant wondered, that he could neither by his blows nor his counsel brinn thejn to 
 an end. And with that his wife rejjlied, I fear, said she, that tlu y live in ho|n' that some will 
 come to reliew them, or that they have |>icklo<k8 about them, by tiie means of which they hope 
 to escape. And sayst thou so, my dear? siiid the Ciiant; I will, therefore, search them in the 
 morning!. 
 
 Well, on Saturday, about midnijiht, liiey be^an to pray, and continued in jirayrr till almost 
 break of day. 
 
 Now, a little licfore it was day, good Christian, as one half amazed, brake out in this 
 passionate speech : What a fool, <juoth he, am I, thus to lie in a stinkin;.' ilungeon, when I may 
 as well walk at liberty ! I have a key in my bosom, called Promise, that will, 1 am (>er8unded, 
 open any lock in Douliting Castle. Then said Hopeful, That is good news, powl brother; pluck 
 it out of thy bosom, and try. 
 
 Then 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. Tiien he went to the outward door that leads into the castle-yard, and. with his 
 key, opene<l that door also. After, he went to the iron gate, for that must bo opened too; but 
 that lock went damnable hard, yet the key did open it. Then they thrust open the gate to make 
 their escape with speed, but that gate, as it opened, made such a creaking, that it waked Giant 
 Desjwir, who, hastily rising to pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs to fail, for his fits t<M)k 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 began to contrive with themselves what they 
 should do at that stile, to i)revent those that should come after, from falling into the hands of 
 Giant Despair. So they consented to erect there a pillar, and to engrave upon the sitle thereof 
 this sentence — " Over this stile is the way to Doubting Castle, which is ke]it by Giant Dt-spair, 
 who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, an<l seeks to destroy his holy Pilgrims." Many, 
 therefore, that followed ;ifliT. n;id what was written. an<l escaped the danger. This done, they 
 sang as follows, — 
 
 "Dill iif llie war we went, nnd then we found 
 WImt 'twns to tread iijion forbidden ground ; 
 .\nd lei them tliiit come after have a care, 
 best heiiHcsslies!) makeM them, an we, to fare; 
 Ia»I ihey for Irespawing his prisoners are 
 Whose castle's [loiilitinf;, and whose name's Despair." 
 
 Tiicy went then till tluy came to the Delectable Mountains, which mountains belong to the 
 Ivord of that hill of which we have spoken before; so they went up to the mountains, to In^hold 
 the gardens and orchards, the vineyards and fountains of waters ; where also they dnmk and 
 washed themselves, and did freely eat of the vineyards. Now there were on the tops of these 
 mountains sheiiherds fi-eding their flocks, anil they stood by the highway side. The pilgrims, 
 therefore, went to them, and, leaning upon their staves (as is common with weary i)ilgrinis. when 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 117 
 
 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 ? 
 
 " Mountains delectable they now ascend, 
 Where sliepherds be, which to them do commend 
 Alluring things, and things that cautions are ; 
 Pilgrims are steady kept by faith and fear." 
 
 Shep. These mountains are ImmanuePs Land, and they are within sight of his city ; and 
 the sheep also are his, and he laid down his life for them. (John x. 11.) 
 
 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 that shall get thither indeed. 
 
 Chr. Is the way safe or dangerous? 
 
 Shep. Safe for those for whom it is to be safe ; " but the transgressors shall fall therein." 
 <Hos. xiv. 9.) 
 
 Chr. Is there, in this place, any relief for pilgrims that are weary and faint in the way ? 
 
 Shep. The Lord of these mountains hath given us a charge not to be " forgetful to entertain 
 strangers " (Heb. xiii, 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 you so persevered therein? 
 For but few of them that begin to come hither, do show their faces 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 INIountains ! 
 
 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 that which was 
 ready at present. They said, moreover. We would that ye should stay here a while, to be 
 acquainted with us ; and j'et more to solace yourselves with the good of these Delectable Moun- 
 tains. They then 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 went forth with them, and walked a while, 
 having a pleasant prospect 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 very steep on the furthest 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 from the top. Then said Christian, What meaneth 
 this? The Shepherds answered. Have you not heard of them that were made to err, by 
 hearkening to Hymeneus and Philetus, as concerning the faith of the resurrection of the body? 
 (2 Tim. ii. 17, 18.) They answered, Yes. Then said the Shepherds, Those that ye see lie 
 dashed in pieces at the bottom of this mountain are they ; and they have continued to this day 
 
ii8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 uiiburied, an you wee, for an exuinple to othere to take heed how they clamber too high, or how 
 thvy come too near tlie brink of this niouut4iin. 
 
 Then I saw that they had tlieni to the top of anotlier niouiit^iin, and the name of that is 
 Caution, and bid them look afar off; whieh, whin tliey did, lliey ixrceived, as tl»ey thought, 
 Mveral men walking up and down among tlie tombs that were there; and tliey perceived tliat 
 ilie men were blind, because they stumbled sometimes upon the tombs, and because they could 
 .lot get out from among them. Then said Christian, What means this? 
 
 The Shepiierds then answered. Did you not see a little below these mountains a stile, that 
 led into a meailow, on the left hand of this way? They answered, Yes. Tlien said the 
 Shtplnrils, From that stile there goes a path that leads directly to Doubting Castle, which is kept 
 by tiiiint Despair, and these, pointing to them among the tombs, came once on pilgrimage, as you 
 do now, even till they came to that same stile; and because the right way was rough in that 
 place, they chose to go out of it into that meadow, and there were taken bj' Giant Despair and 
 cast into Doubting Csistle ; where, after they had been a while kept in the dungeon, he at last did 
 l>ut out their eyes, and led them among those tombs, where he has left them to wander to this 
 very day, that the saying of the wise man might be fulfilled, " He that wanrlereth out of the way 
 of understanding, shall remain in the congregation of the dead." (Prov. xxi. 16.) Then Chris- 
 tian and Hopeful looked upon one another, with tears gushing out, ijut yet said nothing to the 
 Siu'iilicrds. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that the Shepherds had them to another place, in a bottom, where 
 was a door in the side of a hill, and they opened the door, and bid them look in. They looked 
 in, therefore, an<l saw that within it was very dark and smoky; they also thought that they 
 heard tiiere a rumbling noise as of tire, and a cr\' of some tonnented, and that they smelt the 
 scent of brimstone. Then said Christian, What means this? The Shepherds told them. This is 
 :i byway to hell, a way that hypocrites go in at; namely, such as sell their birthright, with Esau ; 
 >uch as sell their master, with Judas; such as blaspheme the gospel, with .Mexander; and that 
 lie and dissemble, with Ananias and Sapphira his wife. Then said Hojieful to the Shepherds, I 
 ])ereeive that these had on them, even every one, a show of pil;:rimage, as we have now; had 
 they not? 
 
 Shki'. Yes, and held it a long time too. 
 
 I Ion;. How far might they go in pilgrimage in tlieir day, since they notwithstanding were 
 thus miserably cast away? 
 
 Shep. Some further, and some not so far, as these mountains. 
 
 Then said the pilgrims one to another. We have need to cry to the Strong for strength. 
 
 Shep. Ay, and you will have need to use it, when you have it, too. 
 
 Ry this time the pilgrims had a desire to go forward, and the Shepherds a desire they 
 should ; so they walked together towards the end of the mountains. Then said the Shepherds 
 one to another, Ix-t us here show to the pilgrims the gates of the Celestial City, if they have skill 
 to look through our perspective glass. The jiilgrims then lovingly accepted the motion; so they 
 had them to the top of a high hill, called Clear, and gave them their glass to look. 
 
 Then they essayeil to look, Init 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 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 119 
 
 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 this song, — 
 
 " Thus, by the Shepherds, secrets are reveal'd, 
 Which from all other men are kept conceal'd. 
 t'ome 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 Hlieijherds gave them a note of the way. 
 Another of them bid them beware of the Flatterer. The thiril bid them take heed that they 
 sleep not upon the Enchanted Ground. And the fourth bid them God-speed. So I awoke 
 from my dream. 
 
 And I slept, and dreamed again, and saw the same two pilgrims going down the mountains 
 alont;- the highway towards the city. Now, a little below these mountains, on the left hand, lieth 
 the country of Conceit; from which country there comes into the waj' in which the pilgrims 
 walked, a little crooked lane. Here, therefore, they met witli a very brisk lad, that came out of 
 that country; and his name was Ignorance. So 
 Christian asked him from what parts he came, and 
 whitlier lie was going. 
 
 IfiNOR. Sir, I was liorn in the country that 
 lietli oti' tliere a little on the left liand, and I 
 am going to the Celestial City. 
 
 Chr. But how do you think to get in at the 
 gate? 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 may cause that the gate should be 
 opened to you? 
 
 Igxor. I know my Lord's will, and I 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 tlie 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 reckoning day shall come, thou 
 wilt have laid to thy charge that thou art a thief 
 
 and a roljber, instead of getting admittance into Ignorance, 
 
 the city. 
 
 Igxor. 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 that is a great way off of our country. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 I cannot think that any man in all our parts tlotli so niiuh lus know the way to it, nor nii-d 
 they niattcT whether they do or no, since we have, as you see, a fine, jtleosant green Line, that 
 coniea down from our country, the next way into the way. 
 
 When Christian saw that the man wa.s " wise in liis own conceit," he said to Hopeful, whis- 
 peringly, " There is more hope of a fool than of him." (Prov. xxvi. 12.) And sjiid, more«jver, 
 " When he that is a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he sjiith to every one 
 that he is a fool." (Ecclcs. x. 3.) What, shall wc tJilk further with him, or outgo him at jmsent, 
 and so leave him to think of what he hath heard already, and then stoji again for him afterwards, 
 and see if by degrees we can do #ny good to him ? Then said Hoj)erul, — 
 
 " Let If^nomnce a little while now miixe 
 On wlint is said, and let liiin not refuse 
 Good c-onnxel to embrace, le»t lie remain 
 Still ignorant of what's the chiefn^t gain. 
 Gud saith, those that no nndcnttanding have. 
 Although he made them, them he will not save." 
 
 Hope. He furtiier added, It is not good, I think, to say all to bim at once ; let us pass him 
 
 by, if you will, and talk to him anon, even as he is 
 able to bear it. 
 
 So they both went on, and Ignorance he came 
 after. Now when they had pa.'ssed him a little way, 
 they entered into a very dark lane, where they met 
 a man whom seven devils had bound with seven 
 strong cords, and were carrying of him back to the 
 door that they saw on the side of the bill. (Matt, 
 xii. 4.5 ; Prov. v. 2"2.) Now good Christian began to 
 tremble, and so did Hojuful bis comi»anion ; yet as 
 the devils led away the man. Christian looked to see 
 if be knew him ; and be thought it miglit be one 
 Turn-away, that dwelt in the town of Apostasy. 
 But be did not perfectly see his face, for he did 
 bang bis bead like a thief that is found. But being 
 once past, Hojieful looked after him. and espied on 
 his back a j)ai>er with this inscription. "Wanton 
 professor and damnable ajuistate." 
 
 Then said Christian to bis fellow. Now 1 call 
 to remembrance that which was told me of a thing 
 that happened to a good man hereabout. The name 
 of the man was Little-faith, but a good man, an<l he 
 dwelt in the town of Sincere. The thing was this : 
 At the entering in at this pas-sage. there comes down 
 from Broad-way Gate, a lane called Dead Man's Lane ; so called because of the murders that are 
 commonly done there ; and this Little-faith going on pilgrimage, as we do now, chanced to sit 
 
 "A man whom seven devils hod bound." 
 
'So they came up all to him, and with threatening language bid him stand.' 
 
122 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 down tlicre, and isK-jit. Now tlit-ri- li:ii>pciR-i|, at tliat tiiiu', to come flown the lane, from Ikoad- 
 way Gate, tliree sturdy ropues, and tlieir names were Faint-Jieart, Mistrust, and tiuilt (three 
 brothers), and they, esjtying Little-faitli, wliere he was, came pallopinp up with 8|K*ed. Now 
 the pood man was just awake from his sleep, and was getting up to po on his journey. So 
 they came up all to him, and witli threatcninp Innpuape bid him stand. At this Little-faith 
 lookeil as white as a clout, and had neither power to fipht or tly. Then said Faint-heart, 
 Deliver thy purse. But he niakinp no haste to do it (for he was loath to lotie his money), 
 Mistrust ran up to him, and thrustinp his han<l into his pocket, pulled out thence a bap of 
 silver. Then he cried out, Tiiieves ! Thieves! With that Guilt, with a preat club that was in 
 his hand, struck Little-faith on the head, and with that blow felled him flat to the pround, 
 where he lay bkedinp as one that would bleed to death. All this while the thieves bUxhI by. 
 But, at last, they hearinp that some were upon the road, and fearinp lest it should be one Great- 
 prace, that dwells in the city of (!ood-contidence, they betook themselves to their heels, and left 
 tiiis pood man to shift for himself. Now, after a wiiile. Little-faith came to himself, and getting 
 uj) made shift to scramble on his way. This was the story. 
 
 Hdi-k. But did they t;ikc from him all that ever he had? 
 
 I'Mif. No; tlie place where his jewels were they never ransacked, so those he kept still. But 
 as I was told, the pood man was much afflicted for his loss, for the thieves pot most of his spend- 
 inp-money. That which they pot not (jis I said) were jewels; also he had a little odd money 
 left, but scarce enough to bring him to his journey's end (1 Peter, iv. IS); nay, if I was not 
 misinformed, he was forced to beg as he went, to keep himself alive; for his jewels he might not 
 sell. But beg, and do what he could, he went (as we say) with many a hunpry belly the most 
 piirt of the rest of the way. 
 
 Hoi'E. But is it not a wonder they pot not from him his certificate, by which he was to 
 receive bis admittance at the Celestial Gate? 
 
 Cnii. It is a wonder; l)ut they pot not that, though they missed it not through any good 
 cunning of his; for he, being dismayed with their coming ujion him, had neither power nor 
 skill to biile anything; so it was more by pood Providence than by bis endeavor, that they 
 missed of tiiat pood thing. 
 
 Hon:. But it must needs be a comfort to him, that they got not his jewels from 
 him. 
 
 (iiK. It might have been great comfort to him, had he used it as he should; but they that 
 told me the story said, tliat he made but little use of it all the rest of the way, ami that because 
 of the dismay that he had in the talking away his money ; indeed, he forgot it a great jiart of the 
 rest of his journey ; and besides, when at any time it canie into his mind, and he began to be 
 comforted therewith, then would fresh thoughts of his lo.ws come again U])on him, and those 
 thoughts would swallow up all. (1 Pefer i. it.) 
 
 Hui'K. .Mas! poor man. This could not but be a great grief to him. 
 
 Cmh. Grief! ay, a grief indeed. Woidd it not have been so t4) any of us, had we been used 
 as lie, 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 waj' 
 with nothing but doleful and bitter complaints; telling also to all that overtook him, or tliat he 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 123 
 
 overtook in the way as he went, where he was robbed, and how ; who they were that did it, and 
 what he lost ; how he was wounded, and that he hardly escaped with his 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 his journey. 
 
 Chr. Thou talkest like one upon whose head is the shell to this very day ; for what should 
 lie pawn them, 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 his 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 to him than the appearance and villainy of ten thousand thieves. 
 
 Hope. Why art thou so tart, my brother? Esau sold his birthright, and that for a mess of 
 pottage, and that birthright was his greatest jewel ; and if he, why might not Little-faith do so 
 too ? (Heb. xii. 16.) 
 
 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 put a difference betwixt 
 Esau and Little-faith, and also betwixt their estates. Esau's birthright was tyjDical, but Little- 
 faith's jewels were not so; Esau's belly was his god, but Little-faith's belly was not so; Esau's 
 want lay in his fleshly appetite, Little-faith's did not so. Besides, Esau could see no further than 
 to the fulfilling of his lusts ; " Behold, I am at the point to die (said he) ; and what profit shall 
 this birthright do me ?" (Gen. xxv. 32.) But Little-faith, though it was his lot to have but a 
 little faith, was by his little faith kept from such extravagances, 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 foith, no, not so much as a little ; therefore no marvel if, 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 occasions cannot be 
 turned away. (Jer. ii. 24.) When their minds are set upon their lusts they will have them, 
 whatever they cost. But Little-faith 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 his belly with hay ? or can you 
 persuade the turtle-dove to live upon carrion like the crow? Though faithless ones can, for 
 carnal lusts, pawn, or mortgage, or sell what they have, and themselves outright to boot, yet they 
 that have faith, saving faith, though but a little of it, cannot do so. Here, therefore, my brother, 
 is thy mistake. 
 
 Hope. I acknowledge it; but yet your severe reflection had almost made me angry. 
 
 Chr. 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 the noise of one that was 
 coming on the road? Why did not Little-faith pluck up a greater heart? He might, methinks, 
 have stood one brush with them, and have yielded when there had been no remedy. 
 
124 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 (.'HK. That they arc cowanls, many have said, Imt few have fouml it no in tl«e time of trial. 
 A» for a ^roat heart, Little-faith had none; ami 1 perceive by thee, my lirother, Umlst thou l>een 
 the man concerneil, thou art but for a brush, and then to yield. And, verily, since this is the 
 hei).'iit of thy stomach, now they are at a distance from us, .should they appear to thee as they 
 did to him, they nii};ht put thee to second thoughts. 
 
 But, consider again, they arc but journeymen thieves, they serve under the king of the 
 bottomles.s pit, who, if need be, will come in to their aid himself, ami his voice is a» the roaring 
 of a lion. (I'salm vii. 2; 1 I'eter v. 8.) I myself have been engaged as this Little-faith was, and 
 I found it a terril)le thing. These three villains .fet upon me, and I beginning, like a Christian, 
 to resist, they gave but a adl, and in came their niasiter. I would, a.s the saying is, have jfiven 
 my life for a penny ; but that, as God would have it, I was clothed with annor of proof. Ay, 
 and yet, though I was so harnessed, I found it hard work to quit myself like a man. No man 
 can tell what in that combat attends us but he that hath been in the battle himself. 
 
 Hope. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did but suppose that one Great-grace was in 
 the way. 
 
 CiiK. True, they have often (led, both they and their nia.ster, when Great-grace hath but 
 appeared ; and no marvel, for he is the King's Chami)ion. But, I trow, you will put some 
 difference betwixt Little-faith and the King's Champion. All the King's subjects are not his 
 champions, nor can they, wlien tried, do such feats of war as he. Is it meet to think that a little 
 child should handle Goliath as David diil? Or that there should be the strengtii of an ox in a 
 wren? Some are strong, some are weak ; some have great faith, some have little. This man was 
 one of the weak, and tiierefore he |went to the wall. 
 
 HorK. I would it had been (ireat-grace, for their sakes. 
 
 Chk. If it ha<l been, he might have had his hands full ; for I must tell you, that though 
 Great-grace is excellent good 'at his weapons, and has, and can, so long as he keeps them at 
 sword's point, do well enough with them ; yet, if they get within him, even Faint-heart, Mistrust, 
 or the other, it shall go hard but they will throw up his heels. And when a man is down, you 
 know, what can he dn? ^ 
 
 Wiioso looks well upon (ireat-grace's face, slmll see those .scars and cuts there that shall 
 easily give demonstration of what I .say. Yea, once I heard that he should say (and that when 
 he was in tlie combat ), " We despaired even of life." How did these sturdy rogues and their 
 fellows make Daxnd groan, mourn, and roar? Yea, Heman, and Hezekiah too, though champions 
 in their day, were forced to bestir them, when by these assjiulted ; and yet, notwithstanding, 
 they had their coats soundly bruslied by them. Peter, upon a time, would go try what he could 
 do; but though some do .say of him that he is the prince of the apostles, they handled him so 
 that they made him at la.st afraid of a sorry girl. 
 
 Besides, their king is at their whistle. He is never out of hearing; and if at any time 
 they be put to the worse, he, if possible, comes in to help them; and of him it is said, "The 
 sword of him that layetii at him cAnnot hold : the sjiear, the dart, nor the habergeon ; he 
 esteeineth iron as straw, and Itrass as rotten wood. The arrow cannot make him flee; sling- 
 stones are turned with him into stubble. Darts are counted as stubble: he laugheth at the 
 shaking of a spear." (.Job xli. 2(5-29.) What can a man do in tliis case? It is true, if a man 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 125 
 
 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 will not be afraid of the grasshopper; 
 the glory of his nostrils is terrible : he paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength, he goeth 
 on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted, neither turneth he back 
 from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear, and the shield. He 
 swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage, neither 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 
 of the captains, and the shouting." (Job xxxix. 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 wliom I made mention before. He would swagger, ay, he would ; he would, 
 as his vain mind prompted him to say, do better, and stand more for his Master than all men; 
 but who so foiled, and run down by these villains, as he? 
 
 When, therefore, we hear tl?at such robberies are done on the King's highway, two things 
 become us to do : 1. To go out harnessed, and to be sure to take a shield with us ; for it was 
 for want of that, that he that laid so lustily at Leviathan could not make him yield : for, indeed, 
 if that be wanting, he fears us not at all. Therefore, he that had skill hath said, " Above all, 
 taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fierj' darts of the wicked." 
 (Eph. vi. 16.) 
 
 2. It is good, also, that we desire of the King a convoy, yea, that he will go with us 
 himself. TJiis 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. xxxiii. 15.) Oh, 
 my brother, if he will but go along with us, what need we be afraid of ten thousand that shall 
 set themselves against us? (Psalm iii. 5-8; xxvii. 1-3.) But, without him, the proud helpers 
 " fall under the slain." (Isa. x. 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 manhood. Glad shall I be, if I 
 meet with no more such brunts ; though I -fear we are not got beyond all danger. 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 Christian, — 
 
 "Poor Little-faith! Hast been among the thieves? 
 Wast robb'd? Kemember this, wlioso believes, 
 And gets more faith, shall then a victor be 
 Over ten thousand, else scarce over three." 
 
 So they went on, and Ignorance followed. They went then 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 going to the Celestial City, but knew 
 
126 THE riLC.RIM'S PRf)GRESS. 
 
 not wliich of these ways to take. Follow me, swiiil the man, it is thither that 1 am fining. So 
 they followed him in the way that hut now came into tlie road, which hy detrrees turned, and 
 turned them ho from the city that they desired to go to, that, in little time, tiieir faces were turned 
 away from it; yet they followed him. Hut l>y-and-hy, before they were aware, he led them both 
 within the comiiass of a net, in which they were l>oth so entjm>;led, that they knew not what 
 to do ; and with that the white robe fell off the black man's back. Then they saw wliere they 
 were. Wherefore, there they lay crying for some time, for they could not get themselves 
 out. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now do I see myself in error. Did not the Shep- 
 herds bid us beware of the flatterers? As is the saying of the wise man, so we have found it 
 this day: "A man that flattereth his neighbor, spreadeth a net for his feet." (Prov. xxi.x. ').) 
 
 Hope. They also gave us a note of directions about the way, for our more sure finding 
 thereof; but therein we have also forgotten to read, and have not kept ourselves from the paths 
 of the destroyer. Here David was wiser than we ; for, saith he, " Concerning the works of men, 
 by the word of thy lij)s, I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer." (Psalm xvii. 4.) Thus 
 they lay bewailing themselves in the net. At last they espied a Shining One coming towards 
 them with a whip of small cord 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 Flatterer, a false apostle, that hath transformed himself into an angel of light. (Prov. ,\xix. 
 5; Dan. xi. 32; 2 Cor. xi. 1.3, 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, saying, Where did you lie 
 the last niglit? They said, With the Shepherds, upon the Delectjible ^lountains. He asked 
 them then, if they liad not of those Shepherds a note of direction for the way. They answered. 
 Yes. But did you, said he, when you were at a stiind, pluck out and read your note? They 
 answered. No. He asked them, Why? Tliey said, they forgot. He asked, moreover, if the 
 Shepherds did not bid them beware of the Flatterer. They answered. Yes, but we did not 
 imagine, .said they, that this fine-si)oken man had been he. (Rom. xvi. 18.) 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that he commanded them to lie <lown ; which, wlien they did, he 
 chastised them sore, to teach them the good way wherein they should walk (Deut. xxv. 2) ; and 
 as he chastised them he said, " As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten ; be zealous, therefore, 
 and repent." (Rev. iii. 19; 2 Chron. vi. 26, 27.) This done, he bid them go on their way, and 
 take good heed to the other directions of the Shepherds. So they thanked him for all his kind- 
 ness, 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 catclii-<l an- in an onlanglinf; net, 
 'Cause they goo<l counsel lightly did forget : 
 'Tis true they n-scnetl were, but yet, you see. 
 They're scourged to boot. Let this your caution be." 
 
" Then Atheist fell into a very great laughter." 
 
 127 
 
128 THE PILGRIM'S PKUGKHSS. 
 
 Now, after a while, they perceived, afar off, one comin>{ 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, k>st he should prove a flatterer also. 
 So he drew nearer and nearer, and at last came up unto them. His name waa 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 is the meaning of your laughter? 
 
 Atheist. I laugh to see what ignorant jiersons you are, to take upon you so tedious a 
 journey, and you are like to have nothing but your travel for your pains. 
 
 CuK. Why, man, do j'ou think we siiall not be received? 
 
 Atheist. Received I There is no -such place as you dream of in all this world. 
 
 Chr. But there is in the world to come. 
 
 Atheist. When I was at home in mine own country, I heard as you now affinn, and from 
 that hearing went out to see, and have been seeking this city this twenty years: but find no 
 more of it than I did the first day I set out. (Jer. xxii. 12; Eccles. x. 15.) 
 
 Chr. We have both heard and believe that there 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 lie found, for I have gone to seek it 
 further than you), 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 now see, is not. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful his fellow, Is it true which this man hath said? 
 
 Hope. Take heed, he is one of the flatterers ; remember what it hath 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 ? Let 
 us go on, said Hopeful, lest the man with the whip overtake us again. (2 Cor. v. 7.) 
 
 You should have taught me that lesson, which I will round you in the ears withal : " Cease, 
 my son, to hear the instruction that causeth to err from the words of knowledge." (Prov. xix. 
 27.) I say, my brother, cease to hear him, and let us " believe to the saving of the soul." (Heb. 
 X. 39.) 
 
 Chr. My brother, I did not put the question to thee for that I doubted of the truth of our 
 belief myself, but to prove thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit of the honesty of thy heart. As 
 for this man, I know that he is blinded by the god of this world. Let thee and I go on, 
 knowing that we have belief of the truth, "and no lie is of the truth." (1 John ii. 21.) 
 
 Hope. Now do I rejoice in hope of the glory of God. So they turned away from the man ; 
 and he, laughing at them, went his way. 
 
 I saw then in my dream, that they went until 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 of sleep; wherefore he said unto Christian, I do now begin to grow so 
 drowsy that I can scarcely hold up mine eyes ; let us lie down here and take one nap. 
 
 Chr. By no means, said the other; lest sleeping, we never awake more. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 129 
 
 Hope. Why, my brother ? Sleep is sweet to the laboring man ; we may be refreshed if 
 we take a nap. 
 
 Chr. Do you not remember that one of the Shepherds bid us beware of the Enchanted 
 Ground ? He meant by that, that we should beware of sleeping ; " Therefore let us not sleep, as 
 do others, but let us watch and be sober." (1 Thess. v. 6.) 
 
 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." 
 Hitherto hath thy company been my mercy, and thou shalt have a good reward for thy labor. 
 (Eccles. iv. 9.) 
 
 Chr. Now, then, said Christian, to prevent drowsiness 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 begin, 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, slumb'ring eyes. 
 Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well, 
 Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell." 
 
 Chr. Then Christian began and said, I will ask j'ou a qi;estion. How came you to think 
 at first of so doing as you do now? 
 
 Hope. Do you mean, how came I 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 ; things which, I believe now, would have, had I continued in them still, drowned me in 
 perdition and destruction. 
 
 Chr. What things are they ? 
 
 Hope. 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 at 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. vi. 21-23.) And that for these 
 things' sake "cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience." (Eph. v. 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 endeavored, 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 
 bleseed Spirit ujion you ? 
 
I30 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Hope. The causes were, 1. I was innomiit tluit tliis was the work of God upon inu. I 
 never thouj^ht that, hy awakenings for sin, (Jod at first begins the conversion of a sinner. '2. Sin 
 was j'et very sweet to my Hesh, and I was loath 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 convictions were upon me, were such Iroublesome and such heart-uflrighting hours, that 
 I could not bear, no not so much as the remembnince of them ujwn my heart. 
 
 CiiH. Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of your trouble. 
 
 HopK. Yes, verily, l>ut it would come into my mind again, and then I should be as bad, nay, 
 worse, than I was before. 
 
 Chr. Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind again? 
 
 HoPK. Many tilings ; as, — 
 
 1. If I did but meet a good man in tlie 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, 
 '). If I heard the bell toll for some tiiat were dead; or. 
 
 <j. If I thought of tlying myself; or, 
 
 7. If I heard that sudden death happened to others; 
 
 8. Hut esjiecially, when I thought of myself, that I must quickly come to judgment. 
 Chk. And could you at any time, with ease, get off the guilt of sin, when by any of these 
 
 •ways it came upon you? 
 
 Hope. No, not I, for then tliey 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. 
 
 Chr. And how <lid yi>u do then? 
 
 Hope. I thought I must endeavor to mind my life ; for else, thought I, I am sure to be 
 damned. 
 
 Chr. And did you endeavor to mend? 
 
 Hope. Yes; and tied from not only my sins, but sinful company too; and betook me to 
 religious duties, as prayer, reading, weeping for sin, speaking truth to my neighbors, etc. 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, my 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 sevend things brought it upon me, especially such sjiyings as these: 
 " All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags." (Isa. Ixiv. 6.) " By the works of the law shall no 
 flesh be justified." (Gal. ii. 16.) " When ye shall have done all those things, say. We are 
 unprofit^djle " (Luke xvii. 10) ; with many more such like. From whence I began to reason 
 with myself thus: If ai.i. my righteousne.s.ses are filthy nigs; if, by the deeds of the law, no 
 man can be justified ; and if, when we have done am., we are yet unprofitalde, then it is but a 
 folly to think of heaven by the law. 1 further thought thus: If a man runs a hundred pounds 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 131 
 
 into the shopkeeper's debt, and after that shall pay for all that he shall fetch ; yet, if this old 
 (lelit stands still in the book uncrossed, for that the shopkeei^er may sue him, and cast 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 that 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 danniation that I have 
 brought myself in danger of, by my former transgressions ? 
 
 Chr. a very good application : but, pray, go on. 
 
 Hope. Another thing that hath troubled me, even 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 do then? 
 
 Hope. Do ! I could not tell what to do, until I brake my mind to Faithful, for he and 
 I were well acquainted. And he told me, that unless I could ol)tain the righteousness of a 
 man that never had sinned, neither mine 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 amendment, I 
 had called him fool for his pains ; but now, since I see mine own infirmit}', and the sin that 
 cleaves to my best performance, 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 justlj' 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 a 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. And thus, said he, you must be justified by him, even by trusting to what he hath 
 done by himself, in the days of his flesh, and suffered when he did hang on the tree. I asked 
 him further, how that man's" righteousness could be of that efficacy to justify another 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 believed on him. (Heb. x. ; Rom. iv. ; Col. i. ; 1 Peter i.) 
 
 Chr. And what did you then? 
 
 Hope. 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 ; but he said. No, 
 for I was invited to come. (Matt. xi. 28.) Then he gave me a book of Jesus, his inditing, to 
 encourage me the more freely to come ; and he said, concerning that book, that every jot and 
 
132 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 tittle thereof stood firmer than heaven and earth. (Matt. xsiv. 3.5.) Tlien I asked him, W hat I 
 must do when I came ; and he told me, I must entnat upon my knee.s, with all my heart and 
 soul, the Father to reveal him to me. (Psalm xcv. 0; Dan. vi. 10; Jer. xxix. 12,13.) Then I 
 
 asked him furtiier, how I nmst make my suppli- 
 cation to him? And he said. Go, and tliou shalt 
 find him ujton a mercy-seat, where he sits all the 
 year long, to give pardon and forgiveness to them 
 that come. I told him tliat I knew not what to say 
 when I came. And he bid me say to this effect: 
 God be merciful to me a sinner, and make me to 
 know and believe in Jesus Christ; for I see, that 
 if his rigiiteousness had not been, or I Viavc not 
 faith in that righteousness, I am utterly cast away. 
 Lord, I have heard that thou art a merciful God, 
 and hast ordained tiiat thy Son .Jesus Christ should 
 be the Saviour of the world ; and moreover, that 
 thou art willing to bestow him upon such a poor 
 sinner as 1 am (and I am a sinner indeed) ; Ix)rd, 
 take therefore this o])portunity, and magnify thy 
 grace in the salvation of my soul, through thy Son 
 Jesus Christ. Amen. (Exod. xxv. 22; I>ev. xvi. 2; 
 Num. \-ii. 89; Heb. iv. 10,) 
 
 Chr. And did you do as you were bidden ? 
 Hope. Yes ; over, and over, and over. 
 Chr. And did the Father reveal his Son to 
 you? 
 
 Hope. Not at the first, nor second, nor third, 
 nor fourth, nor fifth ; no, nor at the sixth time ncitlier. 
 Chr. What did you do then? 
 Hope. What! why I could not tell what to do. 
 Chr. Had you not thouglits of leaving off" praying ? 
 Hope. Yes; an hundred times twice told. 
 Chr. And what was the reason you did not? 
 
 Hope. I believed that that was true which had 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 ofi" I die, and I can but die at the throne of grace. And withal, this came into 
 my mind: "Though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry." (Hab. 
 ii. 3.) So I continued 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 my understanding 
 (Eph. i. 18, 19) ; and thus it was: One day I was very sad. I think sadder tiian at any one time 
 in my life, and this sadness was through a fresh sight of the greatness and vileness of my sins. 
 
 ' He said, No, for I was invited to come." 
 
THE PII^GRIM'S PROGRESS. 133 
 
 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 Christ look down from heaven upon me, and 
 saying, " Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." (Acts xvi. 31.) But I 
 replied. Lord, I am a great, a very great sinner. And he answered, " My grace is sufficent for 
 thee." (2 Cor. xii. 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," that believing and coming was all one ; and that he that came, that is, ran out in his heart 
 and affections after salvation by Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. (John vi. 35.) Then the 
 water stood in mine eyes, and I asked further : But, Lord, may such a great sinner as I am be 
 indeed accepted of thee, and be saved by thee? And I heard him say, "And him that cometh 
 to me, I will in no wise cast out." (John vi. 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 said, 
 " Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." (1 Tim. i. 15.) " He is the end of the law 
 for righteousness to every one that believeth." (Rom. x. 4.) " He died for our sins, and rose 
 again for our justification." (Rom. iv. 25.) " He loved us, and washed us from our sins in his 
 own blood." (Rev. i. 5.) " He is mediator betwixt God and us." (1 Tim. ii. 5.) " He ever liveth 
 to make intercession for us." (Heb. vii. 25.) From all which I gathered, that I must look for 
 righteousness 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 afifections running over with love to the name, people, and 
 ways of Jesus Christ. 
 
 Chr. This was a revelation of Christ to your soul indeed ; but tell me particularly what 
 effect this had upon your spirit. 
 
 Hope. It made me see that all tlie world, notwithstanding all the righteousness thereof, is in 
 a state of condemnation. It made me see that God the Father, thougli 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 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 a 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. Ay, ay, 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? 
 
 Ignok. 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 not tell you he cared not for our 
 
134 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 company ? But, however, said he, come up, and let us talk uway the time in this solitary place. 
 Then directing his speech to Ignorance, he said, Come, how do you ? How stands it between 
 
 God and your soul now? 
 
 Ignok. I hope well ; for I am always full of 
 good motions, that come into my mind, to comfort 
 me as I walk. (I'rov. xxviii. 2G.) 
 
 Chu. What good motions? pray, tell us. 
 Iii.NOR. Why, I think of Got! and heaven. 
 Cjik. .So do the devils and damned souls. 
 Ignor. But I think of tliem and desire them. 
 Chr. So do many that are never like to come 
 there. "The soul of the sluggard desireth, and 
 hath nothing." (Prov. xiii. 4.) 
 
 Ignor. But I think of them, and leave all for 
 them. 
 
 Chr. That I doubt; for lea^•ing all is a hard 
 matter: yea, a harder matter than many are aware 
 of But why, or by what, art thou persuaded that 
 thou hast left all for God and heaven? 
 Ignor. My heart tells me so. 
 Chr. The wise man says, " He that trusts his 
 own heart is a fool." (Prov. xxviii. 26.) 
 
 Ignor. This is spoken of an e\-il heart, but 
 mine is 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 man's heart may minister comfort to him 
 in the hopes of that thing for which he yet has no ground to hope. 
 
 Ig.vor. But my heart and life agree together, and therefore my hoy)e 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 tells thee so! Except the Word of God 
 beareth witness 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 comnian<lnients? 
 
 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. 
 
 Ig.nor. Pray, what count you good thoughts, and a 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 ourselves? 
 
 I am always full of good motions." 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 135 
 
 Che. 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 ourselves which the Word passes. To explain 
 myself — the Word of God saith of persons in a natural condition, " There is none righteous ; there 
 is none that doeth good." (Rom. iii.) It saith also, that " every imagination of the heart of man 
 is only evil, and that continually." (Gen. vi. 5.) And again, " The imagination of man's heart is 
 evil from his youth." (Rom. viii. 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. As the Word passeth a judgment upon our heart, so it passeth a judgment upon our 
 ways ; and when our thoughts of our heart 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 ; not good, but 
 perverse. (Psalm cxxv. 5 ; Prov. ii. 15.) It saith they are naturally out of the good way ; that 
 they have not known it. (Rom. iii.) Now, when a man thus thinketh 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 the 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 ^Vord saith of him ; and that is, when we think of his being and attributes as the 
 ^Vord hath taught, of which I cannot now discourse at large ; but to speak of him with reference 
 to us : Then we have 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 our nostrils, and that, therefore, 
 he cannot abide to see us stand before him in any confidence, even in all our best performances. 
 
 Ignor. Do you think that I am such a fool as to think God can see no further than I ? or, 
 that I would come 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. 
 
 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 a necessity of Christ's 
 personal righteousness to justify thee before God. How, then, dost thou say, I believe in Christ? 
 
 Ignor. I believe well enough for aU that. 
 
 Chr. How dost thou believe? 
 
 Ignor. I believe that Christ died for sinners ; and that I shall be justified before God from 
 the curse, through his gracious acceptance of my obedience to his law. Or thus, Christ makes 
 my duties, that are religious, acceptable to his Father, by virtue of his merits ; and so shall I be 
 justified. 
 
136 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Chr. Let me give an answer to tlii.s confession of thy faith. 
 
 1. Thou believest with a fantastical faith ; for tliis faith is nowhere described in the Word. 
 
 2. Thou believest with a false faith ; because it taketh justification from the personal 
 righteousness of Ciirist, and applii-s it to tliy own. 
 
 3. This faith maketh not Chri.xt a justifier of thy person, but of thy actions ; and of thy 
 person for thy actions' sake, which is false. 
 
 4. Therefore, this faith is deceitful, even such as will leave thee under wrath, in the day of 
 fiod Almighty; for true justifying faith put.« the soul, as sensible of its condition Ijy the law, upon 
 flying for refuge unto Chri.st's righteousness, which righteousness of his is not an act of grace, by 
 which he maketh, for justification, thy obedience accepted with Ciod; but his personal obedience 
 to the law, in doing and suffering for us what that required at our hands ; this righteousness, I 
 say, true faith accepteth ; under the skirt of which, the soul being shrouded, and by it presented 
 as sijotlcss before God, it is accepted, and acquit from condemnation. 
 
 lo.NOK. What! would you have us trust to what Christ, in his own person, has done without 
 us? This conceit wouM loosen the reins of our lust, and tolerate us to live as we list; for what 
 matter how we live, if we may be justified by Christ's personal righteousness from all, when we 
 believe it? 
 
 Chr. Ignorance is thy name, and as thy name is, so art thou ; even this thy answer demon- 
 strateth what I say. Ignorant thou art of what justifying righteousness is, and as ignorant how 
 to secure thy soul, through the faith of it, from the heavy wrath of (Jod. Yea, thou also art 
 ignorant of the true effects of saving faith in this righteousness of Christ, which is to bow and 
 win over the heart to God in Ciirist, to love his name, his word, ways, and people, and not as 
 thou ignorantly imaginest. 
 
 Hope. Ask him if ever he h.-ul Christ revealed to him from heaven. 
 
 lo.NOR. What! you are a man for revelations! I believe that what l)oth you, and all the rest 
 of you, say about that matter, is but the fruit of distracted brains. 
 
 Hon:. 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 reveals him to 
 them. 
 
 IttxoR. 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 lioldly aflirm, even as my good companion hath done, that no man can know .Jesus 
 Christ but by the revelation of the Father (Matt. xi. 27) ; yea, and faitli, too, by which the soul 
 layeth hold upon Christ, if it be right, must be wrought by the exceeding greatness of his mighty 
 power; the working of which faith, I perceive, poor Ignorance, thou art ignorant of. (1 Cor. xii. 
 3; Eph. i. IS, 15).) Be awakened, then; see thine own wretchedness, and fly to the Lord Jesus; 
 and by his righteousness, which is the righteousness of God, for he himself is God, thou shalt be 
 delivered from condemnation. 
 
 Ig.nor. You go so fast, I cannot keep jiace with you. Do you go on before ; I must stay a 
 while behind. 
 
 Then thev sai<l.— 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 137 
 
 "Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be, 
 To sliglit good counsel, ten times given thee? 
 And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know, 
 Ere long, the evil of thy doing so. 
 Kemember, man, in time; stop, do not fear; 
 Good counsel taken well, saves : therefore hear. 
 But if thou yet shall slight it, thou wilt be 
 The loser (Ignorance), I'U warrant tliee." 
 
 Then Christian addressed himself thus to his fellow :— 
 
 Chr. Well come, my good Hopeful, I perceive that 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. 
 Then said Christian to his companion, It jjities me much for this poor man ; it will certainly go 
 ill with him at last. 
 
 Hope. Alas ! there are abundance in our town in his condition, whole families, yea, whole 
 streets, and that of pilgrims, too ; and if there be so many in our parts, how manj', think you, 
 must there be in the place where he was born? 
 
 Chr. Indeed, the Word saith, " He hath blinded their eyes, lest they should see," etc. 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 tlieir state is dangerous? 
 
 Hope. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, for you are the elder maii. 
 
 Chr. 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 desperatelj' seek 
 to stifle them, and presumptuously continue to flatter themselves in the way of their own hearts. 
 
 Hope. I do believe, as you say, that fear tends much to men's good, and to make them right 
 at their beginning to go on pilgrimage. 
 
 Chr. Without all doubt it doth, if it be right ; for so says the Word, " The fear of the Lord 
 is the beginning of wisdom." (Prov. i. 7 ; ix. 10 ; Psalm cxi. 10 ; Job xxviii. 28.) 
 
 Hope. How will you describe right fear? 
 
 Chr. True or right fear is discovered by three things : — 
 
 1. By its rise; it is caused by saving convictions for 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 ways, 
 keeping it tender, and making it afraid to turn from them, to the right hand or to the left, to 
 anything that may dishonor God, break its peace, grieve the Sj^irit, or cause the enemj^ to spealc 
 reproachfull}'. 
 
 Hope. Well said ; I believe you have said the truth. Are we now almost got past the 
 Enchanted Ground? 
 
 Chr. Why, art thou weary of this discourse? 
 
 Hope. No, verily, but that I would know where we are. 
 
 Chr. We have not now above two miles further 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. 
 
138 . THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Hope. How do they seek to 8title tlicm? 
 
 Chr. 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 directly tend to their 
 overthrow. 2. They also think that these fears tend to the sjjoiling of their faitii, when, alas for 
 them, poor men that they are, they have none at all; and therefore they harden their hearts 
 against them. 3. They presume they ougiit not to fear; and therefore, in despite of them, wax 
 liresum]ituously confident. 4. They sec that those fears tend to take away from them their pitiful 
 old sclf-liolincss, and tlierefore tiiey resist tlu-m 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 neighbor Ignorance by himself, and fall upon 
 another profitable question. 
 
 Hope. With all my licart, but you shall still begin. 
 
 Cur. Well, then, did you know, about ten years ago, one Temporary in your parL«, who 
 was a forward man in religion then? 
 
 Hope. Know him ! yes, he dwelt in Graceless, a town about two miles off of Honesty, and 
 he dwelt next door to one Turnback. 
 
 Chr. Right ; he dwelt under the same roof with him. Well, that man was much awak- 
 ened once ; I believe that then he had some sight of his sins, and of the wages that were due 
 tliereto. 
 
 Hope. I am of your mind, for, my house not being above three miles from him, he would 
 ofltimes 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 ever}- one that cries, Lord, Lord. 
 
 Chr. He told me once that he was resolved to go on pilgrimage, as we do now ; but all of a 
 sudden he grew acquainted with one Save-self, and then he became a stranger to me. 
 
 Hope. Now, since we are talking about him, let us a little inquire into the reason of the 
 sudden backsliding of him and such others. 
 
 Chr. It may be very profitable, but do you begin. 
 
 Hope. Well, then, there are in my judgment four reasons for it: — 
 
 1. Though the consciences of such men are awakened, yet their minds are not changed ; 
 therefore, when the power of guilt weareth away, that which provoked them to be religious 
 ceasetl), wlierefore tlu-y naturally turn to their own course again ; even as we see the dog that is 
 sick of what he has eaten, so long as liis sickness prevails, he vomits and casts up all ; not that 
 he (loth 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 his stomach eased, his desire being not at 
 all alienate 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 Peter ii. 22.) Thus, I say, being hot for heaven, 
 by virtue only of the sense and fear of the torments of hell, as their sense of hell and the fears 
 of damnation chill and cool, so tlieir desires for heaven and salvation cool also. So then it comes 
 to pass, that when their guilt and fear are gone, their desires for heaven and happiness die, and 
 they return to their course again. 
 
 2. Another reason is, they have slavisli fears that do overmaster them ; I speak now of the 
 fears that they have of men, for " the fear of man bringeth a snare.'' (Prov. xxix. 25.) So, then. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 139 
 
 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 eyes is low and contemptible ; therefore, when they have lost their 
 sense of hell and 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 first, if they loved that sight, might 
 make them fly whither the righteous fly and are safe. But because they do, as I hinted before, 
 even shun the thoughts of guilt and terror, therefore, when once they are rid of their awaken- 
 ings about the terrors and wrath of God, they harden their hearts gladly, and choose such ways 
 as will harden 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 
 the halter; not that he hath any detestation 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 reasons of their going back, do you show me the man- 
 ner thereof 
 
 Chr. So I will willingly. 
 
 1. They draw ofi" their thoughts, all that they may, from the remembrance of God, death, 
 and judgment to come. 
 
 2. Then they cast ofi" by degrees private duties, as closet prayer, curbing their lusts, watch- 
 ing, 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. Then they 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 infirmity 
 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 discourses in secret ; and glad are they if they 
 can see 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. 
 
 9. 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. 
 
140 THE PILGRIM'S rRCKiRHSS. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, tliat by this time the pilprims were got over the Enchanted Ground 
 and entering into the country of Beuhili, whose air was very sweet and pleasant; the way lying 
 directly thnnijih it, they solaciHl themselves there for a season. (Isa. Ixii. 4.) Yea, here they 
 heard continually the singing of birds, and saw everj' day the tlowers appear in the earth, and 
 heard the voice of the turtle in the land. (Cant. ii. lO-l'i.) In this country the sun shincth 
 night and day ; wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and also out of 
 the reach of Giant Despair, neither could they from this place so much 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 contract between the bride and the bridegroom 
 was renewed ; yea, here, " As the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so did their God rejoice 
 over them." (Isa. Ixii. 5.) Here they had no want of com and wine; for in this place they met 
 with abundance of what they had sought for in all their pilgrimage. (Verse 8.) 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!" (Verse 11.) Here all the inhabitants of 
 the country called them, " The holy people. The Redeemed of the Lord, Sought out," etc. 
 (Verse 12.) 
 
 Now, as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than in parts more remote from 
 the kingdom to which they were bound ; and, drawing near to the city, they had yet a more 
 perfect view thereof. It was buildid of pearls and precious stones, also the street thereof was 
 paved with gold ; so that by reason of the natural glory of the city, and the reflection of the 
 sunbeams upon it, Christian with desire fell sick; Hopeful also had a fit or two of tlae same 
 disease. Wherefore, here they lay by it a while, crying out, because of their pangs, " If ye find 
 my beloved, tell him that I am sick of love." (Cant. v. 8.) 
 
 But, being a little strengthened, and better able to bear their sickness, they walked on their 
 way, and came yet nearer and nearer, where were orchards, vineyards, and gardens, and their 
 gates opened into the highway. Now, as they came up to these places, behold the gardener 
 stood in the way, to whom the Pilgrims said. Whose goodly vineyards and gardens are these? 
 He answered, They are the King's, and are planted here for his own delight, and also for tl»e 
 solace of pilgrims. So the gardener had them into the vineyards, and bid them refresh them- 
 selves with the dainties. (Deut. xxiii. 24.) He also showed them there the King's walks, and 
 the arbors where he delighted to be; and here they tarried and slejit. 
 
 Now I beheld in my dream, that they talked more in their sleep at tliis time than ever they 
 did in all their journey ; and being in a muse thereabout, the gardener «iid even to me. Where- 
 fore musest 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. 
 
 So I saw that when thej* awoke, tliey addressed themselves to go up to the city ; but, as I 
 said, the reflection of the sun upon the city — for " the city was pure gold " (Rev. xxi. 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. iii. 18.) So I saw, that as they went on, there met 
 them two men, in raiment that shone like gold ; also tlieir faces shone as the light. 
 
 These men asked the Pilgrims whence they came ; and they told them. They also asked 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 141 
 
 them where they had lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what comforts and pleasures, they 
 had met 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 
 they would. But, said they, you must obtain it by your own faith. So I saw in my dream that 
 they went on together, until they came in sight of the gate. 
 
 Now, I further saw, that betwixt them and the gate was a river, but there was no bridge to 
 go over : 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. 
 (1 Cor. XV. 51, 52.) The pilgrims then, especially Christian, began to despond in their minds, 
 and looked this way and that, but no way could be found by them, by which they might escape 
 the river. Then they asked the 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. 
 
 They then 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 great measure lost his senses, so 
 that he could neither remember, nor orderly talk of any of those sweet refresliments that he had 
 met with in the way of his pilgrimage. But all the words that he spake 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 observed that he was troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins 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 also would endeavor to 
 comfcrrt him, saying. Brother, I see the gate, and men standing by to receive us ; but Christian 
 would answer, It is you, it is you they wait 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 rise 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 no bands iy their death, but their strength is firm. They are not in trouble as other 
 men, neither are they plagued like other men." (Psalm Ixxiii. 4, 5.) These troubles and dis- 
 tresses that you go through in these waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you ; but are sent 
 
urisiiiiii r.riike mil witli ii loud voiiv, 'tHi ! 1 ~. ■ liini ;ii; i 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 143 
 
 to try you, whether you will cull to mind that which heretofore you have received of his good- 
 ness, 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 this word. 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 siiall not overflow thee." (Isa. xliii. 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 river 
 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 
 theai ; wherefore, being come out of the river, they 
 saluted them, saying. We are ministering spirits, 
 sent forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of 
 salvation. Thus they went along towards the gate. 
 
 " Now, now look how the holy pilgrims ride, 
 Clouds are their Chariots, Angels are their Guide : 
 Who would not here for Him all hazards run, 
 That thus provides for his when this world's done ?" 
 
 Now you must note that the city stood upon 
 a mighty hill, but the pilgrims went up that hill 
 with ease, because they had these two men to 
 lead them up by the arms ; also, they had left their 
 
 " Thus they got over." 
 
 mortal garments 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 founda- 
 tion upon which the city was framed was higher than the clouds. They therefore went up 
 through the regions of the air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted, because they safely 
 got over the river, and had such glorious companions to attend them. 
 
 The talk 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 the " Mount Zion, the 
 heavenly Jerusalem, the innumerable company of angels, and the spirits of just men made per- 
 fect." (Heb. xii. 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 daj's of eternity. (Rev. ii. 7 ; iii. 4 ; xxii. .5.) There you shall not see again such things as 
 you saw when j'ou were in the lower region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sickness, affliction, 
 and death, " for the former things are passed away." You are now going to Abraham, to Isaac, 
 and Jacob, and to the projihets — men that God hath taken away from the evil to come, and that 
 10 
 
144 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 are now resting upon their beds, each one walking in liis righteousnesf;. (Ij»a. Ivii. 1, 2; Ixv. 17.) 
 The man then atikcil, What must we do in the lioly place? To whom it waa anowennl, You 
 must tliere receive the comforts of all your toil, and have joy for all your sorrow ; you muKt reap 
 what you have sown, even the fruit of all your pniyers, and tears, and sutlerings for the King l>y 
 the way. (Gal. vi. 7.) In that place you must wear crowns of gold, and enjoy the p<-r|ietual 
 sight and vision of the Holy One, for " there you shall see him ivs he is." (1 John iii. 2.) 
 There also you shall serve him continually with pniise, with shouting, and thanksgiving, whom 
 you desired t<j serve in the world, though with much difficulty, because of the infirmity of your 
 Hesh. There your eyes shall be delighted with seeing, and your ears with hearing the ]>leaMint 
 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 intt) the iioiy place atler 
 you. There also shall j'ou be dothetl with glory and majesty, and put into an ctjuipage fit to 
 ride out witli the King of Glory. When he shall come with sound of trumpet in the clouds, as 
 upon the wings of the wind, you shall come with him ; and when he shall sit upon the throne of 
 judgment, you shall sit by him ; yea, and when he shall pass sentence upon all tlie workers of 
 
 iniquity, let them be angels or men, you also shall 
 have a voice in that judgment, because they were iiis 
 and your enemies. (1 Thess. iv. i;i-17 ; .lude 14 ; Dan. 
 vii. 9, 10; 1 ("or. vi. 2, 3.) Also, when he shall again 
 return to the city, you shall go too. with sound of 
 trumpet, and be ever with him. 
 
 Now while they were thus drawing towards the 
 gate, behold a company of the heavenly host atnic 
 out to meet tiiem ; to whom it was said, l>y the other 
 two Shining Ones, These are the men that have loved 
 our Lord when they were in the worlil. and that have 
 left all for his holy name; and lie hath sent us to fetch 
 them, and we have brought them thus far on their de- 
 ^yp sired journey, that they may go in and look their 
 Redeemer in the face with joy. Then the heavenly 
 host gave n great shout, sjiying, " Blessed are tliey 
 which are called unto the marriage supper of 
 the Limb." (Hev. xix. 9.) There came out also 
 at this time to meet them several of the King's 
 trumpeters, 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 
 tliey did with shouting, and sound of trumpet. 
 
 This done, they com passetl them round on every side ; .some went befon-, some beliind, and 
 some on the right hand, some on the left (lus it were to guard them tiirough the upper regions), 
 
 I >ne of the Kinff's tnimpetere. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 145 
 
 continually sounding as tliey 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, there- 
 fore, they walked on together ; and as they walked, ever and anon these trumpeters, even with 
 joyful sound, would, by mixing their music with looks and gestures, still signify to Christian and 
 his brother 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 at it, being swallowed 
 upiwith 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 for ever and ever. Oh, by what tongue or pen can their glorious joy be 
 expressed ! And thus they came up to the gate. 
 
 Now, when they were come up to th^ gate, there was written over it in letters of gold, 
 "Blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and 
 may enter in through the gates into the city." (Rev. xxii. 14.) 
 
 Then I saw in my dream that the Shining Men bid them call at the gate ; the which, when 
 they did, some looked from above over the gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, etc., 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 jilace ; and then the pilgrims gave in unto them each man his certificate, which 
 tliey had received in the beginning ; those, therefore, were carried in to the King, who, when he 
 liad read them, said. Where are the men? To whom it was answered. They are standing without 
 the gate. The King then commanded to open the gate, " That the righteous nation," said he, 
 " which keepeth the truth may enter in." ( Isa. xxvi. 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 was 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 your Lord." I also heard 
 the men themselves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, " Blessing, and honor, and glory, 
 
 AND power, be unto HIM TH.\T SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND UNTO THE LaMB, FOR EVER AND 
 EVER." (Rev. V. 13.) 
 
 Now, just as the gates were opened to let in the 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. 
 
 Tliere were also of them that had wings, and they answered one another without intermission, 
 saying, " Holy, holy, holy is the Lord." (Rev. iv. 8.) 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 that difficulty 
 which the other two men met with. For it happened that there was then in that place, one 
 Vain-hope a ferryman, that with his boat helped him over ; so he, as the other I saw, did ascend 
 the hill, to come up to the gate, only he came alone; neither did any man meet him, with the 
 least encouras:ement. When he was come up to the gate, he looked up to the writing that was 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 147 
 
 iibove, and then began to knock, supposing that entrance should have been quickly administered 
 to him ; but he was asked by the men that looked over the top of the gate, Whence came you? 
 and what would you have ? He answered, I have eat and drank in the presence of the King, 
 and he has taught in our streets. Then they asked him for his certificate, that they might go in 
 and show it to the King ; so he fumbled in his bosom for one, and found none. Then they said. 
 Have you none ? But the man answered 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 
 Hopeful to the City, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind him 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 
 gates <if heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction. So I awoke, and behold it was a dream. 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 ~KT"0\V, reader, I liave told my dream to tliie. 
 1 \| .See if thou canst interpret it to nie. 
 Or to thyself or neighl)or; but take heed 
 Of misinterpretinp ; 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 feud. 
 Leave this for boys and fools ; but as for thee. 
 Do thou the substance of my matter see. 
 
 Put by the curtains, look within my veil ; 
 Turn up my metaphors, and do not fail. 
 There, if thou seekest them, such things to find 
 As will i)e hel]>ful to an honest mind. 
 
 What of my dra-^s thou tindest tluiv. l>i' bold 
 To throw away : but yet preserve the golil. 
 What if my gold lie wnij)ped up in ore? — 
 None throws away the a])i)le for the core. 
 But if thou shalt ciist all away as vain, 
 I know not but 'twill make me dream again. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST PART. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
 
 PART II 
 
THE AUTHOR^S WAY 
 
 OF SEEDING 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 hoys ; and then, as thou knowost how. 
 Tell who they are, also from whence they came — 
 Perhaps they'll know them by their looks or name: 
 But, if they should not, ask them yet again 
 If 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 those related were 
 Unto him ; yea, his wife and children are. 
 
 Tell them that they have left their house and honi 
 Are turned pilgrims ; seek a world to come ; 
 That they have met with hardships in the way, 
 That they do meet with troubles night and day ; 
 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 to pilgrimage, been stout and brave 
 Defenders of that way ; and how they still 
 Refused this world, to do their Father's will. 
 Go, tell them also of those dainty things 
 That pilgrimage unto the pilgrim brings. 
 Let them acquainted be, too, how they are 
 Beloved of their King, under His care ; 
 
152 THH PILORIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Wliat noiully niaii.'^ions for them He provides ; 
 Thougli they niert witli rough winds and sweUinj; tides, 
 How liriive a cahu they will enjoy ut last, 
 Who to the Ixjrd, and hy His ways, hold fast. 
 
 Perhajw with heart and liand they will emhrace 
 Thee, as they <lid my firstlinjj, and will grace 
 Thee and thy fellows with such cheer and fare, 
 As show well they of pilgrims lovers are. 
 
 oRIKfTlO.N I. 
 
 But how if they will not helieve of me 
 That I am truly thine ? 'Cause some there he 
 That counterfeit the ])ilgrim and his name; 
 Seek, hy disguise, to seem the very same; 
 And hy that means have wrought themselves into. 
 The hands and houses of I know not who. 
 
 A.NSWEK. 
 
 Tis true, 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 hook, to make them do; 
 But yet they, hy their features, do declare 
 Themselves not mine to he, whose e'er they are. 
 
 If such thou meetst with, then thine only way, 
 Before them all, is to say out thy say 
 In thine own native langujige. which no man 
 Now useth, nor with case dissemhle can. 
 
 If. after all. they still of you shall douht, 
 Thinking that you. like gypsies, go ahout 
 In naughty-wi.se the country to defile. 
 Or that you seek gooil peojile to heguile 
 With things unwarrantjdde ; — send for me, 
 And I will testify you jjilgrinis l>e ; 
 Yea, I will testifv that only you 
 My pilgrims are ; and that alone will do. 
 
 OIUKCTION II. 
 
 But yet. perhaps, I may inquire for him 
 Of those that wish him damnM, life and limh ; 
 What shall I do, when I at such a door 
 For pilgrims a.sk, and they shall rage the more? 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 153 
 
 Fright not th}'self, my Ijook ; 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, 'tis said, as I am told, 
 My i)ilgrim is, with some, worth more than gold. 
 Highlanders and wild Irish can agree 
 My pilgrim should familiar with them be. 
 
 'Tis in New England under such advance. 
 Receives there so much loving countenance, 
 As to be trimmed, new clothed, and decked with gems. 
 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. 
 
 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 companj'. 
 
 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 no small kindness to my pilgrim show: 
 Their cabinets, their bosoms, and their hearts 
 My 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. 
 
 Tlie very children that do walk the street, 
 If they do but my holy pilgrim meet. 
 Salute him will ; will wish him well, and say. 
 He is the only stripling of tlie day. 
 
154 THE PlUiRIM'S I'KOGRKSS. 
 
 Tlu-y Uiut luivi- never seen liini, yet ailniiri- 
 What tliey have heard of him, and niucli dexire 
 Tu liuve liU com|iany, and hear him tell 
 Thiwe pilgrim Hturiesi whii-li lie kniiws so well. 
 
 Yea, some wlio did not love him at the first, 
 Hut called him fool and no«ldy, sjiy they nmst. 
 Now they have seen and heard Itim, him commend ; 
 And to those whom they love they do him send. 
 
 Wherefore, my Second Part, thou need'st not lie 
 Afraitl to show thy head; none can hurt thee 
 That wish but well to him that went before. 
 Cause thou com'st after with a second store 
 Of things as good, lus rich, as jirofitaVtle, 
 For young, for old, for staggering, and for stable. 
 
 OIUKITIOS III. 
 
 But some there be that say, " He lauglis too loud ; 
 And some do siiy, " 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. 
 
 .\.N^WEH. 
 
 One may. 1 tliink, say. Both his laughs and cri<* 
 May well be guessed at by his watery eyes. 
 Some things are of that nature as to make 
 One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache. 
 When Jacob saw his R;ichael with the sheep, 
 \\i- di<l at the same time both kiss and weep. 
 
 \\'herea.s some say, "A cloud is in his heail ;" 
 That doth Imt show how wisdom's ct)vcred 
 With its own mantles, and to stir the mind 
 To a search after what it fain would find. 
 Things that seem to be hid in words obscure. 
 Do but the godly mind the more allure 
 To stu<ly what those sayings should contain 
 That speak to us in such a cloudy strain. 
 I also know, a dark similtude 
 Will on the fancy niore itself intrude. 
 And will stick faster in the heart and litad. 
 Tiian things from similes not borrowt'^d. 
 
 Wherefore, my book, let no discouragenn nt 
 Hinder thv travels; behold, thou art sent 
 
 J 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 155 
 
 To friends, not foes ; to friends that will give place 
 To thee, my pilgrims, and thy words embrace. 
 
 Besides, what mj^ first pilgrim left concealed, 
 Thou, my brave second pilgrim, has revealed ; 
 What Christian left locked up, and went his way. 
 Sweet Christiana opens with her key. 
 
 OBJECTION IV. 
 
 But some love not the method of your first: 
 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? 
 
 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 cheese, some love no fish, and some 
 Love not their friends, nor their own house or home ; 
 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 all 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 blest 
 To them for good — may make them choose to be 
 Pilgrims better by far than thee or me. 
 
 Go 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 pilgrimage with thee : 
 Say, " Here's my neighbor Mercy ; she is one 
 That has long time with me a pilgrim gone : 
 
156 THE PILGRIMS PRCXiRESS. 
 
 ConiP, see lier in lit-r virgin fiicc, and Iwirn 
 'Twixt idle ones untl iiiljjrims Ui discern ; 
 Yen, let younfj damsels learn of her to prize 
 The world which is to conic, in any wise." 
 When little tripiiing niiiidcns follow God, 
 And leave old doting sinners to His rod 
 Tis like those days wherein the young ones cried 
 " Hosunna !" to whom old ones did tleride. 
 
 Next tell them of old Honest, whom you found. 
 With his white hairs, treading the pilgrims' ground. 
 Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was. 
 How after his good Lord he bare his cross. 
 Periia|)S with some grey head this may prevail 
 With C'lirist to fall in love, and sin bewail. 
 
 Tell them also how Master Fearing went 
 On pilgrimage, and how the time he spent 
 In solitariness, witli fears and cries ; 
 And how at last he won the joyful jtrize. 
 He was a good man, though much down in spirit; 
 He is a good man, and doth life inherit. 
 
 Tell thcni of Master Feeble-mind also, 
 Who not before, but still behind, would go ; 
 Show them also how he had like been slain. 
 An<l how one' Great-heart did his life regain. 
 This man was true of heart, though weak in grace: 
 One might true godliness read in his face. 
 
 Then tell them of Master Rendy-to-halt, 
 A man with crutches, but much without fault: 
 Tell them how Master Feeble-mind and he 
 Did love, anil in opinions much agree: 
 And let all know, tiiough weakness was their chance, 
 Yet sometimes one could sing, the other dance. 
 
 Forget not Master Valiant-for-thc-truth, 
 That man of courage, though a very youth. 
 Tell every one his spirit was so stout. 
 No man could ever make him face about ; 
 .\nd how Great-heart and he could not forbear 
 , Hut i)Ut down Doubting Castle, slay Despair! 
 
 Overlook not Master Despondency, 
 Nor Much-afraid, his daughter, though they lie 
 I'nder such mantles as may make them look 
 (With .some) as if their (Jod had them forsook. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 157 
 
 Tliey 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 those strings 
 Which, if but touched, will such music make, 
 They'll make a cripple dance, a giant quake. 
 
 These riddles that lie crouched within thy breast. 
 Freely propound, expound ; and, for the rest 
 Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain 
 For those wliose nimble fancies shall them gain. 
 
 Now may this little book a Ijlessing 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 BUNYAN. 
 
THE PILGEIM'S PE0GEE8S. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 COURTEOUS COMPANIONS- 
 SOME time since, to tell you my dream that I had of Christian the Pilgrim, and of 
 his dangerous journey towards the Celestial Country, was pleasant to me, and profitable to you. 
 I told you then, also, what I saw concerning his wife and children, 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 hy staying with 
 them in the City of Destruction. Wherefore, as I then showed you, he left them and departed. 
 
 Now it hath so happened, through the multiplicity of business, that I have been much 
 hindered and kept back from my wonted travels into those parts [from] whence he went, and 
 so could not, till now, obtain an opportunity to make further inquiry after 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 lodgings in a wood, about a mile off 
 the place, as I slept I dreamed again.* 
 
 And as I was in my dream, behold, an aged gentleman came by where I lay : and because 
 he was to go some part of the way that I was travelling, methought I got up and went with him. 
 So as we walked, and as travellers usually do, I was as if we fell into discourse, and our talk 
 happened to be about Christian and 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 ? 
 
 * The First Part was written in Bedford Jail ; the Second 
 Elstow, where Mr. Bunyan resided. 
 11 
 
 'about a mile off the place," at the village of 
 
i6o THE PILGRIM'S PROCRKSS. 
 
 Tlun said .Mr. Sagiicity (A>r tliat was liis name;, It is the City of Destruction, a iwpulous 
 place, hut possessed witli a very ill-conditioned and idle sort of people. 
 
 I thought tiuit was that city, (pioth I ; I went once myself through that town, and therefore 
 know that this report you give of it is true. 
 
 S.\ii. Too true ; 1 wish I could speak truth in speaking better of them that dwell therein. 
 
 Well, Sir, quoth I, then I perceive you ti> he u well-meaning man ; and so one that takes 
 pleasure to hear and tell of that which is good. Pray, did you never hear what hapi>ene<l to a 
 man some time ago in this town, whose name was Christian, that went on pilgrimage u\> towanls 
 the higher regions? 
 
 Sao. Hear of him ! Ay, and I also heard of the molestrttions, trouhles, wars, captivities, 
 cries, groans, frights, and fears that he met with and had in his journey ; hi-sides. I must tell 
 you, all our country rings of him. There are hut few houses that have heard of him and his 
 doings but have sought after and got the records of his pilgrimage; yea, I think I niay say that 
 his hazardous journey has got many well-wishers to his ways ; for though, when he was here, 
 lie was fool in every man's mouth, yet, now he is gone, he is highly connnended of all. For, 
 it is said, he lives bravely where he is* yea, many of them that are resolved never to run his 
 hazsirds, yet have their mouths water at his gains. 
 
 They may, (|Uoth I, well think, if they think anything that is true, that he liveth well 
 where he is; for he now lives ^t and in the Fountain of Life, and has what he has without 
 labor and sorrow, for there is no grief mixed therewith. But, jiray, what talk have the people 
 about him? 
 
 y.\(i. Talk ! the peoj)le talk strangely about him ; some say tliat he now walks in white 
 (Rev. iii. 4; vi. 11); that he has a chain of gold about his neck; that he has a cniwn of gold, 
 Vjeset with pearls, upon his head. Others say that the Shining Ones, that sometimes showed 
 themselves to him in his journey, are become his com]>anions, and that he is as familiar with 
 them in the jdacc where he is, as here one neighbor is with another. Besidi-s, it is confidently 
 affirmed concerning him, that the King of the place where he is has bestowed upon him already 
 a very rich and i>leasant dwelling at court (Zeeh. iii. 7) ; and that he every day eateth (Luke 
 xiv. 15), and drinketh, and walketh, and talketh with him ; and receivcth of the smiles and 
 favors of him that is Judge of all there. Moreover, it is expected of some, that his Prince, the 
 I>ord of that country, will shortly come into the.«c 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, lo.) For, they say, that now he is so in the 
 siflections of his Prince, and that his Sovereign is so much concerned with the indignities that 
 were cast upon Christian, when he became a j)ilgrim, that he will look u|)on all as if done unto 
 himself; and no marvel, for it was tor the love that he had to his Prince that he ventured as he 
 did. (Luke x. l(i.) 
 
 1 daresay, iiuoth I, I am glad on it; I am glad for the pour man's sake, for that he now 
 has rest from bis labor ( Rev. xiv. 13) ; and for that ho now reai>eth the benefit of his tears with 
 joy (Psalm cxxvi. 5, 6) ; and for that he has got beyond the gun-shot of his enemies, and is out 
 of the reach of them that hate him. 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 sonle that are left 
 
The Aiitlioi- and Mr. Sagacitv. 
 
1 62 
 
 THE I'lLCRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 luliind? IJut, jiniy, Sir, while it is frvsli in my mind, do you licar anything of Ids wife and 
 
 children? I'oor hearts! I wonder in my mind what they do. 
 
 S.\<;. Who! Christiana and her sons? They are like to do jis well an did Chrietinn Inmsolf; 
 
 for thouj.'h they all phiyed the fool at the first, and would hy no means be |>er8uaded by either 
 
 the tears or entreaties of Christian, yet second thoughts have wrought wonderfully with them ; 
 
 so they have packed up, and are al.-'o gone after him. 
 
 Better and better, quoth I. Hut wiiat! wife and children, and all? 
 
 S.\G. It is true ; I can give you an account of the matter, for I was upon the spot at the 
 
 instant, and was thoroughly ac(|uainted with the whole afiair. 
 Then, said I, a man, it seems, may report it for a truth ? 
 Sa*;. You need not fear to affirm it ; I mean that they are all gone on pilgrimage, both the 
 
 good wt)man and her four boys. And seeing we are, as I i>erceive. going some considerable way 
 
 together, I will give you an account of the whole of the 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 river, and she could hear of 
 him no more, her thoughts bi»gan to work in her 
 mind. First, for that she had lo.st her husband, 
 and for that the loving bond of that relation was 
 utterly broken betwixt them. For you know, said 
 he to me, nature can do no less but entertain the 
 living with many a heavy cogitation in the remem- 
 brance of the loss of loving relations. This, there- 
 fore, of her husband did co.st 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 eiich sort 
 he was taken away from her. And upon this, 
 came into her mind, by swarms, all her unkind, 
 unnatural, and ungodly carriages to her dear 
 friend ; which also clogged her conscience, and did 
 load her with guilt. She was, moreover, much 
 broken with calling to remembrance the restless 
 groans, brinish tears, and self-bemoanings of her 
 husband, and how she did harden her heart 
 against all his entreaties and loving persuasions, 
 of her and her sons, to go with him ; yea, there 
 
 was not anything that Christian either siiid to her or did before her all the while that his burden 
 
 did hang on his back, but it returned ujwn her like a flash of lightning, and rent the caul of her 
 
 heart in sunder. Specially that bitter outcry of his, "What shall I do to be saved?" did ring in 
 
 her ears most dolefullv. 
 
 " Her thoiighu began to work in her mind." 
 
"Then said she to her cliildren, 'Sons, we are all undone.' 
 
i64 thp: pilorim's progress. 
 
 Then said she to her cliihlren, Sons, we are all undone. I liave sinned away your fatlicr, 
 and he is f?""^; he would have had us with liim, but I would not ro myself. I also have 
 hindered you of life. With that the hoys fell all into tears, and cried out to go after their father. 
 Oh ! sai<l Christiana, that it had heen hut our lot to po with him. then had it fared well with us, 
 beyond wliat it is like to do now ; for though I formerly foolishly imaginetl, coneerninR the 
 troubles of your father, that they proceeded of a foolish fancy tliat he had, or for that he was 
 overrun with inilanclioly humors ; yet now it will not out of my mind, but that they Bprang 
 from anotlier cause, to wit, for that the Light of light was given him (James i. 2;i-25) ; by the 
 lielp of wiiich, as 1 perceived, he has escaped the snares of deiith. Then they all wc]»t again, 
 and cried. '• Oh, woe worth the day !" 
 
 Tiie ne.xt night Christiana had a dream ; antl. beholil. she saw as if a broad parchment was 
 opened before her, in which were recorded the sum of her ways (Luke xviii. 13); and tlie times, 
 as she thought, looked very black upon her. Then she cried out aloud in her sleep, " Lord, have 
 mercy upon me a sinner!" ami the little children heard her. 
 
 After this she thought she saw two very ill-favored ones standing l>y her bedside, and 
 saying. What shall we do with this woman? for she cries out for mercy waking and sleeping; if 
 she l.>e suffered to go on as she begins, we shall lose her as we have lost her husband. Where- 
 fore, we must, by one way or other, see to take her off from the thoughts of what shall be 
 hereafter, else all the world cannot help it but she will become a pilgrim. 
 
 Now she awoke in a groat sweat, also a trembling was upon her; but after a while she fell 
 to sleeping again. And then she thought she ssnv 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 rainl)ow aliout his head. She saw also as if he bowed his head, with 
 his face to the i)aved work that was under the Prince's feet, saying, I heartily thank my I»rd 
 and King for bringing of me into this place. Then shouted a company of tliem that stood round 
 about, and harped with their harps ; but no man living could toll what they said, but Christian 
 and his companions. 
 
 Ne.xt morning, when she was u|), had prayed 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'.^ name, 
 come in. Si> 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 whence he 
 came, and what was his errand to lier. So he said unto her. My name is Secret ; I dwell witii 
 tho.se that are 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 formerly done to thy husband, in 
 hardening of thy heart against his way, and in keejting of these thy babes in their ignorance. 
 Christiana, the Merciful One has sent me to tell thee, that he is a God ready to forgive, and that 
 he taketh delight to multi|)ly the i)ardon of oft'ences. He also would have thee know that he 
 inviteth thee to come into his j)resence, to his table, and that he will feed thee with the fat of his 
 house, anil with the heritage of Jacob thy father. 
 
 There is Christian thy husband (that was), with legions more, his companions, ever behold- 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 165 
 
 ing 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 threshold. 
 
 Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, and bowing her head to the ground, this 
 Visitor proceeded, 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 manner of the best 
 l)erfume (Cant. i. 3) ; also it was written in letters of gold. The contents of the letter was. 
 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 for ever. At this the good woman was quite 
 overcome ; so she cried out to the Visitor, Sir, will you carry me and my children with you 
 that we may also go and worship this King? 
 
 Then said the Visitor, Christiana, the bitter is before 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 in the head 
 of the way up which thou must go, and I wish thee all good speed. Also I advise that thou put 
 this letter in thy bosom ; that thou read therein to thyself, and to thj^ children, until you have 
 got it by rote of heart, for it is one of thy songs that thou must sing while thou art in this house 
 of thy pilgrimage (Psalm cxix. 54) ; also this thou must deliver in at the further gate. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream that this old gentleman, as he told me this 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 j'our 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 mine own state and yours, which I verily believe is by nature miserable. 
 My carriages, also, to your father in his distress, is a great load to my conscience ; for I hardened 
 both my 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 for the encouragement that 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 motlier was so 
 inclined. So their Visitor bade them farewell ; and they began to prepare to set out for their 
 journey. 
 
 But while they were thus about to be gone, two of the women that were Christiana's neigh- 
 bors 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 women were stunned ; for this kind of language 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 Jlrs. Timoi-ous, I am 
 preparing for a journey. (This Timorous was daughter to him that met Christian upon the Hill 
 Difficulty, and would have had him go back for fear of the lions.) 
 
i66 THE riLCxRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Tim. For what jouriu-y, 1 pniy you? 
 
 t'liKi.s. Kvcn to j;o after my good liuslnind. Aiul witli tliat slie fell u-weeping. 
 
 Tim. I hope not so, good neighbor; pray, for your poor children's sakes, do not so 
 unwomanly cast away yourself. 
 
 Cuius. Nay, my children shall go with me, not one of them is willing to stay hehind. 
 
 Tim. I wonder, in my very heart, what, or who has brought you into this mind. 
 
 Chris. Oh ! neighbor, knew you but as much as I do, I doubt not but that you would go 
 witli me. 
 
 Tim. I'rithee, what new knowledge hast thou got, that so worketii of! thy mind from thy 
 friends, and that tempteth thee to go, nobody knows where? 
 
 Chris. Then Christiana replied, I have been sorely afflicted since my husbands dei)arture 
 from me ; but especially since he went over the river. But that which troubleth me most, is my 
 churlish carriages 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 a-dreanung 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 sit.s 
 and eats with him at hi.s table; he is become a companion of immortals (1 Cor. v. 1-4); and 
 hiis a house now given him to dwell in, to which the best palaces on earth, if comjjared, .seem 
 to me but as a dunghill. The Prince of the jdace has abso sent for me, witl) promise of entertjiin- 
 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 ye say to this? 
 
 Tim. Oil, the madness that has possessed tiiee and thy hu.sband, to run yourselves upon such 
 difficulties ! You have heard, I am sure, what your husl)and did meet with, even, in a manner, 
 at the first stej) that he took on his way, as our neighbor Obstinate can yet testify, for he went 
 along with him ; yea, and Pliable too, until they, like wise men, were afraid to go any further. 
 We also lieanl, over and above, how he met with the lions, Apollyon, tlie 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 tliy children, thy flesh and thy bones. Wherefore, 
 though thou shouldst be so ra.sh as to cast away thyself; 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 jiut into 
 my hand 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 that I am 
 like to meet with in the way, they are so far ofl" 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 disquiet me further. 
 
 Then Timorous also renled her, and said to her fellow, Come, neighbor Mercy, let us leave 
 her in her own hands, since she scorns our counsel and company. Rut Mercy was at a stand, 
 and could not so readily comply with her neighbor, and that for a two-fold rea.'Jon. First, her 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 167 
 
 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. Secondly, her bowels yearned over her own soul, 
 for what Christiana had said had taken some hold upon lier mind. Wherefore she said within 
 herself again, I will yet have more talk with this Cliristiana, and if I find truth and life in 
 what she shall say, myself with my heart shall also go with her. Wherefore Mercy began thus 
 to reply to her neighbor Timorous. 
 
 Mercy. Neighbor, I did, indeed, come with you to see Christiana this morning; and since 
 she is, as you see, a-taking of her last farewell of her country, I think to walk, this sunshiny 
 morning, a little way with her, to help her on the 
 way. But she told her not of the second reason, 
 but kept that to herself. 
 
 Tim. Well, I see you have a mind to go a-fool- 
 ing 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 Christiana betook herself to her journey. 
 But when Timorous was got home to her house, she 
 sends for some of her ireighbors, to wit, Mrs. Bat's- 
 eyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs. Light-mind, and Mrs. 
 Know-nothing. So when they were come to her 
 house, she falls to telling of the stor}- 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 mean- 
 
 1.1, A J 1, i 1 1 • 1 i ii i 1 " ' Well, I see voii have a mind to go a-fooling, too.' " 
 
 ing by that. And she told me, m short, that she. • 55. 
 
 was now of a mind to go on pilgrimage, as did her husband. She told me also 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. Know-nothing, And what! do you think she will go? 
 
 Tim. Ay, 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 in 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. Bat's-eyes. Oh, this blind and fooHsh woman ! said she ; will she not take warning by 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 169 
 
 her husband's afflictions ? For my part, I see if he was here again, lie would rest him 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 riddance, 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 body can abide ; wherefore, for my part, I shall never be sorry for her 
 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. Light-mind added as followeth : — Come, ])ut this kind of talk away. I was 
 yesterday at Madame Wanton's, where we were as merry as the maids. For who do you think 
 should be there but I and Mrs. Love-the-flesh, and three or four more, with Mr. Lechery, IMrs. 
 Filth, and some others. So there we had music and dancing, and what else was meet to fill up 
 the pleasure. And, I daresay, my lady herself is an admirably well-bred gentlewoman, and 
 ^Ir. Lecherj'^ is as pretty a fellow. 
 
 By this time Christiana was got on her way, and Mercy went along with her. So as they 
 went, her children being there also, Christiana began to discourse. And, Mercy, said Christiana, I 
 take this as an unexpected tavor, that thou shouldst set foot out of doors with me, to accompany 
 me a little in my way. 
 
 Mercy. Then said young ]\Iercy (for she was but young), If I thought it woukl l)e to purjiose 
 to go with you, I would never go near the town any more. 
 
 Chris. Well, Mercy, said Christiana, cast in thy lot with me ; I well know what will be the 
 end of our jtilgrimage. My husband is where he would not but be for all the gold in the Spanish 
 mines. Nor shalt thou be rejected, 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 ; j-et we will have all things in common 
 betwixt thee and me ; onlj^, go along with me. 
 
 Mercy. But how shall I be ascertained that I also shall 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. 
 
 Chris. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell 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 shalt return to thy place. I also will pay thee for thy kindness which 
 thou showest to me and my children, in thy accompanying us in our way, as thou dost. 
 
 Mercy. 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 her 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 salvation. So they went on 
 together, and Mercy began to weep. Then said Christiana, Wherefore weepeth my sister so ? 
 Mercy. Alas ! said she, who can but lament, that shall but rightly consider, what a state 
 and condition my poor relations are in that yet remain in our sinful town ? and that which 
 makes my grief the more heavy is, because they have no instructor, nor any to tell them what 
 is to come. 
 
I70 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Chris. Bowels hecomctli pilgrims; aiitl tliou "lost for thy friends as my good Christian liKl 
 for 1110 when lie left me; he mourned for that I woulil not heed nor rejjard him; l)ut his I.,<ird 
 and ours did pitlier U|i liis tears, and put them into his liottle ; and now hoth I and thou, and 
 these my sweet habes, are reaping the fruit and henelit of them. I liojte, Merev, thi>se tears of 
 thine will not he lost; for the truth hath said, that "they that sow in tears shall reap in joy," 
 in singing. And " he that goeth forth and weepeth, hearing preeious seed, shall douhtk-ss come 
 again with rejoieing. hringing his sheaves witli him." (I'salm cxxvi. 5, (>.) 
 
 Then said Mercy, — 
 
 "Lei the Most Hle^stsl tie niv tiiiiile, 
 If't be liix lilr^svil will, 
 I'nto his Kate, inu> his ruld, 
 I'p to his holy hill. 
 
 ".And let him never siifler nie 
 To swerve or turn aside 
 From his free grace, and holy ways. 
 Whale'er shall me betide. 
 
 " .\nd let him gather them of mine. 
 That I have lef^ behind ; 
 Lonl, make them pray they may lie thine, 
 With all their heart and mind." 
 
 Now my old friend proceeded and said: Hut when Christiana came up to the Slough of 
 Despond, she liegan to he at a stand ; for, said she, this is the place in which my dear husliand 
 hail like to have been smothered with mud. She perceived, also, that notwithstanding the 
 command of tiie King to make this place for pilgrims good, yet it was rather worse than formerly. 
 80 I askeil if that was true. Yes, said the old gentleman, too true ; for that many there be that 
 pretend to be the King's laborers, and that say tiiey are for mending the King's highway, that 
 bring dirt and dung instead of stones, and so mar in.stcad of mending. Here Christiana, there- 
 fore, with her boys, did make a stjmd ; but, said Mercy, Come, let us venture, only let tis be 
 wary. Then they looked well to the stej>s, and ma<le a shift to get staggeringly 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, " Hlessed is she that 
 believed: for there shall be a performance of those things wliioli were told her from the Lord." 
 (Luke i. 4.5.) 
 
 Then they went on again ; and said Mercy to Christiana, Had I as gooil ground to hope for 
 a loving reception at the wicket-gate lus you, I think no Slough of Despond would discour- 
 age me. 
 
 Well, said the other, you know your .sore, and I know mine ; and, good friend, we shall all 
 have enough evil before we come at our journey's end. For can it be imagined, that the people 
 that design to atUiin such excellent glories as we do. and that are so envied that happiness as we 
 are, but that we shall meet with what fears and scares, with what troubles and aftlictions they 
 can possibly assault us with, that hate us? 
 
 .Vnd now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my dream by myself. Wherefore, raethought I 
 
THE PIUtRIM'S progress. 
 
 171 
 
 saw Christiana 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 manage their calling 
 
 at the gate, and what should be said to him that 
 
 did oi^cn to them. So it was concluded, since 
 
 Ciiristiana 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 that 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 tliey durst not, for fear of 
 
 the dog; go back they durst not, for fear the 
 
 Keeper of that 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 the first. 
 
 Then said the Keeper of the gate, Who is there? 
 
 .So the dog left ofi' to bark, and he opened unto 
 
 them. 
 
 Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said, 
 Let not our Lord be offended with his hand-maidens, for that we have knocked at his princely 
 gate. Then said the Keeper, Whence come ye, and what is it that you would have ? 
 
 Christiana answered. We are come from whence 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 to 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 become now a pilgrim, 
 that, but a while ago, abhorred that life ? Then she bowed her head, and said. Yes, and so are 
 these my sweet babes also. 
 
 Then he took her by the hand, and let her in, and said also, "Suff'er the little children to 
 come unto me ;" and with that he shut up the gate. This done, he called to a trumpeter that 
 was above, over the gate, to entertain Christiana with shouting and sound of trumpet for joy. So 
 he obeyed, and sounded, and filled the air with his melodious notes. (Luke xv. 7.) 
 
 Now, all this while poor Mercy did stand without, trembling and crying, for fear that she 
 was rejected. But when Christiana had gotten admittance for herself and her boys, then she 
 began to make intercession for Mercy. 
 
 " ' Come, let us venture, only let us be wary.' 
 
riic Kill^'^ 'I'riiiii|K'tiT. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 173 
 
 Chris. And she said, Jly Lord, I have a companion of mine that stands yet without, that is 
 come hither upon tlie same account as myself; one that is much dejected in her mind, for that 
 she comes, as she thinks, without sending for; whereas I was sent to by my husband's King to 
 come. 
 
 Now, Mercy began to be verj' impatient, for 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 so loud, that she made Christiana to start. Then said the 
 Keeper of the gate, Who is there ? and said Christiana, It is my friend. 
 
 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 would 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 lainted within me, I remembered the Lord ; and my prayer came in 
 unto thee, into thy holy temple." (Jonah ii. 7.) Fear not, but stand upon tliy feet, and tell 
 me wherefore thou art come. 
 
 Mercy. I am come for 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 jDresume. 
 
 Keep. Did she desire thee to come with her to this place ? 
 
 Mercy. Yes ; and, as my Lord sees, I am come. And, if there is any grace or forgiveness 
 of sins to spare, I beseech that I, thj' poor handmaid, may be jiartaker 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 fainting. So they 
 fetched her a bundle of myrrh ; and a while after she was revived. 
 
 And now was Christiana and her boys and Mercy received of the Lord at the head of the 
 way, and spoke 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 word, in the promise of forgiveness ; by 
 deed, in the way I obtained it. Take the first from mj' lips with a kiss (Cant. i. 2) ; and the other 
 as it shall be revealed. (.John xx. 20.) 
 
 Now, I saw in my dream that he spake many good words unto them, whereby they were 
 greatly gladdened. 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 them- 
 selves ; and thus Christiana began : O Lord ! how glad am I that we are got in hither. 
 
 Mercy. So you well may ; but I of all have cause to leap for joy. 
 
 Chris. 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 cur made such a heavy 
 barking against us. 
 
 Mercy. But my worse fear was after I saw that you were taken into his favor, and that I 
 was left behind. Now, thought I, it is fulfilled which is written, "Two women shall be grinding 
 
' Mercv WHS fallen down willumt in n KWfMin.' 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 175 
 
 together; the one shall be taken, and the other left." (JIatt. xxiv. 41) I had much ado to for- 
 bear crying out, Undone ! undone ! And afraid I was to knock any more ; but when I looked up 
 to what was 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 betwixt life and death. 
 
 Chris. Can you not tell how you knocked ? I am sure your knocks were so earnest, that 
 the very sound of them made me start ; I thought I never heard such knocking in all my life ; I 
 thought you would have come in by violent hands, or have taken the kingdom ])y storm. (Matt. 
 xi. 12.) 
 
 Mercy. Alas ! to be in my case, who that so was could but have done so ? You saw that 
 the door was shut upon me, and that there was a most cruel dog thereabout. Who, I sa)^, that 
 was so faint-hearted as I, that would not have knocked with all their might ? But, pray, what 
 said my Lord to my rudeness? Was he not angry with me? 
 
 Chris. When he heard your lumbering noise, he gave a wonderful, innocent smile ; I believe 
 what you did pleased him well enough, for he showed no sign to the contrary. But I marvel in 
 my heart why he keeps such a dog ; had I known that before, I fear I should not have had heart 
 enougli to have ventured myself in this manner. But now we are in, we are in ; and I am glad 
 with all my heart. 
 
 Mercy. 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. 
 
 Ay, do, 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 of 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, " Righteous art thou, O Lord, when I plead with thee : yet let me talk with thee of thy 
 judgments." (Jer. xii. 1.) Wherefore dost thou keep so cruel a dog in thy j-ard, 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 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 frightened many an honest pilgrim 
 from worse to better, by the great voice of his roaring. Indeed, he that owneth him doth not 
 keep him of any goodwill to me or mine, but with intent to keep the pilgrims from coming to 
 me, and that they may be afraid to 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 give 
 my pilgrims timely help, so they are not delivered up to his power, to do to 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 they will 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, their darling from the power of the dog. 
 12 
 
176 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Mkucy. Then said Mercy, I confer my igiionincc; I gpake what I understood not; I 
 acknowledge tluit tliou dost all thin^is well. 
 
 Cuius. Then Chri.stiana began to Udk of their journey, and to inquire after the way. So he 
 fed them, and washed their feet, and set them in the way of hi.s .steps, according; as he had dealt 
 with her husband before. So I Siiw in my dream that they walked on in their way, and Imd 
 the weather very comfortable to them. 
 
 Then (-'hristiana began to sing, saying, — 
 
 " Itleie'tl lie the ilar that I liefmn 
 .\ pilgrim for to be; 
 .\iiil lilt-si^-tl altiu he tlie man 
 Tliat thereto moved me. 
 
 "'Tis true, 'twas long ere I began, 
 To seek to live for ever; 
 But now I run fa.<:t as 1 c-nu ; 
 'Tis better late than never. 
 
 "Our loars to joy, our fears to faith, 
 -Xre turniil, as we see. 
 That our tieginning, as one saith, 
 Shows what our end will lie." 
 
 Now there was, on the other side of tlie wall that fenced in the way up which Cliristiana 
 and her companions were to go. a garden, and that garden belonged to him wliose was that 
 barking dog of whom mention was made before. And some of the fruit-trees that grew in that 
 garden shot their liranches over the wall ; and l>eing mellow, they that found them did gather 
 them up, and oft cat of them to their hurt. So Chri.stiana's boys, as boys are apt to do, being 
 pleased with the trees, and with the fruit that did hang 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 they did belong to the enemy ; I will warrant you, if she had. she would have been retidy 
 to die for fear. Rut that pas.sed. and they went on their way. Now, by that they were gone 
 alfout two bow-shots from the place that let them into tlie way. tliey espied two very ill-ftivored 
 ones coming down apace to meet them. With that, Christiana, and Mercy, her friend, covere<l 
 them.selves with their veils, ami so kept on their journey ; the children also went on before, so 
 that at last they met together. Tlien they that came down to meet tliem, came just up to the 
 women, as if they would embnice them ; but Christiana said. Stand back, or go peaceably by, 
 as you should. Yet these two, as men that are deaf, regarded not Christiana's words, but began 
 to lay hands upon them. At that Christiana, waxing very wrotii, spurned at tlien> with her feet. 
 Mercy also, as well as she could, did what she could to shift them. Christiana again said to 
 them, Stand back, and be gone; for we have no money to lose, being pilgrims, as you see^ and 
 such, too, as live upon the charity of our friends. 
 
 Ii.L-F.\voRKD. Then said one of the two of the nun. We make no assault ujwn you for 
 
"So Christiana's boys, as boys are apt to do, being pleased witli tlie trees, and the fruit that did liang thereon, 
 
 did plash them, and began to eat.'' 
 
 177 
 
178 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 inoiu-y, but are conic imt to tell you, tliat if you will iiut fjraut om- small ro<|U(t<l which we t>liall 
 ask, we will make women of you for ever. 
 
 CiiKis. Now Christiana, imagining what tliey sliouUl mean, made answer again, We will neither 
 
 hear, nor regard, nor yield to what you nhall awk. 
 We arc in haste, cannot stay ; our business is ii 
 business of life and death, fo. again, she and 
 her companions made a fresh es.<<ay to go post 
 them ; but they lettwl them in their way. 
 
 li,i.-FAV. And they said. We intend no hurt 
 to your lives; it is another thing we would have. 
 Chhis. Ah. (iiuith Christiana, you would have 
 us body and soul, for I know it is for that you an- 
 come; but we will die rather uiK>n the sjKJt than 
 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! ami .so |)ut themselves under those laws 
 that are provided for the protection of women. 
 (Deut. xxii. 2;J-27.) But the men still made their 
 api>roach upon them, with design to prevail against 
 them. They, therefore, cried out again. 
 
 Now. thev being, as I .saitl, not far from the 
 gate in at which they came, their voice was heard 
 from where they were, thither; wherefore some of 
 the house came out, and knowing that it was Chris- 
 tiana'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 rufflans, saying. What is that thing that you do? Would you 
 make my Ix)rd'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 belonged; so the dog 
 became their protector. This Reliever then came up to the women, and asked them how they 
 did. So they answered, We thank thy Prince, pretty well ; only we have bet>n somewhat 
 affrighted ; we thank thee also, for that thou earnest in to our help, for otherwise we had been 
 overcome. 
 
 UiCLiKVKU. So after a few more words, this Reliever said as followeth : I marvelled much 
 when you were entertained at the gate above, being [as] ye knew that ye were but weak women, 
 that you petitioned not the Lord there for a conductor : then might you have avoided these 
 troubles and dangers, for he wouhl have granted you one. 
 
 Cmkis. Alas! saitl Christiana, we were so taken with our present blessing, that dangers to 
 come were forgotten by us ; besides, who could have thought, that so near the King's palace, 
 there should have lurked such naughty ones? Indeed, it had been well for us had we asked 
 
 The Ill-favored ()uv>. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 179 
 
 our Lord for one ; but, since our Lord knew it would be for our protit, 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, tliey become 
 of little esteem ; but when the want of a thing is felt, it then comes under, in the eyes of him 
 that feels it, that estimate that properly is its due, and so, consequently, will be thereafter used. 
 Had my Lord granted you a conductor, you would not neither 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 wary. 
 
 Chris. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and confess 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 of my 
 Lord's lodgings, which he has prepared for the reception of his pilgrims, there is sufficient to 
 furnish them against all attempts whatsoever. But, as I said, " He will be inquired of by them, 
 to do it for them." (Ezek. xxxvi. 37.) And it is 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. 
 
 Mercy. Tlien said Mercy, What a sudden blank is here ! I made account we had now been 
 past all danger, and that we should never see sorrow more. 
 
 CfpiRis. Thy^ innocency, my sister, said Christiana to Mercy, may excuse thee much ; but as 
 for me, my fault is so inuch the greater, for that I saw this danger before I came out of the 
 doors, and yet did not provide for it where provision might have been had. I am therefore 
 much to be blamed. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Merc}', How kninv you this before you came from home ? Pray open to 
 me this riddle. 
 
 Cuius. 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 tlie world they 
 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 forgiveness. If she lie suffered to go on as 
 she begins, we shall lose her, as we have lost her husband. This, you know, might have made 
 me take heed, and have provided when provision might have been had. 
 
 Mercv. Well, said Mercy, as by this neglect we have an occasion ministered unto us to 
 behold our own imperfections, 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 delivered 
 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 nigh 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 chil- 
 dren's going on pilgrimage. And this thing was the more pleasing to them, because they had 
 lieard that she was Christian's wife, that woman who was some time ago so unwilling to hear of 
 
i8o 
 
 thp: pilgrims progress. 
 
 going on pilgrinmgc. Tliiis, thert-fore, tlu-y st<MMl still, luul lu-unl tin- tiiHxi |><<i|ile within com- 
 mending her, who, they little thought, stood at the door. At last Christiana knocked, a.* she had 
 done at the gate before. Now, when she had knocked, there came to the door a young dam.xel, 
 nanieil Innocent, and opened the door and looked, and Ix-hold two women were then-. 
 Damsel. Then said the damsel to tiiem, With wiiom would you sjK-ak in this place? 
 liiKis. Christiana answered, We undersUmd that this is a privileged place for those that are 
 become inlgriius, and we now at this door are such ; wherefore we pniy that we may he part^ikers 
 of that for which we at tiiis time are come ; for the day, as thou seest. is very far sjtcnt, and we 
 are loath to-night to go any further. 
 
 Damskl. I'niy, what may I cjill your name, tliat I may tell it to my Lord within? 
 Chri.s. My name is Christiana; I was the wife of that pilgrim that some years ago did travel 
 this way, and these be his four children. This maiden also is my companion, and id going on 
 pilgrimage too. 
 
 IxxocENT. Then ran Innocent in (for that was her name), and said to those within. Can you 
 think who is at the doQr? There is Christiana and her children, and her companion, all waiting 
 
 for entertainment here. Then they leaped for joy, 
 and went and told their master. So he came to 
 the do«jr, ami looking uj>on her he said, Art thou 
 that Christiana whom Christian, the good man, 
 left behind him. when he betook himself to a 
 pilgrim's life? 
 
 Cnnis. I am that woman that was so hard- 
 hearted as to slight my hu.>;bands troubles, and that 
 left him to go on in his journey alone, and these 
 are his four children ; but now I also am come, 
 for I am convinced tliat no way is right but tlus. 
 Inter. Then is fultilled that which also is 
 written of the man that said to his son, "Go. 
 work to-day in my vineyard. He answered and 
 said, I will not : Init afterward he repented and 
 went." (Matt. xxi. 2VI.) 
 
 Chris. Then saitl Christiana, So be it, Amen. 
 Cod make it a true saying upon me, and grant 
 tliat I may be found at the la.st of liini in peace, 
 without sjMit and blameless! 
 
 Inter. But why standcst thou thus at the 
 door? Come in, thou daughter of Almdiam. We 
 were talking of thee but now, for lidings liave 
 come to us before, how thou art become a pilgrim. 
 Come, children, come in; come, maiden, come in. So he had them all into the house. 
 
 So, when they were within, they were bidden sit down and rest them : the which wl>en they 
 had done, those that attended upon the pilgrims in the house, came into the room to see them. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. i8i 
 
 And one smiled, and another smiled, and they all smiled, for joy that Christiana had become a 
 pilgrim. They also looked upon the boys. They stroked them over the faces with the hand, in 
 token of their kind reception of them. They also carried it lovingly to Mercy, and bid 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 that 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 these things had been somewhat digested by Christiana and her com- 
 pany, the Interpreter takes them apart again, and has them first into a room where was a man 
 that could look no way 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 raked 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 a figure of a man of this world; is it not, good Sir? 
 
 Inter. Thou hast said the 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 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 
 substantial. Now, whereas it was also showed thee, that the .man could look .no way but down- 
 wards, it is to let thee know that earthly things, when they are with power uj^on men's minds, 
 quite carry their hearts away from God. 
 
 Chris. Then said Christiana, Oh, deliver me from this muck-rake. 
 
 Inter. That prayer, said the Interpreter, has lain by till it is almost rusty. " Give me not 
 riches " is scarce the prayer of one of ten thousand. (Prov. xxx. 8.) Straws, and sticks, and dust, 
 with most, are the great things now looked after. 
 
 With that Mercy and Christiana wept, and said, It is, alas ! too true. 
 
 When the Interpreter had shown them this, he had them into the very best room in the 
 house ; — a very brave room it was. So he bid them look round about, and see if they could find 
 anything profitable there. Then they looked round and round ; for there was nothing there to 
 be seen but a very great spider on the wall: and that they overlooked. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy, Sir, I see nothing ; but Christiana held her peace. 
 
 Inter. But, said the Interpreter, look again ; and she therefore 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 spacious room? Then the water stood in Christiana's eyes, for 
 she was a woman quick of apprehension ; and she said, Yea, Lord, there is here more than one. 
 Yea, and spiders whose venom is far more destructive than that which is in her. The Interpreter 
 tlien looked pleasantly upon her, and said, Thou hast said the truth. This made Mercy 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 witli her hands (as you see), and is 
 
A man (li:U .oiiM I. 
 
 It ilM«nw:iril, witli ii imu k niki- in liis 1 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 183 
 
 in kings' palaces." (Prov. xxx. 28.) And wherefore is this recorded, 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 ! 
 
 Chris. I thought, said Christiana, of something of this ; but I could not imagine it all. I 
 thought we were like spiders, and that we looked like ugly creatures, in what fine room soever 
 we were ; but that by this spider, this venomous and ill-favored creature, we were to learn how 
 to act foith, that came not into my mind. And yet she has taken hold with her hands, as I see, 
 and dwells in the best room in the house. God has made nothing in vain. 
 
 Then they seemed all to be glad ; but the water stood in their eyes ; yet they looked one 
 upon another, and also bowed before the Interpreter. 
 
 He had them then into another room, where was a hen and chickens, and l)id them observe a 
 while. So one of the chicks went to the trough to drink, and every time she drank she lift up 
 her head and her 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 heed, and perceived that the hen did walk in a four-fold 
 method towards her chickens. 1. She had a common call, and that she hath all day long. 
 2. She had a special call, and that she had but sometimes. 3. She had a brooding note. And 
 4. She had an outcry. (Matt, xxiii. 37.) 
 
 Now, said he, compare this hen to your King, and these chickens to his obedient ones. For, 
 answerable to her, himself has 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. 
 
 Chris. And, Sir, said Christiana, pray let us see some more. So he had them into the 
 slaughter-house, where was a butcher killing of a sheep ; and behold the sheep was quiet, and 
 took her death patiently. Then said the Interpreter, You must learn of this sheep to suffer, and 
 to put up with wrongs without murmurings and complaints. Behold how quietly she taketh 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, Do 
 you see all 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 some ; also 
 where the gardener hath set them, there they stand, and quarrel not with one another. 
 
 Again, he had them into his field, which he had sowed with wheat and corn ; but when 
 they beheld, the tops of all were cut off, 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 : beware 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 mouth ; so the Interpreter said, Look here. So they looked, and ilercy wondered ; but 
 
i84 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Christiana said, Wliat a (lispantgeiiK'Ht ij- it to such a pretty bird tm tlie robin-redbreast in, he 
 being also a bird aliove many, that loveth to maintain a kind of gociableness witii man ; I liad 
 timufjht they liati Uved upon crumbs of bread, or upon other sucii liarmless matter. I like him 
 worse than I did. 
 
 The Interpreter then replied, This roliin i.i an emblem, very apt to set forth some professors 
 by ; for to sight, they are, as this robin, pretty of note, color, and carriage. They seem al.«o to 
 have a very great love for i)rofessors that are sincere ; and, above all other, to desire to a.««sociate 
 with them, and to be in their company, as if they could live upon the good man's crumljs. They 
 pretend also, that therefore it is that they frequent the house of the godly and the ap|)ointments 
 of the Lord ; but, when they are by them.selves, a.s the robin, they can catch and gobble up 
 spiders, they cjin change their diet, drink iniquity, and swallow down sin like water. 
 
 •So, when they were come again into the house, because supper as yet wa.s not ready. 
 Christiana again desired that the Interpreter would either show or tell of .-jome 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 slaughter; and the more healthy the 
 lusty 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 l)e adorned with 
 that that in God's sight is of great price. 
 
 It is easier watching a night or two, than to sit up a whole year together. So it is e.isier 
 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 that is of the smallest 
 value in the vessel ; 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 SaNnour. is 
 unmerciful to himself. 
 
 He that lives in sin. and looks for happiness hereafter, is like him that soweth 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 
 keejier. 
 
 Whisi)ering. and change of thoughts, prove that sin is in the world. 
 
 If the world, which God set.s light by, is counted a thing of that worth with men ; what is 
 heaven, which Goil commendeth ? 
 
 If the life that is attended with so many troubles, is so loath to be let go by us, what is the 
 life above? 
 
 Everybody will cry up the goodness of men ; but who is tliiri' that is. as he should be. 
 afl'ected with the goodness of God ? 
 
 We seldom sit down to meat, but we eat and leave ; so there is in Jesus Christ more merit 
 ami 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 inside was all rotten and gone, and yet it grew and had leaves. Then said Mercy, 
 What means this? This tree, said he, whose outside is fair, and whose inside is rotten, it is to 
 
 I 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 1S5 
 
 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 
 for nothing but to be tinder for the devil's tinder-box. 
 
 Now supper was ready, the table spread, and all 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 was ended, the Interpreter asked Christiana what it was that at 
 first did move her to betake herself to a pilgrim's life. 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 mj^ husband into my 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 opportunely I had a dream of the well-being 
 of my husband, and a letter sent me by the King of that country where my 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? 
 
 Chris. 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 to 
 it ; the hardship 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 the way. Yea, I may tell my Lord, though I would not have everybody know 
 it, that between this and the gate by which we got into the way, we were 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 greath' increase. So 
 he addressed himself to Mercy, and said unto her, And what moved thee to come hither, sweet 
 heart ? 
 
 Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while continued silent. 
 
 Inter. Then said he, Be not afraid ; only believe, and speak thy mind. 
 
 Mercy. So she began, and said, Truly, Sir, my want of experience is that which makes me 
 covet to be in 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 of the counsel of those that were good relations. 
 
i86 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Intku. What wxs it, then, dear licart, that liath pn-vailed witli tliet* to do iw thou haat 
 iloin'? 
 
 Mkkcy. Why, whi-n our friend liere was packing up to be gone from our town, I and 
 another went accidentally tcf see her; so we knocked at the door and went in. When we wen- 
 within, and seeing what she was doing, we asked 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, 
 tiwelling in a curious jtlace, among immorUils, wearing a crown, playing U|)on a harp, eating and 
 drinking at his Prince's table, and singing praises to him for bringing him thither, etc. 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 things, 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 behind. 
 
 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. 
 
 I.NTEH. 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 rx)rd her God, leave father and mother, and 
 the land of her nativity, to come out, and go with a people that she knew not heretofore. " The 
 Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Ix)rd God of Israel, under 
 whose wings thou art come to trust." (Ruth ii. 12.) 
 
 Now supper was ended, and preparation was 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 missing at last were removed further 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 rose with the sun, and prej)ared themselves for their departure; but the 
 Interpreter would have them tarry awhile, for, said he, you must orderly go from hence. Then 
 said he to the damsel that first o]>ened unto them. Take them and have them into the garden 
 to the bath, and there wash them, and make them clean from tlie soil which they have gathered 
 by travelling. Then Innocent the damsel took them, and had them into the garden, and brought 
 them to the bath ; so she told them that there they mu.st 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. They 
 then went in and washed, yea, they and the boys and all : and they came out of that bath, not 
 only sweet and clean, but also much enlivened 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 Interi)reter took them, ami 
 looked upon them, and said unto them. Fair as the moon. Then he culle<l for the seal, where- 
 with 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 known in the places whither they were yet to go. 
 Now the seal was the contents and sum of the jiassover which the children of Israel did eat 
 when they came out from the lanil of Kgypt, and tlie mark was set between their eyes. This 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 187 
 
 seal greatly added to their beauty, for it was an ornament to their faces. It also added to their 
 gravity, and made their countenances more like those of angels. (Exod. xiii. 8-10.) 
 
 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 ; 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 on 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 children also stood 
 amazed to see into what fashion they were brought. 
 
 The Interpreter than called for a man-servant of his, one Great-heart, 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. Those, also, that belonged to the family, sent 
 them away with many a good wish. So they went on their way, and sang, — 
 
 "Tliis place has been our second stage; 
 Here we liave heard and seen 
 Those good things tliat, from age to age, 
 To others hid have been. 
 
 "The dung-hill raker, spider, lien, 
 The chicken, too, to me 
 Hath 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 they went on, and Great-heart went 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 ; and 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. Great-heart, I suppose you know ; wherefore, if you please, let us hear you 
 discourse thereof 
 
 Great-heart. Pardon by the deed done, is pardon obtained by some one for another that 
 liath need tliereof ; not by the person pardoned, but in the way, saith another, in which I have 
 
i88 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 obtained it. So then, to speak to tlie que.>;tion more at large, the pardon that you and Mercy 
 and these boys have attained, wa.s obtained by another, to wit, by him that let you in ut the 
 gate; and he hath obt;iined it in this double way. He has jK-rformed righteousness to cover y<>u. 
 and .spilt blood to wash you in. 
 
 CiiKis. But if he parts with his righteousni's.'s t» us, what will be iiave for himself? 
 
 (iKKAT-HK.\KT. He has more righteousness than you have need of, or than he neetleth 
 him.solf. 
 
 Cuius. I'ray make that appear. 
 
 c;nKAT-nK.\KT. With all my heart; but first I must premise that he of whom we are now 
 about to speak is one that has not his fellow. He has two natures in one person, plain to be 
 distinguished, impossilile 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 the nature to 
 be extinct, as to sej>arate its justice or righteousness from it. Of these righteousnesses, therefore, 
 we are not made partakers, so as that they, or any of them, should be j>ut 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 Godhead, as 
 distinguished from the manhood ; nor the righteousness of the manhood, as distinguished from 
 the tJodbead ; but a righteousness which standeth in the union of both natures, and may 
 properly be called the righteousness that is essential to his being prejiared of God to the capacity 
 of the mediatory office wiiich he was to be intrusted with. If he parts with his first righteousness, 
 he parts with his Godhead ; if he jiarts with his second righteousness, he parts with the purity of 
 his manhood ; if he parts with his third, he parts with that perfection that capacitates him to the 
 office of meditation. He ha.s, therefore, another righteousness, which stjindeth in performance, or 
 obedience to a revealed will ; and this is it that he puts upon 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. v. 19.) 
 
 Chris. But are the other righteousnesses of no use to us? 
 
 Gke.\t-mkart. Yes; for though they are essential to his natures and office, and so cannot 
 be communicated unto anotiier, yet it is by virtue of them, that the righteousness that justifies, 
 is, for that purpose, efficacious. The righteousness of his (Jodhead gives virtue to his obedience; 
 the righteousness of his manhood giveth cai>ability to bis obedience to justify ; and the righteous- 
 ness that standeth in the union of these two natures to his office, giveth authority to that right- 
 eousness to do the work for which it is ordained. 
 
 So, then, here is a righteousness that Christ, as God, has no need of. for he is (iod without 
 it ; here is a righteousness that Christ, as man, has no need to make him so, for he is i)erfect 
 man without it; again, here is a righteousness that Ciirist, as God-man, has no need of, for he is 
 perfectly so without it. Here, then, is a righteousness that Ciirist, as God, as man, as Go<l-man, 
 has no need of, with reference to himself, and therefore he can spare it; a justifying righteous- 
 ness, that he for iiim.self wanteth not, and therefore he giveth it away; hence it is called "the 
 gift of righteousness." (Rom. v. 17.) This righteousness, since Christ Jesus the I.Kird has made 
 himself under the law, must be given away ; fi>r the law doth not only bind him that is under it 
 "to <lo justly," but to use charity. Wherefore he must, he ougiit. by tiie law. if he hath two 
 
Mr. Great-heart. 
 
igo THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 tofttu, to pive one to liiin thiit hath none. Now, our I/)r<l, inileed, h:ith two coat«, one for hiroself. 
 and one to spare ; wherefore lie freely bestows one ujHJn those that have none. And thus, 
 t'hriHtiana and Mercy, and the rest of you that are liere, doth your pardon come by deed, or by 
 the work of another man. Your Lord Christ is lie that has worked, and has given away what he 
 wrought for to the next poor beggar he meets. 
 
 But, again, in order to pardon by deed, there must something be paid to God as a price, aa 
 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 harm we have done (Rom. iv. 24) ; and this is by the blood of your Ivord, who 
 oanie and stood in your place and stead, and died your death for your transgressions. (Gal iii. 
 1.3.) Thus has he ran.somed you from your transgressions by blood, and covered your polluted 
 and deformed souls with righteousness. For the sake of which, God passes by you, and will not 
 hurt you when he comes to judge tlie world. 
 
 CiiKis. This is bnive. Now, I see 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 shoulder, and that made him give three leaps for joy ? 
 
 Gkkat-hkart. Yes ; it was the belief of this that cut those strings that could not be cut by 
 otlier means ; and it was to give him a proof of tiie virtue of tiiis that he was suffered to carry 
 his burden to the cross. 
 
 Cm HIS. I thought so; for though my heart was lightful and joyous before, yet it is ten times 
 more ligiitsome and joyous now. And I am persuaded b)' what I have felt, though I have felt 
 but little as yet, that if tiie most burdened man in the world was here, and did see and believe 
 as I now do, it would make his heart the more merry and blithe. 
 
 Great-heakt. There is not only comfort, and the ease of a burden brought to us, by the 
 sight and consideration of these, but an endeared 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 by the 
 way and means of his redemption ; and so with the man that hath wrought it for him ? 
 
 Chkis. 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 
 <le.servest to have me all ; thou hast paid for me ten thousaml times more than I am worth ! No 
 marvel that this made the water stjind in my husband's eyes, and that it made him trudge .so 
 nimbly on; I am persuaded he wished me with him ; but, vile wretch that I was. I let him come 
 all alone. Oh, Mercy, that thy father and mother were here; yea, and Mrs. Timorous also; nay, 
 I wish now with all my heart that liere wius Madame Wanton too ! Surely, surely tiieir hearts 
 would be affected; nor coubl the fear of the one, nor the powerful lusts of the other, prevail 
 with tliem to go home again, and to refuse t^ become good jiilgrims. 
 
 Great-heart. You speak now in the >vm)^i of your affections. Will it, think yon, be 
 always thus witli you? Besides, this is not cumifinnicated to every one that did see your Jesus 
 bleed. There were that stood liy and tliat saw the blood run from his heart to the ground, and 
 yet were so far off this, that, instea<l of lamenting, they laughed at him ; and. instead of becoming 
 his disciples, did liankn llieir hearts against him. So that all that you have, my daughters, you 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 191 
 
 have by a peculiar impression made by a divine contemplating upon what I have spoken to you. 
 Remember that it was told to you, that the hen, by her common call, gives no meat to her chick- 
 ens. This you have, therefore, by a special grace. 
 
 Now, I saw still 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. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy to him that was their guide and conductor, What are those three 
 men? and for what are they hanged there? 
 
 Great-heart. These three men were men of very bad qualities. They had no mind to be 
 pilgrims themselves, and whosoever they could they hindered. They were for sloth and folly 
 themselves, and whoever they could persuade with, they made so too ; and, withal, taught them 
 to presume that they should do well at last. They were asleep when Christian went by ; and 
 now you go by they are hanged. 
 
 " Behold here how tlie slothful are a sign 
 Hung up, 'cause holy ways they did decline. 
 See here too how the child doth play tlie man, 
 And weak grow strong, when Great-heart leads the van." 
 
 Mercy. How could they persuade any to be of their opinion ? 
 
 Great-heart. Yes ; they turned several out of the wa}^ There was Slow-pace, that they 
 persuaded to do as they. They also prevailed with one Short-wind, with one No-heart, with one 
 Linger-after-lust, 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 brought up an ill report of your Lord, 
 persuading others that he was a 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 very best of them meddlesome, troublesome busybodies. Further, they 
 could call the bread of God, husks ; the comforts of his children, fancies ; the travail and labor of 
 pilgrims, things to no purpose. 
 
 Chris. Nay, said Christiana, if they were such, they shall never be bewailed by me. They 
 have but what they deserve; and I think it is well that they hang so near the highway, that 
 otliers may see and take warning. But had it not been well if their crimes had been engraven 
 on some plate of iron or brass, and left here, even where they did their mischief, for a caution 
 to other bad men? 
 
 Great-heart. So it is, as you well may perceive, if you will go a little to the wall. 
 
 Mercy. No, no ; let them hang, and their names rot, and their crimes live for ever against 
 them. I think it a high favor that thej^ were hanged before we came hither ; who knows else 
 what they might have done to such poor women as we are? Then she turned it into a song, 
 saying, — 
 
 "Now then, you three, hang there, and be a sign 
 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. 
 13 
 
^ 
 
 
 i 
 
 ;i1 
 
 
 
 
 [ 1 hkJ 
 
 > 
 
 >»le*|>y-lieail. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^93 
 
 And thou, my soul, of all such men beware, 
 That unto holiness opposers are." 
 
 Thus they went on, till they came to the foot of the Hill Difficulty, where, again, their good 
 friend, Mr. Great-heart, took an occasion to tell them of what happened there when Christian 
 himself went by. So he had them first to the spring. Lo, said 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. xxxiv. 18.) Thereat, Mercy 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 will come out by itself more clear. Thus, therefore, Christiana and 
 her companions were comj^elled 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 at the foot of the hill, where Formality 
 and Hypocrisy lost themselves. And, said he, these are dangerous paths. Two were here cast 
 away when Christian came by ; and, although, as you see, these ways are since stopped up with 
 chains, posts, and a ditch, yet there are that will choose to adventure here, rather than take the 
 pains to go up this hill. 
 
 Chris. " The way of transgressors is hard." (Prov. xiii. 1.5.) It is a wonder that they can 
 get into those ways without danger of breaking their necks. 
 
 Great-heart. They will venture. Yea, if at any time any of the king's servants do hapjsen 
 to see them, and do call unto them, and tell them that they are in the wrong ways, and do bid 
 them beware the danger, then they will railingly return them answer, and say, " As for the word 
 that thou hast siDoken unto us in the name of the Lord, we will not hearken unto thee ; but we 
 will certainly do whatsoever thing goeth forth out of our own mouth," etc. (Jer. xliv. 16, 17.) 
 Nay, if you look a little further, you shall see that these ways are made cautionary enough, not 
 only by these posts, and ditch, and chain, but also by being hedged up, j'et they will choose to 
 go there. 
 
 Chris. They are idle ; they love not to take pains ; up-hill way is unijleasant to them. So 
 it is fulfilled unto them as it is written, " The way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns." 
 (Prov. XV. 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 uj) the hill they went ; but before 
 they got to the top, Christiana began to pant ; and said, I daresay this is a breathing hill. No 
 marvel if they that love their ease more than their 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 here, for a little above is the Prince's arbor. Then took he the little 
 boy by the 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. xi. 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. 
 
194 TlIK I'lLGRI.MS rRUGKHSS. 
 
 Tlicn said Mr. Grcat-lionrt to tin- little ont"S, Como, my protty boy.«, 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 iu» ui> a ladder, and the way to hell is 
 as down a hill. Hut I had rather go up the ladder to life, than ilown the hill to death. 
 
 Then said Mercy, But the proverb is. To go down the hill is easy. But James said (for 
 that was his name), The day is coming when, in my opinion, going down hill will be the hardi'st 
 of all. 'Tis a good boy, said liis Master; thou hast given her a right answer. Then Mercy 
 smiled; but the little boy did blush. 
 
 Chris. Come, said Christiana, will you eat a bit, a little to sweeten your mouths, while you 
 sit here to rest your legs? For I have here a piece of pomegranate which Mr. Interpreter put 
 in my hand, just when I came out of his doors. He gave me also a piece of a honeycomb, and 
 a little bottle of spirits. I tliought he gave you something, said Mercy, because he called you 
 aside. Yes ; so he did, said the other. But, said Christiana, it shall still be, as I said it should, 
 when at first we came from home, thou shalt be a sharer in all the goo<l that I have, because 
 thou so willingly didst become my companion. Then she gave to them, and they did eat, both 
 Mercy and the boys. And, said Christiana to Mr. Great-heart, Sir. will you do as we? But he 
 answered. You are going on jiilgrimago, and presently I shall return. Much good may what you 
 have do to you. At home I cat and drink the same every day. 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 boj's went before. 
 But Christiana forgot to take her bottle of spirits with her; so she sent her little boy back to 
 fetch it. Then said Mercy, I think this is a losing place. Here Christian lost his roll ; and here 
 ■Christiana left her bottle behind her. Sir, what is the cause of this? So their guide made 
 answer, and said. The cause is sleep or forgetfulne.«s. Some sleep when they should keep 
 iiwake ; and some forget when they should remember ; and this is the very cau.se why, often 
 &t the resting-places, some pilgrims, in some things, come off losers. Pilgrims should watch, 
 and remember what they have alread}' received under their greatest enjoyments ; but for want 
 of doing so, ofttimcs their rejoicing ends in tears, and their sunshine in a cloud. Witness the 
 story of Christian at this place. 
 
 When they were come to the place where Mistrust 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 plate, vnth a copy of verses written thereon, and underneath the rcitson of 
 raising up of that stage in that place rendered. The verses were these, — 
 
 " Let liim who sees this stngc take heed 
 I'nto his heart and tonttue ; 
 t.*»t, if he (111 ncit, here he speed 
 .•\» some have long ngoiie." 
 
 The words underneath the verses were, " This stage was built to iiunish such upon, who, 
 through timorousness or mistrust, shall be afraid to go further on pilgrimage ; also, on this stage. 
 
Giant Grim. 
 
 195 
 
196 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 both Mistrust and Timorou.1 win- burned through tlie tongue with a hot iron, for endeavoring 
 to liinder Ciiristian in his journey." 
 
 Tiien said Mercy, This is much like to the saying of tlie Beloved, " What shall be given 
 untotiiee? or what shall be done unto tiiee, thou false tongue? Sharp arrows of the mighty, 
 with coals of junij)er." (Psalm c.xx. 3, 4.) 
 
 So they went on, till they came within sight of the lions. Now Mr. Great-heart was a strong 
 man, so he was not afraid of a lion ; Imt yet when they came up to the place where the lions 
 were, the boys that went before were glad to cringe behind, for tiiey were afrai<l of the lions; so 
 they stei>pe<l back, and went behind. At this their guide STniled, and said. How now. my boys 
 do you love to go before when no danger doth approach, and love to come l)ehind so soon as the 
 lions ajjpcar? 
 
 Now, as thoy went up, Mr. Great-heart drew his sword, with intent to make a way for the 
 pilgrims, in spite of the lions. Then there ai)peared one, that it seems, had taken upon him to 
 back the lions; and he said to the pilgrims' guide. What is the cause of your coming hither? 
 Now the name of that man was Grim, or Bloody-man, becjjuse of his slaying of pilgrims, and 
 he was of the race of the giants. 
 
 GREAT-HE.\nT. Then said the pilgrims' guide, These women and children are going on pil- 
 grimage ; and this is tlie way they must go, and go it they shall, in spite of thee and the lions. 
 
 Giu.M. 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 truth, by reason of tiie 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 all grown over 
 with grass. 
 
 Chris. Tiien said Christiana, Though the higiuvays have l)ecn unoccupied heretofore, and 
 though the travellers have been made in time past to walk through by-paths, it must not be so 
 now I am risen. Now, " I am risen a mother in Israel." (Judges v. 6, 7.) 
 
 (iitiM. Tlien he swore by the lions, but it should; and therefore bid them turn aside, for 
 they should not have passage there. 
 
 GKK.\T-nE.\RT. But their guide made first his approach unto Grim, and laid so heavily at 
 him with his sword, that he forced him to a retreat. 
 
 Grim. Tlien said he that attemjjted to back the lions, \\"\\\ you slay me upon mine own 
 ground ? 
 
 Great-hk.\rt. It is the King's highway that we are in, and in his way it is that thou hast 
 placed thy lions ; but tiiese women and these children, though weak, shall hold on in their own 
 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 he also broke his helmet, and with the next he cut off an arm. 
 Then did the giant roar so hideously, that his voice frighted the women, and yet they were glad 
 to see him lie sprawling upon the ground. Now the lions were chained, and so of themselves 
 could do nothing. Wherefore, when old Grim, that intended to back them, was dead, Mr. Great- 
 heart said to the pilgrims, " Come now, and follow me, and no hurt shall haj>pen to you from the 
 lions." They therefore went on, bvit the women trembled as they passed by them ; the boys also 
 looked as if they would die, but they all got by without furtlier iiurt. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. , i97 
 
 Now then they were within sight of the Porter's Lodge, and they soon came up unto it ; but 
 they made the more haste after this to go hither, because it is dangerous travelling there in the 
 night. So when they were come to the gate, the guide knocked, and the Porter cried. Who is 
 there ? But as soon as the guide said. It is I, he knew his voice, and came down (for the guide 
 had oft before that come thither as a conductor of pilgrims). When he was come down, he 
 opened the gate, and seeing the guide standing just before it (for he saw not the women, for they 
 were behind him), he said unto him, How now, Mr. Great-heart, what is your business here so 
 late to-night ? I have brought, said he, some pilgrims hither, where, by my Lord's command- 
 ment, they must lodge ; I had been here some time ago, had I not been opposed by the giant 
 that did use to back the lions ; but I, after a long and tedious combat with him, have cut him off, 
 and have brought the pilgrims hither in safety. 
 
 Porter. AVill you not go in, and stay till morning ? 
 
 Great-heart. No, I will return to my Lord to-night. 
 
 Chris. Oh, Sir, I know not how to be willing you should leave us in our pilgrimage : you 
 have been so faithful and so loving to us, you have fought so stoutly for us, you have been so 
 hearty in counselling of us, that I shall never forget your favor towards us. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy, Oh that we might have thy company to our journey's end ! How 
 can such poor women as we hold out in a way so full of troubles as this way is, without a friend 
 and defender ? 
 
 James. 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-heart, 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 first ; for, when he bid me come 
 thus far with you, then you should have begged me of him to have gone quite through with you, 
 and he would have granted your request. However, at present, I must withdraw ; and so, good 
 Christiana, Mercy, and my brave children. Adieu. 
 
 Then the Porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of her country, and of her kindred ; and she 
 said, I came from the City of Destruction ; I am a widow woman, and 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 townswomen. 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 Humble-mind ; 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 noise for gladness was there within, when the damsel did but droj) 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 said 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 they followed 
 her that were her children and her companions. Now when they were gone in, they were had 
 into a very large room, where they were bidden to sit down; so they sat down, and the chief of 
 the house was called to see and welcome the guests. Then they came in, and, understanding who 
 
198 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 they were, did salute each other with a kiss, and said, Welcome, ye vessels of the grace of Go*l : 
 welcome to us, your friends. 
 
 Now, because it was somewhat late, and l>ecause the pilgrims were weary with their journey, 
 and also made faint with the sight of the fight, and of the terrible lions, therefore they desired, its 
 soon as might be, to prepare to go to rest. Nay, snid those of the family, refresh yourselves finst 
 with a morsel of meat; for they had prepared for them a lamb, with the accustomed sauce 
 belonging thereto. (Exod. xii. 21, 2.S; John i. '2M.) For the Porter had heard before of their 
 coming, and had told it to them within. So when they had suppctl, and ended their prayer with 
 a psahn, they desired tliey might go to ri-st. Hut let us, said Christiana, if we may be so bold 
 as to choose, be in that chamber that was my husband's when he was here ; so they had them 
 
 up thither, and they all lay in a room. When 
 they were at rest, Christiana and Mercy entered 
 into discourse about things that were convenient. 
 Chris. Little ilid I think once, that when my 
 hu-sband went on pilgrimage, I should ever have 
 followed. 
 
 Mercy. And you as little thought of lying in 
 his bed, and in his chamber to rest, as you do 
 now. 
 
 Ciims. And much le.<s did I ever think of 
 
 \i v'. j^/Kf^t^fc ]^HWP^^ - ^i^-- seeing his face with comfort, and of worshipping 
 
 t' ' tiw/fli y^Y^Sk r "^- 4 ' ■', the Lord the King with him, and yet now I 
 
 believe I shall. 
 
 Mercy. Hark! Don't you hear a noise? 
 Chris. Yes; it is, as I believe, a noise of 
 music, for joy that we are here. 
 
 Mercy. Wonderful! Music in the house, 
 music in the heart, and music also in heaven, for 
 joy that we are here! 
 
 Thus they tidked awhile, and then betook 
 themselves to sleep. So, in the morning, when 
 they Avere awake, Christiana sjiid to Mercy, — 
 
 Chris. Wiiat was the matter that you did 
 laugh in your sleep last night? I suppose you 
 were in a tlrcam. 
 Mercy. So I was, and a sweet dream it was; but are you sure I laughed? 
 Chris. Yes ; you laughed heartily ; but, j)rithee, Mercy, tell me thy dream. 
 Mercy. I was a-dreaming that I sat all alone in a solitary jUace, and was bemoaning of the 
 hardness of my heart. Now, I had not sjit there long, but methought many were gathered about 
 me, to see me, and to hear what it was that I said. So they hearkened, and I went on 
 
 " I wi'iil on bemoaning the linrdncss of my heart," 
 
 bemoaning the hardness of my heart, 
 and some began to thrust ine about. 
 
 At this, some of them laughed at me, some called me fool, 
 With that, methought I looked up, and saw one coming 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. i99 
 
 with wings towards me. So he came directly to me, and said, Mercy, what aileth thee? Now, 
 when he had heard me make my comjolaint, he said, " Peace be to thee." He also wiped mine 
 eyes with his handkerchief, and clad me in silver and gold. He put a chain about my neck, 
 and ear-rings in mine ears, and a beautiful crown upon my head. (Ezek. xvi. 8-11.) 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 followed 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 sun ; and I thought that I 
 saw your husband there. So I awoke from my dream. But did I laugh? 
 
 Chris. Laugh ! ay, and well you might, to see yourself 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 speaketh once, yea, twice, yet man 
 perceiveth it not. In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in 
 slumberings upon the bed." (Job xxxiii. 14, 15.) We need not, when a-bed, lie awake to talk 
 with God. He can visit us while we sleep, and cause us then to hear his voice. Our heart 
 ofttimes wakes when we sleep ; and God can speak to that, either by words, by proverbs, by signs 
 and similitudes, as well as if one was awake. 
 
 Mercy. Well, I am glad of my dream ; for I hoi^e, ere long, to see it fulfilled, to the making 
 me laugh again. 
 
 Chris. I think it is iiow high time to rise, and to know what we must do. 
 
 Mercy. Pray, if they invite us to staj' awhile, let us willingly accept of the proffer. I am 
 the willinger to stay a while here, to grow better acquainted with these maids. Methinks 
 Prudence, Piety, and Charity have very comely and sober countenances. 
 
 Chris. 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. 
 
 Mercy. 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 persuaded to stay here awhile, you shall have 
 what the house will aff"ord. 
 
 Char. Ay, and that with a very good will, said Charity. So they consented and stayed 
 there about a month or above, and became very profitable one to another. And because Prudence 
 would see how Christiana had brought up her children, she asked leave of her to catechise them. 
 So she gave her free consent. Then she began at the youngest, whose name was James. 
 
 Prudence. 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 me who saves thee? 
 
 James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. 
 
 Prud. Good boy still. But how doth God the Father save thee? 
 
 James. By his grace. 
 
 Prud. How doth God the Son save thee? 
 
 James. By his righteousness, death, and blood, and life. 
 
 Prud. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save thee? 
 
200 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Jamf.s. By liis illumination, by his renovation, ami l>y his prt-sen'ation. 
 
 Then said Prudence to Christiana. You are to he commended for thus hringing up your 
 children. I supito.se I need not ask the rest these (juestions, since the younjiest of them can 
 answer them so well. I will therefore now apply myself to the next youngest. 
 
 Pkud. Then she said, Come, Joseph (for his nanje was Joseph), will you let me catechise 
 you? 
 
 Joseph. With all my heart. 
 
 Pmn. What is man? 
 
 JosKi'ii. A rea.sonable creature, so made hy God, as my brother said. 
 
 Piun. M'hat is supposed by this word "saved"? 
 
 JosKi'U. That man, by sin, has brought himself into a state of ca|ttivity and misery. 
 
 Prud. What is supposed by his being saved by the Trinity? 
 
 JosKi'ii. That sin is *o 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 jiuU him indeed out of this 
 niisenible st^ite. 
 
 Pkid. What is God's design in saving of poor men? 
 
 JosKPH. The glorifying of his name, of his grace and justice, etc., and the everlasting 
 happiness of his creature. 
 
 Pkid. Who are they that must be saved? 
 
 JosKPii. Those that accept of his salvation. 
 
 PiiiD. Good boy, Joseph ; thy mother hath taught thee well, and thou hast hearkened to 
 what she hath said unto thee. 
 
 Then said Prudence to Samuel, who was the eldest but one, — 
 
 Piun. Come, Samuel, are you willing that I should catechise you also? 
 
 Sami'el. Yes, forsooth, if you please. 
 
 PiuD. What is heaven? 
 
 S.\M. A place and state most blessed, because God dwelleth there. 
 
 Pini>. What is hell? 
 
 Sam. a place and state most woeful, because it is the dwelling-place of sin. the devil, and 
 death. 
 
 Pri'D. Why wouldst thou go to heaven? 
 
 Sam. That I may see God, and serve him without weariness ; that I may see Christ, and 
 love him everlastingly ; that I may have that fulness of the Holy Spirit in me that I can by 
 no means here enjoy. 
 
 Puri). A very good boy also, and one that has learned well. 
 
 Then she addressed herself to the eldest, whose name was Matthew ; and she said to him, 
 Come, Matthew, shall I also catechise you? 
 
 Matthkw. With a very good will. 
 
 Prip. 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 excejjting himself, that had a being 
 until the beginning of the first day. " For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the 
 sea, and all that in them is." 
 
202 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Prl'd. Wliat do you think of the Bible? 
 
 Matt. It is the holy Word of God. 
 
 Pni'D. Is there notliinjj; written therein hut what you understand? 
 
 M.VTT. Yea; a great deal. 
 
 Pki:d. What do you do when you meet with such places therein tliat you do not under- 
 stand ? 
 
 M.vTT. I think God is wiser than I. 1 pray also tiiat he will please to let me know all 
 therein that he knows will be for my good. 
 
 Pki:d. How believe you as touching the resurrection of the dead? 
 
 M.\TT. 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, because 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, 
 for your sakes <lo they speak good things. Observe, also, and that with carefulness, what the 
 heavens and the earth do teach you ; l>ut especially be much in the meditation of that Book that 
 was the cause of your father's becoming a pilgrim. I, for mj' part, my children, will teach you 
 what I can while you are here, and shall be glad if you will ask me questions that tend to godly 
 edifying. 
 J-— Now, by that these pilgrims had been at this place a week, Mercy had a visitor that 
 pretended 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 
 therefore 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 of hose and garment.s for others, and would bestow them 
 upon them that had need. And Mr. Brisk, not knowing where or how she disposed of what she 
 maile, seemed to be greatly taken, for that he found her never idle. I will warrant her a good 
 housewife, quoth he to himself. 
 
 Mercy then revealed the business to the maidens that were of the house, and inquired of 
 them concerning him, for they did know him better than she. So they told her, tliat he was a 
 very busy young man, and one that pretended to religion ; but was, as they feared, a stranger to 
 the power of tliat which Wiis 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 great matter of discouragement to be given 
 to him ; her continuing so as she had begun to do for the poor would quickly cool his 
 courage. 
 
 So the next time he comes, he (inds her at her old work, a-making of things for the poor. 
 Then said he. What! always at it? Yes, said she, either for myself or for others. And what 
 canst thou earn a-day? quoth he. I do these things, sjiid she, "that I may be rich in good 
 works, laying up in store a good foundation against the time to come, that I may lay hold on 
 
203 
 
204 TIIU I'lLGRLMS I'RUGRESS. 
 
 eternal life." (1 Tim. vi. 17-19.) Why, prithee, what dost thou with them? Clothe the naked, 
 said she. With that his eountenance fell. So he forbore to come at her again ; and when he 
 was asked the reason why, he said, tliat Mercy was a jiretty lass, but troubled with ill con- 
 ditions. 
 
 When he had left her, Prudence said. Did I not tell thee, tliat Mr. Brisk would soon forsake 
 thee? yea, he will raise up an ill report of tiiee; for, notwithstanding his pretence to religion, 
 and his seeming love to Mercy, yet Mercy and he are of tempers so ditferent, that I believe they 
 will never come together. 
 
 Mekcv. I might have had husbands afore now, though I 8i>akc not of it to any ; but they 
 were such as did not like my conditions, thougii never did any of them find fault witii my 
 person. So they and I could not agree. 
 
 Prud. Mercy in our days is little set by, any further than as to its name ; the practice, 
 which is set forth by thy conditions, there are but few that can abide. 
 
 Mercy. Well, said Mercy, if nobody will have me, I will die a maid, or my conditions shall 
 be to me as a husband, for I cannot change my nature ; and to have one that lies cross to me 
 in this, that I purpose never to admit of as long as I live. I had a sister named Bountiful, that 
 was married to one of these churls ; but he and she could never agree ; but because my sister 
 was resolved to do as she had begun, that is, to show kindness to the poor, therefore her husband 
 first cried her down at the cross, and then turned her out of his doors. 
 
 Prud. And yet he was a professor, I warrant you. 
 
 Mercy. 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-apj>roved 
 physician. So Christiana desired it, and they sent for him. and he cjmie. When he was entered 
 the room, and had a little observed the boy, he concluded that he was sick of the gripes. Tiien 
 he said to his motiier. What diet has Matthew of late fed upon? Diet! said Christiana, nothing 
 but that which is wholesome. The physician answered. This boy has been tampering with some- 
 thing that lies in his maw undigested, and that will not away without means. And I tell you he 
 must be purged, or else he will die. 
 
 Sam. Then said Samuel, Mother, mother, what was that which my brother did gather up 
 and eat, so soon as we were come from the gate that is at the head of this way ? You know that 
 there was an orchard on tiie left hand, on the other side of the wall, and some of the trees hung 
 over the wall, and my brother did pluck and did eat. 
 
 Chris. True, my child, said Christiana, he did take tliereof, and did cat; naughty boy as 
 he was, I did chide him, and yet he would eat thereof 
 
 Skill. I knew he had eaten something tliat was not wholesome food; and that food, to wit. 
 tliat fruit, is even the most hurtful of all. It is the fruit of Beelzebub's orchard. I do marvel 
 that none did warn you of it ; many have died thereof 
 
 Chris. Then Christiana began to cry; and she said, O naughty boy! and careless mother! 
 What shall I do for my son? 
 
205 
 
2o6 THE IM I.e. RIM'S PR00RP:SS. 
 
 SKtLL. CoiiK', ilo not Im- too iiiufli (Ifjwtrd ! the hoy may do well afjiiin, hut he must purjje 
 and vomit. 
 
 Chris. Pray, Sir, try the utmost of your .«kill with him, whatever it costs. 
 
 Skill. Nay, I hope I shall lie reajsonahii'. So he made him a purpe, but it was too weak; 
 it was said it was made of the l)l(H)d of a goat, the ashes of a heifer, and with some of the juice 
 of hys-sop, etc. (Heb. x. 1-4.) \\'hen Mr. Skill had seen that that j)urj;e was too weak, he 
 ma<le him one to the purpose; it was made ex came et miiffuine ChriMi. (John vi 54-57; Ileh. i.\. 
 14.) (You know physicians give strange medicines to their patients.) And it was made up into 
 pills, with a promise or two, and a projiortionahle quantity of salt. (Mark ix. 49.) Now he was 
 to take them three at a time fasting, in half a (puirter of a i)int of the tears of repentance. When 
 this potion was prepared, and brought to the boy, he was loath to tjike it, though torn with the 
 gripes as if he should be pulled in pieces. Come, come, said the physician, you must take it. 
 It goes against my stomach, said the Ijoy. (Zech. xii. 10.) 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 sweeter than honey. If thou 
 lovest thy mother, if thou lovest tliy brothers, if thou lovcst 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 slt^ci* and rest quietly; it 
 put him into a fine heat and breathing sweat, and did (juite rid liim of liis gripes. So in little 
 time he got up, and walked about with a stjiff, and would go from room to room, and talk with 
 Prudence, Piety, and Charity, of his distemper, and how he was healed. 
 
 So when the boy was liealed, Ciiristiana asked Mr. Skill, saying. Sir, what will content you 
 for your pains and care to anil of my child? And he said. You must pay the Master of the 
 College of Physician.s, according to rules made in that case and provided. (Heb. xiii. 11-16.) 
 
 Chrls. But, Sir, said she, what is this pill good for else? 
 
 Skill. It is an universal pill; it is good against all the diseases that pilgrims are incident 
 to: and when it is well jjrepared. it will keep good time out of mind. 
 
 CiiKis. Pray, Sir, make me uj) twelve boxes of them; for if I can get these, I will never 
 tiike oUivT jihysic. 
 
 Skill. These pills arc good to i)revent diseases, as well as to cure when one is sick. Yea, 
 I dare say it, and stand to it, that if a man will hut use this physic as he should, it will make 
 him live for ever. (John vi. 5U.) But, good Christiana, thou must give these pills no other waj' 
 hut as I have prescribed ; for, it you do, they will do no good. So he gave unto Christiana 
 physic for herself, and her boys, and for Mercy ; and hid Matthew take heed how he ate any 
 more green plums, and kissed them, and went his way. 
 
 It was told j'ou before that Prudence hid the boys, that if at any time they would, they 
 should ask her some questions that might be profitable, and she would say something to them. 
 
 Matt. Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her, Why, for the most part, physic should 
 be liitter to our palates? 
 
 pRi'D. To show how unwelcome the Wt)rd of God, and the effects tliereof, are to a carnal 
 heart. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 207 
 
 Matt. Why does physic, if it does good, purge, and cause that we vomit ? 
 
 Prud. To show that the Word, when it works effectually, 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? 
 
 Prud. By the going up of the fire we are taught to ascend to heaven by fervent and hot 
 desires ; and by the sun's sending his heat, beams, and sweet influences downwards, we are taught 
 that the Saviour of the world, though high, reacheth down with his grace and love to us below. 
 
 Matt. Where have the clouds their water? 
 
 Prud. Out of the sea. 
 
 Matt. ' What may we learn from that ? 
 
 Prud. That ministers should fetch their doctrine from God. 
 
 Matt. Why do they empty themselves upon the earth? 
 
 Prud. 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 through 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 tojjs of high 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 candlewick? 
 
 Prud. To show that unless grace doth kindle uj^on the heart there will be no true light of 
 life in us. 
 
 Matt. Why is the wick and tallow, and all, spent to maintain the light of the candle? 
 
 Prud. To show that body and soul, and all, should be at the service of, and spend them- 
 selves 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 ■n'ith her blood, and thereby to show that Christ the 
 blessed so loveth his young, his people, as to save them from death by his blood. 
 
 Matt. What may one learn by hearing the cock crow? 
 
 Prud. Learn to remember Peter's sin, and Peter's repentance. The cock's crowing shows 
 also that day 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 ; wherefore they signified to those of the house 
 that it was convenient for them to be up and be going. Then said Joseph to his mother, It is 
 convenient that you forget not to send to the house of Mr. Interpreter, to pray him to grant that 
 Mr. Great-heart should be sent unto us, that he may be our conductor the rest of our 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 some 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, tell them that I 
 will send him. 
 14 
 
2o8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Wlien the fuinily, wljere Christiana was, saw that they liad a jjurpose to go forward, thi y 
 called the whole house together, to give thanks to their King for sending of them such profitable 
 guests as these. Which done, they siiid to Christiana, And shall we not show thee something, 
 according as our custom is to do to pilgrims, on which thou niayest mediUUe 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 Kve did eat of, and tiiat she also did give to her hushand, and that for the 
 eating of whicii they both were turned out of Paradise, and asked her what she thought that 
 was? Then Christiana said. It is food or poison, I know not which. So they oi>ened the matter 
 to her, and she held up her hands and wondered. (Cien. iii. U ; Rom. vii. 24.) 
 
 Then they had her to a place, and showed her Jacob's ladder. Now at that time there were 
 some angels ascending upon it. So Christiana looked, and looked, to see the angels go up; and 
 so did the rest of the company. Then they were going into anotlier place, to slu)W them some- 
 thing else ; but James said to his mother, Pray bid them stay here a little h)nger, for this is a 
 curious sight. So they turned again, and stood feeding their eyes with this so pleasant a prospect. 
 (Gen. xxviii. 12; John i. 51.) 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 yon, 
 for it is of absolute necessity that you should, that you may lay hold of that within the veil, 
 and stand steadfast, in case you should meet with turbulent weather ; so they were glad thereof 
 (Heb. vi. 19.) Then they took them, an<l had them to the mount upon which Abraham our 
 father had 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. xxii. 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. Prudence 
 took them into the dining-room, where stood a pair of excellent virginals ; so she played uj>on 
 Ihem, 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 arc. 
 .\n anchor you recciviVl have, 
 
 Rut let not these suflice, 
 I'ntil, with .\bra'ni, you have gave 
 
 Your best a sacrifice." 
 
 Now, about this time, one knocked at the door; so the Porter opened, and behold Mr. 
 (ireat-heart was there; but when he was come in, what joy was there! For it came now fresh 
 again into their minds, how but a while ago he had slain old (Jriin Ploody-man the giant, and 
 had delivered them from the lions. 
 
 Then said Mr. CJreat-heart to Christiana and to Mercy, My Lord hath sent each of you a 
 bottle of wine, and also some parched corn, together with a coU]>le of pomegranates; he has also 
 Bent the boys some figs and raisins, to refresh you in your way. 
 
 Then they addressed themselves to tlieir journey ; and Prudt-nce and Piety went along with 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 209 
 
 them. When they came to the gate, Christiana asked the Porter if any of 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, he said, 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. Great-heart 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 kindness that 
 you have showed 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 
 respects to you, accept of this small mite ; so she put a gold angel in his hand, and he made 
 her a low obeisance, and said. Let thy garments be always white, and let thy head want no 
 ointinent. Let Mercy live, and not die, and let not her works be few. And to the boys he said, 
 Do you fly youthful lusts, and follow after godliness with them that are grave and wise ; 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. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream that thej' 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 comj^anions; 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 oft', on the right hand, 
 a most curious, melodious note, with words much like these, — 
 
 " Through all my life thy favor is 
 So frankly 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 mercy is for ever sure. 
 His truth at all times firmly stood, 
 And shall from age to age endure." 
 
 So Christiana asked Prudence what it was that made those curious notes ? They are, said 
 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 hear them all day long. (Cant. ii. 
 IL 12.) 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, places desirous to be in. 
 
 By this time Piety was come again ; so she said to Christiana, Look here, I liave brought 
 thee a scheme 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 thy edification 
 and comfort. 
 
 Now they began to go down the hill into the Valley of Humiliation. It was a steep hill, and 
 the waj VFas slippery ; liut 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 Christian, your husband. 
 
2IO THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 met with the foul fit-nd Apollyon, and where they had that dreadful fight that thfv had ; 1 know 
 you cannot hut have heard thereof. But he of good courage ; oa long a.s you have liere Mr. 
 Great-heart to he your guide and conductor, we hojje you will fare the hetter. So when these 
 two had committed the pilgrims unto the conduct of their guide, he went forward, and they went 
 after. 
 
 Gkeat-heaht. Then said Mr. Great-heart, We need not he 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 comhat; but that fray was the fruit of those slips that 
 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 h:is got so liard a name ; for the common people, when they hear that 
 some frightful thing has hefidlen such a one in such a place, are of an opinion that that place is 
 haunted with some foul fiend or evil spirit ; when, alas ! it is for the fruit of their doing that such 
 things do befall them iiere. 
 
 Tliis 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 something that 
 might give us an account why Christian was so hardly be.-^et in this place. 
 
 Then James said 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 some- 
 thing hereabouts that would give intimation of the reason why Christian was so hard beset in this 
 place? Then turning himself to Christiana, he said. No disparagement to Christian, more than to 
 many others whose hap and lot his was ; for it is easier going up, than down this hill, and tliat 
 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, tliat 
 ■»ve fare no worse, when we come to be tried, than he. 
 
 But we will come again to this Valley of Humiliation. It is the best and most useful 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 
 tlu'reof, and if he also delighted himself in the sight of his eyes, he might see that that would be 
 deligiitful to him. Behold how green this Valley is, also how beautified with lilies. (Cant. ii. 1.) 
 I have also known many laboring men that have got good estates in this Valley of Humiliation; 
 " for God resisteth the j)roud. but giveth grace unto the humble '' (James iv. G ; 1 Peter v. .5) ; 
 for indeed it is a very fruitful soil, and doth l>ring 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 fother's sheep. 
 The hoy was in very mean clothes, but of a fresh and well-favored countenance, and as he sat by 
 himself he sang. Hark, said Mr. Great-heart, to what the shei)herd's boy saith. So they 
 hearkened, and he said, — 
 
 " He that in down iiee«ls fear nu fall ; 
 He tlmt is low no pride; 
 

 The Shepherd Boy. 
 
 211 
 
2»2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 He tliiit i» liiiiiible, ever nlmll 
 Have Clod lo be his giiide. 
 
 " I am content with what I hare, 
 Little lie it, or much : 
 And, Lord, mntentnient still I crave, 
 liecatisc tlioii tuivitit such. 
 
 "FiilncKt tu Mich, n burden is, 
 That go on pilgrimage; 
 Here little, and hereafter blisii 
 Is Ixwt from age to age." 
 
 Tlien said the guide, Do you iiear him ? I will dare to say. that thi^i boy lives a merrier 
 life, and wears more of that herb called heart 's-ease in his bosom, tlian 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 from the hurryings of this life. All states are full of 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 Ajtollyon, and to enter with him a brisk encounter, yet I must tell you, that in former 
 times men have met with angels here, have found pearls here, and have in this place found the 
 words of life. (Ho.«. xii. 4, 5.) 
 
 Did I say our Lord had lure in former days his country house, and that he loved here to 
 walk? I will add, in tiiis place, and to the people that live, and trace these grounds, he has left 
 a yearly revenue, to be faithfully paid them at certain sea.sons, for their maintenance by the vr,i\\ 
 and for their further encouragement to go on in their pilgrimage. (Matt. xi. 29.) 
 
 Sami'el. Now, as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. Great-heart, Sir, I j)erceive tliat in this 
 Valley my father and ApoUyon had their battle; but whereal)OUt was the fight? for I perceive 
 this Valley is large. 
 
 Great-heart. Your fother had that battle with Ajmllyon at a place yonder before us, in n 
 narrow passage, just beyond Forgetful Green. And indeed, that place is the most dangerous place 
 in all these part;-. For if at any time the pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they forget 
 what favors they have received, and how unworthy they are of them. This is the place also, 
 where others have been hard i>ut to it ; but more of the place when we are come to it ; for I 
 persuatle myself, that to this day there remains either some sign of the battle, or some monument 
 to testify that such a battle there was fought. 
 
 Mekcv. 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 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 213 
 
 one's eyes become like " the fish-pools of Heslibon." (Cant. vii. 4.) They that go riglitly 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. (Psalm Ixxxiv. 6, 7.) This Valley is that from whence also the 
 King will give to his their vineyards (Hos. ii. 15) ; and they that go through it shall sing, as 
 Christian did, for all he met with Apollyon. 
 
 Great-heart. It is 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 vian will I look (saith the King), even to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit, and 
 trembleth at my word." (Isa. Ixvi. 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 not I 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 by-blows, they did split the very stones in pieces. Verily, Christian did here play 
 the man, and showed himself as stout, as could, had he been there, even Hercules himself. 
 When Apollyon was beat, he made his retreat to the next Valley, that is called the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come anon. 
 
 Lo, yonder also stands a monument, on which is engraven this battle and Christian's victory, 
 to his fame throughout all ages. So, because it stood just on the 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 man, 
 He made the fiend to fly ; 
 Of which a monument I stand, 
 The same to testify." 
 
 When they had passed by this place they came upon the borders of the Shadow of Death ; 
 and this Valley was longer than the other ; a place, also, most strangely haunted with evil things, 
 as many are able to testify ; but these women and children went the better through it because 
 they had daylight, and because Mr. Great-heart was their conductor. 
 
 When they were entered upon this Valley, they thought that they heard a groaning, as of 
 dead men [men in the agonies of death], a very great groaning. They thought, also, they did 
 liear words of lamentation spoken, as of some in extreme torment. These things made the boys 
 to quake, the women also looked pale and wan ; but their guide bid them be of good comfort. 
 
 So they went on a little further, and they thought that they felt the ground begin to shake 
 under them, as if some hollow place was there ; they heard also a kind of a hissing, as of 
 
214 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 serpents, but nothing as yet iipj)earetl. Then suitl tlie hoys, Are we not yet at the end of this 
 doleful jdace? But the guide also hid them be of good coumge, and look well to their feet, lest 
 haply, Siiid 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 ghiss of spirits that she had given her at the Interpreter's house, and three of 
 the pills that Mr. Skill had prepared, and the boy began to revive. Thus they went on, till they 
 came to about the middle of the Valley, and then Christiana sjiid, 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, what is it? An ugly thing, child; an ugly thing, said she. But, Mother, what is it 
 like? said he. It is like I cannot tell what, said she. And now it was but a little way off; 
 then said she. It is nigh. 
 
 Well, well, said Mr. Great-heart, I.,et them that are most afraid keep close to me. So the 
 fiend came on, and the conductor met it ; but wlien it was just come to liim, it vanislied to all 
 their siglits. Then remembered they what had been said some time ago, " Resist the devil, and 
 lie will llee from you." (James iv. 7.) 
 
 They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed ; but they had not gone far before Mercy, 
 looking behind her, saw, she thought, something most like a lion, and it came a great padding 
 pace after; and it had a hollow voice of roaring; and at every roar that it gave, it made all the 
 Valley echo, and their hearts to ache, save the heart of him that was tlieir guide. So it came 
 up; and Mr. Great-heart went behind, and put the pilgrims all before liini. The lion also cjmie 
 on apace, and Mr. Great-heart addressed himself to give him battle. But when he saw that it 
 was determined that resistjince should be made, he also drew back, and came no further. (1 
 IVter V. 8, 9.) 
 
 Then they went on again, and their conductor did go before them, till they came at a place 
 where was cast up a i)it the whole lireadth ot the way ; and, before they could be prepared to go 
 over that, a great mist and darkness fell ujion them, so that they could not see. Then said the 
 pilgrims, Alas! now what 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 stjjyed there, because their path was marred. 
 They then also thought that they did hear more apparently the noise and ru.shing of the 
 enemies ; the fire, also, and the smoke of the pit, was much easier to be discerned. Then said 
 Christiana to Mercy, Now I see what my poor husband went through ; I have heard much of 
 this place, but I never was here before now. Poor man, he went here all alone in the night ; he 
 had night almost quite through the way; also, these fiends were busy about him, as if they 
 would have torn him in jneces. ilany have spoke of it, but none can tell what the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death should mean, until they come in it themselves. " The lieart knows its 
 own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy." To be here is a fearful 
 thing. 
 
 Great-hk.\rt. This is like doing business in great waters, or like going down into the deep; 
 this is like being in the heart of the sea, and like going down to the bottoms of the mountains ; 
 now it seems as if the earth, with its bars, were about us for ever. But let them that walk in 
 darkness, and have no light, trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon their God. (Isa. 1. 10.) 
 For ray part, as I have told you idready, I have gone often through this Valley, and have been 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 215 
 
 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 mine own savior ; but I trust we shall have a good deliverance. Come, let us pray 
 for light to him that can lighten our darkness, and that can rebuke not only these, but all the 
 Satans in hell. 
 
 So they cried and prayed, and God sent light and deliverance, for there was now no let in 
 their waj' ; no, not there, where but now they were stopped with a pit. Yet thej- were not got 
 through the Valley ; so they went on stiU, and behold great stinks and loathsome smells, to the 
 great annoyance of them. Then said Mercy to 
 Christiana, There is not such pleasant being here 
 as at the gate, or at the Interpreter's, or at the 
 house where we lay last. 
 
 Oh, but, said one of the boys, it is not so bad 
 to go through here as it is to abide here always; 
 and for aught I know, one reason why we must go 
 this waj' to the house prepared for us, is, that our 
 home might be made the sweeter to us. 
 
 Well said, Samuel, quoth the guide ; thou hast 
 now 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 ever I did in all my life. Then 
 said the guide, We shall lie out by-and-b}\ 
 
 So on they went, and Joseph said, Cannot we 
 see to the end of this Valley as yet? Then said 
 the guide. Look to your feet, for you shall presently 
 be among the snares. So tliey looked to their feet, 
 and went on ; but they were troubled much with 
 the snares. Now, when they were come among the 
 snares, they espied a man cast into the ditch on the 
 left hand, with his flesh all rent and torn. Then 
 said the guide, That is one Heedless, that was 
 agoing this waj- ; he has lain there a great while. 
 There was one Take-heed with him, when he was taken and slain ; but he escaped their hands. 
 You cannot imagine how many are killed hereabout, and yet men are so foolishly venturous as 
 to set out lightly on pilgrimage, and to come without a guide. Poor Christian ! it was a wonder 
 that he here escaped ; but he was beloved of his God : also he had a good heart of his own, or 
 else he could never have done it. Now they drew towards the end of the 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 Great-heart by his name, 
 and said unto him, How many times have you been forbidden to do these things? Then said 
 Mr. Great-heart, What things? What things? quoth the giant; you know what things; but I 
 will put an end to your trade. But pray, said ISIr. Great-heart, before we fall to it, let us under- 
 stand wherefore we must fight. Now the women and children stood trembling, and knew not 
 
2l6 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 wliiit to do. (iiiotli the giant, You rob the country, and rob it with the woi>t of thefts. Tiiose 
 
 are hut generals, said Mr. Great-heart ; come to particulars, man. 
 
 Then said the giant. Thou practisest the craft of a kidnapper; thou gathere«t up women ami 
 
 children, and carrie.st them into a strange country, to the weakening of my master's kingdom. Hut 
 
 now Great-];eart replied. I am a servant of the tJod of heaven ; my business is to persuade sinners 
 
 to repentance ; I am commanded to do my endeavor to turn men, women, and children " from 
 
 darkness to light, and from the power of Satim unto 
 (lod ; " and if this l>e indeed the ground of thy <|uur- 
 rel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt. 
 
 Then the giant came up, and Mr. (Jreat-henrt 
 went to meet him ; and as he went, he drew liis 
 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 tiiat the women and chiitlnn cried out ; so Mr. 
 Great-heart recovering himself, laid about him in 
 full lusty maimer, and gave the giant a wound in 
 his arm ; thus he fought for the space of an hour, 
 to that height of heat, that the breath came out of 
 the giant's nostrils as the heat doth out of a boil- 
 ing caldron. 
 
 Then they sat down to rest them, but Mr. Great- 
 heart betook him 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 tliem, and taken breath, 
 they both fell to it again, and Mr. Great-heart, with 
 a full blow, fetched the giant down to the groun<l. 
 Nay, hold, and let me recover, quoth he: so Mr. 
 Great-lieart fairly let him get uj). So to it they 
 
 went again, and the giant missed but little of all to breaking Mr. Great-heart's skull with liis club. 
 Mr. (Jreat-heart seeing that, runs to him in the full heat of his spirit, and piereetb him under 
 
 the fifth rib; with that the giant began to faint, and could hold up his club no longer. Then Mr. 
 
 Great-heart seconded his blow, and smote the liead of the giant from his shoulders. Then the 
 
 women and children rejoiced, and Mr. Great-heart also praised (Jod for the deliverance he bad 
 
 wrought. 
 
 When this was done, they among them erected a pillar, and fastened the giant's head thereon. 
 
 and wrote underneath in letters, that passengers might read,— 
 
 Giant Maul. 
 
 "He that did wear this head, wa.s one 
 That pilgrims did misuse; 
 He stopp'd their way, he 8|iariyl none. 
 But did them all abuse; 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 217 
 
 " Until that I, Great-heart, arose, 
 The pilgrim's guide to be; 
 Until that I did him oppose, 
 ,j That was their enemy." 
 
 Now I saw, that they went to the ascent that was a little way off, cast up to be a prospect 
 for pilgrims (that was the place from whence Christian had the first sight of Faithful his brother) • 
 wherefore here they sat down, and rested ; they also here did eat and drink, and make merry, for 
 that they had gotten deliverance from this so dangerous an enemy. As they sat thus, and did 
 eat, Christiana asked the guide if he had caught no hurt in the battle. Then said Mr. Great-heart, 
 No, save a little on my flesh ; yet that also shall be so far from being to my detriment, that it is 
 at present a proof of my love to my Master and you, and shall be a means, by grace, to increase 
 my reward at last. (2 Cor. iv.) 
 
 Chris. But was you not afraid, good Sir, when you saw him come out with his club? 
 
 Great-heart. It is my duty, said he, to distrust my own ability, that I may have reliance 
 on him tliat is stronger than all. 
 
 Chris. But what did you think wlien he fetched you down to the ground at the first 
 blow ? 
 
 Great-heart. Why, I thouglit, quoth he, that so my Master himself was served, and yet 
 he it was that conquered at the last. 
 
 Matt. When you all have thought what you please, I think God has been wonderfully good 
 unto us, both in bringing us out of this valley, and in delivering us out of the hand of this 
 enemy ; for my part, I see no reason why we should distrust our God any more, since he has 
 now, and in such a place as this, given us such testimon}' of his love as this. 
 
 Then they got up and went forward. Now a little before them stood an oak ; and under it, 
 when they came to it, they found an old pilgrim fast asleep ; they knew that he was a pilgrim 
 by his clothes, and his stalf, and his girdle. 
 
 So the guide, Mr. Great-heart, awaked him ; and the old gentleman, as lie lift up his eyes, 
 cried out, What's the matter? Who are you? and what is your business here? 
 
 Great-heart. Come, man, be not so hot, here are none but Iriends : yet the old man gets 
 up, and stands upon his guard, and will know of them what they were. Then said the guide, 
 My name is Great-heart; I am the guide of tliese pilgrims, which are going to the Celestial 
 Country. 
 
 Honest. Tlien said Mr. Honest, I cry you mercy ; I feared that you had been of the 
 company of those that some time ago did rob Little-faith of his money ; but now I look better 
 about me, I perceive you are honester people. 
 
 Great-heart. Why, what would, or could you have done, to have helped yourself, if we 
 indeed 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 it ; for a Christian can never be 
 overcome, unless he should yield of himself 
 
 Great-heart. Well said, father Honest, quoth the guide ; for by this I know thou art a 
 cock of the right kind, for thou hast said the truth. 
 
OKI ll..iK--t. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 219 
 
 Hon. And by this, also, I know that thou knowest what true pilgrimage is ; for all others 
 do think that we are the soonest overcome of any. 
 
 Great-heart. 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; but I came from the town of Stupidity; it lieth about four degrees 
 beyond the City of Destruction. 
 
 Great-heart. Oh! are you that countryman, then? I deem I 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 shall agree to what I am 
 called. 
 
 Hon. But, Sir, said the old gentleman, how could you guess that I am such a man, since I 
 came from such a place ? 
 
 Great-heart. I had heard of you before, by my Master ; for he knows all things that are 
 done on earth ; but I have often wondered that any should come from your place, for your town 
 is worse than is the City of Destruction itself 
 
 Hon. Yes, we lie more off from the sun, and so are more cold and senseless ; but was a 
 man in a mountain of ice, yet if the Sun of Righteousness will arise upon him, his frozen heart 
 shall feel a thaw; and thus it hath been with me. 
 
 Great-heart. I believe it, fether 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 
 of their names, and how they had fared since they set out on their pilgrimage. 
 
 Chris. Then said Christiana, My name, I suppose, you have heard of; good Christian was 
 my husband, and these four were his children. But can you think how the old gentleman was 
 taken, when she told him who she was! He skipped, he smiled, and 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 over all these parts 
 of the world ; his faith, his courage, his enduring, and his sincerity under all, has made his name 
 famous. Then he turned him to the boys, and asked them of their names, which they told him. 
 And then said he unto them : Matthew, be thou like Matthew the publican, not in vice, but in 
 virtue. (Matt. x. 3.) Samuel, said he, be thou like Samuel the prophet, a man of faith and 
 prayer. (Psalm xcix. 6.) Joseph, said he, be thou Hke Joseph in Potiphar's house, chaste, and 
 one that flies from temptation. (Gen. xxxix.) And James, be thou like James the Just, and like 
 James the brother of our Lord. (Acts i. 13, 14.) Then they told him of Mercy, and how she 
 had left her town and her kindred to come along with Christiana and with her sons. At that the 
 old honest man said, Mercy is thy name ; by mercy shalt thou be sustained, and carried through 
 all those difficulties that shall assault thee in thy way, till thou shalt come thither, where thou 
 shalt look the Fountain of Mercy in the face with comfort. 
 
 All this while the guide, Mr. Great-heart, was very much pleased, and smiled upon his 
 companion. 
 
 Now, as they walked along together, the guide asked the old gentleman if he did not know 
 one Mr. Fearing, that came on pilgrimage out of his jjarts? 
 
220 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 llox. Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had the root of the matter in him ; hut 
 he was one of the most trouhlesome i)il<;rims that ever I met with in all my days. 
 
 tiKEAT-iiKAKT. I pcrccive you knew him; for you liave niven a very right eharacter of him. 
 
 Ho.v. Knew him ! I was a great companion of his ; I was with him most an end ; when he 
 first hegnn to think of what would come upon us hereafter, I was with him. 
 
 Gkkat-iik.vkt. I was his guide from my master's house to the gates of the Celestial City. 
 
 Ho.N. Then you knew him to he a trouhle.some one. 
 
 Gkf.at-heaut. I did so, hut I could very well hear it; for men of my calling are oftentimes 
 intrusted witli the conduct of such as he was. 
 
 Ho.N. Well then, pray let us hear a little of him, and how he managed himself under your 
 conduct. 
 
 Gkeat-hkaut. Why, he was always afraid that he sliould come .short of whither he had 
 a desire to go. Everything frightened him that he heard anyhody speak of, that had hut tlie 
 least appearance of oi)i)osition in it. I hear that he lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for 
 about a month together ; nor durst he, for all he saw several go over before him, venture, though 
 they, many of them, offered to lend l»im their hand. He would not go hack again neither. The 
 Celestial City, — he said he should die if he came not to it ; and yet wiis dejected at every 
 difficulty, and stumbled at every straw that anybody cast in his way. Well, after he had lain at 
 the Slough of Despond a great while, as I have told you, one sunshiny morning, I do not know 
 how, lie ventured, 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 he came up to the gate, you know what I mean, that 
 stands at the head of this way ; and there also he stood a good while, before he would venture 
 to knock. When the gate wjis 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 stjind, shaking and shrinking. I daresay it would have 
 pitied one's heart to have seen him ; nor would he go back again. At last, he took the hanmier 
 that hanged on the gate in his hand, and gave a small rap or two ; then one opened to him, but 
 he shrank back as l)efore. He that opened stepped out after him, and said. Thou trembling one, 
 what wantest thou? With that he fell down to the ground. He that spoke to him wondered to 
 see him .«o faint. So he said to liim, Peace l)e to thee; up, for I have set o])en the door to 
 thee. Come in, for thou art ble.s.sed. With that he got up, and went in trembling; and when he 
 was in, he was ashamed to sliow his face. Well, after he had been entertjiined there awhile, as 
 you know how the manner is, he was bid go on his way, and also told the way he should tjike. 
 So he came till he c^ime to our house. But as he behaved himself at the gate, so he did at my 
 mijster the Interpreter's door. He lay thereabout in the cold a good while before he would 
 adventure to call ; yet he would not go hack, an<l the nights were long and cold then. Nay. he 
 had a note of necessity in his bosom to my master, to receive him and gr.mt him the comfort of 
 his house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant conductor,, becji use 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. Yiii, .so great wjis his dejection, that tliough 
 he saw several others, for knocking, get in, yet he was afraid to venture. At last, I think, 1 looked 
 
' There also he stood a good while, before lie would venture to knock." 
 
222 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 out of the window, and ptrceiving a man to Ik- up and down about tlie door, I went out to him, 
 and asked wliat lie was; but, poor man! the water stood in liis eyes; «o I j)erceived what lie 
 wanted. I went, therefore, in and told it in the house, and we showed the thing to our Ix)rd. 
 So he sent me out again, to entreat him to come in ; but, I daresay, I had hard work to do it. 
 At last he came in ; and I will say that for my Ix)rd, he carried it wonderfully lovingly to him. 
 There were but few good bits at the t^ible, but some of it was laid upon his trencher. Then he 
 presented the note, and my Lord looked thereon, and said his desire should be granted. So, when 
 he had been there a good while, he seemed to get some heart, and to be a little more comfortable ; 
 for my master, you must know, is one of very tender bowels, especially to them that are afraid ; 
 wherefore he carried it so towards him as might tend most to his encouragement. Well, when 
 he had had a sight of tlie things of the place, and was ready to Uike his journey to go to the city, 
 my Ljrd, as he did to Christian l>cfore, gave him a bottle of spirits, and sume comfort^ible 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 lie seemed glad when he saw the Cross and tiie Sei)ulchre. 
 There, I confess, he desired to stay a little to look, and he seemed, for a while after, to be a 
 little cheery. When we came at the Hill Difticulty, he made no stick at that, nor did he much 
 fear the lions ; for you must know that his trouble was not about such things as those ; his fear 
 was about his accei)tance at last. 
 
 I got him in at the house Beautiful, I think, before he was willing. Also, when he was in, 
 I brought him acquainted with the damsels that were of the place; but he was ashamed to make 
 himself much for company. He desired much to be alone, yet he always loved good talk, and 
 often would get behind the screen to hear it. He also loved much to see ancient things, and to 
 be pondering them in his mind. He told me afterwards that he loved to be in those two houses 
 from which he came last, to wit, at the gate, and that of the Interpreter, but that he durst not 
 be so bold 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 man in my life ; for he cared not how mean he was, so he 
 might be happy at last. Yea, I think, there was a kind of a sympathy betwixt that valley and 
 him ; for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than when he was in that valley. 
 
 Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very flowers that grew in this 
 valley. (Lam. iii. '27-20.) He would now be up every morning by break of day, tracing and 
 walking to and fro in this valley. 
 
 But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I thought I 
 should have lost my man ; not for that he had any inclination to go back ; that he always abhorred ; 
 but he was ready to die for fear. Oh! the hobgoblins will have me! the hobgoblins will have 
 me! cried he, and I couWl not beat him out on it. He made such a noise and such an outcry 
 Jiere, 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 while he went through it 
 as ever I knew it before or since. I suppose these enemies here hiul now a special check from 
 our Ix)rd, and a coniniand not to meddle until Mr. Fearing was passeil over it. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 223 
 
 It would be too tedious to tell you of all. We will, therefore, only mention a passage or 
 two more. When he was come at Vanity Fair, I thought he would have fought with all the men 
 at the fair. I feared there we should both have been knocked on the head, so hot was he against 
 their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was also very wakeful. But when he was come 
 at the river, where was no bridge, there again he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he 
 should be drowned for ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he had come so many 
 miles to behold. 
 
 And here, also, I took notice of what was very remarkable ; the water of that river was 
 lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life. So he went over at last, not much above 
 wet-shod. When he was going up to the gate, Mr. Great-heart began to take his 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 more. 
 
 Hon. Then, it seems, he was well at last. 
 
 Great-heart. Yes, yes ; I never had doubt about him ; he was a man of a choice spirit, 
 only he was alwaj's kept very low, and that made his life so burdensome to himself, and so 
 troublesome to others. (Psalm Ixxxviii.) He was, above many, tender of sin. He was so afraid 
 of doing injuries to others, that he often would deny himself of that which was lawful, because 
 he would not offend. (Rom. xiv. 21 ; 1 Cor. viii. 13.) 
 
 Hon. But what should be the reason that such a good man should be all his days so much 
 in the dark? 
 
 Great-heart. There are two sorts of reasons for it : One is, the wise God will have it so ; 
 some must pipe and some must weep. (Matt. xi. 16-18.) Now Mr. Fearing was one that played 
 upon this bass ; he and his fellows sound 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 that 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 here was the imperfection of 
 Mr. Fearing, he could play upon no other music but this, till towards his latter end. 
 
 I make bold to talk thus metaphorically, for the ripening of the wits of young readers ; and 
 because, in the book of the Revelation, the saved are compared to a company of musicians that 
 play upon their trumpets and harps, and sing their songs before the throne. (Rev. iii. 2 ; xiv. 2, 3.) 
 Hon. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by what relation you have given of him ; 
 difficulties, lions, or Vanity Fair, he feared not at all. It was only sin, death, and hell that was 
 to him a terror, because he had some doubts about his interest in that celestial country. 
 
 Great-heart. You say right. Those were the things that were his troubles ; and they, as 
 you have well observed, arose from the weakness of his mind thereabout, not from weakness of 
 spirit as to the practical part of a pilgrim's life. I dare believe that, as the proverb is, " He could 
 have bit a firebrand, had it stood in his way ;" but the things with which he was oppressed, no 
 man ever yet could shake off' with ease. 
 
 Chris. Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr. Fearing has done me good. I thought 
 nobody had been like me ; but I see there was some semblance betwixt this good man and I ; 
 only we diff'ered in tA\-o things : his troubles were so great, they brake out ; but mine I kept 
 
224 THE PILGRnrS PROGRESS. 
 
 witliin. His, tilao, lay so liard uj)on hiiu, tlioy made him that he could not knotk at the houses 
 |)rovided for cutertainment ; V)Ut my trouble was always such as made me kniK-k the louder. 
 
 If I might also sj)eak my heart, I must say that somethinjj of him has also dwelt in me; 
 for I have ever been more afraid of the lake, and the losa of a |ilace in Paradise, than I have 
 been of the loss of other things. Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habitation 
 there, it is enough, though I part with all the world U) win it! 
 
 Ma'it. Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that made me think that I was far from 
 having that within me that accompanies salvation ; but if it was so with such a good man ai? he, 
 why may it not also go well with me? 
 
 James. No fears, no grace, said James. Though tiiere 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. 
 
 GuKAT-iiEART. Well Said, James, thou hast hit the mark; for the fear of Go<l is the begin- 
 ning of wisdom ; and, to be sure, they that want the beginning have neither middle nor end. Hut 
 we will here conclude our discourse of Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this farewell, — 
 
 " Well, Ma-stcr Fearing, thou didst fear 
 
 Thy God, and wnsl afraid 
 Of dning anything, while here, 
 
 Tliul wcnild have thee lielray'd, — 
 And didHt thou fear the lake ami pit? 
 
 Would otlieni did so (imi I 
 For, as for tlieni that want thy wit. 
 
 They do iheniHelves undo." 
 
 Now I saw that they still went on in tiieir talk; for after Mr. Great-heart had made an end 
 with Mr. Fearing, Mr. Honest began tt) tell them of another, Init his name was Mr. Self-will. 
 He j>retended himself to lie a pilgrim, said Mr. Honest; but I persuade myself he never came 
 in at the gate that stands at the head of the way. 
 
 Gkkat-heakt. Had you ever any tidk with him about it? 
 
 Ho.v. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would always be like himself, self-willed. He 
 neither cared for man, nor argument, nor yet exam]>le; what his mind promiileil him to do, 
 that he would do, and nothing else could he be got to. 
 
 Gkkat-heakt. Pray, what principles did he hold? for I suppose you can tell. 
 
 Ho.N. He held, that a man might follow the vices as well as the virtues of the pilgrims: 
 and that if he did both, he should be certainly saved. 
 
 Gkeat-heaut. How! if he had said, It is possible for the best to be guilty of the vices, as 
 well as to partake of the virtues of pilgrims, he could not much have been blamed ; for indeed 
 we are exemjited from no vice absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. But this, 
 I perceive, is not the thing; but if I understand you right, your meaning is, that he was of that 
 opinion that it was tdlowablc so to be. 
 
 Hon. Ay, ay, so I mean; and so he believed and practised. 
 
 Great-iieakt. But what ground had he for his so saying? 
 
 Hon. Why, he said he had the Scri})ture for his warrant. 
 
 CJuEAT-iiEAKT. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few particulars. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 225 
 
 Hon. So I will. He said, To have to do with other men's wives had been practised by 
 David, God's beloved, and therefore he could do it. He said, To have more women than one 
 was a thing that Solomon practised ; and therefore he could do it. He said. That Sarah and 
 the godly midwives of Egypt lied, and so did Rah ah ; and therefore he could do it. He 
 said. That the disciples went at the bidding of their Master, and took away the owner's ass; 
 and therefore he could do so too. He said. That 
 Jacob got the inheritance of his father in the way 
 of guile and dissimulation ; and therefore he could 
 do so too. 
 
 Great-heart. Highly base, indeed ! And you 
 are sure he was of this opinion ? 
 
 Hon. I have heard him plead for it, liring Scrip- 
 ture for it, bring argument for it, etc. 
 
 Great-heart. 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 
 those that had the virtues of those that did such 
 things, might also do the same. 
 
 Great-heart. But what more folse than such 
 a conclusion ? for this is as much as to say, that 
 because good men heretofore have sinned of infir- 
 mity, therefore he had allowance to do it of a pre- 
 sumptuous mind ; or if, because a child by the 
 blast of the wind, or for that it stumbled at a 
 stone, fell down, and defiled itself in mire, there- 
 fore he might wilfully lie down and wallow like a 
 boar therein. Who could have thought that any 
 one could so far have been blinded by the power 
 of lust? But what is written must be true: they 
 "stumble at the word, being disobedient; whereunto also they were appointed." (1 Peter ii. 8.) 
 His supposing that such may have the godly men's virtues, who addict themselves to their 
 vices, IS also a delusion as strong as the other. It is just as if the dog should say, I have, or may 
 have, the qualities of the child, because I lick up its stinking excrements. To eat up the sin of 
 God's people is no sign of one that is possessed with their virtues. (Hos. iv. 8.) Nor can I 
 believe that one that is of this 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-heart. A very wicked answer; for though to let loose the bridle to lusts, while our 
 opinions are against such things, is bad ; yet, to sin, and plead a toleration so to do, is worse. 
 The one stumbles beholders accidentally, the other leads them into the snare. 
 
 Self-will. 
 
i^O THE I'lLGKIMS i'RuGKliSS. 
 
 IIox. Tlii-rc arc many of this miin'H lairnl, that liavt- not tliis man's moutli : and that make 
 goinj; on i)ilj;riniage of so little eatcom as it is. 
 
 (Jkkat-hkakt. You have said the truth, and it is to be lamented ; I'Ut he that fearelh the 
 KiuK of Paradise shall come out of them all. 
 
 Cuius. There are strange opinion.s in the world ; I know one that said, It was time enough 
 to repent when they come to die. 
 
 (iKKAT-iiK.^itT. Such are not over wise. That man would have been loath, might he have 
 had a week to run twenty miles in for his life, to have deferred that journey to the last hour of 
 that week. 
 
 Hon. You say right ; and yet the generality of them, that eount 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 tiu* world afore them, who 
 yet have, in a few days, died as they in the wilderness, anil so never got sight of the jiromised 
 land. 
 
 I have seen some tliat have promi.sed nothing at first setting out to be pilgrims, and that 
 one would have thought could not have lived a day, that have yet proved very good pilgrims. 
 
 I have seen some who iiavc run hastily forward, that iigain have, after a little time, run just 
 as fast back again. 
 
 I have seen some who have spoken very well of a jiilgrim'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 ca.se they should be oj)posed, that have, 
 «ven at a false alarm, Hed faith, the pilgrim's way, and all. 
 
 Now, as they were thus in their way, there came one running to meet them, and said. 
 Gentlemen, and you of the weaker sort, if you love life, shift for yourselves, for the robbers are 
 before you. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, They be the three that set upon Little-faith here- 
 tofore. Well, said he, we are ready for them ; so they went on tJieir way. Now they lookwl at 
 every turning, when they should have met with the villains ; but whether they heard of Mr. 
 Great-heart, or whether they had some other game, they came not up to the pilgrims. 
 
 Christiana then wished for an inn for hei-self and her children, because they were weary. 
 Then said Mr. Honest, There is one a little before us, where a very hononible disciple, one Gains, 
 dwells. (Rom. xvi. 23.) So they all concluded to turn in thither, and the rather because the 
 old gentleman gave him so good a report. So when they came to the door, they went in, not 
 knocking, for folks use not to knock at the door of an inn. Then they called for the master of 
 the house, and he came to them. So they asked if they might lie there that night. 
 
 Gaiis. Yes, gentlemen, if ye be true men, for my house is for none but pilgrims. Then was 
 Christiana, Mercy, and the boys the more glad, for that the Innkeeper was a lover of pilgrims. 
 So they called for rooms, and he showed them one for Christiana and her children, ami Mercy, 
 and another for Mr. (Jreat-heart and the old gentleman. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 227 
 
 Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, Good Gaius, what hast thou for supper ? for these 
 pilgrims have come far to-day, and are weary. 
 
 Gaius. It is late, said Gaius, so we cannot conveniently go out to seek food ; but such as we 
 have, you shall be welcome to, if that will content. 
 
 Great-heart. We will be content with what thou hast in the house; forasmuch as I have 
 proved thee, thou art never destitute of that which is convenient. 
 
 Then he went down and spake to the cook, whose name was Taste-that-which-is-good, to get 
 ready supper for so many pilgrims. This done, he 
 comes up again, saying. Come, my good friends, you 
 are welcome to nie, and I am glad that I have a 
 house to entertain you ; and while supper is mak- 
 ing ready, if you please, let us entertain one another 
 with some good discourse. So they all said. Con- 
 tent. 
 
 Gaius. Then said Gaius, Whose wife is this aged 
 matron? and whose daughter is this young damsel? 
 
 Great-heart. The woman is the wife of one 
 Christian, a pilgrim of former times ; and these are 
 his four children. The maid is one of her acquaint- 
 ance ; one that she hath persuaded to come Avith 
 her on pilgrimage. The boys take all after their 
 father, and covet to tread in his steps ; yea, if they 
 do but see any place where the old pilgrim hath 
 lain, or any print of his foot, it ministereth joy to 
 their hearts, and they covet to lie or tread in the 
 same. 
 
 Gaius. 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 Antioch. (Acts. xi. 26.) Christian's progen- 
 itors (I suppose you have heard your husband talk of them) were very worthy men. They liave, 
 above any that I know, showed themselves men of great virtue and courage, for the Lord of the 
 pilgrims, his ways, and them that loved him. I have heard of many of your husband's relations, 
 that have stood all trials for the sake of the truth. Stephen, that was one of the first of the family 
 from whence your husband sprang, was knocked on the head with stones. (Acts vii. 59, 60.) James, 
 another of this generation, was slain with the edge of the sword. (Acts xii. 2.) To say nothing of 
 Paul and Peter, men anciently of the family from whence your husband came, there was Ignatius, 
 who was cast to the lions ; Romanus, whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones, and Polycarp, 
 that played the man in the fire. There was he that was hanged up in a basket in the sun, for the 
 wasps to eat; and he whom they put into a sack, and cast him into the sea to be drowned. It 
 would be utterly impossible to count up all of that family that have suffered injuries and death, 
 
228 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 for the love of a pilgmn's life. Nor C4Ui I hut he glad to Hce that thy hushand liaj* left hehind him 
 four such hoys 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. 
 
 tiKKAT-iiKAKT. Indcctl, !jir, tliev are likely lads; they seem to choose heartily their father's 
 ways. 
 
 Gaus. That is it that I said ; wherefore Christian's family is like still to spread ahroa<l upon 
 the face of the ground, and yet to he numerous upon the face of the earth ; wherefore let 
 Christiana look out some damsels for her sons, to whom they may he hetrothed, etc., that tlie 
 name of their father and the house of his progenitors may never be forgotten in the world. 
 
 Ho.v. It is a i)ity this family should fall and he e.xtinct. 
 
 Itaus. Fall it cannot, hut l>c diminished it may; hut let Christiana take my advice, and that 
 is the way to uphold it. 
 
 And, Christiana, .said this Innkeeper, I am glad to see thee and thy friend Mercy together 
 here, a lovely couple. And may I advise, t^ike Mercy into a nearer relation to thee; if she will, 
 let her bo given to Matthew, thy eldest son ; it is the way to jireserve you a pasterity in the 
 earth. So this match was concluded, and in i»roces.< of time they were married ; but more of that 
 hereafter. 
 
 Gaius also proceeded, and said, I will now sjieak on the behalf of women, to take away their 
 reproach. For as death and the curse came into the world by a woman (Gen. iii.), so also did 
 life and health: "God sent forth his Son, made of a woman." (Gal. iv. 4.) Yea, to show how 
 much those that came after did abhor the act of the mother, this sex, in the Old Testament, 
 coveted children, if happily this or that woman might be the mother of the Saviour of the world. 
 
 I will say again, that when the Saviour was come, women rejoiced in liim before either man 
 or angel. (Luke ii.) I read not, that ever any man did give unto Christ so much as one groat ; 
 but the women followed him, and niinistered to him of their sub.<tance. (Luke viii. 2, 3.) It 
 wa.* a woman that washed his feet with tears, and a woman that anointed his body to the burial. 
 (Luke vii. 37, 5(1; John xi. 2; xii. -i.) They were women that wei)t. when he was going to the 
 cross, and women that followed him from the cross, and that sat by his sepulchre, when he was 
 buried. (Luke xxiii. 27 ; Matt, xxvii. .i.'), .")(), 61.) They were women that were first with him at 
 his resurrection-morn ; and women that l>rought tidings first to his disciples, that he was risen 
 from the dead. (Luke xxiv. 22, 23.) Women, therefore, are highly favored, and show by these 
 things that they are sharers with us in the grace of life. 
 
 Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was almost ready, and sent one to lay the 
 cloth, the trenchers, and to set the salt and brea<l in order. 
 
 Then said Mattliew, The sight of this cloth, and of this forerunner of the supper, begetteth 
 in me a greater appetite to my food than I had before. 
 
 Gaii's. So let all ministering doctrines to thee, in this life, beget in thee a greater desire to 
 sit at the supper of the great King in his kingdom ; for all i)reaching, books, and ordinances here 
 are but as the laying of the trenchers, and as setting of salt upon the board, when comj>ared with 
 the feast that our liord will make for us when we come to his house. 
 
 So supper came up ; and first, a heave-shoulder, and a wave-breast (I>ev. vii. 32-34 ; x. 14, 15), 
 wore set on the table before them, to show that they must begin their meal with prayer and 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 239 
 
 praise to God. (Psalm xxv. 1 ; Heb. xiii. 15.) The heave-shoulder David lifted his heart up to 
 God with ; and with the wave-breast, where his heart lay, with that he used to lean upon his harp 
 when he played. These two dishes were very fresh 
 and good, and they all eat heartily well thereof. 
 
 The next they brought up was a bottle of wine, 
 red as blood. (Deut. xxxii. 14.) So Gaius said to 
 them. Drink freely ; this is the juice of the true 
 vine, that makes glad the heart of God and man. 
 (Judges ix. 13; John xv. 1.) So they drank and 
 were merry. 
 
 The next was a dish of milk well crumbed; 
 but Gaius said. Let the boys have that, that they 
 may grow thereby. (1 Peter ii. 1, 2.) 
 
 Then they brought up in course a dish of but- 
 ter and honey. Then said Gaius, Eat freely of this ; 
 for this is good to cheer up, and strengthen your 
 judgments and understandings. This was our 
 Lord's dish when he was a child : " Butter and 
 honey shall he eat, that he may know to refuse 
 the evil and choose the good." (Isa. vii. 1-5.) 
 
 Then they brought them, up a dish of apples, 
 and they were very good tasted fruit. Then said 
 Matthew, May we eat apples, since they were such, 
 by and with which the serpent beguiled our first 
 mother ? 
 
 Then said Gaius, — 
 
 Taste-that-wliich-is-guod. 
 
 " Apples were the)' with which we were beguiled ; 
 Yet sill, not apples, hath our souls defiled. 
 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 saith Matthew, I made the scruple, because I a while since was sick with 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. (Cant. vi. 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. 
 Ope then the shells, and you shall have the meat ; 
 They here are brought for you to crack and eat." 
 
230 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Then were tlii'V very iiurry, unci gat at the taMe a long tinio, talking of ninny thingx. Then 
 said the old gentleman, My good landlord, while we are cracking your nut*, if you please, do you 
 open tiiis riddle, — 
 
 " A man there woh, though winie did rounl him mad, 
 The more he cnst away, the more he had." 
 
 Tiun they all gave good heed, wondering what good Gaius would say ; so he eat still awhile, 
 and then thus replied, — 
 
 "He that bestows his goodi upon the poor 
 Shall huve as much again, and ten timet* more." 
 
 Then said Joseph, I daresay, Sir, I did not think you could have found it out. 
 Oh ! said Gaius, I have been trained up in this way a great while ; nothing teaches like 
 experience; I have learned of my Lord to be kind; and have found, by experience, that I have 
 
 gained thereby. " There is that scattereth, and yet 
 increaseth ; and Ihrn- is that withholdeth more than 
 is meet; but it tentUth to poverty." (Frov. xi. 24.) 
 "There is that maketh himself rich, yet halfi noth- 
 ing; there M that maketh himself jjoor, yet hath 
 great riches." (Prov. xiii. 7.) 
 
 Then Samuel whispered to Cliristiana, his 
 motlier, 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 further. 
 
 The which tiaius the host overhearing said, 
 Willi a very good will, my child. 
 
 So they stayed there more than a month, and 
 Mercy 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 jHior, by which she brought up a very gootl 
 rci)ort U])()n the jiilgrims. 
 
 But to return again to our story. After sujk 
 j)er, the lads desired a bed ; for that they were 
 weary with travelling ; then Gains called to show 
 them their chamber; but said Mercy, I will have 
 them to bed. So she had them to bed. and they 
 slept well ; but the rest sat up all night ; for Gaius and they were such suitable company, that 
 they could not tell how to part. Then after much talk of their Ixird, themselves, and their jour- 
 ney, old Mr. Honest, he that put forth the riddle to Gaius, began to nod. Then said (Jreat- 
 heart. What, Sir, you begin to be drowsy; conic, rub up; now here is a riddle for you. Then 
 sitid Mr. Honest, I.<ct us hear it. 
 
 Merev and Miiltln 
 
' Mercv, as her custom was, would be making coats and garments to give to the poor." 
 
 231 
 
232 THE riLCRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Then said Mr. Great-licart, — 
 
 "He llml will kill, aiiMt fiml be overcrmie ; 
 Wliu live iibrnad would, lintt niiut die at lionie." 
 
 llii! said Mr. Honist, it is a hard one; hard to expound, and harder to praetise. But eoino, 
 landlord, said he, I will, if you please, leave my part to you ; do you ex|iound it. and 1 will 
 hear what you say. 
 
 No, said Gains, it wa.s j)Ut to you, anil it is exi)eeted that you .should answer it. 
 
 Then said the old gentleman, — 
 
 "He first by grai-e imwl toiuiiiered l>e. 
 That »in would mortify ; 
 And who, that lives, would convince me. 
 Unto hinuelf must die." 
 
 It is right, said Gains ; good <loctrine and experience teaches this. For, (irst, until grace 
 displays itself, and overcomes the soul with its glory, it is altogether without heart to opjwse 
 sin; besides, if sin is SaUm's cords, by which the soul lies bound, how should it make resistance, 
 before it is loosed from that infirmity? 
 
 Secondly, nor will any, that knows either reason or grace, believe that such a man can be 
 a living monument of grace that is a slave to his own corruptions. 
 
 And now it comes in 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 decayed 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. Wiio now, or which of them, had tiieir graces shining clearest, since both 
 seemed to be alike? 
 
 Hon. The young man's, doubtless. For that which heads it against the greatest ojijwsition, 
 gives best demonstration that it is strongest; especially when it also holdeth pace with that that 
 meets not with half so much; as, to be sure, old age does not. 
 
 Besides, I have observed that old men have bles.sed themselves with this mistjike. namely, 
 taking the decays of nature for a gracious conquest over corruptions, and so have been apt to 
 beguile themselves. Indeed, old men that are gracious are best able to give advice to them that 
 are young, because they have seen most of the emptiness of 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 was up, Christiana bid her 
 son James that he should read a chapter ; so he read the fifty-third of Isaiah. When he ha<l 
 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 "? 
 
 Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, To the first, I answer. Because 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 })erson of the unbelievers, who, because they want 
 that eye that can see into our Prince's heart, therefore they judge of him by the meanness of his 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 233 
 
 outside. Just like those that know not that precious stones are covered over with a homely 
 crust ; who, when they have found one, because they know not what they have found, cast it 
 again away, as men do a common stone. 
 
 Well, said Gaius, now you are here, and since, as I know, Mr. Great-heart 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 Slay-good, a giant that does 
 much annoy the King's highway in these parts ; and I know whereabout his haunt is. He is 
 master of a number of thieves. It would be well if we could clear these parts of him. 
 
 So they consented, and went, Mr. Greatheart with his sword, helmet, and shield, and the 
 rest with spears and staves. 
 
 When they came to the place where he was, they found him with one Feeble-mind in his 
 hands, whom his servants had brought unto him, having taken him in the way. Now the giant 
 was rifling him, with a purpose, after that, to pick his bones, for he was of the nature of flesh- 
 eaters. 
 
 Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Great-heart and his friends at the mouth of his cave, with 
 their weapons, he demanded what they wanted. 
 
 Great-heart. We want thee ; for we are come to revenge the quarrel of the many that thou 
 hast slain of the pilgrims, when thou hast dragged them out of the King's highway ; wherefore, 
 «jome out of thy cave. So he armed himself and came out; and to a battle they went, and 
 fought for above an hour, and then stood still to take wind. 
 
 Slay. Then said the giant, Why are you here on my ground? 
 
 Great-heart. To revenge the blood of pilgrims, as I also told thee before. So they went 
 to it again, and the giant made Mr. Great-heart give back ; but he came up again, and, in the 
 greatness of his mind, he let fly with such stoutness at 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 Feeble-mind, the pilgrim, and brought him with 
 him to his lodgings. When they were come home, they showed his head to the family, and 
 then set it up, as they had done others before, for a terror to those that shall attempt to do as 
 he hereafter. 
 
 Then they asked Mr. Feeble-mind how he fell into his hands? 
 
 Feeble-mind. 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 a 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 that 
 were necessary for my journey, and bid me hope to the end. When I came to the house of the 
 Interpreter, I received much kindness there ; and because the Hill 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 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 
 
234 THE PIUiRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 lif |j;iven to tlie fcclile-niinded. and so went on their own pace. ( 1 Tlii->w. v. 14.) When I was 
 conic up to Assault Lane, then this giant met with me, and bid me prepare for an encounter ; 
 l»ut, alas! feeble one that I was, I had more need of a cordial. So he came up and took me. 
 I believed he would not kill me. Also, when he had got me into his den, liince I went not witli 
 him willingly, 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. Rol>l)ed I looked to be, and robbe<l to be 
 sure I am; but I am, as you see, e8caj>ed with life; for tiic wiiich I thank my King as 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 loves 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. 
 
 Ho.\. Then said old Mr. Honest, Have you not, some time ago, been acquainted with one 
 Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim? 
 
 Kkkiii.e. Ac(|uainted with him! Yes; he came from the town of Stupidity, which lieth 
 four degrees to tiie northward of the City of Destruction, and as many off of where I was 
 born; yet we were well ac(|uainted, for, indeed, he was my uncle, my father's brother. He 
 and I have been much of a temper. He wa.s a little shorter than I, but yet we were much of 
 a complexion. 
 
 Ho.N. I perceive you know him; and I am apt to believe also that you were related one 
 to another ; for you have his whitel}' look, a cast like his with your eye, and your speech is 
 much alike. 
 
 Feeble. Most have said so that have known us both ; and besides, what I have read in 
 liim, I have, for the most part, found in myself. 
 
 Gaiu.s. Come, Sir, said good Gains, be of good cheer, you are welcome to mc and t<> my 
 house, and what thou hast a mind to, call for freely ; and what tliou wouldst have my servants 
 do for thee, they will do it with a ready hand. 
 
 Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, This is unexpected favor, and as the sun shining out of a very 
 dark cloud. Did Giant Slay-good intend me this favor when he stoj»|)ed me, and resolved to 
 let me go no further? Did he intend, that after he had rifled my pockets, I should go to (iaius, 
 mine host? Yet so it is. 
 
 Now, just as Mr. Feeble-mind and Gains were thus in talk, there comes one running, anil 
 called at the door, and told that, about a mile and a half ofl", there was one Mr. Not-right, a 
 pilgrim, struck dead U|)on the j)lace where lie was with a thunderbolt. 
 
 Feeble. Alas! said Mr. Feeble-mind, is he slain? He overtook me some days before 1 
 came so far as hither, and would be my com|)any-kecper. He also was with me when Slay- 
 good, the giant, took me ; but he was nimble of his heels, and escaped. But, it seems, he escaped 
 to die, and I was took to live. 
 
 "What, one would think, doth Roek to kIiiv ontriglil, 
 Ofttlmes delivers from the suddest plifihl. 
 That ver>' |iiY)vid«nce, whooe face is death, 
 Dulh ofttinicM to the hiwly life l>«<iiieatli. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 335 
 
 I taken was, lie did escape and flee; 
 
 Hands cross'd gives death to him, and life to me." 
 
 Now, about this time, Matthew and Mercy were married. Also Gains gave his daughter 
 Phebe to James, Matthew's brother, to wife ; after which time they yet stayed above ten days at 
 Gaius' house, sjjending their time, and the seasons, like as pilgrims used to do. 
 
 When they were to depart, Gaius made them a feast, and they did eat and drink, and were 
 merry. Now the hour was come that they must be gone ; wherefore Mr. Great-heart called for a 
 reckoning ; but Gaius 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 jjay from the good 
 Samaritan who had promised him, at his return, whatsoever charge he was at with them, 
 faithfully to repay him. (Luke x. 34, 35.) Then said Mr. Great-heart to him, — 
 
 Gre,\t-heart. " Beloved, thou doest faithfully whatsoever thou doest to the brethren, and 
 to strangers ; which have borne witness of thy charity before the church : whom if thou (yet) 
 bring forward on their journey after a godly sort, thou shalt do well." (3 John 5, 6.) 
 
 Then Gaius took his leave of them all, and of his children, and particularly of Mr. Feeble- 
 mind. He also gave him something to drink by the way. 
 
 Now Mr. Feeble-mind, when they were going out of the door, made as if he intended to 
 linger ; the which when Mr. Great-heart 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 weak ; I choose, therefore, rather to come behind, lest, by reason of my many infirmities, 
 I should be both a burden to myself and to you. I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble 
 mind, and shall be offended and made weak at that which others can bear. I shall like no 
 laughing ; I shall like no gay attire ; I shall like no unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so weak 
 a man, as to be offended with that which others have 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 : " He that is ready to 
 slip with his feet, is as a lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease " (Job xii. 5), so 
 that I know not what to do. 
 
 Great-heart. But, brother, said Mr. Great-heart, I have it in commission to " comfort the 
 feeble-minded," and to " support the weak." (1 Thess. v. 14.) You must needs go along with 
 us ; we will wait for you ; we will lend you our help (Rom. xiv. 1) ; we will deny ourselves of 
 some things, both opinionative and practical, for your sake (1 Cor. viii.) ; we will not enter into 
 doubtful disputations before you ; we will be made all things to you, rather than you shall be 
 left behind. (1 Cor. ix. 22.) 
 
 Now all this while they were at Gaius' door ; and behold, as they were thus in the heat of 
 their discourse, Mr. Ready-to-halt came by, witli his crutches in his hand (Psalm xxxviii. 17); 
 and he also was going on pilgrimage. 
 
 Feeble. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind to him, Man, how camest thou hither? I was but just 
 now complaining that I had not a suitable companion, but thou art according to my wish. Wel- 
 come, welcome, good Mr. Ready-to-halt, I hope thee and I may be some help. 
 
236 THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS. 
 
 Kkady-tu-h.m.t. I phiill be glad of thy foinj)aiiy, siiid the other; and, (.'oml Mr. Fefhlo-mind, 
 rather than wu will part, since we are thu.s hap[)ily met, I will hiid thee one of my crutches. 
 
 Fkkble. Nay, SJiid he, though I thank thee for thy goodwill, I am not incline<l to halt hefore 
 I am lame. Howbeit, I think, when occjision is, it may help me against a dog. 
 
 He.\dy. If either myself or my crutches can do thee a pleasure, we are both at thy com- 
 mand, good Mr. Feeble-mind. 
 
 Tiius therefore they went on ; Mr. (ireat-heart and Mr. Honest went before, ('hristiana and 
 her children went next, and Mr. Feeble-minil and Mr. Ready-tt)-halt came behind with his 
 crutches. Then said Mr. Honest, — 
 
 Hon. Pray, Sir, now we are upon the road, tell us some profitable things of some that have 
 gone on i)ilgrini!ige before ua. 
 
 Gkkat-he.vkt. With a good will. I sujipose you have heard how Christian of old did meet 
 with Apollyon in the Valley of Humiliation ; and also what hard work he had to go through the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death.. Also I think you cannot but have heard how Faithful was put 
 to it with Madam Wanton, with Adam the First, with one Discontent, and Shame, four as deceit- 
 ful villains as a man can meet with ujwn the road. 
 
 Ho.N. Yes, I have heard of all this ; but, indeed, good Faithful was hardest put to it with 
 Shame ; he was an unwearied one. 
 
 Great-heakt. Ay ; 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 notiiblc one. 
 
 Great-heakt. He wa.s a confident fool, yet many follow his ways. 
 
 Hon. He had liked to have beguiled Faithful. 
 
 (iRE.AT-HEART. Ay, but Christian put him into a way quickly to find him out. Thus they 
 went on till they came at the place where Evangelist met with Christian and Faithful, and 
 prophesied to them of what should beftill them at Vanity Fair. 
 
 (JKEAT-MEAKT. 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 daresay it was a hard chapter that then he did read imto them. 
 
 (tREAT-HEART. It was so ; but he gave them encouragement withal. But what do wi' talk 
 of them? they were a couple of lion-like men; they had set their faces like Hint. Don't you 
 remember how undaunted they were when they stood before the judge? 
 
 Hon. \\\i\, Faithful bravely suflTercd. 
 
 Great-heart. So he did, and lU" brave things came on it; for lIo|Kful ami .-^ome others, as 
 the story relates it, were converted by his death. 
 
 Hon. Well, but pray go on; for you are well acquainted with things. 
 
 (iREAT-HEAHT. Above all that Christian met with after he had passed through Vanity Fair, 
 one By-ends was the arch one. 
 
 Hon. By-ends! What was he? 
 
 Great-hkart. A very arch fellow; a downright hypocrite. One that would be religious 
 which way ever the world went ; but so cunning that he wouhl be sure neither to lose nor suffer 
 for it. He had his mode of religion for every fresh occasion ; and his wife was as good at it as 
 
■' Rather than we will part, since we are thus happily met, I will lend thee one of my crutches." 
 
238 THE PIUiRIMS PROGRESS. 
 
 he. Ho would turn ami cliantie from (>|tini(iii to opinion ; yva, iinil |>load for so doinc too. Hut, 
 so fur lis I could liarn, lu- came to an ill ontl with hi.s hy-ends ; nor did I ever hear that any of 
 his children were ever of any esteem with any that truly feared God. 
 
 Now, hy this time, they were come within si(j;ht of the town of Vanity, where Vanity Fair 
 is ke|)t. So, when they saw that they were so near the town, they consultitl with one another 
 how they should pass through the town ; and some said one thing, and some another. At la-^t 
 Mr. (ireat-iieart said, I have, as you may understand, often heen a contluctor of piljrrinis through 
 this town; now I am acquainted with one Mr. Mna.son, a ("yprusian hy nation, an old di.sciple, 
 at whose house we may lodge. (Acts xxi. 1(5.) If you think good, said he, we will turn in there. 
 
 Content, said old Honest; Content, said Christiana; Content, said Mr. Feehle-mind ; and so 
 they said all. Now, you must think, it was even-tide hy that they got to the outside of the town : 
 l)Ut Mr. (ireat-heart knew the way to tlie old man's house. So hither they came ; and he calletl 
 at the door, and the old man within knew his tongue so soon as ever he heard it ; so lie opened, 
 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 a weary ; sit down. So they sat down. 
 
 Grkat-hkart. Then said their guide, Come, what cheer, Sirs ? I daresay you are welcome 
 to my friend. 
 
 M.NASON. I also, said Mr. Mnason, do bid you joyfully welcome; and whatever you want, do 
 but .say, and we will do what we can to get it for you. 
 
 Ho.s". Our great want, a while since, was harbor and good company, and now I ln>pe we 
 have both. 
 
 Mn.\.s<in. For harbor, you see what it is; but for good company, that will ai)pear in the 
 trial. 
 
 Great-iikakt. Well, said Mr. (ireat-heart, will you liave the pilgrims up intolheir lodging? 
 
 MxA.so.N. I will, said Mr. Mnason. So he had them to their respective places: and also 
 showed them a very fair dining-room, where they might be, and sup together, until time was 
 come to go to rest. 
 
 Now, when they were set in their places, and were a little cheery after their journey, Mr. 
 Honest asked his landlord, if there were any store of good people in the town? 
 
 M.NAsox. We liave a few, for indeed they are but a few, when compared with them on the 
 other side. 
 
 Ho.N. Hut liow siiall we do to see some of tlieni ? for tlie sight of good men, to tliem that 
 are going on pilgrimage, is like to the ajipcaring of the moon and the stars to tiiem that are 
 sailing upon the seas. 
 
 Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot, and his daughter Grace came up; so he said unto 
 her, Grace, go you, tell my friends, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, Mr. Love-saints, Mr. Dnre-not-lie, 
 and Mr. Penitent, that I have a friend or two at my hou.se that have n mind this evening to see 
 them. 
 
 So Grace went to call them, and they cante ; and. after salutation made, they sat down 
 together at the tiible. 
 
 Then said Mr. Mnason, their landlord, My neighbors, I have, as you see. a company of 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 239 
 
 strangers come to my house ; they are pilgrims ; they come from afar, and are going to Mount 
 Zion. But who, quoth he, do j'ou think this is? pointing with his finger to Christiana; it is 
 Christiana, the wife of Christian, that famous pilgrim, who, with Faithful his brother, were so 
 shamefully handled in our town. At that they stood amazed, saying. We little thought to see 
 Christiana, when Grace came to call us; wherefore this is a very comfortable surprise. Then 
 they 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 where he is in peace ! 
 
 Hon. Then Mr. Honest (when they were all sat down) asked Mr. Contrite and the rest, in 
 what posture their town was at present? 
 
 Contrite. You may be sure we are full of hurry in fair-time. It is hard keeping our hearts 
 and spirits in any good order, when we are in a cumbered condition. He that lives in such a 
 place as this is, and that has to do with such as we have, has need of an item, to caution him to 
 take heed, every moment of the da}'. 
 
 Hon. But how are your neighbors for quietness? 
 
 Contrite. 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 with load upon them till now ; for since they burned him, they have 
 been ashamed to burn any more. In those days we were afraid to walk the streets, 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 with j'ou in your pilgrimage? How 
 stands the country affected towards you? 
 
 Hon. It happens to us as it happeneth to wayfaring men ; sometimes our way is clear, 
 sometimes foul, sometimes up hill, sometimes down hill ; we are seldom at 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, of old, A good man must suffer trouble. 
 
 Contrite. You talk of rubs ; what rubs have you met withal ? 
 
 Hon. Nay, ask Mr. Great-heart, our guide, for he can give the best account of that. 
 
 Great-heart. We have been beset three or four times already. First, Christiana and her 
 children were beset with two ruffians, who they feared would take away their lives. We were 
 beset with Giant Bloody-man, Giant Maul, and Giant Slay-good. Indeed, we did rather beset the 
 last, than were beset of him. And thus it was : After we had been some time at the house of 
 " Gaius, mine host, and of the whole church " (Rom. xvi. 23), we were minded upon a time to 
 take our weapons with us, and so go see if we could light upon any of those that were enemies 
 to pilgrims (for we heard that there was a notable one thereabouts). 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, into his net, this poor man, 
 Mr. Feeble-mind, and was about to bring him to his end. But when he saw us, supposing, as 
 he thought, he had another prey, he left the poor man in his hole, and came out. So we 
 16 
 
240 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 fell to it full sore, and he lustily laid about liim; l>ut in conclusion, lie w;i,-- l)ruuj;lit down to the 
 pround, and his head cut off, and set up hy the wayside, for a terror to such ns should after 
 practise such un;;odliness. That I tell you the truth, here is the man himself to atlimi it, who 
 was as a lamb taken out of the mouth of the lion. 
 
 Feeblk-mixd. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, 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. ( i reat-luart and hi.s friends with their weapons, approach so near for my deliv- 
 erance. 
 
 HoLY-MAX. Then said Mr. Holy-man, There are two things that they have need to be 
 possessed with that 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. 
 
 I^iVE-sAiXTS. Then said Mr. Love-saints, I hope this caution is not needful amongst you. 
 But truly, there are many that go upon the road, that rather declare themselves strangers to 
 pilgrimage, than strangers and pilgrims in the earth. 
 
 Dare-xot-lie. Then said Mr. Dare-not-lie, It is true, they neither have the pilgrim's weed, 
 nor the pilgrim's courage ; they go not uprightly, but all awry with their feet ; one shoe goes 
 inward, another outward, and their hoseu out behind ; there a rag, and there a rent, to the 
 disparagement of their Ix>rd. 
 
 Pexitent. These things, said Mr. Penitent, they ought to be troubled for; nor are the 
 pilgrims like to have that grace put upon them and their pilgrim's progress as they desire, until 
 the way is cleared of such spots and blemishes. 
 
 Thus they sat tjilking and spending the time, until supper w.-is set upon the table, unto which 
 they went and refreshed their weary bodies ; so they went to rest. Now they stayed in this 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, to wife, and his daughter Martha to Joseph. 
 
 The time, as I s.iid, that they lay here, was long (for it was not now as in former times). 
 Wherefore the i>ilgrims 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 she was there an ornament to her profession. And, to say the 
 truth for Grace, Phebe, and Martha, they were all of a very good nature, and did much good in 
 their place. They were also all of them very fruitful ; so that t'hristian'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 men fled when they heanl the 
 noise of his coming. 
 
 The monster was like unto no one beast upon the earth ; its body was like a dragon, and it 
 had seven heads and ten horns. (Rev. xvii. 3.) It made great havoc of children, and yet it was 
 governed by a woman. This monster projMJUnded conditions to men, and such men as loved 
 their lives more than their souls, accej)teil of those conditions. So they came under. 
 
 Now this Mr. Great-heart, together with those who came to visit the pilgrims at this .Mr. 
 
THE PILGROrS PROGRESS. 241 
 
 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. Great-heart, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, Mr. Dare-not-lie, and Mr. Penitent, 
 with their weapons, go forth to meet him. Now the monster, at first, was very rampant, and 
 looked ujjon 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 seasons 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 in, and did still continually assault him; insomuch that in process of time he became 
 not only wounded, but lame ; 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. Great-heart and his fellows of great fame in this town ; so that 
 many of the people that wanted their taste of things, yet had a reverend esteem and respect for 
 them. Upon this account therefore 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, more 
 than a beast ; these had no reverence for these men, nor took they notice of their valor or 
 adventures. 
 
 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 xxviii. 10.) 
 
 Then they set forward on their way ; and their friends accompanying them so far as was 
 convenient, they again committed each other to the protection of their King, and parted. 
 
 They, therefore, that were of the pilgrims' company went on, and Mr. Great-heart went 
 before them. Now the women and children being weakly, they were forced to go as they could 
 bear ; by this means Mr. Ready-to-halt and Mr. Feeble-mind had more to sympathize 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 put to death ; there, therefore, they made a 
 stand, and thanked him that had enabled him to bear his cross so well ; and the rather because 
 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 further, talking of Christian and Faithful ; 
 and how Hopeful joined himself to Christian after that Faithful was dead. 
 
 Now the}' were come up with the hill Lucre, where the silver mine was, which took Demas 
 off' from his pilgrimage, and into which, as some think. By-ends fell and perished ; wherefore they 
 considered that. But when they were come to the old monument that stood over against the hill 
 Lucre, to wit, to the pillar of salt that stood also within view of Sodom and its stinking lake ; 
 they marvelled, as did Christian before, that men of that 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 
 affecteu *flth the harms that others have met with, especially if that thing upon which they 
 look has an attracting virtue upon the foolish ej'e. 
 
242 THE PIlAikl.M'S PKUCikhSS. 
 
 I saw now tliat tliey went on, till they cnnic at the river that was on this side of the 
 Dflectahle Mountains — to the river where the tine trees grow on both sides ; and whose leaves, 
 if tjiken inwardly, are good against surfeits, where the mendows are green all the year long, and 
 where they might lie down safely. (I'sahn xxiii.) 
 
 By this river side, in the meadow, there were cotes and folds for sheep, n house built for the 
 nourishing and bringing up of those lambs, the babes of those women that go on pilgrimage. 
 (Hei). V. 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 that could 
 gently lead those that were with young. (Isa. xl. 11.) Now to the care of this max Christiana 
 admonished her four daughters to commit their little ones, that by these waters they might be 
 housed, iiarl)orcd, succored, and nourished, and that none of them might be lacking in time to 
 come. This Man, if any of them go astray, or be lost, he will bring them again: he will alio 
 bind up that whicii was broken, and will strengthen them that are sick. (Ezek. xxxiv. 11-16.) 
 Here they will never want meat, and drink, and clothing; here they will lie kept from thieves 
 and robbers; for this Man will die before one of those committed to his trust shall be lost. (Jer. 
 xxiii. 4.) Besides, here they shall be sure to have good imrture 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, plea-sant meadows, dainty flowers, variety of trees, and su<'h as bear 
 wholesome fruit ; fruit not like that that Matthew ate of, that fell over the wall out of Beelzebub's 
 garden ; but fruit that i)rocureth 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, that all this was to be at the charge of the King, and so 
 was 08 an hospital for young children and orphans. 
 
 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 l)y (iiant Despair, and put into 
 Doubting Castle, they sat down and consulted what was best to be done ; to wit, now they were 
 so strong, and had got such a man as Mr. Great-heart for their conductor, whether they had not 
 best to make an attempt upon the (iiant, demolish his castle, and, if there were any jnlgrims in 
 it, to set them at liberty, before they went any further. So one said one thing, and another said 
 the contrary. One (piestioned if it was lawful to go upon unconsecrated ground ; another said 
 they might, provided their end was good ; but Mr. (treat-heart said. Though that assertion ofl'ered 
 last cannot be universally true, yet I have a commandment 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 
 (iiunt Desjiair? I will, therefore, attempt the taking away of his life, and the demolishing of 
 Doubting Castle. Then said he. Who will go with me? Then said olil Honest, I will. And so 
 will we too, said Christiana's four sons, Matthew, Sanniel, James, and .Toseph ; for they were 
 young men and strong. (1 John iii. 13, 14.) So they left the women in the road, and Vith them 
 Mr. Feeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt with his crutches, to be their guard, until they axme 
 back ; for in that place, though Giant Desi)air dwelt so near, they keeping in the road, a little 
 child might lead them. (Isa. xi. (i.) 
 
 So Mr. (ireat-heart, old Honest, and the four youiii; men. went to go up to Doubting Castle, to 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 243 
 
 look for Giant Despair. When they came at the 
 castle-gate, they knocked for entrance with an un- 
 usual noise. At that the old Giant comes to the 
 gate, and Diffidence, his wife, follows. Then said 
 he, Who and what is he that is so hardy, as after 
 this manner to molest the Giant Despair? Mr. 
 Great-heart replied, It is I, Great-heart, one of 
 the King of the Celestial Country's conductors 
 of pilgrims to their place ; and I demand of 
 thee that thou ojien thy gates for my entrance. 
 Prepare thyself also to fight, for I am come to 
 take away thy head, and to demolish Doubting 
 Castle. 
 
 Now Giant Despair, because he was a giant, 
 thought no man could overcome him ; and, again, 
 thought he, Since heretofore I have made a con- 
 quest of angels, shall Great-heart make me afraid ? 
 So he harnessed himself, and went out. He had a 
 cap of steel upon his head, a breast-plate of fire 
 
 Miich-afnaid. 
 
 Despondency. 
 
 t^irded to him, and he came out in iron shoes, with 
 a great club in his hand. Then these six men 
 made up to him, and beset him behind and before. 
 Also when Diffidence, the giantess, came up to help 
 hmi, old Mr. Honest cut her down at one blow. 
 Ihen they fought for their lives, and Giant Despair 
 A\as brought down to the ground, but was very 
 loath to die. He struggled hard, and had, as they 
 ^ay, as many lives as a cat ; but Great-heart was 
 his death, for he left him not till he had severed 
 his head from his shoulders. 
 
 Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Cas- 
 tle , that you know might with ease be done, since 
 Giant Despair was dead. They were seven days 
 m destroying 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 
 vou a-wondered to have seen the dead bodies 
 
244 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 that lay lieru and tlRTt- in the castlc-yard, and liow full of dead men's bones the dungeon 
 was. 
 
 When Mr. tireat-hi-art and his companions had performed this exploit, they took Mr. 
 Despondency, and liis daughter Much-afraid, into their protection ; for they were honest people,! 
 though they were prisoners in Doubting (."astle, to that tyrant Giant Dcsjiair. They, therefore, I 
 say, took with them the head of the giant, for his Ijody they had liuried under a heap of stoni-s, 
 and down to the road and to their comj)anions they came, and showed them what they had done. 
 Now when Feehle-mind and Keady-tf>halt saw that it was the head of (iiant 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 ; so since they were so merry disposed, she jjlayed them a lesson, 
 and Ready-to-halt would dance. So he took Despondency's daughter, named Much-afraid, hy the 
 hand, and to dancing they went in the ri)ad. True, he could not dance without one crutch in his 
 hand ; but, I promise you, he footed it well. Also the girl was to l)e commended, for she 
 answered the music handsomely. 
 
 As f(jr Mr. Des|)ondency, the music w;is not much to him ; he was for feeding rather than 
 dancing, for tiiat he was almost starved. So Christiana gave him some of her bottle of spirits, for 
 present relief, and then pre|)ared 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. Great-heart took the head 
 of (Jiant Despair. an<l set it upon a pole by the highway side, right over against the pillar that 
 Christian erecteil for a caution to pilgrims that came after, to take heed of entering into his 
 grounds. 
 
 "Tlioiipli Doubting Castle l)e clcninlish'il. 
 And the Giant De»|>uir hath list his he.-ul. 
 Sin can rebniUl the Cattle, niake't remain. 
 .'Vnil make Despair the (iiant live again." 
 
 Then ho writ tuider it, upon a innrble stone, these verses followiii^'. — 
 
 " This the head of him. whtwe nan)e im\y 
 In fiirnier times diil pilgrims terrify. 
 His f'a-stle's duwn ; and Diffidence, his wife, 
 Brave Majstcr (Jreat-lieart lias bereft of life. 
 Despondency, his dauKhler Mnch-afraid, 
 • ireat-heart for them also the man lia-< play'd ; 
 Who hereof doubts, if he'll but ca.st his eye 
 I'p hither may his gcniples satisfy: 
 This head also, when doubting cripples dance. 
 Doth show from fears they have deliverance." 
 
 When these men had thus bravely showed themselves against Doubting Castle, and had 
 slain Giant Despair, they went forward ; and went on till they came to the Delectable Mountains, 
 where Christian and Hopeful refreshed themselves with the varieties of the place. They also 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 245 
 
 acquainted themselves with the Shepherds there, who welcomed them, as they had done Chris- 
 tian before, unto the Delectable Mountains. 
 
 Now the Shepherds, seeing so great a train follow Mr. Great-heart, for with him they were 
 well acquainted, they said unto him, Good Sir, you have got a goodly company here. Pray, 
 where did you find all these? 
 
 Then Mr. Great-heart replied, — 
 
 " First, here is Christiana and her train, 
 Her sons, and her sons' wives, who, like the wain, 
 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 ; 
 Kead_v-to-halt, too, who, 1 dare engage, 
 True-hearted is; and so is Feeble-mind, 
 Who willing was not to be left behind ; 
 Despondency, good man, is coming after, 
 And so also is Much-afraid, his daughter. 
 May we have entertainment here, or must 
 We further go? Let's know whereon to trust.'' 
 
 Then said the Shepherds, This is a comfortable company. You are welcome to us, for we 
 have comfort for the feeble as for the strong. Our Prince has an eye to what is done to the 
 least of these ; therefore infirmity must not be a block to our entertainment. (Matt. xxv. 40.) 
 So they had them to the palace door, and then said unto them, Come in, Mr. Feeble-mind ; 
 Come in, Mr. Ready-to-halt ; Come in, Mr. Despondency, and Much-afraid, his daughter. These, 
 Mr. Great-heart, said the Shepherds to the guide, we call in by name, for that they are most sub- 
 ject to draw back ; but as for you and the rest that are strong, we leave you to your wonted 
 liberty. Then said Mr. Great-heart, This day I see that grace doth shine in your faces, and that 
 you are my Lord's Shepherds indeed ; for that j''ou 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. xxxiv. 21.) 
 
 So the feeble and weak went in, and Mr. Great-heart and the rest did follow. When they 
 were also set down, the Shepherds said to those of the weaker sort. What is it that you would 
 have? for, said they, all things must be managed here to the supporting of the weak, as well as 
 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 respec- 
 tively 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 to 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 showed to Chris- 
 tian before. 
 
 Then they had them to some new places. The first was to Mount Marvel, where they looked, 
 and beheld a man at a distance, that tumbled the hills about with words. Then they asked the 
 
246 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Shejiherds what that sliould mean ? So they told 
 them, that that man was the son uf one Urcat-grace, 
 of wliom you read in the First Part of the Records 
 of the Pilgrim's Progress. And he is set there to 
 teach pilgrims liow to beUeve down, or to tumble 
 out of their way, what difliculties they shall meet 
 with, by faith. (Mark xi. 23, 24.J Then said Mr. 
 Great-heart, I know him. He is a man above 
 many. 
 
 Then tliey had them to another place, called 
 Mount Innocent; and there they saw a man 
 clothed all in white, and two men. Prejudice and 
 Ill-will, continually casting dirt ujjon him. Now, 
 behold, the dirt, whatsoever they cast at him, 
 would in little time fall ofl" again, and his gar- 
 ments would look as clear as if no dirt had been 
 ciist thereat. 
 
 Then said the pilgrims. What means this? 
 The Shepherds answered, This man is named 
 
 Prejudice. 
 
 Godly-man, and this garment is to sliow the iniio- 
 cency of his life. Now, those that throw dirt at 
 him, are such as hate his well-doing ; but, as you 
 see the dirt will not stick upon his clothes, so it 
 shall be Avith him that liveth truly innocently in 
 tlie world. Whoever they lie that would make 
 such men dirty, they labor in vain ; for God, by 
 that a little time is spent, will cause that their in- 
 nocence shall break forth as the light, and their 
 righteousness as the noon-day. 
 
 Tlien they took them, and had them to Mount 
 Charity, where they showed tliem a man that had 
 a bunille of cloth lying before him, out of which 
 he cut coats and garments for the poor that stood 
 aViout him ; yet his liundle or roll of cloth Wius 
 never the less. 
 
 Then said they. What should this be? Tliis 
 is, said the Shepherds, to show you that he that 
 has a heart to give of his labor to the poor siuUl 
 
 Ill-will. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 247 
 
 never want wherewithal. He that watereth shall be watered himself. And the cake that the 
 widow gave to the prophet did not cause that she had ever the less in her barrel. 
 
 They had them also to a place where they saw one Fool, and one Wantrwit, washing of an 
 Ethiopian, with intention to make him white ; but the more they washed him the blacker he was. 
 They then asked the Shepherds what that should mean. So they told them, saying. Thus shall 
 it be 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 shall it be with 
 all hypocrites. 
 
 Then said Mercy, the wife of Matthew, to Cliristiana, 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 in the side of a hill, and 
 they opened it, and bid Mercy hearken awhile. So she hearkened, and heard one saying. Cursed 
 be my father, for holding of my feet back from the way of peace and life ; and another said. Oh, 
 that I had been torn in pieces, before I had, to save my life, lost my soul ! and another said. If I 
 were to live again, how would I deny myself, rather than come to this place ! Then there was 
 as if the very earth had groaned and quaked under the feet of this young woman for fear. So 
 she looked white, and came trembling away, saying. Blessed be he and she that are delivered 
 from this place. 
 
 Now when the Shepherds had shown them all these things, then they had them back to the 
 palace, and entertained them with what the house would afford. But Mercy, being a young and 
 breeding woman, longed for something that she saw there, but was ashamed to ask. Her mother- 
 in-law then asked her what she ailed ; for she looked as one not well. Then said Mercy, There is 
 a looking-glass hangs up in the dining-room, off which I cannot take my mind ; if, therefore, I 
 have it not, I think I shall miscarry. Then said her mother, I will mention thy wants to the 
 Shepherds, and they will not deny it thee. But she said, I am ashamed that these men should 
 know that I longed. Nay, my daughter, said she, it is no shame, but a virtue, to long for such a 
 thing as that. So Mercy said, Then, mother, if you please, ask the Shepherds if they are willing 
 to sell it. 
 
 Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would present a maji, one way, with his own 
 features exactly (James i. 23) ; and, turn it but another way, and it would show one the very face 
 and similitude of the Prince of Pilgrims himself. (1 Cor. xiii. 12.) Yea, 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, in his feet, and his 
 side. (2 Cor. iii. 18.) Yea, such an excellency is there in that glass, that it will show him to one 
 where they have a mind to see him ; whether living or dead ; whether in earth or heaven ; 
 whether in a state of humiliation, or in his exaltation ; whether coming to suffer, or coming to 
 reign. 
 
 Christiana, therefore, went to the Shepherds apart — now the names of the Shej^herds are 
 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 in this 
 house ; and she thinks she shall miscarry, if she shall by you be denied. 
 
 Experience. Call her, call her; she shall assuredly have what we can help her to. So they 
 
248 THE PILGKIM'vS I'ROf'.RESS. 
 
 culled 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 it, and, with 
 a joyful con.sent, it was given her. Then she bowed her head, and gave thanks, and said, By 
 this I know that I have obtained favor in your eyes. 
 
 They also gave to the other young women such things as they desired, and to their husbands 
 great commendations, for that they had joined with Mr. Great-heart to the slaying of Giant 
 Despair, and the demolishing of Doul)ting Castle. 
 
 About Chri.'<tiana's neck the Shei)herds j)ut a bracelet, and so they did about the necks of 
 her four daughters; also they put ear-rings in their ears, and jewels on their foreheads. 
 
 When they were minded to go hence, they let them go in peace, but gave not to them those 
 certain cautions which before were given to Christian and his companion. The reason was for 
 that these had (Jreat-heart to be their guide, who was one that was well acquainted with things, 
 and so could give them their cautions more seasonably ; to wit, even then when the danger was 
 nigh the ajiproaching. What cautions Christian and his companion had received of the Shejv 
 herds they had also lost, by that the time was come that they had need to put them in prac- 
 tice. Wherefore, here was the advantage that this company had over the other. 
 
 From hence they went on singing, and they said, — 
 
 " Behold, how fitly are the stages set 
 
 For their relief that pilgrims are become ! 
 Anil how they us receive without one let, 
 That makes the other life our mark and home! 
 
 " \Vh.it novelties they have to us ihey give. 
 That vtb, though pilgrims, joyful lives may live; 
 They do up<m us, too, such things liestow, 
 That show we pilgrims are, where'er we go.'' 
 
 When they were gone from the Shepherds, they quickly came to the place where Christian 
 met with one Turn-away, that dwelt in the town of Apostasy. Wherefore of him Mr. Great-heart 
 their guide, did now put tliem in minil, saying. This is the place where Christian met with one 
 Turn-away, who carried with him the <liaracter of his rebellion at his back. And this I have to 
 say concerning this man ; he would hearken to no counsel, but, once falling, persuasion could not 
 stop him. 
 
 When he came to the place where the Cross and the Sejjulchre were, he did meet with one 
 that did bid him look there, but he gnashed with his teeth, and stamped, and .«aid. he was 
 resolved to go back to his own town. Before he came to the gate, he met with Evangelist, who 
 oflTered to lay hands on him, to tuni him into the way again. But this Turn-away resisted him, 
 and having done much desjiite unto him, he got away over the wall, and so escaped his 
 hand. ( Heb. x. 2G-29.) 
 
 Then they went on ; and just at the place where Little-faith formerly was robbed, there stood 
 a man with his sword drawn, and his face all bloody. Then said Mr. Great-heart. What art thou? 
 The man made answer, saying, I am one whose name is Valiant-for-truth. I am a pilgrim, and 
 
V, /-) 
 
 'Evangelist offered to lav hands on him, to turn him into the wav again." 
 
250 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PR(JGRESS. 
 
 .1111 froiiit; to tlie CVli'stiul City. Now, as I wu8 in my way, there were thrtf men did Ijtwt me, 
 and i)r.)|.oundcd unto me these three things: (1) Whether I would hecome one of them; (2; Or 
 go back from whence I came; (3) Or die upon the i)hice. T.» the <ir«t, I answered, I had »)een a 
 
 true man a long season, and therefore it could not 
 be expected that 1 now should aist in my lot with 
 thieves. (I'rov. i. 10-14.) Then tliey demandetl 
 what I W(»uld say to the second. So I told them 
 that the place from whence I came, had I not 
 found incomniodity there, I had not forsaken it at 
 all ; but finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and 
 very unprofitable for me, I for80t)k it for this way. 
 Then they asked me what I said to the third. 
 And I told them. My life cost more dear far tlian 
 that I should lightly give it away. Besides, you 
 have nothing to do thus to put things to my 
 choice; wherefore, at your peril be it if you 
 meddle. Then these three, to wit. Wild-head, 
 Inconsiderate, and Pragmatic, drew upon me, and 
 I also drew upon them. 
 
 So we fell to it, one against tliree, 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 arc Itut just now gone. I suppose 
 they might, as the saying is, hear your horse 
 dash, and so they betook them to flight. 
 
 GiiEAT-HKAKT. But here was great odds, three 
 against one. 
 Valia.nt. It is 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, " my heart shall not fear ; though war 
 should rise against me, in this will I be confident" (P.salm xxvii. 3.) Besides, saith he, I have 
 read in some records, that one man has fought an army. And bow many did Samson slay with 
 the jaw-bone of an a.ss? (Judges xv. 1"). 1(5.) 
 
 CiKEAT-HEART. Then said the guide. Why did you not cry out. that .some might have come 
 in for your succor? 
 
 Valia.nt. So I did, to my King, who, I knew, could hear, and afl'nrd invisible help, ami 
 that was suflicient for me. 
 
 Great-heart. Then sjiid Great-heart to Mr. Valiant-for-truth, Thou hast worthily behaved 
 thyself. Ix-t me see thy sword. So he showed it him. When he had taken it in his hand, and 
 looked thereon a while, he said, Ha! it is a right Jerusalem blade. (Isa. ii. 3.) 
 
 Valiant. It is so. I/Ct a man have one of these blades, with a hand to wield it and skill 
 to u.se it, ami he may ventun* upon an angel with it. He need not fear its holding, if he can but 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 I^P 
 
 >^^^^l 
 
 ^1 
 
 
 Wmf:-^^ 
 
 
 '"'/^p''' 
 
 ' j£^ 
 
 ^^4 
 
 Wil.l-lii.a.l. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 251 
 
 tell how to lay on. Its edges will never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones, and soul and spirit, 
 and all. (Eph. vi. 12-17.) 
 
 Great-heart. But you fought a great while; I wonder you was not weary. 
 
 Valiant. I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand ; and when they were joined together, 
 as if a sword grew out of my arm, and when the blood ran through my fingers, then I fought 
 with most courage. (2 Sam. xxiii. 10.) 
 
 Great-heart. Thou hast done well. Thou hast " resisted unto blood, striving against sin." 
 Thou shalt abide by us; come in and go out with us, for we are thy companions. 
 
 Then they took him, and washed his wounds, and gave him of what they had to refresh 
 him; and so they went on together. Now, as thej'^ went on, because Mr. Great-heart was 
 delighted in him, for he loved one greatly that he found to be a man of his hands, and because 
 there were with his company them that were feeble and weak, therefore he questioned with him 
 about many things; as, first, what countryman he was? 
 
 Valiant. I am of Dark-land ; for there I was born, and there my father and mother are 
 still. 
 
 Great-heart. Dark-land, said the guide ; doth not that lie upon the same coast with the 
 City of Destruction? 
 
 Valiant. Yes, it doth. Now that which caused me to come on pilgrimage was this ; we had 
 one Mr. Tell-truth come into our parts, and he told it about what Christian had done, that went 
 from the City of Destruction ; namely, how he had forsaken his wife and children, and had 
 betaken himself to a pilgrim's life. It was also confidently reported how he had killed a serpent 
 that did come out to resist him in his journey, and how he got through to whither he intended. 
 It was also told what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, especially when he came to the 
 gates of the Celestial City ; for there, said the man, he was received with sound of trumpet, by 
 a company of Shining Ones. He told it 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-heart. You came in at the gate, did you not? 
 
 Valiant. Yes, yes ; for the same man also told us that all would be nothing, if we did not 
 begin to enter this way at the gate. 
 
 Great-heart. Look you, said the guide to Christiana, the pilgrimage of your husband, and 
 what he has gotten thereby, is spread abroad far and near. 
 
 V.\liant. Why, is this Christian's wife? 
 
 Great-heart. Yes, that it is ; and these are also her four sons. 
 
 Valiant. What! and going on pilgrimage too? 
 
 Great-heart. Yes, verily ; they are following after. 
 
 Valiant. It gladdens me at heart. Good man ! how joyful will he be when he shall see 
 them that would not go with him, yet to enter after him at the gates into the city! 
 
 Great-heart. 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. 
 
252 THE PIUiRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Valiant, liut, now you arc upon that, pray let me liear your opinion al«>iit n. xmu- inaki- 
 a question, Whether we shall know one another when we are there. 
 
 (JKEAT-HEART. Do they t,hink they shall know themselves then, or that they shall rejoiee to 
 see themselves in that liliss? and if they think they shall know and do this, why not know 
 others, and rejoice in their welfare also? 
 
 A}?ain, since relations are our second self, though that state will l>e di.«solved there; yet why 
 may it not be rationally concluded that we shall he more glad to see them then', than to see they 
 arc wanting? 
 
 Valiant. Well, I perceive whereahouts you are as to this. Have you any more things to 
 ask me about my beginning to come on pilgrimage? 
 
 Gkeat-hkakt. Yes. Was your father and mother willing that you siiould become a 
 pilgrim ? 
 
 Vamant. Oh no! They u.sed all means imaginable to i)ersuaile me to stay at home. 
 
 (ireat-ueart. 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-heart. And what did they say else? 
 
 Valiant. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous way ; yea, the most dangerous way in 
 the world, said they, is that which the pilgrims go. 
 
 Gre.\t-iieart. Did they show wherein this way is so dangerous? 
 
 Valiant. Yes; and that in many j)articulars. 
 
 Great-heart. Name some of them. 
 
 Valiant. Tiiey told me of the Slough of Despond, where Christian was well nigh ."mothered. 
 They told me that there were archers standing ready in Beelzebub's Castle, to shoot them that 
 should knock at tlie wicket-gate for entrance. They told me also of the wood, and dark moun- 
 tains; of the Hill DiHiculty; of the lions; and also of the three giants, Hloody-man, Maul, and 
 Slay-good. They saiil, moreover, that there was a foul fieml haunted the Valley of Humiliation, 
 and that Christian Wiu« by him almost bereft of life. Besides, .said they, you must go over the 
 Valley of tlie Siiadow of Death, where the hobgoblins are ; where the light is darkness ; where 
 the way is full of snares, pits, tnips, and gins. They told me also of Giant Despair, of Doubting 
 Castle, and of the ruin that the jjilgrims met with there. Further, they said I must go 
 over the Enchanted Ground, whidi was dangerous. And that, after all this, 1 should find 
 a river, over which I should find no bridt'c. ami that tliat river did lie betwixt uu- and tlie 
 Celestial Country. 
 
 Great-heart. Ami was this all ? 
 
 Valia.nt. No. Tliey also told ine that tliis way was full of deceivers, and of persons that 
 lay in wait there, to turn good men out of the i>ath. 
 
 (}re.\t-heart. But how did tliey make that out? 
 
 Valiant. They told me that Mr. Worldly Wiseman did there V\e in wait to deceive. They 
 also said, that there wa,s Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the road. They said, also, that 
 By-en<ls, Talkative, or Demas would go near to gatlier me uji ; that the Flatterer would catch me 
 in his net; or that, with green-headed Ignorance, I would presume to go on to the gate, from 
 
Valiant-for-tnith. 
 
254 THE IMLdRIMS PROGRESS. 
 
 whence lie always was sent back to the hole that wius in the side of the hill, ami made to go the 
 liy-way to liell. 
 
 Grkat-heart. I promise you tiiis was enoURh to discourage ; hut <iid they make an end 
 here? 
 
 Valiant. No; stay. They told me aUo of many tliat had trietl that way of old, and that 
 had gone a great way therein, to see if they could find something of the glory there, that .st) 
 many had so much talked of from time to time ; and how they came hack again, and hef(»<)le«l 
 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 Ohstinate and Pliable, Mistrust and Timorous, Turn-away 
 and old Atheist, with sevend more, who, they said, had some of them gone far, to see if they 
 could find ; but not one of them found so much a<lvantage by going as amounted to the weight 
 of a feather. 
 
 Great-hkakt. Said they anything more to discourage you? 
 
 Valiant. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing, who was a pilgrim ; and how he found 
 this way so solitary, that he never had a comfortjible hour therein. Also, that Mr. DesjHjndency 
 had like to have been sta^^•ed therein ; yea, antl also, which I had almost forgot, that Christian 
 himself, about whom there has been such a noise, af^er all his ventures for a celestial crown, 
 was certainly drowned in the Black River, and never went foot further I however, it was 
 smothered ui>. 
 
 (Ikeat-iikart. And did none of the-^e things discourage you? 
 
 Valiant. No; they seemed but as so many nothings to me. 
 
 (iREAT-iiEART. How came that about? 
 
 Valiant. Why. I still believed what Mr. Tell-truth had .said, and that carried me beyond 
 them all. 
 
 Oreat-iikakt. Then this was your victory, even your faith? 
 
 Valiant. It was so. I believed, ami therefore came out, got into the way, fought all that 
 set themselves against me, and believing, am come to this place. 
 
 " Who would true valor see, 
 
 Let him come hither ; 
 One here will ronstanl 1h', 
 
 Conic wind, ixime weather. 
 There's no dit<conraf;enient 
 Shall make him onix- relent 
 His finit avow'd intent 
 
 To be a pilKriiii. 
 
 "Whoso beiiet him round 
 
 With dixmal Glories, 
 Do but themwlvcs ctrnfoiind — 
 
 His HtrenKth the more is; 
 No lion ran him fright ; 
 He'll with a giant (iKht; 
 Bnt he will have a right 
 
 To be a pilgrim. 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 255 
 
 " Hobgoblin nor foul fiend 
 
 Can daunt his spirit; 
 He knows he at the end 
 
 Shall life inherit. 
 Then fancies fly away, 
 He'll fear not 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 over with briars and thorns, excepting here and there, 
 where was an Enchanted Arbor, upon which, if a man sits, or in which, if a man sleeps, it is a 
 question, say some, whether ever he shall rise or wake again in this world. Over this forest, 
 therefore, they went, both one and the other, and Mr. Great-heart went before, for that he was the 
 guide ; and Mr. Valiant-for-truth, he came behind, being there a guard, for fear least peradventure 
 some fiend, or dragon, or giant, or thief, should foil upon their rear, and so do mischief They 
 went on here, each man with his sword drawn in his hand, for they knew it was a dangerous 
 place. Also they cheered up one another as well as they could ; Feeble-mind, Mr. Great-heart 
 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, see the one the other ; wherefore they were forced, for some time, 
 to feel for one another by words; for they walked not by sight. 
 
 But any one must think that here was but sorrj^ 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. Yet so it 
 was, that through the encouraging words of he that led in the front, and of him that brought 
 them up behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along. 
 
 The way also was here very wearisome, through dirt and slabbiness. Nor was there on all 
 this ground so much as one inn or victualling house, therein to refresh the feebler sort. Here, 
 therefore, was grunting, and puffing, and sighing. While one tumbleth over a bush, another 
 sticks fast in the dirt ; and the children, some of them, lost theii" shoes in the mire. While one 
 cries out, I am down ; and another. Ho ! where are you ? and a third, The bushes have got such 
 fast hold on me, I tliink I cannot get away from them. 
 
 Then they came to an arbor, warm, and promising much refreshing to the pilgrims ; for it 
 was finely wrought above head, beautified with greens, and 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 not one of them that made so much as a 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 dangers, when they were at them, 
 that usually, when they were nearest to them, they did most pluck up their spirits, and hearken 
 one another to deny the flesh. This arbor was called the Slothful's Friend, 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 
 17 
 
256 Till-: I'lLORIM'vS PROGRESS. 
 
 a place at which a man is apt to lose his way. Now, tliougli wlicii it wa^* lijjlit, their j,'uiile 
 could well enough tell how to miss those ways that leil wrong, yet in the dark he was i)Ut to a 
 stand; but he had in his pocket a map of all ways leading to or from the Celestial City ; where- 
 fore he struck a light, for he never goes, also, without his tinder-box, and takes a view of his 
 l)ook or map, which bids him be careful, in that i)lace, to turn to the right-hand way. And 
 had he not here been careful to look in his map, they had, in all probability, been smothered 
 in the mud ; for just a little l)efore 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 jjurjwse to destroy the 
 pilgrims in. 
 
 Then thought I 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 st^md, which is the way he must take. 
 
 They went on, then, in this Enchanted Ground, till they came to where there was another 
 arbor, and it was built by the highway side. And in that arbor there lay two men, whose 
 names were Heedless and Too-bold. These two went thus far on pilgrimage; but here, being 
 wearied with their journey, they sat down to rest themselves, 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 themselves 
 did not sit down nor embrace the ofl'ered benefit of that arbor. 
 
 So they went in, and spake to the men, and called each by ins name, for the guide, it seems, 
 did know them ; but there wa.s 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 t^ike my money. 
 At which the guide shook his head. I will fight so long as I can hold 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 
 sleej). If you strike them, beat them, or whatever else you do to them, they will answer you 
 after this fiishion ; 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, " \\'hen shall I awake? I will seek it yet 
 again." (Prov. xxiii. 34, 3.5.) 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 their going on pilgrimage, and sitting down here. This, then, 
 is the mischief of it, when heedless ones go on pilgrimage, it is twenty to one but they are 8er\'ed 
 thus; for this Enchanted Ground is one of the last refuges that the enemy to pilgrims has. 
 \\'herefore, it is, as you see, placed almost at the end of the way, and so it standeth against us 
 with the more advantage. For when, thinks the enemy, will these fools be so desirous to sit 
 down, 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 nigh to the Land Beulah, 
 and so near the end of their race. Wherefore let pilgrims look to themselves, lest it happen to 
 them as it has done to these, that, as you see, are fallen aslceji and none can wake them. 
 
 Then the jiilgrims desired, with trembling, to go fonvard ; only they prayed their guide to 
 strike a light, that they might go the rest of their way by tlie help of the light of a lantern. So 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 257 
 
 he struck a light, and they went by the help of that through the rest of this way, though the 
 darkness was very great. 
 
 But the children began to be sorely weary ; and they cried unto him that loveth pilgrims, to 
 make their way more comfortable. So, by that they had gone a little further, a wind arose, 
 drove away the fog, and the air became more clear. Yet they were not off, by much, of the 
 Enchanted Ground, only now they could see one another better, and the way wherein they 
 should walk. 
 
 Now, when they were almost at the end of this ground, they perceived that, a little before 
 them, was a solemn noise of one that was much concerned. So they went on and looked before 
 them ; and behold they saw, as they thought, a man upon his knees, with -hands and eyes lift up, 
 and speaking, as they thought, earnestly 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 your company, if you go, as I suppose you do, to the Celestial City. So the 
 man stopped, and they came up to him. But so 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, who comes 
 from whereabouts I dwell. His name is Stand-fast; he is certainly a right good pilgrim. 
 
 So they came up one to another ; and presently Stand-fast 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. Stand-fast, that I have found you on this road. And as glad am I, said the other, that I 
 espied you upon your knees. Then Mr. Stand-fast 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 Stand-fast. Think! said old Honest, what should I think? I thought we had 
 an honest man upon the road, and therefore should have his company by-and-by. If you 
 thought not amiss, said Stand-fast, how happy am I; but if I be not as I should, I alone must 
 bear it. That is true, said the other ; but your fear doth further confirm me that things are right 
 betwixt the Prince of Pilgrims and your soul ; for, saith he, " Blessed is the man that feareth 
 always." 
 
 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 some obligation laid by special mercies upon thee, or how ? 
 
 Stand-fast. Whj', we are, as you see, upon the Enchanted Ground ; and as I was coming 
 along, I was musing with myself of what a dangerous road the road in this place was, and how 
 many that had come even thus far on pilgrimage had here been stopped and been destroyed. I 
 thought also of the manner of the death with which this place destroyeth men. Those that die 
 here die of no violent distemper. The death which such die is not grievous to them ; for he 
 that goeth away in a sleep, begins that journey with desire and pleasure ; yea, such acquiesce in 
 tlie will of that disease. 
 
 Hon. Then Mr. Honest, interrupting him, said, Did you see the two men asleep in the 
 arbor ? 
 
 Stand-fast. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Too-bold there ; and, for aught I know, there they 
 will lie till they rot. (Prov. x. 7.) But let me go on in my tale. As I was thus musing, as I 
 said, there was one in very pleasant attire, but old, who presented herself unto me, and offered 
 
258 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 me three things; to wit, her liody, her puree. nn<l her bed. Now, tlie truth is, I wan both 
 a-weiiry and glecpy ; I am also as poor as an owlet, and that, perhaps, the witch knew. Well, I 
 repulsed her once and twice, but she put by my rci)ul.«es, and 8niile<l. Then I began to be 
 angry ; but ."he mattered that nothing at all. Then she made offers again, and caid. If I would 
 be ruU'd by her, she would make me great and liajijiy ; 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 Hubble. This set me further from her: but she still followed me with enticement". 
 Then I betook me, as you saw. to my knees ; and with hands lift 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 nither sought to make a stop of me in my journey. 
 
 Ho.N. Without doubt her designs were bad. But stay, now you talk of her, methinks I 
 either have seen her, or have read some story of her. 
 
 Staxd-fa.st. Perha{)s you have done both. 
 
 Hon. Madam Bubble! is she not a tall, comely dame, something of a swarthy complexion? 
 
 St A. VD- F.A.ST. 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-fast. You fall right upon it iigain. for these are her very actions. 
 
 Hon. Doth she not wear a great purse by her side ; and is not her hand often in it fin- 
 gering her money, as if that was her heart's dehght? 
 
 Stand-fast. It is just so; ha<l she stood by all this while, you could not more amply have 
 set her forth before me, nor have better described her features. 
 
 Hon. Then he that drew her picture was a good limner, and he that wrote of her said true. 
 
 (JitKAT-HKAHT. This woman is a witch, and it is by virtue of her sorceries that this ground 
 is enchanted. Whoever doth lay their head down in her lap, had as good lay it down upon that 
 block over which the axe doth hang; and whoever lay their eyes upon her beauty, are counted 
 the enemies of God. {.James iv. 4 ; 1 .John ii. 15.) This is she that maintaineth in their splendor 
 all those that are the enemies of pilgrims. Yea, this is she that hath bought off many a man 
 from a pilgrim's life. She is a great gossipper! she is always, both she and her daughters, at 
 one pilgrim's heels or another, now commending and then preferring the excellencies of this life. 
 She is a bold and impudent slut; she will talk with any man. She always laugheth poor 
 pilgrims to scorn; but highly commends the rich. If there be one cunning to get money in a 
 idace, she will speak well of him from hou.se to house ; she loveth banqueting and feasting 
 mainly well ; she is always at one full table or another. She has given it out in some places 
 that she is a goddess, and therefore some do worship her. She has her times 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's children, if they will but love and make much of her. 
 She will cast out of her purse gold like dust, in .some places, and to some persons. She loves 
 to be sought after, spoken well of, and to lie in the bosoms of men. She is never weary of 
 commending her commodities, and she loves them most that think best of her. She will promise 
 to some crowns and kingdoms, if they will but take her advice ; yet many hath she brought to 
 the halter, and ten thousand times more to hell. 
 
"She still followed me with enticements. 
 
26o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Stand-fast. Oh, said Staiul-fast, wliat a mercy is it tliat I did r- -isl ! fur whither might she 
 have drawn me! 
 
 GuKAT-HKAUT. Whither! nay, none but Ood knows wlnther. But, in general, to be sure, 
 she would have drawn thee into " many foolish hurtful lustjs, which drown men in destruction 
 and perdition." (1 Tim. vi. 9.) 
 
 It was she that set Absalom against his father, and Jeroboam against his master. It was she 
 that persuaded Judas to sell his Lord, and that prevailed with Demas to forsake the godly pil- 
 grims' life ; none can tell of the mischief that she doth. .She makes variance betwixt rulers and 
 subjects, betwixt parents and children, betwixt neighbor and neighbor, betwixt a man and his 
 wife, betwixt a man and liimself, betwixt the Hesh and the heart. 
 
 Wherefore, good Master Stand-fast, 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 brake out and sang, — 
 
 "What (lanRcr is the pilgrim in, 
 How many are his foes I 
 How many ways there are to itin 
 No living mortal knows. 
 
 "Some of the ditch shy are, yet can 
 Lie tumbling in the mire; 
 Some, though they shun the frying-pan, 
 L)o leitp into the fire." 
 
 After this, I beheld until they were come unto the luind of Beulah. where the sun shineth 
 night and day. Here, because they were weary, they betook themselves awhile to rest ; ami, 
 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 bold 
 with any of his things. But a little while soon refreshed them here ; for the bells did so ring, 
 and the trumpets continuallj' sound so melodiously, that they could not sleep; and yet they 
 received as much refreshing as if they had slept their sleep ever so soundly. Here, also, all the 
 noise of them that walked in the streets, was, More pilgrims are come to town. And another 
 would answer, sayin;;, 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 sorrows. Then the 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 ! In this laml they heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smelletl nothing, tiste<l 
 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 tasted a little bitterish to the jwilate, but it 
 proved sweeter when it was down. 
 
 In this place there was a record kejit of the names of thetn that had been pilgrims of old, 
 and a history of all the famous aot.s tiiat they have done. It was Ihtc nlsd much discoursed, how 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 261 
 
 the river to some had had its flowings, and what ebbings it has had while others have 
 gone over. It has been in a manner dry for some, while it has overflowed its banks for 
 others. 
 
 In this place the children of the town would go into the King's gardens, and gather nosegays 
 for the pilgrims, and bring them to them with much affection. Here also grew camphire, with 
 spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with all its trees of frankincense, myrrh, and aloes, 
 with all chief spices. With these the pilgrims' chambers were perfumed, while they stayed 
 here; and with these were their bodies anointed, to prepare them to go over the river when 
 the time appointed was come. 
 
 Now, while they lay here, and waited for the good hour, there was a noise in the town that 
 there was a post come from the Celestial City, with matter of great importance to one Christiana 
 the wife of Christian the pilgrim. So inquiry was made for her, and the house was found out 
 where she was ; so the post presented her with a letter, the contents whereof were, " Hail, good 
 woman ! I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth that thou shouldest 
 stand in his presence in clothes of immortality, within these ten days." 
 
 When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith a sure token that he was a true 
 messenger, and was come to bid her make haste to be gone. The token was an arrow with a 
 point sharpened with love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with 
 her, that at the time appointed she must be gone. 
 
 When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that she was the first of this company 
 that was to go over, she called for Mr. Great-heart her guide, and told him how matters were. 
 So he told her he was heartily glad of the news, and could have been glad had the post come 
 for him. Then she bid that he should give advice how all things should be prepared for her 
 journey. So he told her, saying, Thus and thus it must be ; and we that survive will accompany 
 you to the river side. 
 
 Then she called for her children, and gave them her blessing, and told them that she yet 
 read with comfort the mark that was set in their foreheads, and was glad to see them with her 
 there, and that they had kept their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the poor that 
 little she had, and commanded her sons and her 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 m)' King will give you " a crown of life." I would also entreat 
 you to have an eye to my children ; and if at any time you see them faint, speak comfortably 
 to them. For my daughters, my sons' wives, they have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the 
 promise upon them will be their end. But she gave Mr. Stand-fast a ring. 
 
 Then she called for old Mr. Honest, and said of him, " Behold an Israelite indeed, in wliom 
 is no guile." Then said he, I wish you a fair day when you set out for Mount Zion, and shall 
 be glad to see that you go over the river dry-shod. But she answered, Come wet, come dry, I 
 long to be gone ; for, however the weather is in my journey, I shall have time enough when I 
 •come there to sit down and rest me and dry me. 
 
 Then came in that good man Mr. Ready-to-halt to see her. So she said to him. Thy travel 
 
262 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 liiUicr has been with dirticuUy ; but that will nmke tliy reat tlie sweeter. But watch and bo 
 ready ; for at an hour when you think not the nietwenger may come. 
 
 After him came in Mr. Despondency, and liis daughter Much-afraid, to wliom ."^he .said. You 
 ouglit with thankfulness for ever to remember your deliverance from the hands of Ciiant Despair 
 and out of DoulHing Castle. The effect of that mercy is, that you are brought witli safety liither. 
 lie ye watchful, and cast away fear ; " be sober, and ho|>e to the end." 
 
 Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered from the n»oulh of Giant 81ay-pood, 
 that thou mightest live in the light of the living for ever, and see thy King with comfort; only I 
 advi.se thee to repent thee of thine aptness to fear and doubt of his goodnc-ss, before he sends 
 for thee; lest thou shouldest, when he comes, be forced to stand before him, for that fault, with 
 blushing. 
 
 Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. So the road was full of people to see 
 her take her journey. But, behold, all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots, 
 which were come down from above U) accompany her to the city gate. So she came forth and 
 entered the river, with a beckon of farewell to those that followed her to the river side. The 
 last words that she was heard to say here were, I come, Lord, to be with thee, and bless thee. 
 
 So her children and friends returned to their place, for that those that waited for Christiana 
 had carried her out of their sight. So she went and called, and entered in at the gate with all 
 the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had done before her. 
 
 At her departure her children wept; but Mr. Great-heart and Mr. Valiant played upon the 
 well-tuned cymbal and harp for joy. So all departed to their respective places. 
 
 In process of time there came a post to the town again, and his business was with Mr. 
 Keady-to-halt. So he inquired him out, and said to him, I am come to thee in the name of 
 him whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches ; and my message is to tell thee, 
 that he expects thee at his table to sup with him, in his kingdom, the next day after Easter; 
 wherefore ])repare 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. xii. 6.) 
 
 After this, Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow-pilgrims, anil told them, saying, I am sent 
 for, and God shall surely visit you also. So he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will ; and 
 because he had nothing to bequeath to them that should survive him, but his crutches and his 
 good-wishes, therefore, thus he said. These crutches I bequeath to my .son that shall tread in my 
 8tei)s, with a hundred warm wishes that he may prove better than I have done. 
 
 Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his conduct and kindness, and so addressed himself to 
 his journey. When he came at the brink of the river, he said. Now I shall have no more need 
 of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on. The last words he was 
 heard to say were, Welcome life ! So he went his way. 
 
 After this, Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought him, that the post sounded his horn at his 
 chamber door. Then he came in, and told him, saying, I am come to tell thee that thy Master 
 hath need of thee ; and that in a very little time thou nmst behold his face in brightness. And 
 take this as a token of the truth of my message, " Those that look out of the windows shall 
 be darkened." (Eccles. xii. 3.) 
 
264 THE PIUiRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 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 trutli of the message. Then he said, Since I 
 have nothing to bequeath to any, to what jturpose should I make a will? As for my feeble mind, 
 that I will leave behind me, for that I have no need of, in the place whither I go. Nor is it 
 worth bestowing upon the poorc.'st pilgrim ; wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr. 
 Valiant, would bury it in a dunghill. This done, and the day being come in which he was to 
 depart, he entered the river as the rest. His last words were. Hold out, faith and patience. So 
 he went over to the other side. 
 
 When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Despondency was sent for; for a post 
 was come, and l)rought this message to him : Trembling man, these are to summon thee to be 
 ready with thy King by tiie next Lord's day, to sliout for joy for thy deliverance from all thy 
 doublings. 
 
 And, .said the messenger, that my message is true, take this for a proof; so he gave him the 
 grasshopper to be a burden unto him. (Ecclcs. xii. .5.) Now, Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose 
 name was Much-afraid, 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 ami my 
 daugiiter's is, that our desponds and slavish fears be by no man ever received, from the day of 
 our departure, for ever; for I know that after my death they will offer themselves to others. 
 For, to be plain with 'you, they are ghosts the which we entertaine<l when we first began to be 
 pilgrims, and could never shake them off after ; and they will walk about and seek entertainment 
 of the pilgrims ; but. for our sakes, shut ye the doors upon them. 
 
 When the time was come for them to depart, they went to the brink of the river. The last 
 words of Mr. Despondency were. Farewell night, welcome day. His daughter went through the 
 river singing, but none could understand what she said. 
 
 Then it came to pass, a while after, that there was a post in the town that inquired for Mr. 
 Honest. So he came to his house where he was, and delivered to his hand these lines : Thou 
 art commanded to be ready against this day seven-night, to present thy.self before thy I^rd, at his 
 Father's house. And for a token that my message is true, " All thy daughters of music sliall In- 
 brought low." (Eccles. xii. 4.) Then Mr. Honest called for his friends, and said unto them, I die, 
 but shall make no will. As for my honesty, it shall go with me ; let him that comes after be 
 told of this. When the day that he w.is to be gone was come, he addressed himself to go over 
 the river. Now the river at that time overflowed the banks some in 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. 
 So he left the world. 
 
 After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was taken with a summons by the 
 same post as the other; and had this for a token that the summons was true, "That his pitcher 
 was broken at the fountain." (Eccles. xii. fi.) When he understood it, he called for his friends, 
 and told them of it. Then, said he, I am going to my Father's ; and though with great difticulty 
 I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I 
 am. My sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill 
 
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 265 
 
 to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me, that I 
 have fought his battles who now will be my rewarder. When the day that he must go hence 
 was come, many accompanied him to the river side, into which as he went he said, " Death, 
 where is thy sting ?" And as he went down deeper, he said, " Grave, where is thy victory ?" 
 So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side. 
 
 Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Stand-fast — this Mr. Stand-fast was he that the 
 rest of the pilgrims found upon his knees in the Enchanted Ground — for the post brought it him 
 open in his hands. The contents whereof were, that he must prepare for a change of life, for his 
 Master was not willing that he should be so far from him any longer. At this Mr. Stand-fast 
 was put into a muse. Nay, said the messenger, you need not doubt the truth of my message, for 
 here is a token of the truth thereof: " Thy wheel is broken at the cistern." (Eccles. xii. 6.) Then 
 he called unto him Mr. Great-heart, who was their guide, and said unto him. Sir, although it was . 
 not my hap to be much in your good company in 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 your Master's house, in hopes that you may yet be a conductor to more of the holy 
 pilgrims), that you send to my family, and let them be acquainted with all that hath or shall 
 happen unto me. Tell them, moreover, of my happy arrival at this place, and of the present 
 f and] late blessed condition that I am in. Tell them also of Christian, and Christiana his wife, 
 and how she and her children came after her husband. Tell them also of what a happy end she 
 made, and whither she has gone. I have little or nothing to send to my family, except it be 
 prayers and tears for them ; of which it will suffice if thou acquaint them, if peradventure they 
 may prevail. 
 
 When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, and the time being come for him to haste 
 away, he also went down to the river. Now there was a great calm at that time in the river ; 
 wherefore Mr. Standfast, when he was about half-way in, stood awhile, and talked to his com- 
 panions that had waited upon him thither; and he said, This river has been a terror to many ; yea, 
 the thoughts of it also have often frightened me. Now, methinks, I stand easy, my foot is fixed 
 upon that upon which the feet of the priests that bare the ark of the covenant stood, while Israel 
 went over this Jordan. (Josh. iii. 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 conduct that waits for me on 
 the other side, doth 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 now to see that head that was crowned with thorns, and that face that 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 delight myself 
 
 I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of; and wherever I have seen the print of his shoe in 
 the earth, there I have coveted to set my foot too. 
 
 His name has been to me as a civet-box ; yea, sweeter than all 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 I did use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against my 
 
266 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 fiiintings. "Ho lin« held me, and lialh kept me from mine iniquitie;' ; yea, my Htef»s hath he 
 strenuthencd in his way." 
 
 Now, while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed, his strong man bowed under 
 him ; and after he had said. Take me, for I come unto thee, he ceased to be seen of them. 
 
 Hut glorious it was to see how the open region was filled with horses and chariots, with 
 trumpeteRj and pipers, with singers and players on stringed instruments, to welcome the pilgrims 
 !Ui they went uj), and followed one another in at the beautiful gate of the city. 
 
 As for Christian's children, the four boys that Christiana brought with her, 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 they were yet alive, and so would be for the increase of the chiRih in 
 that place where they were, for a time. 
 
 Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that dct^ire it an account of w liat 
 I here am silent about. Meantime, I bid my reader 
 
 ALiIKI. 
 
 TIIK END. 
 
 BY.- 14 
 
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